I felt on edge. There were around 15 people at the party, six of whom were younger than me. The host was lovely and I started talking to her elderly mother. Silently, I prayed she wouldn’t ask what I did as I hadn’t decided what I was going to say. She asked if I worked in Nottingham, and I said yes, and that I was self-employed. ‘Have you always lived in Bristol ?’ I asked, randomly changing the subject. It worked, phew!
I stuck by my cousin and spent most of the time talking with her instead of mingling. Eventually, after a short conversation with Nigel’s wife, she asked what I did. As she was the one my auntie had already told (she may have suspected I was the niece, but didn’t know for sure), I told her in a hushed whisper. ‘Oh, fabulous – I bet that’s exciting!’ ‘That’s why I was down in Bristol at Thornbury Castle,’ I explained. She said that she’d thought it was a bit extravagant of me to be staying at Thornbury for the weekend, and that explained things.
Then , saved by the bell, the food arrived – which nipped that conversation in the bud! Thankfully, we left shortly afterwards.
CHAPTER 6:
Back to reality
I spent many hours working on the documentary that I’d been filming for some time with the friendly ladies from the TV company, but by the time I started working, I didn’t have so much time to spend with them and I’d begun to lose interest. My mum and the rest of the family were interviewed about my new profession. They filmed Mum in the kitchen, saying that she was half-expecting it when I started my dancing career, but that I was selling myself short and could do much better for myself. She was also mainly concerned for my safety.
My brothers made jokes, one of them saying he hoped I wouldn’t do any more magazine work as he’d be horrified to pick up a top-shelf magazine, settle down at home to enjoy it and then find his sister in there! My other brother said I had an easy job. In his eyes all I did was get paid to go out for dinner with people. If only he knew how difficult it was to keep talking and showing an interest in someone when you may find them incredibly boring.
The Girlfriend Experience After a month or so of working, I found the job wasn’t as easy as I had first thought. I found it emotionally draining and I became quite withdrawn. I didn’t have a proper social life and didn’t want to talk to my friends. None of my friends had judged me because most of them knew that I was a bit eccentric. But I literally put everything into my work and found I didn’t want to socialise outside of my job, so I rarely went out or did anything apart from work. It took a while for me to adapt and to find ways to deal with the emotional side of being an escort, so that the guys I met didn’t take everything out of me.
This is when I realised I’d have to turn into a bit of a control freak, not with others but with myself where work was concerned, to protect my sanity and deal with my job. People know upfront what to expect from me and what I expect from them, as I make it clear from my website and reviews, so if my expectations don’t match theirs then we don’t meet up. If they haven’t done their homework and we do meet, then we both end up disappointed.
Part of the stress was due to me living at home and having the smallest bedroom. I’d come in from overnight dates and go to bed, but be woken up by inconsiderate members of my family. I desperately needed my own place. Sharing a bathroom at home with five others was a nightmare. I’d think I had plenty of time to get myself ready, but just as I was about to get in the bath, my brother would go in, spend ages in there and use all the hot water. Not quite the glamorous life of a high-class escort!
Even though my mum didn’t agree with my choice of profession, she was an absolute star and very supportive. If I was stressing out, often she would give me a pep-talk and get me a cup of tea, then try and calm me down and get me in the right frame of mind for work. Understandably, Mum had decided that she didn’t want me living at home once my escorting became serious. When she saw the money I was
Back to reality earning, she suggested that I bought somewhere rather than rent. I found a place and thankfully she let me stay while I sorted out buying the apartment.
By this time I had lost interest in the TV documentary – I wasn’t getting paid for it anyway. However, I made sure they got the rest of their footage. I had to go and meet the guy from the original listings site, UK Escorts, in Nottingham and although I never did a job with them and no longer wanted a listing, I had to pretend I was signing up. There was a dummy interview with the boss of the company, Colin, who clearly knew nothing about the escorting scene. I had to think of questions to ask him and my first question on camera was about safety, to which his response was, ‘Carry a gun.’ Funny guy! Then he wanted to stop the cameras while he found a copy of one of his brochures – the one I’d received in my welcome pack. He claimed to have written it, but he couldn’t remember any of the information. It was basic, commonsense stuff, most of which I’d figured out for myself, yet he had to read up on it. Idiot! I gave him a few suggestions off the top of my head. For instance, always tell someone where you’re going and be sure to get the client’s full name and a contact number, etc. That wrapped up the programme and I was glad to be rid of my little entourage. The documentary was eventually broadcast in April 2001.
