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Why I don't do quickies as a gigolo
Why I don’t do quickies as a gigolo
About once a week a message drops in that starts with: “Hi, do you do quickies too?” Almost always late at night. Sometimes a time is attached right away, as if it were a pizza that will go cold in forty minutes.
My answer is the same every time. No.
Not because I think it’s beneath me. Not because I’m difficult about money. The reason is a lot more boring: what I do simply doesn’t work at that speed. I could try, but then I’d hand you something neither of us walks away happy from. And I’m not going to send an invoice for that.
Speed isn’t the problem. Rushing is.
Just to be clear: I have nothing against fast. Sex can be short. Sex can be impatient, up against the kitchen counter, your coat still half on. Sometimes that’s the best thing there is.
But that kind of fast happens on its own. It’s the result of tension that was already in the air. What people mean when they ask for a quickie is something else: they want to skip that tension and land straight at the end. And that’s exactly the part you can’t skip.
Your body knows that difference better than your head does. A body in a hurry tightens up. A body that feels safe lets go. I can’t make you let go in ten minutes with a man you’ve never seen before, no matter how good I am. Nobody can.
What happens in the first half hour
People often think the start of a meeting is warming up. Pleasantries, a glass of wine, a bit of talking until the real thing begins.
That’s not how it works with me. That first half hour is the work.
In that half hour I notice how you breathe. Where your hands go when you’re nervous. Whether you laugh harder than you actually meant to. How long you hold eye contact before you look away, and whether that looking away is shy or something else entirely. What you say about why you’re here. And above all what you leave unsaid.
Those aren’t cute little details. They’re the whole map. Without that map I’m just winging it, and “winging it” feels exactly the way it sounds. Technically fine, maybe. Nothing beyond that.
Women tell me this regularly about earlier experiences too. Not that it was bad. It was just nobody in particular, with nobody in particular. That’s what you get when there was no time to find out who’s lying in the room.
The math that doesn’t add up
Say I offered a forty-five-minute quickie. What comes off?
The tea comes off. The conversation where you explain that you actually find this pretty nerve-racking, we cut that as well. Gone is the moment I ask what you absolutely don’t want, and that happens to be the very moment most people first dare to say what they do want. And the silence afterward? We don’t even reach it. Even though that’s the part people think about most later on.
What’s left? The act. Only that.
And honestly: you don’t need me for that. You can get it cheaper, faster, with less hassle. I say that without any judgment. I’m only saying that isn’t me, and that I don’t want to sell anyone a luxury experience flattened by the clock into something merely functional.
Instant noodles or a dinner
Picture a chef who turns his five-course menu into a fast-food meal. Doesn’t sound so appetizing, does it? Well, it’s the same with me. A quickie is instant noodle soup: ready in a flash, and usually a letdown.
I happen to be allergic to half-measures. No rush jobs. Real connection asks for precious time and care, the way a masterfully brewed cup of coffee does, or a Sunday afternoon that stretches until it’s dark outside. Who settles for takeaway coffee when there could be latte art on the table, a little heart on top?
I want every second to count. Every smile to be genuine and every touch to be given with attention. For that I need time: to listen, to understand, and to find out what you actually came for.
Two hours isn’t a luxury, it’s the floor
That’s why a meeting with me starts at two hours. It’s not a trick to justify a bigger number. You can just read the rates, they’re all there, from €500. Two hours is simply the point below which I can’t do my work well.
In two hours there’s room to arrive. To get used to a stranger in your space, or to a hotel room that doesn’t feel like yours yet. To notice that nothing has to happen. Only once that sinks in, and it usually takes longer than people expect, does something start to shift in how someone breathes and moves.
You can’t schedule that moment. You can only put enough time around it so that it can happen.
And yes, that costs more than a quick hour. It also gives you something completely different.
“But I really don’t have much time”
I hear that one too, and it’s completely fair. A full household. A job that won’t budge. A partner who isn’t out every evening, and a sitter who wants to go home by eleven. For a lot of women, freeing up three hours is harder than sorting out the money.
That’s no reason to trim it down. It’s a reason to plan it smarter. An afternoon often works better than an evening. Tuesday is quieter than Saturday, hotel prices included. And fifteen minutes’ drive instead of an hour saves more than you’d think.
I’m glad to think along with you on that. What I won’t do is strip the meeting so bare that only an act is left. I’d rather skip an appointment once and have a good one two months from now.
Contact beforehand isn’t a formality
Something else that sometimes surprises people: I don’t book a meeting with someone I don’t know at all. We’re in touch first. A few messages and usually a phone call, and sometimes a coffee on neutral ground if you’d feel better that way.
That’s partly for my safety and yours. But mostly it’s because it pays off on the day itself. If we already know each other’s voice, the first half hour doesn’t have to go to feeling each other out. Then you can walk in and simply be.
A quickie rules all of that out. That’s the whole idea behind it: no run-up, no name, no fuss. I get the appeal. I also get why it doesn’t fit me.
If you have a special date in mind, reach out well ahead of time. Better too early than too late. Then there’s time to speak first and to lay out the day at an easy pace.
Frequently asked questions about quickies and timing
Do you really never do anything short? No. Two hours is the floor, and I don’t budge from it. Not even when someone offers to pay the full rate for a single hour.
Does that mean it always has to be heavy and deep? Absolutely not. A meeting can be light, giggly, without a single soul-searching conversation. Taking your time isn’t about weight, it’s about room. What you do in that room is up to you.
Can I book for the same day? Rarely. I work by appointment and usually with some lead time. Feel free to ask, but don’t count on it.
Does it get faster after a few times? Easier, yes. Once we know each other, the feeling-out phase largely falls away and you settle in sooner. Booking shorter than two hours still isn’t possible.
What I do instead
I’m not a machine. I’m someone who is fully present with one person for a few hours, and honestly that’s the only thing I’m truly good at.
If you’re after a quickie, you’re better off at the drive-thru. But if you’re hungry for something made with love and attention, where we can laugh and talk and really enjoy ourselves, then you’ve come to the right place. Quality over quantity. Always with a touch of humor and a generous pinch of care.
If that’s what you’re looking for, I can mean a lot to you. Still on the fence? Feel free to send a message. Asking costs nothing and commits you to nothing. Want to see what a longer meeting involves first? Take a look at intimate togetherness. And once you’ve made up your mind, you can book me here.
Take your time. That’s literally the whole point.