The Girlfriend Experience

by Rebecca Dakin

  ‘Can I call you back, Bea? I’m just shooting.’ ‘Of course, are you clay pigeon shooting?’ ‘No, I’m shooting real pigeons!’

  Sounds like my kinda guy! This was Colin , from Cork, and we met last night for a dinner date in Birmingham. He sounded adorable on the phone; he checked with me to see if 50 was too old for me… Hardly, he’s a spring chicken compared to most of the guys I see!

  He was over on business and he sounded laidback and fun on the phone. Generally, the Irish guys I see for work are. However, my heart did sink a little when he asked if we could have room service on our dinner date. ‘Er… no,’ I politely told him, but said that if he was concerned about bumping into his two colleagues, as he suggested, I could meet him at a restaurant in town and we could discreetly go back to the room separately. It seems he wasn’t that concerned about bumping into them because he said it would be fine and we’d eat at the hotel, so I think he was just trying it on.

  I would be getting a train to Birmingham and then a taxi back, so that I didn’t get back too late. He would be dressed casually, so I put on some smart jeans and a low-cut plain V-neck black top with a bit of jewellery.

  On the short walk down to the hotel, I called my local cab firm and asked if someone could pick me up from Birmingham.

  I waltzed confidently into the modern -looking trendy hotel, going straight past Reception . I didn’t know where I was going, but fortunately the lifts were right in front of me. As I jumped in , I realised I needed a key card to operate the lift and I was going to be stuck. For a few seconds, I stood staring at the panel in the lift until a guy got in as the doors were closing and inserted his key card. My date was staying on the top floor, the 17th. I wondered if it would be the Presidential Suite or similar.

  The corridors and doors were all wooden , giving the hotel a Scandinavian look. I’d never been to this hotel, but I’d had a nosey on the Web and it looked great, especially the restaurant and spa .

  I knocked, but there was no answer. I was pretty sure he’d be there as we’d been in contact throughout the day; he’d even asked if I wanted to call him in his room. I called him and thought it was just about to go to answer-phone when he picked up. He said he was coming down the stairs, so I wasn’t sure where he was. Was there a staircase in the room, or a mezzanine level ? Or maybe there was a bar or lounge for the people on this high floor? Sometimes there’s a business lounge with free drinks and food for people in executive rooms and suites.

  I heard the lift stop and I knew he’d be coming out of it. Apologising profusely, he strode towards me. He looked much older than 50, I’d say late fifties at least, but more than likely he was in his sixties. He was trim, about my height, with short white hair, a smiley face, and he wore a coral polo shirt and jeans.

  We then went into his room, which wasn’t as grand as I’d expected. It was nice, don’t get me wrong, but quite small compared to how I’d imagined it. But the whole side of the rounded room was glass, so the views over the city were fabulous.

  He wanted to go straight down for dinner and said we could have a drink in the restaurant, which was fine. As we were about to leave, I contemplated asking for my fee, but decided I’d wait until afterwards. He then remembered himself and pulled out a wad of £50 notes.

  I love getting £50 notes. Until I started escorting I had never seen one. They’re huge, but because they’re not common , when I try to spend them most people are pretty impressed and comment that they’ve never seen one before. I’ve never found them difficult to spend, and no one has ever refused one. I do feel a bit embarrassed if I have to try and spend one on a night out, though. If I have nothing but a £50 note in my purse I feel a bit of a dick, like I’m showing off, but sometimes I have to use them if I genuinely don’t have anything else. There’s nothing more satisfying than looking at a neat £1,000 pile of fifties.

  For work they’re great, because it means counting the money can be extremely quick. So, the £600 he had given me consisted of just 12 notes, and it took me a matter of seconds to establish it was the correct amount and to tuck it discreetly away. My preference is always fifties. Trying to count out £1,000 in twenties is a drag, and if it’s more, it’s a long, embarrassing process. I can’t keep talking as I’m counting or I’ll lose count, but it feels awkward to be counting and silent. If people pay in twenties, I’d much rather they wrapped and halved one note around four, so they’re in bundles of £100 and you can count them without really concentrating.