A solicitor I met offered to help me out once I’d found an apartment I wanted to buy. He was a great help and before long, I had moved out and was making it on my own.
‘Where be you to, Rach ?’ asked my regular client from Cornwall. ‘I “be” in the apartment block and I can’t find you. Can you come back to Reception and meet me there?’ I asked.
Tom is hilarious. His accent gives me the giggles, and he doesn’t mind me mimicking him. It’s impossible not to. I love the ‘Where be it to?’ which he frequently asks about various things, and another expression I like is when he says he has ‘ tuth’ ache, instead of toothache.
I meet Tom about half a dozen times a year. In his early fifties and single, he’s a season ticket holder for Derby County and I often meet him in Derby. I’ve sometimes been with him to watch the football, but our regular thing is concerts. He’s taken me to some amazing shows. We’ve seen The Eagles twice (once being last night), Christina Aguilera , Bryan Adams, Elton John , Texas (twice) and Steve Winwood, among others. We’ve also seen a couple of musicals.
I have taken on the role of finding us hotels and restaurants to go to, because he’s not so much of a snob as me. It’s because I don’t trust him to put as much time and effort into researching as I do – we used to eat at the Harvester! I absolutely hate chain pubs – they tend to serve overpriced food that’s been defrosted and microwaved, or deepfried, bought-in food. After getting a dicky tummy one night and having to leave him in the middle of our date, it was the perfect excuse not to go to a chain pub again . So I searched the Internet, read reviews and managed to find a Chinese a short cab ride away. Now, that’s where we eat when we’re in Derby.
Our date last night was to see an Eagles concert at the O2 arena in London . Neither of us had been before, so I set about the task of finding a hotel and restaurant for us. My research showed that London Bridge would be a convenient area to get to from the concert, and easy for us both to get back to our train stations the next day. I trawled through reviews online and found some apartments which I thought would be ideal; we could book a two-bedroom so that we could both get a good night’s sleep. He’s another bad snorer! Then I asked an escort site for restaurant recommendations. I decided on one called Fish and booked us in for 5.30p.m.
When he eventually found me at Reception, we made our way up to our apartment. It was wonderfully spacious. We didn’t have long as it was after 5p.m. when I arrived, and he’d only just got there himself so he didn’t have any time to relax either. He changed and we went straight out.
The restaurant was a short walk from our apartment. Over dinner he asked how the twins were doing. This bit of banter was initiated by me as I refer to my boobs as ‘ the twins’ (a saying I picked up from The League of Gentlemen), and now it’s become a regul
ar thing. I even sign my emails, ‘love from Rach and the twins’. He is definitely a boob man and loves it if I wear low-cut tops and push up bras, which I usually do. ‘They’re doing very well, thanks. They’re pleased to see you after all this time,’ was my reply, with a big grin . ‘You’ve been neglecting them,’ I added. ‘They’re looking very well,’ he noted, looking at them appreciatively. We had an hour and a half before setting off for the concert, so we enjoyed a leisurely three courses before he settled the bill and we went to get a cab.
We made it just as the concert was starting. It was a fabulous evening, but by the time we’d got the boat back to London Bridge and a cab to the hotel, it was way past my bedtime.
We didn’t waste any time getting naked and into bed. He told me he’s been wanking over me. It turns me on to think of him sat at home, wanking over my pictures or just fantasising about me. So I asked him how many times he’s done it and what he was imagining. He said he’d done it three out of every four nights. I don’t have penetrative sex with Tom, nor do I give him more than a few seconds of oral because his thing is breast relief. Every time, that’s all he wants to do. It turns me on too, and I love men coming on my boobs, so it suits me fine. He doesn’t give me oral sex, but I don’t mind – I just love having him playing with my boobs and I’ll use my toy, if I want to climax. He comes very quickly, so I can barely touch his penis. Every time I touch it even gently, he has to move my hand away after a couple of strokes. So, he played with my boobs and then wanked in them as I held them together for him.
