Amina: My Sexy Companion in Chennai

When Amina landed in Chennai, the humid night air wrapped itself around her like a heavy shawl. She’d left Lagos with nothing but two suitcases and a stubborn will to create a life on her own terms.

Her first night, she set up a Locanto profile:

“Elegant African escort in Chennai. Available for dinners, events, and private companionship. Discreet, charming, well-spoken.”

The photo was careful—smiling, confident, in a fitted dress that revealed little but drew the eye.

Within days, the inbox filled.

The First Ping

One message stood out:

Ravi: “You look like trouble. Can you actually make board meetings interesting?”

Amina: “Only if you can stay awake long enough to enjoy it.”

She laughed as she typed. He was teasing, not crude—rare.

They agreed to meet at a hotel lounge near Marina Beach.

First Meeting

Wearing a grey suit, Ravi was waiting while tinkering with his phone. He almost dropped it when Amina entered, tall and poised, her face framed by braids.

He remarked, "You look taller than you actually are."

"Disappointed?"

"Not at all. I hoped you would scare me.

Half of the lounge turned to listen to her laugh.

For two hours, they spoke of everything but business—books, childhood foods, the absurdity of Chennai traffic. He was surprised how easy it was.

At the valet, he said, “I should warn you—I’ll call again.”

“Don’t warn me,” she smirked. “Just pay my rate.”

A Pattern Forms

At first, it was occasional dinners. Then late-night messages.

Ravi (11:45 pm): “What are you doing?”

Amina: “Eating mangoes. What about you?”

Ravi: “Imagining stealing one from your plate.”

It wasn’t daily, but when they came, the messages burned.

At a corporate dinner, she dazzled the room. Ravi noticed CEOs leaning in, captivated. On the way back, he muttered, “You’re dangerous. Half the room wanted you.”

“Then thank me,” she teased. “Your stock price just went up.”

The Jealous Night

It happened at a rooftop bar in T Nagar. Ravi spotted Amina arriving with another client. For the first time, jealousy prickled.

Later, he texted:

Ravi: “You looked busy tonight.”

Amina: “That’s the job, darling.”

Ravi: “I didn’t like it.”

Amina: “You don’t pay for monopoly rights.”

He didn’t reply. For three weeks, silence. Amina almost thought it was over. Then, out of nowhere:

Ravi: “Coffee? My treat this time.”

When they met, his first words were: “I hate how easy it is to miss you.”

She smiled, but didn’t let him see how much it pleased her.

Cracks in the Wall

Three years in, over a candlelit dinner, Ravi asked, “Do you ever think about… more than this?”

Amina stirred her glass. “No commitments. No drama. That’s why this works.”

She said it easily, but later—alone, lying in the quiet—she admitted to herself she’d wondered, just for a moment. And she hated herself for it.

The Almost-Break

When Ravi’s sister arranged his engagement, he didn’t tell Amina right away. But she found out—through a message he slipped, drunk one night.

She arrived at their usual hotel bar and said evenly, “So. A fiancée.”

He winced. “It’s complicated.”

“Not for me. I told you, no drama.”

She stood to leave, but he caught her wrist. “Don’t go like this.”

For a long moment, she looked at him—the man who was supposed to be nothing more than a client. Then she gently pulled free. “You’ll still pay my rate, Ravi. Nothing changes.”

But it did. For months, they didn’t see each other.

The Return

The wedding never happened. One night, long after midnight, her phone buzzed.

Ravi: “I can’t sleep. I miss the sound of you laughing at me.”

She almost ignored it. Instead, she typed back:

Amina: “I only laugh because you’re ridiculous.”

Ravi: “Then please keep laughing.”

When they met again, it was like no time had passed—but now, there was something heavier under the banter.

The Constant

Years slipped by. Ravi’s hair grew streaked with grey. Amina updated her profile photos but found herself replying less to strangers, more to him.

Still, their rhythm held:

Ravi: “Still stealing hearts?”

Amina: “And minds too.”

Ravi: “You know you’re the most dangerous thing in this city.”

Amina: “Good. Keeps you awake.”

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t friendship. It wasn’t only business.

It was something in-between—too fragile to name, too steady to ignore.

And in a city of chaos, they carved out their own secret: attraction without chains, companionship without promises, and a story that kept unfolding, one dangerous message at a time.