Diary of a mistress
The original premium articles ‘Dagboek van een minnares, dl. 205‘ and ‘Dagboek van een minnares, dl. 206‘ from the website of the Dutch daily newspaper ‘De Telegraaf’ can be read here.
*Gigolo Reinier = Gigolo Rene
Part 205:
“You’re the best I’ve ever had”
My birthday! So there I am, at the bakery at half past eight in the morning to pick up some pastries. Of course, Dani refuses to eat any. I cut myself a nice thick slice of cake – after all, your birthday only comes once a year.
“I can’t imagine turning 30,” Dani sighs dramatically. I want to smack her, she knows perfectly well I turned thirty three years ago. I say nothing and take a big bite of cake. “How dare you,” Dani continues teasing. “At your age, everything just sticks to your hips.”
I bump the saucer, and the rest of my cake falls into her lap. Dani shrieks. “My new dress! Did you do that on purpose?” I shake my head and start brushing it off, only making the stain worse. Then she starts whining about whether I’m throwing a party. As if I’d invite her.
“No,” I say. “This weekend I’m going out to dinner with my mom, sister, and best friend. And tonight I’m doing something fun with a friend.”
I don’t dare say my friend.. Dani knows Tom passed away, and I’m not about to explain that Mark is my married lover. I’ve seen the way she looks at him, a little too eager for my liking.
The day drags on until, finally, it’s 5:30 AM and I hop on my bike to the Hilton. I’m nervous. Mark said I’d be pushed beyond all my sexual boundaries. What did he mean by that? Something kinky? BDSM, maybe?
He didn’t ask me to wear anything special, so I’ve put on my sexiest lingerie set. It’s a bit too small – my breasts are spilling out. Not that it matters; Mark usually takes it off right away anyway. Still… I really need to lose some weight.
My phone beeps. “Go straight upstairs and knock on room 304.” I get into the elevator, cheeks flushed, heart pounding like crazy. What’s waiting for me behind that door? Then I’m there. I knock. The door opens.
Standing in the doorway is a man I don’t recognize. He’s fairly short, with dark hair and dark eyes — maybe around 40. Tanned, muscular, and wearing nothing but a white towel around his hips. Who is this?
“Hi,” I say uncertainly. “I think I’ve got the wrong room…” But he shakes my hand and steps aside to let me in. “Hi, I’m Reinier. Also known as Gigolo Reinier*. I’m your birthday present. Congratulations! Care for a glass of champagne?” I step back, confused. Who is this?
“You might be wondering where Mark is,” he continues calmly. “You’ll find out soon enough. For now, why don’t I start with a nice massage? You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. Just undress and lie down on the bed. If at any point you want me to stop, just say so.”
I hesitate for a moment, but then follow his lead. I take off my dress, tights, and heels, and lie down on my stomach. He warms a bit of oil in his hands and begins to massage me. Slowly, his hands glide over my neck and shoulders.
“You’re so tense,” he murmurs. “I can tell you carry a lot of stress. Try to let go – just surrender a little.”
His hands move lower, to my feet, calves, and upper thighs. Then he pauses. “May I touch your butt?” I nod, and he begins to massage with expert hands, leaving no spot untouched. It feels wonderful. Is he secretly a physiotherapist or something?
He then asks me to turn around. Of course I do. A warm thrill runs through me as I welcome more of his touch. I let out a soft moan. When he asks if I want to close my eyes, I immediately agree. Still, he gently ties a scarf over my eyes to make sure I truly can’t see a thing.
His fingers glide gently down my stomach, tracing a path to my hips and lower. He moves with carefull, deliberate touch, slowly circling his fingers over my clit, exploring tenderly. When he withdraws his hand, I can’t help bu tet ou a soft, longing sigh. “Please, don’t stop!”
He pins my wrists above my head with one hand, while the other begins to finger me with soft, deliberate strokes. I realize I’ve known this man for no more than twenty minutes, and yet, I crave more.
This is his profession, something he’s likely done with countless women before….but right now, I want all of him. I whisper that I don’t want to wait any longer – that if he does’nt fuck me soon, I might lose control..
But he gently pulls back. Calmly, he explains that this goes beyond the boundaries of the agreement he made with his client – and that sets something off in me.
My frustration, the way he so professionally plays with my body, my clit – it overwhelms me and I cum. I moan, almost desperate, trying to pull him closer. “Kiss me…fuck me, drive me crazy,” I whisper. “You’re the best I’ve ever had. I want you. I want you now.”
He remains silent. “I’m not part of your stupid arrangement,” I press on, my voice trembling. “He’s choosing her again, his wife. But I’m here. I’ll pay you double, just…please, don’t stop now.”