In the morning I got into bed with him and snuggled up. He lay there, not moving at all or initiating anything, even though I’d taken my top off. He was still dozing. I lay there for about 15 minutes or so before getting up and grabbing a shower. Then I cooked us eggs and toast for breakfast before leaving him in the apartment to go and get my train.
CHAPTER 7:
A-levels – a lot to learn
You wouldn’t think there could be so many complicated terms involved in the sex business! It took me ages to figure out what all the terminology meant. I was asked if I offered A-levels, which I thought was a schoolgirl fantasy thing, and replied that I hadn’t got A-levels, but I did have GCSEs. I never heard back from him! Later, I found out that ‘A-levels’ meant anal sex – I felt really stupid. ‘O-levels’ is oral sex. I hadn’t even heard of London being called ‘the Big Smoke’, as I hadn’t been there since I was about 13 or 14. When someone asked if I could go to the Big Smoke, I wondered what on earth he was talking about.
I used to go to the library to check my emails, but as the computers were in the children’s section this wasn’t ideal given the nature of some of my correspondence. I remember it was once full of kids and mums and I happened to open an email attachment. A guy had sent me a close-up photo of his private parts. I was horrified as the huge picture gradually downloaded on the screen. Not knowing anything about computers, I didn’t know how to stop it – it was so embarrassing, trying to hide it from everyone in there.
When I think back to that time, I realise I was very naïve. I didn’t know what to wear for my dates – I was still wearing my chunky platforms and clubbing clothes. As I didn’t know any escorts, everything I learnt I had to find out for myself. There was one guy from my early days that I remember, who was a solicitor, and I had asked him if he would like me to dress casually or smartly. He replied smartly, as he’d be wearing his suit from work. My idea of ‘smart’ was this little ensemble: snake-print tight PVC hipsters, a pair of black platform sandals, a child-sized grey cardigan that I had no chance of buttoning up, tied in a knot at the front to show a little bit of cleavage, a bright pink-and-purple bra and a pink fluffy Barbie bag. Oh, how I cringe now! Fortunately, he was very open-minded and found it amusing. I stuck out like a sore thumb in that posh hotel in Birmingham; we looked so out-of-place together.
God knows how, but I still managed to get some very professional regulars (bankers, accountants and solicitors), who I saw monthly for overnights and who all took me out for dinner in public.
Last year I saw someone who confessed that he’d seen me a few years before, when I had just started out. I asked him why he hadn’t wanted to see me again and he said it was because – and I remember this outfit so clearly – I had worn a leatherlook mini with a skimpy top and platform dancing stilettos to go out to dinner! I’m not sure why I did that because I’d usually wear trousers – it’s the only time I’ve been out in a mini for work. He didn’t have the guts to say anything at the time, but he was extremely embarrassed, going to the top London restaurant that we ate in. I remember the room was long and narrow, and our table was right at the back, so we had to walk past everyone. When I asked why he’d booked me again, he said he’d seen me recently on a date and noticed that I now dress more discreetly.
A-levels – a lot to learn I remember one date I had with my solicitor friend; he decided to surprise me and take me to London. We drove down together and he told me that he had arranged for us to go on a limousine ride around London, with champagne, and then to see the musical Chicago. I was so excited! We had a couple of drinks at the hotel before jumping in the limo. I had never been inside one before and couldn’t believe I was being paid to be in one and to be taken to the theatre. After sharing a bottle of champagne on an empty stomach, I was actually quite drunk. I told him I needed to get some food, so we stopped at a takeaway and I ran in and got pizza. I didn’t really like the pizza and it was rather cold, so I only had one piece.
