On How We Spend Time
Time Is Relative
People often ask why I don’t list my rates. The truth is, I’ve never liked the idea of connection being presented like a menu. My time isn’t portioned out in neat, identical slices, and my company isn’t a commodity to be standardised. Each date feels different, each person brings something of themselves, and I want to keep it that way.
What I will say is this: my quotes are thoughtful, considered, and final. I don’t haggle (it’s not a Turkish bazaar), and I don’t overbook myself. I keep my calendar deliberately light so that when I do say yes, I arrive as I want to: engaged, rested, and fully present. To me, that’s the real luxury, not a longer list of appointments, but the space to show up with curiosity, warmth, and energy.
Two hours can feel like the first few moves of a game, it’s enough to see the outline, but not the full pattern. It’s not without its charm, sometimes beginnings are the most charged part, and sometimes a quick, concentrated meeting has its own kind of intensity.
Still, with three, four, six hours, the dynamic changes. This time feels most like what people think of as a real date: there’s time to let conversation sprawl, to share a meal without rushing, to see how someone thinks when they’re not compressing themselves into introductions. Small signals have room to appear: timing, humour, hesitation, confidence. Flirtation creeps in without either of us pointing it out, like the moment I first brush against you and you realise it’s not by accident. These hours work best because they carry both energies at once: public ease and private tension. By the end, it feels like a date that never quite wanted to stay on its rails.
Ephemera
(2/3/4/5/6hrs)
(12/16/24hrs)
The 25th Hour
Nights that run into mornings have a different quality altogether. Once there’s no cut-off, the whole structure changes. Conversation doesn’t need to be tidy; it repeats and digresses. Jokes stretch out, silences feel comfotable rather than awkward, attention shifts easily from words to touch and back again, without anyone remarking on it. We relax into that rhythm, less measured, more fluid. I like seeing how attraction changes once it isn’t bound to a schedule, sometimes intense, sometimes lazy, sometimes it veers back when neither of us expect it.
Morning always feels different from the night before. There’s something revealing in how someone moves before their public self returns: the way they stretch, the first thing they reach for, the look that comes before coffee takes effect. It’s simple, but the contrast with the night is always striking. What I enjoy most is the balance: the looseness of night beside the stripped-back honesty of morning. Together they make something more complete than either alone.
When time extends further, over a day or two, the character shifts. Some people arrive open from the first moment; others carry a kind of mask, often without realising. But no one, unless pathologically rigid, can keep one in place for this long, which is a relief. You see people in their defaults: the way they get hungry, how they choose what to eat, what makes them laugh when they’re tired, the habits they keep without thinking. I love those details.
What I notice most is the rhythm that forms almost by accident. Meals, walks, sex, conversation, rest, they start to repeat and fold into each other until it feels like its own little ecosystem. Desire doesn’t flatten; it shifts. Sometimes it’s sharp, sometimes slow, sometimes it moves into the background only to return with more force. The ordinary becomes interesting simply because it’s shared, and that makes the time feel lived-in rather than staged.
These meetings always feel textured, occupied, like we built a temporary world that lasts longer in memory than the days themselves.
In Deep Time
(36/48/72+ hrs)
Before the Clock Starts
So, as we come to the end of speaking about what we could do, here’s how to make it actually happen.
To be clear: I value safety, discretion, and integrity as much as you do. I screen carefully so the space between us is comfortable, not cautious. A 40 % deposit secures our time, think of it more as mutual promise than paperwork. Digital discretion is a pact: your private life is yours, and my boundaries are mine. Once that’s in place, the time we share doesn’t feel like an arrangement at all, just hours, set aside, that we get to use however we choose.
Time isn’t standard, but contact is simple.