  But I digress. With the money out of the way, we left the room. I was careful not to link arms in case he saw his colleagues. As we walked through the restaurant he was scanning the room for anyone he knew, and I was scanning the layout of the restaurant. It looked expensive, chic and modern . Again , it was all wooden with a full glass, rounded side.

  He decided he didn’t want to sit where the waitress initially put us, for fear of seeing his colleagues, so we moved further away from the entrance and tucked ourselves in a window seat behind a small tree.

  Our French waiter came over and I asked Colin if he minded me ordering a glass of champagne. He said I could have whatever I wanted, so I asked for a glass of rosé champagne as an aperitif.

  Over our drinks we discussed his shooting. He’d shot over 150 pigeons the day before. I joked he’d be having pigeon pie for the next three months! He said he and two of his friends had taken some bottles of wine and cheese, and spent the afternoon getting pissed and shooting pigeons. Now that sounded great fun . I told him about the couple of pigeons I’d shot out of my apartment window, which amused him.

  Over dinner he was an interesting and fun companion . It transpired he was separated from his wife and lived in a tiny cottage on the coast with his dog. He had two kids in their twenties, one of whom lived with him.

  He said he wanted to know my real name, so I lied and said ‘Rachel’. Why do people think that I will tell them my name? If I’d wanted them to know, I’d have used my real name on my website. I used to give it out until two people tracked my address down , one of whom was a regular who ended up threatening me. So now, no matter how long I’ve known a client, I still protect my identity and often use ‘Rachel’ as an alternative pseudonym.

  I was discreetly checking the time and I knew there was time for dessert, so I wanted to order cheese. Before the waitress had come over to take my order, he mumbled, ‘Can’t you skip dessert?’ We were midflow in conversation about something else, so I didn’t quite get what he had asked about, but then he added, ‘No, that was rude of me, I apologise.’ My ‘eager beaver’ radar popped up.

  Then he spotted his work colleagues near the entrance to the restaurant, entertaining some Japanese guys. He kept looking over and I was sure that, contrary to what he said, he actually wanted them to see us because he kept looking and craning his neck, and he passed their table on a trip to the toilet.

  Eventually I got my cheese and he’d got himself an espresso and me a mint tea. When I’d finished, he asked if we could go to the room. It turned out he wanted us to leave the same time as his colleagues so that they did see him – well, ‘us’. As he was signing the bill, he made sure he caught the eye of one of them and gave him a wave. I got a kick out of looking at their surprised, but approving faces, and gave them a naughty smile while linking his arm. I knew they’d be gossiping about us.

  We had a good hour and half in the room, which was plenty of time. He sorted out the music and I lit my candles and dimmed the lights. In the candlelight, the room looked amazing – out of the window, all the bright coloured lights from the city shone through. He sat in the chair with its back to the glass, and sat me on his knee.

  It’s quite a buzz to be someone’s fantasy; it makes me want to perform and show off like I did in my younger days!

  We kissed and I stroked his neck and cupped his face in my hand. To me, touching someone’s face is an incredibly intimate gesture, and it’s something I do naturally.

  It didn’t take him long to remo
ve my top, and then almost immediately after, he took off my bra . Why did I bother selecting a nice lingerie set? I could just have worn my day bra , the one with a make -up stain on it, and it wouldn’t have mattered. He then turned me back around to fondle my breasts and suck my nipples. Then he lifted me up so he could remove my jeans and knickers. He was directing me, but not in an irritating way – it was quite sensual.

  I did get a flashback of the Belle De Jour TV series and imagined I was in it, starring as Billie Piper’s character. I had one leg between his and the other up on the side of the chair so he had access to my pussy. He kissed between my thighs and lightly across my pussy and pubic bone, as I looked out over the city lights. It was very erotic.

  I pulled his polo shirt up over his head and then he stood to take off his shoes, trousers, socks and boxers. The lot came off in one fell swoop. Bit of a pro, I thought.