The show was amazing, but it was all a bit of a blur. I had no idea what was going on because I was very tipsy. Back at the hotel I passed out, and in the morning I had a steaming hangover. He was chuckling to himself because he asked me how I felt, and I just muttered with half-opened, puffy eyes, ‘I feel like shit!’ He was convinced I just needed feeding, so we had a big banquet sent up to the room. However, after a few mouthfuls I was dashing to the loo to be sick. It was awful and very embarrassing. I did get paid, but my date had no sex at all that meeting! But people pay for my time, not sex. I did feel guilty, but I knew I would make it up to him the next time. After all, it was partly his fault for not feeding me before the show!
These are the kind of mistakes I have learnt from. Now, I would never drink that much on an empty stomach and I check when and where we will eat. I also ask what the gentleman meeting me is going to wear for our date, and I find out whether there’s a dress code for wherever we’re going.
I stood in the never-ending queue, shivering with cold, as the wind and rain blew through the open doorway where we were all waiting for taxis. It took a while for the penny to drop, but I soon realised why so many people with cases were waiting there. They had obviously come off the Eurostar at St Pancras, which had just opened. It was smack-bang in the middle of rush hour. ‘Great,’ I thought, ‘I’m going to be late, which means I’ll feel obliged to stay late on my date.’
Fortunately the queue went down very quickly, the traffic wasn’t too bad and, surprisingly, I got to my destination a little earlier than 6p.m. As I confidently breezed through, trying to locate the lifts, I did a quick scan of the hotel. I walked straight past the lifts before realising my mistake and backtracking. This was the perfect hotel layout – I didn’t have to walk past Reception ; I just walked through the front door and the lifts were there on my right.
As an escort I have to look like I know where I’m going, and be confident and discreet. I never wear tarty or revealing clothes on my dates. As I’m not checking in , I don’t want to be questioned by hotel staff. Some London hotels are on the lookout for escorts, and have turned ladies away; others turn a blind eye.
Even though we would be eating at a Michelin -starred restaurant, I’d been asked to wear jeans. When my overweight American date opened the door in a pair of tatty grey jogging bottoms and a New York T-shirt pebble -dashed with toothpaste, my heart sank. Surely, he couldn’t seriously be thinking of going out like that?
The room w
as large and spacious, and the bed was huge, I was pleased to note. It would have been awful to share a smaller bed with him because of his sheer size. I don’t mind big men at all, though, because for me it really is about people’s personality: looks are only a bonus. We sat on the sofa and he poured us both glasses of champagne. It transpired he was single, and I guessed he was in his fifties (thanks to his comb-over hairstyle, where all the hair on one side was long enough to be draped from one side of his head, across the bald patch in the middle to the other side). He worked as an accountant. He’d made our dinner reservation for 7.30p.m., and there was no way I’d be able to polish off half a bottle of champagne before eating. I’d be hammered! So I sipped mine while he had two large glasses. Please don’t let him get pissed, I silently prayed.
When guys get nervous they sometimes drink too much – and then they can’t get it up, and they snore like a trooper! I counted my fee, £1,000, and thanked him before discreetly putting it in my bag. Once that bit is out of the way, I can relax and enjoy the evening. He seemed surprised that I had turned up, and said he didn’t think I would. Apparently he’d booked another lady earlier in the week and she had left after their expensive dinner, giving him half the money back and saying that they didn’t get along. This sounded an odd thing for her to have done, especially as he seemed pleasant enough. She was well -known and had good feedback on the escort review sites (where our looks and performance are rated), but I didn’t really know what to say because it wouldn’t have been fair to pass judgement without hearing her side of the story.
He’d kindly bought me some lingerie as a gift. It’s always a pleasant surprise to get presents – they’re not expected, but they’re always appreciated. When he said we’d be walking to the restaurant, I was a bit put out. I don’t mind walking short distances, but it was so cold and rainy that I was dreading going outside. I asked if he had a jacket I could borrow. He said he did, but that it wasn’t cold, and I corrected him by saying that just because he wasn’t cold, it didn’t mean others wouldn’t be.
The Girlfriend Experience Page 9