This, of course, is a work of fiction. It was written from the hip.

I recently dreamt that I spent a couple of hours with a new client who reconnected me with an important truth: I am not supposed to offer shorter dates.

I’d recently (once again) removed my one hour option due to it’s lack of popularity. And then…. well, then I met him.

He was dashing. He spoke to me on both a physical and intimately nuanced spiritual level. And our bodies, once in motion, were kinetic.

And it is worth noting that we experienced – we shared and savored – the inception of a new kink. After nearly two hours of teasing, he called me a lioness as our eyes locked. He told me that my body was sculpted by the Greeks. And then, in the most organically erotic turn of events, my muscular, sculpted, smooth right inner thigh brought forth something intense.

Friction and glide.

And somewhere, somehow, in the moments in between the first kiss and the crescendo and the closing of a door, we had time to talk. To sip. To connect.

And this is why – despite historically playing with it as an offering every six months or so when overcome by a slutty desire for a quick roll in the hay –  I will never feel like a one hour date is enough.