LEELA: The Series
A story about a woman who, like many of us, knows how to give love to everyone but herself.
New Episodes every Saturday @10am EST
Start at the Beginning…
Episode One: The Pilot
An attractive middle aged woman sits across from a beautiful blonde in the back corner of Carbone Miami–one of the hottest restaurants in the country.
White tablecloths. Elegant chandeliers. Custom Blue Rooster ceramic plates.
It’s the dialing in of the smallest details that sets it apart from every other Italian restaurant—the curation of experience, the profound devotion to a feeling.
As something of a curator herself, Addy couldn’t help but be pleased with her choice of venue.
She settles in, turning her attention to her dinner companion.
Heidi Goldstein is in her late forties, well-kept and in great shape.
She has the kind of face that’s had tasteful work done.
Nothing extreme.
Nothing to hide.
Just enough to keep the mirror kind.
Her skin is taut in all the expected places.
It’s her neck that gives her away.
Her neck and her eyes.
Sharp, but tired.
Gray irises that ached for surprise but were seldom rewarded.
There’s a raspy quality to Heidi’s voice—not enough to be off-putting, just enough to suggest a past relationship with either cigarettes or New Jersey.
“Oh wow,” she says, smiling. “You’re even more beautiful than I thought. He’s going to like you.”
Addy’s smile is perfectly calibrated.
“Well, thank you, first of all…”
She leans in casually.
“And before we get started, I have to ask… is that scarf Hermès?”
Her French pronunciation was flawless.
“Good eye.”
Addy fans herself, eyes sparkling.
“I can’t get enough of everything you have going on right now. Valentinos. Ferragamo belt…”
It all just rolls off her tongue.
“Tell me you’re a role model without telling me you’re a role model.”
Addy winks.
Heidi lets out a laugh.
She’s genuinely flattered.
“Well… I’ll take that.”
Addy’s tone shifts.
“Before we begin—just to clarify—I’m not Leela. I’m her assistant. She doesn’t meet directly with prospective clients. Not until they’ve been through vetting and are officially approved.”
Heidi straightens slightly. Not defensive. Intrigued.
“She is watching our conversation and can communicate with me through this device.”
Addy tucks a piece of blonde hair behind her ear, revealing the sleek, discreet white earpiece.
“So while you won’t be speaking with her directly…she is very much a part of this conversation.”
Silence.
“I know your time is valuable, Ms. Goldstein, so let’s get to it, shall we?”
“What exactly are you looking for in this engagement, and why are you seeking escort services?”
Heidi smooths her napkin over her lap.
“Well, it’s my husband’s birthday next month. His sixtieth.”
She pauses.
Addy nods—encouraging but neutral.
“I’m throwing him a party,” Heidi continues. “Just a few of our closest friends. Not a big blowout, that’s not really his thing.”
Heidi pauses, acknowledging to herself that she had just lied.
“It’s going to be in the backyard of our home. Small jazz orchestra, a classic Hollywood kind of vibe. I want it to feel…special.”
***
Parked outside, not far from the corner of Ocean Court and Second Street, is a large unmarked van with two women inside.
One sits at the controls. The other stands behind her, light brown eyes locked on the screen.
The monitor splits into angles—Addy’s face, Heidi’s hands, the table from above.
A delicate mouth moves toward a microphone.
“Just be with her right now. No questions.”
***
Addy waits.
Present.
“I know what it sounds like,” Heidi says, her laugh almost apologetic. “Aging couple, wife trying desperately to keep from becoming obsolete…you know, keep the fire alive.”
***
“Now we’re getting to it…”
The voice in the van says to no one in particular.
***
“Maybe that’s part of it. I don’t know. What I do know is…he’s been different lately.”
The voice speaks discreetly into Addy’s earpiece.
“Lean in just a bit.”
Addy leans forward.
Heidi takes a sip of wine, eyes drifting to the tables around her.
“Jesus, you are so beautiful…”
She looks back at Addy and tilts her head.
“Enjoy it while you’ve got it, honey. Display it, flaunt it, fuck with it…”
Her fingers move to casually handling the scarf wrapped around her neck.
“Because in a few bats of those perfect lashes, you’ll be trying to fend off someone you can’t compete with.”
Addy offers a gentle smile and rests her hand over Heidi’s.
***
Red lips move closer to the microphone.
“Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re not in my seat. You’re more stunning than you think.”
***
Addy delivers the line to perfection.
“I think you are underestimating yourself. From where I’m sitting, you are absolutely gorgeous.”
Heidi searches Addy skeptically for signs of flattery.
Then exhales, starting to loosen.
Cadence shifting like she’s talking to a friend.
“He hasn’t cheated…at least I don’t think he’s cheated.”
She looks down.
“But there is someone. His secretary—”
She rolls her eyes without realizing it.