  On the bed he let me lean back as he licked me softly down below. I wondered how long he’d do it for. Unfortunately it was barely a few minutes before he then straddled me, hinting, with his erect cock in my face. I sucked and licked it, looking upwards at him, he grinned while looking down at me. Then he moved and sat with his back against the headboard and pulled me between his legs so I was sitting upright, but leaning back on him. This was something that lovers would do, and it felt very comfortable and sensual. He had access to both my breasts and down below, and he groped my breasts with one hand and used his other to circulate around my clitoris as I stroked up and down his legs. We sat like this for a few minutes before I lay him on his back and licked up his thighs, gently sucking his balls. He said no one had ever sucked his balls before and he liked it. I love introducing people to new erogenous zones.

  I got my bag and took a condom out. He put it on himself and lay me on my back in a rather strange position ; so that my head was literally hanging off the bed. It wasn’t comfortable at all. I don’t know if it was something to do with the fact that he was trying some fancy move that would hit my G-spot or something. After a few minutes I asked if I could put my head up on the bed as too much blood was rushing down and I imagined I must have been beetroot red!

  It was clear he had difficulty with the condom as he struggled to keep an erection . At his suggestion , we tried a number of positions. He was trying to force his flaccid penis inside me, which needless to say was impossible. So eventually I took the condom off, wiped him with a wet wipe to get that rubber taste off, and started sucking him again .

  It was obvious that it wasn’t doing the trick, and my cab was arriving in 15 minutes. So he asked for another condom and fortunately this time he managed to come within a few thrusts. He came and I jumped up, blew my candles out and hastily gathered my belongings from around the room before leaving to catch the cab. I didn’t want the taxi driver to be trying to call me and then think I wasn’t there and go.

  Normally, I enjoy having a kiss and cuddle and wind-down after sex, and because he had taken so long, we didn’t have time to do this. So I said my goodbyes, thanked him for a lovely evening and went out to find my taxi.

  If I was lucky, I’d be home for midnight. Outside there was no sign of my cab and I was approached by a young black guy asking for my number and if he could come back to Nottingham with me. He asked if I was a student. I didn’t know whether to be flattered I looked so young, or offended my clothes made me look like a student! Eventually I got home at 1a .m.

  CHAPTER 2:

  From student to peepshow and Millionaires Island

  I

  have never really been sure what I wanted to do. When I was young, I wanted to be a fashion designer because I’ve always loved clothes, and I’m very creative. Many of the designs I did, and ideas I had, came into fashion years later. For example, at 12, I was drawing women in Army-style clothes. This came about because I often went to Army Surplus stores with my brothers, and I wished they had things to fit women, so I drew a series of fitted, military-style clothes. Of course, a few years later this style actually came into fashion.

  At 16, I designed platform heels with Perspex, which had been done, but my idea was to put plastic goldfish, hearts or glitter in them, with some glycerine. I got this idea from the snowstorm ornaments that you shake and watch the snow fall. As far as I’m aware, no shoe designer ever created a snowstorm design like that.

  At 23, I entered a design competition for Shelly’s Shoes. I made a colourful, patterned platform 1960s-style welly from polystyrene and told my family and friends that eventually wellies would be in fashion. They all laughed at me; I was about six years too early for that trend.

  In my fifth year at school I was accepted onto an Art and Design Foundation course at Derby University, and at 16 was the youngest there, as most had done their A-levels. On my first day I met Lisa, a girl who was a few years older than me: 21, and very mature for her age. We were very different, but we clicked and spent a lot of time together. But I found it difficult to motivate myself and struggled to stick to deadlines and think of ideas.

  Later on that year, I spent most of my time in Belper, smoking pot with my hippy friend Heather and her mates. I had a great time, but I looked totally out of place in hippy clothes, with my make-up and black eye shadow! I passed the year, but hardly with flying colours. After this, I wanted to take a year out, as Lisa was doing, but my parents told me I should get my education out of the way first.

