In an outcall the journey belongs to the therapist and the stillness to the client, so a slow session can end in the very room where it began.
The word belongs to a pair borrowed from the language of mobile services: an incall takes place at the provider's address, an outcall at the client's. Of the two, only the second is kept here. The house owns no studio, keeps no waiting room and has no doorway anywhere in the city for a client to approach; forty-five therapists travel, around the clock, to whichever hotel room or home a client names.
Tantra is paced for the last quarter of an hour as much as for the first. A session that closes gently loses much of its point if the client then has to dress, find a coat, go down a staircase and hail a taxi home. Received in one's own room, the ending can be allowed to run on: a glass of water, a shower when it feels right, sleep if sleep arrives. The client has nowhere to be, and that absence of a next step is part of what is being booked.
The same logic applies before she arrives. A room you already know, warmed and dimmed to your own taste, asks less of you than an unfamiliar one. The hotel guide describes how guests usually prepare a room for a visit.
Any central Amsterdam address is reached in forty to sixty minutes from confirmation, with no difference between one neighbourhood and another; the arrival window entry sets out how that span might be spent. Visits out at Schiphol, or to the hotels ringing the airport, are timed by arrangement instead. Addresses beyond Amsterdam fall outside the service entirely, whichever town they are in.
A request for an outcall is simply a request for a booking, because there is no other kind. Give the office an address, an hour and a length, and its reply comes through the thread described on the booking page.