“Sophie.”
Her inhale is deep and controlled.
“Younger…obviously.”
Addy notices her fingers outlining the shape of the fauve Birkin at her side.
“She looks at him in a way that I just can’t anymore—like he’s the greatest man to ever walk the face of this earth. Like he’s giving a TED Talk on eliminating poverty. Like he’s curing cancer with his spreadsheets. Like he’s fucking Obama back when men had dignity and we still thought messes could be fixed.”
***
An eccentric South Indian woman—Tanvi, the operator—glances up, a laugh slipping out before she has a chance to stop it.
She can’t help but think of Fleabag, touching herself to the speech on Iraq—or was it economics?
Either way, this one was fun.
***
“Call it a woman’s intuition, but I can feel it. We ladies recognize when someone’s energy has shifted in a different direction.”
Heidi looks into Addy’s striking green eyes—wide with empathy.
She’s further in than she intended to be, but she can’t manage to turn it off.
“Our sex life is… fine. We have sex. Which is better than a lot of people our age.”
***
“Here we go…” Tanvi says, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.
***
“And it’s not bad, it’s just…”
Her mind drifts and her eyes glaze over.
***
She’s lying on her back in a black camisole.
Her fake tits moving with that signature delay—every thrust a one-and-done.
He’s on top of her.
Handsome.
Bored.
Progressing through his routine.
Eyes closed.
Probably thinking of someone else.
She knows all of his moves and rolls over before he even has a chance to ask.
***
Addy’s hears something in her earpiece and her eyes widen.
“Do it,” Leela says sternly.
Addy doesn’t budge.
“She’s spiraling. You need to pull her out.”
Tone urgent.
Addy takes a breath.
Beneath the table, she extends her foot—finding Heidi’s heel, and slowly slides it up her ankle.
Heidi jumps.
Mind snapping back to the present.
She looks at Addy and smiles.
Addy leans forward, smiling back.
“Tell me about your husband. What’s his name? What’s his routine?”
“His name is Barry…”
***
Tanvi covers the mic, “Oh hell naw, there’s no way you’re fucking a guy named Barry Goldstein!”
***
Addy’s eyes widen and her face flushes red.
“Are you alright?” Heidi asks.
Addy pretends to clear her throat, taking a sip from her water glass.
“Excuse me… please, go on.”
Heidi settles back in.
“He’s a creature of habit. Every morning, he runs five miles along the boardwalk in South Beach. Afterwards, he walks to this little coffee shop—Cortadito—then heads to the beach to watch the sunrise and clear his head.”
She smiles, almost despite herself.
“Does he know that you’re setting this up for him?”
Heidi tilts her head side to side.
“I’ve told him…but I don’t think he believes I’m serious.”
Addy laughs.
“What’s your best read on how he feels about it?”
“Terrified. Excited. Terrified that he might get punished for being excited.”
Heidi winks.
“Well, make sure you go over the details with him. Leela doesn’t do traditional dinner dates. She could show up anywhere. And I’m sure she’ll want to check out this assistant.”
Addy looks directly into Heidi’s eyes.
“Remember—you hired her. She works for you. Your goals are her goals.”
She gathers her aqua green Valentino purse and sunglasses before adding,
“It’s going to be a special week–for both of you.”
Heidi laughs.
“So that’s it then?”
“I think we have everything we need at the moment. But we’ll be in touch.”
Addy rises and puts on her sunglasses.
“Will I see you again?” Heidi asks.
Addy puts her hand on Heidi’s shoulder and leans close to her ear.
“By the time your week is over, you won’t even remember who I am.”
She turns and walks away.
To the sound of silence, Dean Martin, and the subtle clack of her double strap Bibi Lou Raffia heels.
Barry runs.
Sweat saturating his salt-and-pepper sideburns and running down his face.
He’s wearing a crimson RYZON running shirt that feels like air with matching shorts.
His legs testify to two truths: he puts in miles, and he does this every day.
He tries to keep his gaze respectful as he runs past two beautiful young women in their early twenties, jogging in the opposite direction.
Behind the invisible screen of his mind, he questions what’s been with him lately.
He had never been a saint—but lately it was getting more and more difficult to keep from turning his neck.
His birthday was coming up, and god help him if he was turning into a dirty old man.
He turns off the trail and heads towards his second favorite morning ritual—cafecito.
***
Out of sight and completely below his radar, something of a production is brewing.
His movements are watched and communicated.
Individuals are moved into position.
The stage is being set.
Timing is as precise as a Swiss watch.
Barry sits near the edge of the sand, coffee in hand, noticing the warmth of the small pink cup bleeding into his palm, as the ocean shimmers in the morning light.
He scans the shoreline, taking in the moment.
And he sees her.
Floating on her back just beyond the break.
