Stories from the Table 3: Undressing the Years

He booked the session a week before my trip to the US and selected my last day in the country. I even suspected the appointment was a joke. He wanted an appointment for four hours, he asked me to wear a suit and tie, and to do this on the morning of the day I was flying home.

I wasn’t sure if it was real. But he showed up—sharp, composed, handsome. A 65-year-old man with a kind smile and a story that needed air.

He arrived in his own suit and tie, looking like he had just stepped out of a boardroom. We didn’t rush. I made him tea. We talked. Slowly, gently, our bodies moved closer on the couch. He began to share—not just thoughts, but a life.

He told me about his youth. His first marriage. His grown children. His divorce.

And then—his coming out, just a few years ago. The quiet courage of stepping into truth at an age when most people are settling in.

Piece by piece, our clothing came off.

A sock. A tie. A shirt.

Piece by piece, his story opened, until we were both naked, not just in body, but in honesty.

He had married a man—a good man. But one who didn’t like touch. Didn’t like to be held. And this man… this beautiful man… he was starving for closeness. For skin. For warmth. For that quiet, wordless thing that happens when two people lie in embrace and say, “I see you.”

He told me:

“I don’t want to leave him. I love him. But I need to be touched. I don’t want to start over. I don’t want to date. I just… needed this. With you.”

And I got it.

I deeply got it.

For three hours and forty-five minutes, we talked, held, connected, we undressed not just for pleasure, but for truth. I held him on the sofa, held him in my arms and listened to him tell the story of his life. He wanted a witness, he wanted to tell me things he couldn't tell his psychologist.

And then—like two boys letting loose at the edge of recess—we turned up the energy. Playful, spirited, alive. He asked me to climb over him. I did. I came on his face. He smiled like it was a secret wish fulfilled.

He wiped it away gently, dressed with care, and thanked me.

Not just for the release.

But for the space to say things he couldn’t say anywhere else.

⸻

Where Desire Meets Story

Many of the men who find me aren’t seeking just arousal.

They’re seeking permission.

To speak. To feel. To be held. To ask for what they’ve never asked before.

Sometimes it’s not about fixing a problem.

It’s about witnessing a life—with tenderness and eroticism interwoven like silk.

This is sacred intimacy.

This is why I do what I do.