Aanya

Send the hotel name, not a pin behind a shop. I am Aanya, an escort in Colaba, and I only come up if the lobby is the kind that will not stare. Taj, Trident, a sea-facing room on the strip, a quiet place off the Causeway if the key is already yours. I am not your walk from Gateway to dinner. I am the woman you text when you are back upstairs.

I am 27. Hair down, a black dress that looks like I might only be meeting you for a drink, nothing complicated underneath. Not loud. I kiss you at the door like I have decided, hand on your chest, and I like the minute you get hard against me before either of us sits. Then I want the dress off your way. Slow at the zip. Your mouth on my neck, under my ear, until I tilt without meaning to.

Bed, not the desk. I want you over me, deep, my knee up, the room dim. I talk less than you expect until you hit it right, then I say your name and do not stop. Kiss me while you are inside me. That is the part that makes me clench. Mouth before, if you ask like you mean it. Finish on my stomach, or in a condom if you stay. Not on my face. Anal is a no.

One man. Colaba hotels only, or a room you actually have. Escorts in Colaba who promise every lane are not me. Message the hotel and the hour. If the lobby is quiet, I will already be in the lift, dress on, thinking about your mouth on my neck.