I’d been dealing with a leaking kitchen faucet for days, and finally called the plumbing company on a quiet Tuesday morning. They said they’d send someone over that afternoon. I wasn’t expecting much, just hoping to get it fixed quickly. I’m 29, recently single, and honestly hadn’t felt desired in a while. I threw on a simple tank top and a short denim skirt, no bra, hair loose, figuring I’d be alone most of the day anyway.
It was a wild weekend in Vegas last spring that I'll never forget. I'd just closed a big business deal, feeling on top of the world, and decided to treat myself. Alone in my luxury hotel suite on the Strip, the city lights pulsing outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, I booked two high-end escorts through a discreet app. Mia and Sophia—both in their mid-20s, stunning brunettes with perfect bodies, sultry smiles, and that professional confidence that promised an unforgettable night.
It started innocently enough last winter, when the snow kept piling up and the whole building felt isolated from the world. I was 27, recently divorced, living alone in my quiet apartment. Across the hall lived Ethan—mid-30s, married, with a deep voice and a smile that always lingered a little too long when we passed each other in the elevator. His wife traveled a lot for work, and on those long, cold nights, I’d hear him moving around alone, just like me.