I work as a Dubai escort and Riyadh taught me presence
I have lived in Dubai long enough to know that most things that sparkle lose their meaning up close. I do not chase glamour. I provide presence. And in my line of work, presence is everything.
He messaged me directly. No assistant. No coded language. Just clarity.
“One week. Riyadh. Confidential. No intimacy. No complications.”
I did not reply right away. I never do. I read it again. Then sent him my private form. I only share that with clients who are serious. He was.
He completed every detail. Transferred the full amount. Signed the NDA. No questions asked. He requested travel the following evening.
I booked the flight myself.
Arrival
Riyadh welcomed me with quiet discipline. It was not like Dubai. There was no noise, no selling, no performance. The silence was deliberate, almost sacred.
He met me at the airport in person. No driver. No delegation. That meant something.
He introduced himself simply.
“You must be Audrey.”
“Only if you are the one who booked me.”
He nodded. No smile. Just intention.
His home was vast, walled, and unbranded. It felt like wealth trying not to be noticed. He gave me a guest suite. He handed me a schedule. He made no demands. And still, everything felt like a request wrapped in control.
The Stillness
There were rules. No entering his study. No photos. No sharing real names. No questions beyond what was necessary.
But I have never needed words to read someone. His eyes held too much. His mouth said too little.
We shared meals in silence. And somehow, that spoke louder than any conversation I had ever had.
One evening, he invited me to the rooftop. The air was softer there. He offered me mint tea without asking how I like it. Unsweetened, like his personality.
He asked me a question.
“Do you ever forget who you are when you work?”
“No. I just remember more of who I am supposed to be.”
He looked at me, almost startled. Maybe he expected a rehearsed answer. He did not know I only carry one script — the truth.
The Shift
A few nights later, he let me into his study. The room smelled of cedar and silence. There were books everywhere. Poetry, mostly. Gibran. Adonis. Al-Mutanabbi. On the desk, a photo of a girl missing her front teeth.
“My daughter. She lives with her mother. She is the only soft thing in my life.”
He did not ask for pity. I did not offer it. I just listened. Sometimes, being heard is more intimate than being touched.
He began to request I stay longer after dinner. No words. Just quiet. Our silence grew comfortable. It stopped being a wall. It became a room.
The Ending
On the final evening, the staff served us in private. No ceremony. No music. Just him and me, seated close but not touching.
He said very little. I said less.
In my room later that night, I found a ring placed on my pillow. Simple, dark, carved from onyx. Inside was an engraving:
For presence, not possession.
I did not wear it. I held it. For a long time.
The next morning, I packed in silence. He did not come to see me off. I did not expect him to.
But when I reached the gate, the airline told me my seat had been upgraded. First class. Lounge access. All taken care of. His way of saying goodbye without breaking a rule.
Reflection
Back in Dubai, I returned to the sound of my own city. Traffic. Noise. Confidence disguised as charm.
Two new inquiries waited in my inbox. One had his initials. Same tone. Same discretion. Same silence.
I deleted it.
He did not hire me for love. I did not go for romance. But Riyadh gave me something I never knew I was missing — a moment where silence was not empty. It was full of meaning, full of him, full of me.
Some experiences stay with you not because of what happened. But because of what did not.
And that is the most beautiful kind of presence.