Every so often I take a weekend where nobody can reach me. No jobs, no phone worth checking, one hotel room and a Do Not Disturb sign that means exactly what it says. And when I picture that room, it's rarely empty. There's usually a man in it who did as he was told to get there.
That's the thing about having no schedule. No shift to get to, no one expecting me anywhere. Which means if I've got you for two days, I've got you for two days, and I would not be rushing a single minute of it. I like taking my time. I like watching a man realise how much time I'm planning to take.
You'd arrive all confident, I imagine. That lasts about as long as it takes me to close the door and tell you to sit down. Then you go quiet and easy and exactly how I like, and we both relax into the fact that this weekend runs on my clock, not yours.
No boss, no rules but mine, a door that locks and two days with nowhere to be. I decide when we eat, when we sleep, when you get a break. Most men would give up a lot for a weekend like that. The right ones already know they would.
This is the postcard version, if you like. What actually happens behind that Do Not Disturb sign is not something I write out in public. There's a more private place for that, and you know how to find it.