Jasmin, AmsterdamCentrum escortwho dances first

Salsa. That is where Jasmin's night starts, on a crowded floor near Leidseplein, feet on the beat, laughing when a partner misses a turn. She will teach you the basic step in four minutes and swear you are a natural. You are not. She does not care. By the third song you are both out of breath and grinning.

Small frame, big presence. Jasmin is twenty-two, petite at 160 cm, with long straight chestnut brown hair and brown eyes that do most of the flirting for her. Flirtatious, yes. Curious, constantly. Bubbly enough to wake up a hotel bar that was dead ten minutes before she arrived. Show her an unfamiliar street corner and she wants to know what is behind the door.

Second passion: perfume. She can name the notes in yours from across a table, and she has views on what you should be wearing instead. Third passion: mixology. She knows why a Negroni gets stirred and a daiquiri gets a hard shake, and she will happily order for both of you. Michelle is the other cocktail nerd on the list, if you want a rematch. Ask for a signature drink and she will invent one on the spot, name included.

Her style is playful boutique-hotel chic. Rooftop bar. Velvet armchair. Something bright that moves when she dances. She is based in Amsterdam Centrum, which puts the canal ring, Dam Square and the late crowds around Rembrandtplein all on her doorstep. English is the language she chats, teases and orders drinks in.

Book Jasmin for a night that actually goes somewhere. Dinner, a dance floor, a last drink she could probably mix better than the bartender. The hour starts from €180 and the plan should stay loose. She is at her best when nobody has written the ending yet. Name the neighbourhood and she already knows somewhere that stays open.

Perfume counter, before anything else. Jasmin's ideal evening begins in a department store on the Dam, spraying test strips and deciding what you should smell like, which is never what you are wearing. Then a cocktail bar near the Nieuwmarkt, a stool at the counter, and questions for the bartender until he lets her taste the syrup he is working on. Dinner is quick and a little spicy, because dancing comes next: a salsa night off Leidseplein, floor already packed, and she teaches you the basic step in the doorway before you can object. Two hours vanish. Afterwards, cheeks flushed, she wants one more drink, a daiquiri shaken hard, while she scores your footwork out of ten. Generous marks. She believes in encouragement.