  Reluctantly, I went to Wales to start a HND in 3D Design. I got thrown out after the first year for not having done any work, but the course had taken on too many students and I didn’t even have my own desk. I couldn’t motivate myself, and thinking my lack of study was going unnoticed, I naïvely presumed I could do the same as I did for the foundation, which was to do my work for the whole year a week before it was due in.

  For me, living away from home for the first time after a strict upbringing was like a dream come true. Within the first week I had invited the whole college to a kinky pyjama party. About 30 people showed up, and we all ended up licking Angel Delight off each other! My confidence grew because no one bullied me; at college I was accepted.

  My exhibitionist side was in full swing and I’d try to shock fellow students. I often went to college wearing a school uniform, tie, over-the-knee socks and a micro mini. Still promiscuous, I slept around with various surfer types.

  At college I just wanted to socialise. At the time you’re made to think it’s a bad thing, but it’s only since I’ve been escorting that I realise it’s a real talent to be able to communicate with a variety of people.

  I could only get a grant for the degree that I wanted to do if I started that year, so I was unable to take my year out and again reluctantly signed up for a Fashion Design degree in Yorkshire. Really, I should have stayed on for A-levels at school: clearly, I didn’t have the motivation to organise myself and get the work done without teachers on my back.

  It was in Yorkshire that I met Rob, who became my boyfriend. I went out with him for three months. He was very sweet, but I dumped him after getting bored. The next guy I went out with Richard, I fell for. It was pure lust – I was never in love with him. I had been seeing him for a few months before I found that he had been two-timing me, and he decided to dump me. So I went back to sleeping around. I was bitter because of being dumped and lacked trust in men, so I started being a real bitch to the various older guys I saw. For some reason this made them like me more. That shows how immature I really was at 18 – I have no idea why they put up with me, and I’m ashamed of how I treated them.

  Again, all I wanted to do was socialise and at the end of the year, although I passed, I was advised by my tutor to take a year out because I was a distraction to the class and other people weren’t working to their full ability because of me. So that was that. It’s been a running theme since primary school, when I always had to sit on my own for being a chatterbox. Like most schools the tables were in pairs, and I’d get moved once I started talking to whoever was next to me. I’d think, ‘
Great, someone new to chat to’, so I’d get moved again. They thought putting me next to a boy would shut me up, but it didn’t. It was great if it was a boy I fancied. My teachers got so fed up with me that they put two single desks out – one at the front of the class and one at the back. The really naughty boy in our class got one of them and I got the other!

  I moved back home with my parents and flitted from job to job. After having so much freedom, I hated being at home. For a short while I was given the chance to work as a graphic designer for a small local memorabilia business. I had no experience in graphic design, but I put my all into it, came up with some innovative ideas and did everything asked of me without any problems, using all my initiative. It was what I’d been waiting for – someone to give me a chance to shine, and I felt that I was shining.

  I didn’t want to start at the bottom and work up; I wanted to begin at the top. I was on a basic wage, but I was convinced that if I proved myself, I would earn more. Unfortunately, the main graphic designer left because he knew the company was going under and we were all made redundant. I’d worked for them for just three months. This was a massive knock to my confidence; I didn’t feel I had enough experience to go for any other graphic design jobs, so it just became a matter of getting whatever job I could. I did various low-paid jobs – waitressing, bar work and even working in a croissant shop.

  When I was 20, shortly after leaving my degree, I bumped into a guy called James in a nightclub. I’d actually met him years before, when he was 12 – he used to come into my dad’s shop. I remember thinking at the time that he had real potential, and that in a few years he’d be a real looker. He was 16 when I met him in the club and sure enough, he was absolutely gorgeous. I stopped sleeping around and settled into my first long-term relationship. He was my first love, and as soon as we met, we both fell for each other – I was totally in love and had been swept off my feet. I was terrified. It was the scariest moment of my life; up to that point I had always been in control and had created protective barriers to prevent myself being hurt.