Drifting.
Gliding.
Her body, rocking gently with the rhythm of the sea.
He tries to be discreet with his stare.
But he’s watching with bated breath.
As if choreographed, she breaks form and dips beneath the surface—head above water, scanning for something below.
Her movement shifts.
Less ease, more urgency.
Something changed.
He stands up and takes a step closer.
***
Tanvi speaks into the microphone.
“Oh, he’s eating it up…”
***
Without warning, the woman vanishes—neck, shoulders, head—submerged beneath the water.
Barry squints.
Waiting.
His heart is ticking just a little faster.
He’s having a hard time calculating the time in his head.
Should he be minding his own business right now?
Should he be concerned?
And then—she emerges.
Unbothered. Problem solved.
Whatever it was.
As she walks towards the shore, each step clarifies what the sun and distance had obscured: the fantasy was real.
She is real.
He stops pretending not to look.
She is unbelievable.
Her bikini black.
Her hair—dark, wet, slicked back.
Her waist tucked in hard before exploding into hips that move like they’re carved for cinema.
Her full breasts swaying just so with each step, kissed by saltwater and sunlight.
Proportioned in a way that almost defies nature.
Cuban, Italian, Brazilian?
He couldn’t tell.
Her eyes lock on his with a kind of casual sovereignty—she saw him, knew he was watching, and didn’t give a single fuck.
And she was walking straight toward him.
Studying him.
Reading him.
And then she gave him the shock of a lifetime—she spoke.
“You must be Barry Goldstein.”
Her accent, the perfect blend of familiar with just a hint of exotic.
He stands there stunned.
She glances down at his shorts and smiles.
He follows her gaze.
Oh.
Right.
She picks up a beach blanket—one that just happens to be exactly next to his outpost—and shakes the sand off casually.
“Here,” she says, “sit down with me. Who knows how long you’ve been standing?”
Another glance at his shorts. Another smirk.
She sits.
He blushes and follows.
“So,” she says, folding her legs beneath her.
“I imagine your wife told you about your birthday present this year?”
His jaw drops.
She laughs and nudges his leg playfully.
“You’re going to have to learn to talk to me, or it’s going to be a long week.”
He meets her gaze.
There was something about her eyes—natural and disarming, like they skipped past his surface and settled into the parts of him he never showed.
“Okay, I get it. We’re going to need to work out the jitters.”
She tilts her head, excavating a memory.
“My Abuela used to say: ‘When the water’s cold, better to dive right in.’”
She taps her finger to her mouth, pretending to think.
Then her eyes lit up.
“Can you follow instructions, Mr. Barry?”
He nods sheepishly.
“Good.”
She opens a sleek black case and pulls out two earpieces.
One she places in her ear, the other she hands to Barry.
“We are going to do an honesty exercise. You put this in your ear and walk into the water. When you get there, I want you to turn around and face me.”
He looks at her like he’s waiting for the rest.
“That’s your cue, Barry. Get going.”
She waves him off like a schoolboy.
***
“Here we go, Barry…” Tanvi mutters, clearly alone in the van.
She taps god-knows-what into her keyboard, and sighs.
“Of all the days to leave my vibrator at home.”
A male voice crackles through the headset.
“You know I can hear you, right?”
Tanvi flinches.
“Does it look like I give a fuck, Tatum? You do your job, and I’ll do mine. Do you have a visual?”
A quiet chuckle.
“Affirmative.”
***
“Okay, stop right there and face me—good. Now take a deep breath.”
A beat.
“Take off your shorts—and hold them up, high, so I can see.”
Barry, the successful businessman and broker of many a deal, follows obediently.
“Great job,” she says, her tone warm but precise.
“Now I’m going to ask you a series of questions. I want absolute honesty. In return, I’ll be honest with you—about how your answers make me feel. Deal?”
He nods.
She smiles.
“You’re going to have to use your words, Barry. Can you do that?”
His heart is pounding.
“Yes.”
“Are you hard right now, Barry?”
Her tone is light.
Somehow…safe.
“Yes.”
“Thank you for your honesty. Do you want to know how that makes me feel?”
“Yes.”
“I think it’s kind of cute… and a little exciting.”
She lets her hands drift down the sides of her thighs, fingertips grazing her skin.
Then she spreads her legs—just slightly.
“Do you want to touch yourself, Mr. Goldstein?”
“Yes.” He responds.
“Mmmm… I’m so glad you said that,” she purrs.
“Please do.”
***
Tanvi hears him moan—quiet, involuntary.
She shakes her head, smiling to herself.
She’s a fucking witch.
***
“How does it feel?” Leela asks.
“Good.” He responds.
“That’s not good enough. Describe what it feels like. Start by telling me what you feel like in your hand.”
