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My name is Margo. I rank among those Dubai call girls Business Bay hides from plain sight. That phrase scrapes my throat but straight talk wins over fluff. A man last Thursday called me a scuffed up penny. I took that oddball compliment with a genuine smirk.
Dubai call girls Business Bay locks wealthy men inside lonely glass cages. Those men close monster contracts then feel a whole lot of nothing. My short fingernails show wear from fixing my own motorcycle. You will not locate softer women working in my general vicinity. I drink burnt java at a forgotten canal side nook.
Neither choice frightens me not even by a hair. I own one black dress plus two ancient band shirts. My leather jacket flaunts a hole in its left sleeve. A grumpy stray cat now sleeps on my apartment couch. That cat bites strangers so please keep your hands off her.
Agency women follow a script that some stranger wrote for them. I tossed my script into a dumpster three years ago. You receive my jagged edges my sour moods my strange little hobbies. Some nights we chew over death or music or broken families. Other nights we sit stone still and watch the stars crawl by.
She will soften up to you after three or four visits though. Finding a real person in Business Bay feels nearly impossible some days. Too many fake images and too many hollow promises. Nevertheless I offer you my scars my secrets my lopsided grin instead. Send me a sloppy honest message with no copy paste junk. Let us test if our weirdness locks together like mismatched puzzle pieces.