The Girlfriend Experience

by Rebecca Dakin

  I know all this sounds ridiculous. Think how sexy I look with my earplugs in and eye mask on! Some of the guys I see think it’s hilarious when I get ready to sleep. At least it saves me being disturbed if they get any sexual urges in the night: one look at me in that get-up kills the moment more quickly than an image of their granny naked!

  One night I had a few sniffles when I was with a client and we both had nasal strips on. In the morning, we just looked at each other and laughed. We looked like a pair of Moomins!

  These days, I still get as much of a buzz out of being in a posh hotel or restaurant as I did when I first started escorting. I have to admit, although I’m really a country girl at heart and love weekends on my uncle’s or granny’s farm, slobbing around in jeans with no make-up, drinking beer and listening to my brothers play acoustic guitar, I love the opulence of my work as it’s such a contrast. Around 99% of the time I visit 4- and 5-star hotels, but I’ve also been to some beautiful homes. I still can’t comprehend people spending between £500

  Embracing the role and a £1,500 a night on hotels. Personally, I couldn’t justify that kind of money – well, maybe I could if I was mega-rich! I once met a guy in London who’d booked the penthouse suite. It had two bedrooms, three bathrooms, a huge lounge and a dining area. Seriously, who needs three bathrooms? It was four times bigger than my spacious apartment in Nottingham. But I’m certainly not complaining; times like that, I think ‘This is the life!’

  My favourite overnight dates are those when I get to watch some sort of concert or show, when I’m spending time with one of my favourite chilled regulars. To me, this is what offering the ‘girlfriend experience’ is all about.

  Thornbury Castle was my idea . I was to meet Peter for a countryhouse break, away from his busy work. He suggested somewhere in south Wales, but that would have taken me five hours on the train . Having said he was open to other suggestions, I asked around on the escorting forums online and Thornbury Castle was mentioned, so I sent him the link, along with a few others.

  He wanted to stay at Thornbury as he said that Henry VIII had stayed there with Anne Boleyn . We’d never met before and, as I have said before, I always think it’s a brave thing for a guy to do – book two nights away with someone he’s never met.

  The hotel looked absolutely amazing. He’d booked us in to see Henry V, an outdoor performance in the Tudor gardens on the Friday. We had an hour and a half of clay pigeon shooting booked for Saturday afternoon , and I had a facial arranged for teatime on the Saturday.

  The date had been arranged about six weeks in advance, which is just how I like it. I prefer my diary to be organised in advance so I know what I’m doing and when ; it’s easier for me to plan my finances.

  Closer to the day we liaised about what clothing to bring and I said I’d arrive in smart jeans, if that was OK with him, and I’d wear them that evening for the outdoor performance. I’d take a dress for the next evening, and I’d bring my wellies and waterproof as the weather forecast had given out showers. He got back to me and said it was all fine.

  Twenty minutes before the cab was due on the Friday, before I’d even dried my hair and was rushing about, panicking like a mad woman , he texted me to say that he’d arrived and that the hotel was very formal.

  I didn’t know what to do, and I started worrying. Did he now want me to bring different clothes? He wouldn’t text me if he thought that what I’d planned to bring was OK, would he? I decided I’d wear my white jeans for travelling instead of my dark blue ones (thinking they looked a bit smarter), and threw in a summer skirt and top for the evening performance. Barefaced, I rushed out with my suitcase and threw my make -up in my handbag to do on the train.

  Thankfully, all my trains were on time and I jumped in a cab at Bristol Temple Meads without having to wait. When the driver found out where I was going, he commented how fabulous and expensive it was. ‘Someone’s treating me,’ was all I offered.

  We drove out of the city and into the countryside. Eventually we reached the little town of Thornbury, which was more like a small village. As we pulled into the long drive, there were fields either side of us and the big stone walls of the castle. Someone was just leaving in a helicopter and we had to wait a few minutes for it to take off. As we drove through the entrance into a courtyard, the castle looked fabulous.

