Our arrangement started in December 2021 and progressed slowly. We scheduled dates across Mayfair (a wealthy part of London) and with each meet we became increasingly close, physically and mentally. Cuddling up in dark, quiet corners of upmarket cocktail bars, we’d talk softly, gently hold hands and passionately kiss between conversations. I’d rub my lower leg on his shins underneath the table and act suggestively but we always made sure to show decency in public, though the sexual tension was clear. When I kissed him, I could smell his aftershave — fresh and subtle. I loved that he always made an effort. He dressed smartly, looking every bit the CEO. He’d compliment me freely, flirting with me and telling me how great I looked but teasing me about yet another all-black outfit choice. Far from arrogant and rude, he treated waiting staff exceptionally well, leaving generous tips as he surreptitiously paid the bill (he is American, after all). Each time we called it a night, he’d ask me if I needed any help, subtly slipping £200 or £500 ($650) into my hand before finding a black cab to take me home. He was in and out of London, traveling with work and back to his main home in the States, so we didn’t sleep together for over a year after our first meeting. To this day, we’ve only slept together that one time. Our schedules are tricky to align.
