He began to argue with me and it got my back up – some people are so self-obsessed. He wasn’t getting the message, so I cheekily told him I didn’t have any fat to keep me warm, and that if I was cold on the way there, I’d be getting a cab back on my own . You tend to find this with single men ; they aren’t used to thinking about other people. I call it SMS – Single Man Syndrome. He told me I wouldn’t be cold in his jacket, and I said he had no way of knowing how I might feel. I also told him he didn’t seem to care about my comfort, but he insisted he was a gentleman . I said he wasn’t being very gentlemanly by expecting me to walk just because he liked walking and wasn’t cold. This little scenario did make me wonder if I too would be running off after dinner; I was finding him very difficult to get along with.
Fortunately he changed into a shirt and jeans, and put on a long overcoat for dinner. I put on his old casual, burnt orange coat, which drowned me. He said it suited me… Hmm! Outside, he noticed that it was raining, so he decided he wanted to get a cab. I could have told him it was raining! I debated whether to take his jacket back upstairs, but decided there was no point, especially as he thought I looked so good in it.
In the restaurant we both ordered fish starters, and then I had lamb while he ordered sole. He ended up with white bits of fish all over his face, and I was horrified. I had to keep asking him to wipe his face with his napkin , but as there was so much fish on the nap kin , he ended up moving it around his face rather than removing it. How on earth could he not realise his face was covered with fish ? Then I thought back to the toothpaste on the T-shirt and thought, probably quite easily! Clearly, he was oblivious to any mess he made.
It was bizarre and quite embarrassing, especially as we were surrounded by other diners. I have noticed that men who live on their own often have zero table manners. He spent ages picking at his teeth, because he had a fish bone stuck between them. Eager to get him to stop picking, I called the waiter, who brought over some toothpicks. He had de -boned the fish, but obviously missed all the small bones, so he sat there with his face covered in fish, picking bones out of his mouth. I couldn’t disguise the look of disgust on my face, yet he seemed oblivious. I wonder if the other escort was so repulsed by his eating habits this was the reason she had taken off without going to bed with him .
We had a twenty-minute breather before ordering desserts. He had the ice cream and I had the cheese, and all in all, we were at the restaurant for a good three hours. Socialising is the main part of my job – I love to eat at quality restaurants, so if we can get to know one another over dinner in a fine restaurant then I’m more than happy. We headed back to the hotel around 11p.m. and I changed into one of the lingerie sets he had bought me. The bra was a size too small, so I was popping out, but I didn’t think he’d mind.
I lay beside him and we French -kissed. We spent a while caressing each other – I was worried he’d be an eager beaver, but thankfully he wasn’t. Eventually he slid his boxers off and helped me out of my lingerie. I stroked his penis and down his thighs and I could feel him harden with my touch. At one point I thought he would just fall asleep. He lay there, with his eyes closed, on the bed. I then just rested beside him because I wasn’t sure if he wanted to sleep as he wasn’t touching me. I’m not paid to entertain sexually – whatever goes on in the bedroom is about two-way enjoyment, so the more clients put into it, the more they get out of it.
I’m always nervous about the first time with a client as I don’t know what to expect – whether he’ll be one that can hold an erection and take forever to come, or one that comes easily with minimal effort. Fortunately, he was the latter. Obviously, if it’s someone who comes quickly, I try to drag out the foreplay so that his fun can last longer. If they take forever, it’s extremely hard work and I want to get down to business with less foreplay.
After cuddling for a while, he eventually went down on me and I squirmed with pleasure (when the pressure was just right), and a little bit of discomfort (when he was too firm). He did this for a few minutes, before popping his head up to let me know he was done down there. I took the hint and he lay on his back while I took him in my mouth ; I alternated sucking him and using my hands. Although he had said that he wanted to be inside me, it wasn’t long before I could feel him start to shudder. He didn’t seem to want me to stop, so I carried on and pulled away just in time as he ejaculated all over my hand and both our bodies. I remember trying to keep the gap between our bodies closed so that none of it would drip onto the side of the bed I’d be sleeping on , but unfortunately it did. He got up and fetched a wet flannel and a towel for us to try and clean up the mess.