  I was dropped off at Reception to be greeted by a young guy. I told him my partner, Mr Hartswood, had checked in . He said, ‘You must be Miss Barratt?’ and it took me a few seconds to realise that I had used that name when I booked the spa treatment. I always use the name Barratt if I need to book anything. ‘Shall I call him, or would you like to surprise him?’ he asked. Er…surprise him,’ I answered dubiously. He took me across the courtyard and I saw someone walking towards us. I guessed it was Peter, and as the gap between us closed, I could see he was smiling. I smiled back, hoping I looked like this was my partner and not someone I’d just met for the first time. Peter was quite small and chunky; he looked around 35, with lightly freckled skin and fair, cropped hair.

  The guy came with us and took my heavy case up the winding stone steps to our room , where there was a massive oak door with a metal latch. It creaked open and the porter took in my case and left us to it.

  I was so excited. The walls were stone and we had a curtained four-poster bed. It looked just as I imagined it would have done all those years ago when kings and queens visited, apart from the TV and modern bathroom. On the side was a decanter of sherry and various pieces of old dark wood furniture and deep, red chairs. The ceiling was very ornate and carved, and there was a fireplace on one side of the room ; the bathroom was cosy, with marble fittings and gold taps.

  Peter said he’d taken the liberty of booking us in for the pre -show dinner at 6p.m., but I’d arrived at 5.30, so there wasn’t much time to get ready. On top of the TV were some bottles of water and a glass jar of homemade biscuits. I asked if I could have one, which he said was OK. I took a bite of it, and walked towards him. I’d barely entered the room and we’d never met before, but he pulled me close and closed his eyes, even though my mouth was obviously full of biscuit and he’d seen me bite into it. I thought, ‘He can’t seriously want to kiss me right at this moment, surely?’ But he did, and not only that, he went for the full -on snog, leaning in with his eyes closed and mouth opening. Now I’m all for sharing, but…! ‘I have a mouthful of biscuit!’ I exclaimed, jerking back from him and covering my mouth to avoid spraying him with crumbs. ‘I’m sorry, I sometimes do stupid things,’ he muttered. Oh dear, what had I let myself in for?

  I put on a little more make -up and asked if I could go to the outdoor performance in what I was wearing. He said yes. I was wearing boot-cut, smart white jeans, a gold belt, nude heels and a sloppy, smart fawn Chloé T-shirt with gold jewellery. I put my raincoat and sweater in my bag – I was pretty sure it would rain .

  The castle was a warren of rooms with various dining rooms and lounges. All were adorned with traditional furniture, some had dark wooden walls and tables, and there were old paintings of kings and queens, plus various tapestries. The food had all been produced locally and was delicious. Over dinner it transpired my date didn’t like vegetables or fruit, and he confessed that he only had takeaways at home, which explained his somewhat pasty skin and chunky body. He let me choose the wine and I picked a bottle of Sancerre to accompany our meal. There was a Manuel -style old waiter, who constantly went around fussing and topping up all the tables’ wine and water, even when it didn’t need doing. His suit was crumpled and dirty, but he was very sweet.

  Just as we were finishing our teas, a dark cloud came over and the room plunged into darkness. I knew we were about to get soaked outside. It had been sunny all day, it was Sod’s law!

  As we left for the performance it started to rain . We picked up a large umbrella from the hotel foyer and made our way to the Tudor garden . Plastic seats were set out and most people were already seated. A few huddled on the ground and
tried to keep the rain off with umbrellas. This would be quite an experience!

  The performance started, and again I was mesmerised by a Shakespeare play. Even as the rain got progressively worse, the actors never faltered. At times we couldn’t hear a word they were saying as the rain was torrential and Peter, bless him , held the umbrella throughout the whole performance. The actors were getting soaked, but seemed oblivious. They gave it their all and in true British style everyone stayed put for the duration . There was an interval and we managed to get a cup of hot chocolate to warm us up before the second half.

  After the performance, we made our way to the bar, even though we were drenched. I ordered a vodka and he had a pint of lager. He had obviously chilled out since the earlier attempt at the biscuit snog – I had expected him to want to go to the room, but as it happened we had three drinks in the bar before retiring at around 11.30.

