Clients come in all shapes, sizes, and wants, as all incall and outcall escorts know. Some evenings are straightforward and familiar, like slipping into a favourite little black dress. Other times, a booking turns up that is so unexpected it makes you pause on the threshold and think, Alright then, this is going to be interesting.
Sometimes a client’s needs are simple – dinner, a few drinks, some coy conversation that slowly warms into something more intimate. And sometimes their requests are so specific, so carefully imagined, that you know you’re stepping into the middle of a long‑nurtured fantasy. Those are the ones that can take you completely by surprise.
Again, no sniggering at the back. I’m one of the city’s most in‑demand outcall escorts, and I pride myself on being adaptable, discreet, and open‑minded. I’ve seen businessmen who only relax once they loosen their tie, couples testing the edges of their comfort zones, and shy first‑timers who blush if I so much as touch their arm. I genuinely welcome all kinds of requests – within reason – because I’m a flexible and obliging kind of girl, and variety keeps the job from ever feeling routine.
But the other day, I received a request that really did stand out. Even before I arrived, the booking note had intrigued me. It was polite and precise, with an almost old‑fashioned courtesy to the wording, but there was a single line that caught my eye: “I’d like to meet you in my hotel room. I’ll be dressed for the occasion.” No explanation. No costume specified. Just that. Doing different things can be refreshing, so I accepted, curious and more than a little amused at what “the occasion” might turn out to be.
Arriving at the Hotel
When I reached his hotel – a large, respectable place in the city centre with a gleaming lobby and a bar that smelled faintly of polished wood and expensive cologne – I felt that tiny flutter I sometimes get before a first meeting. The lift hummed softly as it climbed, and I checked myself in the mirrored panel: smooth hair, carefully chosen dress, a hint of perfume, and a smile that suggested I was ready for anything.
I walked down the thickly carpeted corridor to his room, my heels muffled but still giving me that confident sway I like. Outside his door, I paused, took a breath, and knocked.
There was a shuffling sound from inside, the faint jingle of something metallic, and then the latch clicked. The door opened.
Lo and behold, Santa greeted me.
He stood in the doorway, wearing the full Santa gear: a rich red jacket trimmed with white fur, matching trousers, a wide black belt with a shiny buckle, and a soft red hat that drooped slightly to one side. A full white beard framed his cheeks and obscured most of his face, though I could see the amused crinkle of his eyes behind a pair of small, round spectacles. The belly was definitely his own – round and solid, stretching the jacket just enough to complete the illusion.
For a split second, I was so surprised I actually laughed, a warm, genuine burst that slipped out before I could catch it. He chuckled too, a low, rumbling sound that fit the costume perfectly.
“Well,” I said, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe with a teasing smile, “I see Christmas came early this year.”
He stepped back to let me in, his gloved hand gesturing courteously toward the room. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said in a surprisingly deep, playful voice. “Come in, my dear. I’ve been waiting for you.”
The room itself was comfortably lit, the heavy curtains drawn against the city lights. A bottle of champagne stood chilling in an ice bucket on the sideboard, two glasses already waiting. There was a faint scent of pine from a small decorative wreath hanging near the window – clearly the hotel’s attempt at seasonal charm – and it added an oddly appropriate touch to the scene.
Once the door closed behind us, he removed his hat with a slight bow but kept the beard and the rest of the outfit on. Up close, I could see he was in his late fifties, perhaps early sixties, with kind eyes and a nervous energy hiding beneath his rehearsed Santa persona.
The Long-Held Fantasy
He explained, almost shyly at first, that this had been a long‑held fantasy of his. He was the Santa for a famous, large department store in the city – the kind with a lavish grotto, endless queues of excited children, and a camera forever catching the moment. Every year, he donned the red suit, listened patiently to wish after wish, and smiled for hours at a time. Yet somewhere between the carols and the candy canes, another idea had taken root.
He had always wanted a beautiful woman to sit on his lap while he was dressed as Santa and tell him exactly what she wanted – not in the innocent, childlike way he heard every day at work, but in a more grown‑up, knowing tone. He wanted to blur the line between the safe, jolly figure everyone recognised and the private man underneath, with his own desires and daydreams.
As he confided this, I watched his hands. They trembled very slightly when he gestured, betraying just how important this moment was to him. For him, this wasn’t just a silly costume; it was something personal, something that had been building for years.
“What the client wants,” I said gently, moving a little closer and letting my voice soften, “the client gets.”
