Tara

If your room smells like carpet freshener and faces a wall, book someone else. I’m Tara, an escort in Juhu, and I like the sea in the room even when we never go down to it. Juhu Tara, the beach hotels, a decent place on the strip. Not a walk-up behind a restaurant. Send the name. If I know the lobby, I already know how I’ll cross it.
I’m 28. Sun on my shoulders, hair that still holds a little salt if I came from the beach, a dress that looks like I might only be meeting you for a drink. Under it, nothing you have to negotiate. I am not in a hurry to sit and interview you. I want the bathroom door open, water running, you watching me wash the day off. Then I want you in there. Wet hands. My back to your chest. A kiss on the shoulder before you turn me around.
Out of the shower I don’t reach for a robe. I want the window open, AC off for the first while, city noise and whatever the sea is doing. Bend me toward that. Not a performance. Just your cock in me while my hands are on the glass and my hair is still damp. I talk less than you expect. I push back when I want it deeper. If you grab my hip and stay there, I get loud enough that you’ll be glad the corridor is carpeted.
Mouth after, if you haven’t finished. I like the taste of clean skin and the mess we just made. Finish in a condom, or on my lower back while I’m still facing the window. Not on my face. Anal only if you asked before I arrived and I already said yes. I don’t decide that in the room.
One man. Juhu hotels, or a sea-facing apartment you actually have. Airport side only if the room is good and the message was early. I’m an escort, not a beach date that might become something. Message the hotel and the hour. If the window faces the right way, I’ll tell you when I’m downstairs.