  We put the fire on when we got back. Although it looked like a real fire, thankfully it was gas, so we had a bit of heat straightaway. I jumped into the shower to warm up and came out snug in a luxurious robe. He got up and moved towards me, grinning as he leant down to kiss me, slipping his hand inside my robe to grope my breast. We moved to the bed and he wasted no time in getting naked. I slipped off my robe and he pushed me gently back on the bed, kissing me and moving his mouth down my neck to my breasts and then briefly to my pussy. He was one of those guys who avoided my pubic area , apart for a couple of gentle kisses.

  He then lay beside me and I straddled him, kissing his mouth, neck and down his torso. I took his erect cock in my mouth and sucked him for a few minutes until he asked if I had a condom. I reached for my bag and slipped one on him. We spent a few minutes each on top, and he silently climaxed quickly while he was on top. ‘Did you come?’ he asked. ‘Er, no,’ I answered.

  He rolled off and went to the bathroom. When he confessed he was a snorer, I put a snore strip on his nose. I’d had two of my sleeping tablets, so I was ready for a good night’s sleep, but no sooner had the lights gone out than he started snoring, very loudly. The strip wasn’t working at all! Eventually he said he’d move to the small two-seater sofa . I was half-asleep. He continued to snore, but the bit of distance between us helped, although I still had a restless night.

  I woke about 8a .m. and looked across the room. Naked on the sofa , he looked most uncomfortable, but as he’d snored all night I knew he hadn’t had a problem sleeping. I was extremely envious that he could sleep so easily! Breakfast was served until ten , so I suggested we order room service, but he wanted to go down to the breakfast room. Shattered, I didn’t know how I was going to get through the day.

  We ordered coffee and tea , and a cooked breakfast. Our clay pigeon shooting lesson was at 1p.m., so we had time to shower after breakfast. I assumed he’d want some morning fun , so I showered and left my robe on , but he got dressed so I did the same. I left my mud-splattered jeans at Reception for them to wash and return from the laundry later in the day – I didn’t have anything else apart from the denim skirt I had on .

  At the shooting range we were kitted out with shooting jackets, glasses and baseball caps, and had a short introduction on how to hold the gun . He’d never shot before, but I had on the family farms, so I knew how to stand, hold the gun and shoot.

  The instructor kept referring to me as ‘Mrs Hartswood’. I find it odd that in this day and age people automatically refer to you as husband and wife, which they especially seem to do at hotels. He was very impressed with my shooting skills and Peter, once he got the hang of it, was an excellent shot, too. We shot a variety of clays, including the ‘rabbit’, which came out and rolled across the grass! I was particularly good at that one. Our instructor pressed on , giving us more and more challenging shots. We both shot about 60–70% of the clays each, which considering it was Peter’s first time shooting clays and my second, was rather impressive.

  Both of us thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon . Peter asked what I wanted to do, and if I wanted to go to a pub after, but I fancied having a champagne afternoon tea in the garden at the hotel, so he said we’d do that, even though he thought it was a bit ‘wot, wot’ – he meant posh.

  It was a beautiful day, so we sat in the castle grounds with champagne, tea , and an array of finger sandwiches and cakes. Perfect. The waitress asked if we’d like to book a table for dinner, but much to my disappointment he wanted to go out for a Chinese or Italian meal. I guessed this was because he could avoid the vegetables! So, the hotel booked us into a local Italian for 8p.m.

  At about 4p.m., he asked if the sun made me horny. I replied that it did, so we finished up and made our way back to the room. He wanted me to keep my pink wellies on! So we had a quickie and I rode him with my skirt and wellies on. I think he got a kick out of it – the ‘ farmer’s naughty daughter’ scenario, perhaps.

  I had a facial booked in the room for 5p.m., and he agreed to let me have a couple of hours on my own , so he left with his paper. He left me £60 to pay for the facial, which was kind of him. Sometimes guys can be too clingy when you’re away for a couple of days, but thankfully he was very chilled and I was enjoying my time with him.

  The facial was wonderfully relaxing, but I didn’t sleep as I’d hoped and by the time I’d got myself ready for a snooze, Peter came back. We both showered and got ready for the evening. It was too cold for my skirt and the dress I’d brought would have been totally over the top for the local Italian , but luckily my jeans were back from the laundry.

