Sexy Sofia from Bulgaria, in London until Christmas. Small cute boobs, long hair, silky skin, this and further suchlike wording, probably lifted from another profile. Inauthentic, no interest, easily ignored, probably offered in the vague thought that it would be.
More interesting, Sexy Sofia’s photos. A brunette, full-bodied, smiling at the camera. Adopting the poses of a model, looking more like someone being told by a friend what to do, finding it funny. Her good nature and twinkling smile reaching through the artifice, connecting her with me.
By the tedious dictates of conventional formulae, not even attractive. Not blonde, not leggy. Apparently, not self-absorbed. Not in conviction that she’ll carry me to previously unscaled heights of sexual ecstasy. Spurning the unspoken codes of the escort profile genre. Just plonking up a cursory profile plus some snapshots quickly taken by a friend, plus a cellphone number.
Leaving me with more work to do. Her attractiveness, a thing on its own terms, you can’t just respond brainlessly, you have to look a little and take time to appreciate.
And then, the harder you look, the more attractive she becomes. Her indifference to convention gradually becoming understandable, she’s one of those many women who’s very attractive but not very photogenic. The camera somehow flattening the planes on her face and dulling out her vivacity. But just try to step through the lens, enter the same room as her, and you’re in the presence of a woman far more beautiful than the lens revealed. The more you ponder the possibility, the more convincing it seems.
Leading to a more hardheaded calculation. How many other men looking for an escort would think this through? Not many, I imagine. Well, let other men chase after the other escorts, leave Sexy Sofia to me.
