the saskia experience, more or less

One part FAQ (I’ll get to a proper page later!), one part the terms and conditions we both never read before accepting.

What is it like to be with you?

I ask this question of you on my home page, and it’s only fair you ask it in return. This is as much of an answer as I can give; I hope it suffices.

I am unpredictable. Even in those treasured sessions which are so molasses-thick with luxurious sensuality we could almost fall asleep in it, you’ll find me suddenly shifting to prop my chin on some limb (yours or mine, it doesn’t matter) and ask a question entirely out of left field. Or maybe it’ll be a non-sequitur of a fact. Something about experimental tech, or international politics, or the kind of observation about genitals that’s both incredibly bawdy and disarmingly naive at the same time. Of course, if you’re higher energy, you’ll find me a good time – just not one you can control.

I am curious. As greedy as I am for information, I do, genuinely, want to find out about you. I left agencies for independent work because I knew that nobody else would ever be able to market me in a way that attracted the lovers I want. For me, that’s people who want to talk. It thrills me to find out about you. Anonymize your latest office grievance, tell me about the uni friend I remind you of, complain about bad coffee at worse prices; whatever it is that’s on your mind, it offers me a bright point of connection to you, and that’s what I crave more than anything else.

My childhood sweetheart described me as sandpaper: my coarse grit smooths down the rough edges of anybody whose life I touch.

I am practical. Be warned that my rates do not assure you the kind of head-to-toe attention other escorts pay to their looks; if you prefer perfection, I can recommend one of the many accomplished sex workers out there who have mastered its illusion through no shortage of hard work. Me? Sherlock Holmes would know everything there is to know about my true self in one look when I opened the door. My photographs speak to skin marked by blemishes which have stories of their own. My glasses slide down my nose no matter what I do (and no, I can’t see at all with them off); my nails, painted or not, show the kind of wear characteristic of the hours I spend tinkering, typing, cooking and crafting. If you ask me the time, I’ll tap twice on my Fitbit. If you can’t host, my incall is as modest as they come. My grin is charming, in the way you might describe a delightful child nobody knows how to handle. If you’re enamoured by the idea of a tryst with a girl next door, and if that doesn’t mean fair-skinned and fair-haired to you, you may enjoy me more than you’d expect.

I am flexible. No, not in the physical sense – I’m as lithe as you might expect, but in ways as idiosyncratic as the rest of me. (I can’t touch my toes, but I can fold myself into lotus position without using my hands.) Should you intrigue me enough, I will be able to make time somewhere in my sixty-hour weeks; should we connect, my service includes whatever feels right. Of course, if there’s something you absolutely must have, or if you have as many planners on your desk as I do, we can sketch something out in advance. My health (and by extension, yours) is a priority I will not compromise on.

I am sentimental. I often think about people I met once years ago, and hope they’re doing well. I cherish emails with updates, even if they don’t have pictures of your cats, even if the device I reply to emails from is half-buried under components or being used to test something and I don’t get a spare moment for a week. There’s nothing that thrills me more than seeing people I’ve touched thrive. You’re valuable to me not because you see me so many times a year, or anything like that (as much as material support is deeply appreciated, and time spent together only conducive to closeness); you’re valuable because you’re human, and because, at some point, we took off our clothes and laughed with each other.

I am verbose. It took me this many words to say that I care, and that I’m spontaneous, and optimistic, and cherish everyone who’s passed through my life. It’ll take me this many words again, poured out like waves on a black sand beach, to open myself up to you. Chances are each of my lovers has seen something of me nobody else has. There’s infinite depths to every possible permutation of human connection, and I like to think you all bring out the best in me. For that,

I am grateful.

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