  We couldn’t get a cab, but someone from the hotel offered to take us, and when a black Bentley arrived at reception , I felt a twinge of excitement. This is what my job’s all about: the glamour, I love it!

  We pulled up outside the restaurant and I could see people craning their necks at the window, obviously wondering if Posh and Becks would be stepping out! I felt like a VIP.

  Pondering what to order, I told Peter I’d had far too much bread that day. ‘As long as you don’t say “D’oh”!’, was his reply. Oh dear! He started babbling and making rubbish jokes, which he thought were going over my head, but they just weren’t even mildly amusing. Lack of sleep was clearly starting to get to me. I could feel myself becoming really wound up and irritated because I was so tired and my eyes were welling up. ‘Please don’t cry,’ I silently begged myself.

  I escaped to the loo for a few minutes to try and pull myself together. There, I switched on my phone as I had to text my auntie to let her know what time to collect me the following day (my aunt, uncle and cousin live near the hotel, so I was going on to see them). I took a few minutes to compose myself by closing my eyes and taking a few deep breaths.

  Back at the table I decided I didn’t want a dessert, but he ordered his favourite, Tiramisu. He kept asking me if I wanted some and I got a bit snappy because he did this three times. Peter was drinking beer and I’m sure this makes some guys snore all the more, so we discussed what we were going to do that evening to combat the problem. He said his nose had been broken a few times and that’s probably why he snored. ‘I could stuff your nostrils with cotton wool,’ I suggested. He looked at me strangely, probably wondering if I was joking. But I really needed a good night’s sleep and I started worrying that I wasn’t going to get one. He kindly said he’d sleep on the sofa again . Now that’s a genuine girlfriend experience, or maybe a WFE (wife experience)! I suggested he gave me a 20-minute head start to allow me try to get to sleep, so that’s what we arranged to do.

  Back at the hotel he kindly said that I could go to the room and sleep, if I wanted, but I offered to go to the bar with him. I found a box of cards and taught him how to play ‘Shithead’. The card playing, combined with the double vodka , perked me up a bit. Together, we left for the room.

  Back there, he wanted another quickie (quickies seemed to be his thing and I wasn’t about to complain!), so I put on a sheer set of lingerie with the hold-up stockings he’d requested, and we had a session before bed.

  He left to get
comfy on the sofa and I covered him in a blanket. Then I got some cotton wool from the bathroom and stuffed both of his nostrils with as much as possible. I couldn’t help but laugh! Fortunately it worked and I had a much better night’s sleep. I was still in a deep sleep when he shook me to wake me. I woke with a fright and almost jumped out of bed – it was 9a .m.! Normally, I don’t lie in , but I think I was catching up on my lack of sleep from the night before. I was so disorientated that I said I didn’t want breakfast and he could go down alone if he did. He tried to kiss me, which didn’t go down well considering I’d just been woken up ; I needed a bit of space to come round. He wanted to go down for breakfast and once I’d come round, I realised that of course I wanted food!

  I stayed in the room and washed my hair while he had breakfast. After a good long shower I was wide -awake and raring to go. I joined him and ordered my breakfast and then he went to check out. Once we were packed, he asked for another quickie, so we had one last tumble before he left me in the room. My auntie and uncle were picking me up at 11.

  Peter was very easy-going, and aside from the snoring and rubbish jokes I’d enjoyed his company and he said he had mine too, and that he’d like to meet again another time.

  My auntie and uncle arrived and I told them a little about my exciting couple of days. That afternoon , I was due to go to a party with them and my cousin Vickie. When we got there, I started to panic about what I would say if anyone asked me what I did for a living. My uncle’s family are all laid-back and easygoing, so my cousin and aunt told me to just be honest. But my uncle wasn’t sure. There was someone he thought would have a problem with my job: a guy called Nigel. Sometimes I find it really awkward; I don’t want to embarrass anyone, but equally I feel just as uncomfortable if I lie about it.

  My aunt had told Nigel’s wife that she had a niece who worked as an escort and she’d thought it was no big deal, saying jokingly that if she was a few years younger, she’d be doing it!