In a final, impulsive gesture, I pull the scarf from my eyes — hoping Reinier is still listening, that I can read his expression. But instead, I freeze. Sitting silently in the corner of the room is Mark, staring at me with cold, unreadable eyes.
What…? Where did he come from? And…how long has he been there?
Part 206:
“He’s slept with hundreds of women”
Slowly, the situation sinks in. I’ve just experienced the most intense orgasm of my life – from Gigolo Reinier, a birthday present, arranged by my lover Mark…who’s now sitting silently in the corner, looking furious. I don’t understand. Wasn’t this exactly what he wanted? So why is he angry now?
Mark stands up, and Reinier begins to get dressed. “I think I’ll leave you two alone,” Reinier says quietly. And just like that, he’s gone.
”Mark, the man is an escort. He gets paid to make women cum. He has slept with hundreds, maybe thousands of women. Of course he’s good! I also think I’m pretty good at sex, but I’m sure there are prostitutes who can satisfy you even better than me. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
I sit up in bed, pulling the sheets around me, and voice my confusion once more. Mark still looks sullen. “I thought it would be exciting to see you with another man,” he says. “But you have to understand, it’s not exactly fun hearing you scream that he’s the best lover you’ve ever had. You wouldn’t like it if I said that to another woman in front of you.”
“Mark, he’s an escort. He gets paid to make women cum. He’s probably been with hundreds, maybe thousands of women. Of course he’s good at it! I mean, I think I’m pretty good at sex too, but I’m sure there are prostitutes who could please you even more than I can. That’s just how it works… right?”
“Okay,” he says. “But this evening didn’t turn out quite the way I imagined. Let’s open that bottle of champagne now – otherwise it’ll go warm, and that would be a waste.”
We both laugh, and in the end, we make love. Slow, passionate, and just what we needed. We fall asleep in each other’s arms and wake up together the next morning. It’s a shame I have to work; I would’ve much rather stayed wrapped up in that bed with him all weekend.
Mark doesn’t want to go down to the breakfast buffet, he’s worried about running into someone he knows. And as usual, he doesn’t want us to leave the hotel room together. It bothers me. “Haven’t you left Josien by now?” I ask. “Why are you still being so secretive?”
He starts stammering, saying they’re not officially separated yet, that they’re ‘still exploring’ whether their marriage has a future. I’ve had enough. I walk out without saying another word.
Sunday. It’s raining. Again. A long, empty day stretches ahead of me. Last night was lovely: dinner with Fleur, my mom, and my sister Frederique. Great food, warm company.
I check Instagram to see how many likes my photos got. Not bad, actually. I smile. But then, I can’t resist the urge to scroll over to Josien’s page. Normally, it’s all stylized shots of food and wine, but now it’s soggy family selfies on the hockey field. And just like that, I feel a wave of jealousy. Why am I only good enough for the bedroom?
For a moment, I consider posting something passive-aggressive, something like “I also had a great time with Mark on Thursday night”, but I don’t dare.
Maybe I should just get a boyfriend of my own. Should I make a dating profile? Join Tinder? Ugh. The thought of dating again makes me feel tired already. Then, out of nowhere, I miss Tom. Deeply. He was so good to me. It’s still unfair that he’s gone.
On a whim, I type “Gigolo Reinier” into Google. His site pops up immediately. I start reading through glowing reviews from other women. Apparently, he specializes in squirting orgasms, something I’ve never experienced myself.
And the rates? Surprisingly reasonable. €300 for three hours or more. Three hours. I barely get half an hour with Mark before he rushes back to his wife.
I liked and enjoyed him so much that I actually feel like spending the whole evening with him and going all the way with him. I think it would be great to have sex with a man who’s only concern is me. Who cares only about my pleasure and not his own. I believe I deserve that.
I email Reinier and describe who I am and that I want to finish what we started on Thursday. Within an hour I received an email back. He writes that he would really like to meet, but that my boyfriend will probably not like that? Like he’s not into that! I saw on his site that he does it with married women as well..
I ask him if he can come over tonight, and to my delight he has time. I’m so excited! All of a sudden I’m busy: I have to shave, epilate and wax. Once again I notice that I have gained weight, but I don’t care. After all, I pay Reinier for his services, he just has to accept me as I am.
An hour before his arrival, I’m ready. And I’m nervous. What is he going to do to me? Then I hear a beep. Mark. He wants to make it up to me. Is it an idea that he will come over tonight? I am startled. What do I do now? Have Mark come and cancel Reinier? Or should I tell Mark I can’t? Shit, I can’t choose…