The Dubai Escort | مرافقة دبي
"She accompanies wealthy men to events—nothing more. He's the client who wants something different. Just conversation. Then just dinner. Then just everything."
The Dubai Escort
مرافقة دبي
The agency calls it "companionship services."
Dinner, events, galas. Beautiful women on the arms of wealthy men. Nothing sexual—though some clients try.
I've been doing this for three years.
Then Khalid calls.
I'm Nadia.
Ukrainian-Moroccan, thirty-one. I came to Dubai with modeling dreams that died quickly. This was the backup plan.
It pays well. I don't love it. I don't hate it.
Khalid's request is unusual.
Dinner conversation only. Prefers intelligent women to beautiful ones.
The agency laughs. "He's probably ugly."
He's not ugly. He's devastating.
"Thank you for coming," he says at the restaurant.
Forty-seven. Emirates. The quiet kind of rich that doesn't need to flaunt.
"Thank you for the unusual request."
"You get many unusual requests?"
"I get many requests. Few of them ask for conversation."
We talk.
About art, philosophy, his business, my hidden degree in literature. He asks questions like he genuinely wants answers.
"Why do you do this?" he asks.
"Money."
"That's all?"
"Isn't that enough?"
"It's not a judgment," he clarifies. "I'm genuinely curious. You're clearly intelligent. You could do many things."
"I've done many things. They all paid less and demanded more."
"Fair." He sips his wine. "But you're not happy."
"Happiness is a luxury."
"Not always."
He books me again.
And again. And again.
Always conversation. Sometimes dinner, sometimes coffee, once just a walk through Dubai Marina.
"What are you doing?" the agency asks.
"Being companionable."
"That's not what he's paying for."
"That's exactly what he's paying for."
Month two.
"I'd like to change our arrangement," he says.
Here it comes. The inevitable request.
"No."
"You don't know what I was going to ask."
"I know what men always ask."
"I was going to ask you to have dinner. Not as a client. As a date."
"What's the difference?"
"The difference is I don't pay. The difference is you can say no without losing work. The difference is..." He pauses. "The difference is I want to know you, not rent you."
"Why?"
"Because you're the first woman in years who's made me think about something other than business."
I should say no.
Mixing personal and professional is dangerous. Falling for a client is suicide.
"Yes."
Our first real date feels different.
No contract. No agency. Just two people discovering if what they've built is real.
"Tell me something true," he says.
"I haven't been touched in two years. Not really. Not in a way that mattered."
"That's a long time."
"Yes."
"Would you like to be touched?"
Not crude. Not presumptuous. Just asking.
"Yes."
He takes me to his penthouse.
Different from the hotels where I meet clients. This is him—books, art, the smell of oud.
"Nadia—"
"Don't talk. Just touch me."
He touches me like I'm precious.
Every curve explored. Every inch kissed. I've been admired by men before—but never seen.
"You're beautiful."
"I'm fat."
"You're lush." He traces my belly. "Stop using their words for your body."
He makes love to me slowly.
Building pleasure I didn't know I could still feel. When I come, I cry—release I've been holding for years.
"Mashallah," he murmurs. "You're perfect."
"Quit the agency."
We're in bed, tangled together. It's 3 AM.
"What?"
"Quit. Let me take care of you."
"I don't want to be kept."
"Then let me invest in you. That literature degree—what would you do with it?"
"I always wanted to write."
"Then write. I'll fund whatever you need. No strings. No expectations."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because I see you, Nadia. The real you. And she's worth investing in."
Two years later
I'm an author now.
Novel published, second one in progress. Khalid reads every draft.
"This character is clearly me," he observes.
"She's clearly an amalgamation."
"She's clearly me. I don't mind."
We married last year.
Small ceremony. His family was skeptical—the escort who became the wife—but they've warmed.
"Happy?" he asks.
"Happier than I've ever been."
"See? Happiness isn't always a luxury."
"Not when you can afford it."
He makes love to me in our penthouse.
The same place where everything changed. The same bed where I learned to be seen.
"Ana bahebek," he says.
"I love you too."
Alhamdulillah.
For clients who want conversation.
For touch that transforms.
For escorting that became forever.
The End.