I slipped off my coat, revealing the outfit I’d chosen for the evening – something flattering but tasteful, chosen to allow for a range of possibilities. I hung the coat neatly over the back of a chair, turned back to him, and flashed a wide, playful smile.
Sitting on Santa’s Lap
He patted his lap, the red fabric stretching slightly as he settled back on the edge of the bed. The sight of this grown man, so carefully dressed as Father Christmas, looking at me with a mixture of anticipation and bashfulness, was oddly endearing.
“Well then,” I teased, taking a few slow, deliberate steps towards him, “if Santa insists…”
I eased myself onto his lap, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, my hand resting lightly on his shoulder. I could feel the firmness of his thigh beneath the padding, the slight rise and fall of his breath. Up close, the beard tickled faintly when he spoke, and I could smell a hint of aftershave beneath the synthetic scent of the costume.
He cleared his throat in character. “Now, young lady,” he said, his voice taking on that familiar theatrical warmth he probably used with the children at the store, “have you been a good girl this year?”
I tilted my head, letting my lips curve into a mischievous grin. “That depends on your definition of ‘good’, Santa.”
His eyes lit up behind the glasses, and in that moment, I could see the tension drain from his shoulders. The fantasy had begun, and he was no longer the slightly nervous older man in a hotel room; he was Santa, and I was the woman who had come to indulge his secret wish.
Playing Out the Scene
He suggested I take off more than my coat, his voice dropping just enough to make the implication clear. There was still a politeness in the way he asked, an almost old‑world chivalry that made it easy to say yes.
I obliged, of course, unfastening a button here, slipping a strap there, drawing out the moment so he could savour each small reveal. All the while, he kept his Santa jacket and beard on, as he had requested from the start. It was important to him that the illusion remain intact; the red-and-white costume was the frame for everything else.
I found myself unexpectedly charmed by the whole thing. There was something deliciously absurd yet oddly sweet about being perched on Santa’s lap in a softly lit hotel room, speaking in hushed tones about wishes that had nothing to do with toys or stockings. At one point, I laughed and told him that incall escorts would probably love a visit from Santa and his beard, too, if he turned up like this at their doors.
He laughed with me, the sound open and genuine, and I could tell that part of his pleasure came simply from being seen, from having his fantasy taken seriously rather than mocked.
We stayed in that playful, slightly theatrical space for a while – him in character, me leaning into the role of the woman who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t shy about asking for it. It was intimate without ever becoming crude, and it was clear that for him, the real satisfaction was in finally experiencing a scene he had only ever imagined from behind the department‑store grotto curtains.
After the Fantasy
Afterwards, when the mood had softened and the intensity of the moment had ebbed into a comfortable quiet, he helped me to my feet with surprising gentleness. I straightened my dress and smoothed my hair while he adjusted his jacket and hat, the beard still firmly in place.
He looked at me through the white fluff, his eyes warm and a little shy again. “You’ve been a very good girl,” he said, then paused and added with a twinkle, “or perhaps a very naughty one. I’m not quite sure which.”
“Maybe a bit of both,” I replied, reaching for my coat.
From beside the bed, he picked up a small, neatly wrapped box tied with a satin ribbon – clearly prepared in advance. He handed it to me with both hands, suddenly serious.
“For you,” he said. “A proper present. Not the sort I give out at the store.”
I took it, my curiosity piqued, and slipped the ribbon free. Inside was something thoughtful and decidedly adult – a gift chosen with care, suited to a woman rather than a child sitting on a plastic throne in a winter grotto.
I smiled, genuinely touched. “Thank you, Santa,” I said softly. “You really do know how to make a girl feel… looked after.”
He seemed almost relieved, as though he’d been holding his breath from the moment he opened the door in that suit. “Thank you,” he replied. “For not laughing at me. For… indulging me.”
I slipped my coat back on and moved towards the door. Before I left, I glanced back at him one last time: still in his red jacket and white beard, but now a little more relaxed, a little lighter, as if finally having unwrapped a long‑awaited present of his own.
A New Appreciation for Santa
As I stepped back into the quiet corridor, the door closing softly behind me, I couldn’t help smiling to myself. Outcall escorts see all sorts of fantasies and fetishes, but every now and then, you come across one that is both unusual and oddly heart‑warming.
And this one? Well, let’s just say it left me with a new appreciation for Santa – and for the secret wishes people tuck away, waiting for the right moment, and the right person, to finally bring them to life.
Check out these related blog posts you might find interesting!