“Sensitive. Hard. It actually hurts a little. I can feel the definition and veins. Fuck…”
His voice trails off.
“Oh my god,” Leela breathes.
“You described that so well. That was very hot.”
Her voice softens, growing hungrier.
“I’m thinking about what it would feel like in my hand… in my mouth… pressed between my thighs…”
She slips one hand between her legs, rubbing herself gently through the fabric.
The other toys with the hem of her top.
“Who are you thinking about, Barry?”
More breath in her voice.
Need.
***
Tanvi starts stretching out her neckline.
Damn this Miami heat.
***
“You,” Barry says, his voice breaking into a near whimper.
Leela exhales—soft, satisfied.
“I know,” she says.
“But hearing it still makes me feel wanted. Powerful…”
She slips one breast out from under her top, cupping it in her hand.
Letting him see just enough.
Barry’s pupils dilate.
His hand is moving faster.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, her voice low and urgent.
“Tell me everything—every thought, as it comes. No filter. The messier, the better.”
Barry moans—louder this time.
***
Tatum’s voice crackles over the radio.
“The beach is still clear…”
Tanvi snaps out of her trance.
“Clarence, I swear to God—shut up.”
She dived back in, her eyes locked on the screen.
Watching intently.
***
“You are so perfect…” Barry confesses.
Leela lets out a soft, affirming moan—just enough to let him know she’s with him.
“Oh my god,” he breathes, his eyes locked on her.
“Your tits are perfect. Your hands are perfect…”
He exhales, shaky.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
A thought flashes through him—spring break, Pensacola Beach.
He’s fifteen years old.
Alone, invisible, overwhelmed.
“The last time I was this turned on…I was still in high school.”
His voice fades.
Leela slides one hand beneath her bottoms, while her fingers tease her pink nipple with the other.
Whatever sound Barry makes in response—it’s not polite.
It’s primal.
He’s slipping.
“Fuck, Barry,” she purrs.
“I’m wet and excited. I feel seen. I feel intrigued.”
She leans back just slightly, mouth parted, breathing unsteady.
“Tell me about that memory…”
“It was Mardi Gras in Pensacola Beach,” Barry said.
“I walked down to the boardwalk alone. Unsupervised. There was a lot of partying. I was too young to get in anywhere, so I just… watched from the outside.”
“Kind of like you’re watching now?” Leela asks, her voice soft, hungry.
“Yeah…” It barely left his lips.
A whisper.
“What did you see?” she coaxes, mirroring his desperation.
“There was this girl,” he says.
“The hottest I’d ever seen. Her neck was covered in beads. She was dancing on the bar…”
His voice falters.
“Her shirt was lifted. I don’t think I’d ever seen tits in real life before…”
“Don’t stop, Barry, keep going” Leela breathes.
“They were perky. Full. Honest to God, I didn’t think anything in real life could be that perfect. I felt like I’d snuck into heaven.”
He could hear her now. Steady. Encouraging.
Every sound is erotic in its own right.
She didn’t need to say a word.
“I came three times that night just thinking about her.”
“Oh yeah?” Leela exhales.
Barry strokes like he’s fifteen again—half-lost in memory, half-watching her come undone.
Her hands are busy. Back arched. Lips parted like a secret.
“That’s how I felt when I saw you,” he gasps.
“Fuck— I’m gonna cum—”
And somewhere in the unraveling, a thought surfaces — unbidden, half-formed: that night closed something. This opens it.
***
Tanvi’s jaw hangs open.
Her face was pale.
Frozen.
She remembers asking Leela once if she’d ever faked an orgasm with a client.
Leela had just smiled—that soft, confident kind of smile only she could get away with—and said:
“I’ve never had to.”
Now, through the headset, Tanvi could hear why.
Their sounds.
Their release.
Two people climaxing for each other.
Within ten minutes of meeting.
Without touching.
And somehow… it was the most honest thing she’d ever heard.
***
After it was all over, Barry came ashore.
They touched each other for the first time.
Leela gently rested her hands on his chest.
Like they weren’t complete strangers.
Like they had known each other for years.
“Thank you for your honesty,” she says softly.
“And thank you for making me feel seen.”
She stands on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek.
Then takes his hand and leads him away.
***
Tatum—Leela’s guardian and the token man on the team—watches from his discreet vantage point, shaking his head slowly.
“Damn…” he exhales under his breath as he tips his khaki cap.
“I heard that,” Tanvi teases in his earpiece.
(The End)
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Leela follows a brilliant high-end escort in Miami who treats intimacy like art, therapy, and a little bit of trouble. It’s erotic, funny, emotional, dangerous, and not the story you think it is.
This Leela girl is something else! So intriguing of what will happen next! And I have to say… already love Tanvi girl👌🏼 can’t wait for the next Saturday!
Damn… I agree