We both settled to go to sleep at about 12.30p.m. After a good lie in , I stirred. He was still fast asleep, so I crept silently to the loo, and then got back in bed with him and snuggled up. Big men are far more comfortable to snuggle with than skinny ones. As I don’t sleep cuddled up (I like my own space when I sleep), I always have a cuddle in the morning. He put his arm around me, and after a few minutes I decided to go down on him and get the morning session going. But he didn’t seem to be responding and said he wasn’t usually a morning person . So we snuggled and dozed for another hour. He’d said he didn’t normally eat in the morning and I doubted he would offer me anything, so I decided to be assertive and said I was calling down to order breakfast.
I stayed longer than I would have normally, but we were dozing and I was very relaxed. I left at about 11.30a .m. and wished him well for the rest of his trip. Despite the walking issue and the fish -face problem, it was a pleasant date and I hope he’ll let me know next time he’s in the country.
CHAPTER 8:
Boyfriend number one – Kenny
I ’d been working for about a year when I met Kenny, who was to be my first boyfriend since becoming an escort. I hadn’t seen anyone outside of work and getting a boyfriend was the last thing on my mind; I just figured that as soon as guys found out what I did, they wouldn’t be interested in me, and I didn’t want to lie and then be in a relationship based on deceit. That’s what my work is, as a lot of the guys I see are married! So, I knew I would have to be honest with people in my personal life, and therefore I was prepared to be single.
Boyfriends are not my forte. In fact, it’s sad to admit that I have never had a decent long-term relationship where I can say that I’ve been truly happy, even before my escorting. I always pick the wrong guys! As my work is in effect a series of onenight stands, they don’t interest me in my personal life. I want sex outside work to mean something and to be with someone special. I don’t consciously switch off with my work; I don’t need to. I don’t have to stop myself falling for these guys, it just doesn’t happen.
I can’t wait to be a mum and a wife, and spend the rest of my life with one person. I don’t get any sort of kick from sleeping with strangers anymore; I just accept it as a small part of my job. I love kids, and people say I’d make a great mum. I hope to have a big family, but I’m not focusing on trying to find the man of my dreams at the moment because I really want to be successful at something else before I settle down. I’d like to meet my life partner when I’ve closed the escorting chapter of my life, and hopefully I’ll meet someone open-minded enough not to hold my past against me. I’m very open and honest, so surely that has to count for something?
Kenny was a couple of years older than me and lived in Sheffield. I was clubbing with my sister in Chesterfield when I first spotted him – he was mixed race, about my height, and very good-looking. He was also a very cool dancer and I was instantly attracted. We caught each other’s eye on the dance floor and started bumping and grinding together. After a few dances I asked him if he wanted a drink, and bought us both bottles of water. I suppose in retrospect the warning signs were there: he really should have offered me a drink first. He asked me what I did for a living, and I told him straight out. Then he said that he didn’t have a problem with it because it was actually something that he had always wanted to do, and he was q
uite intrigued. We hit it off straightaway and started going out, but Kenny wanted an easy life, doing as little as possible while sponging off me. I was stupid not to see it at the time.
One might think that as an escort, meeting numerous unfaithful guys, I might not trust men, but I trusted all three of the guys I have been out with while escorting. I knew that I was keeping them happy in the bedroom department and I’m naturally affectionate. More often, it’s when women don’t look after their men, physically and emotionally, that they cheat.
My brothers will never forget one of the first times they met Kenny. I was moving into my apartment in Nottingham and he came to my mum’s to help me with my stuff, but he just sat there while my brothers and I carried everything to the car and packed it. He didn’t lift a finger to help! I can honestly say he’s the tightest person I have ever had the misfortune to meet – he’s so mean that he even told me he starved himself to shrink his stomach so he didn’t have to spend much money on food! Also, he never bought more than a couple of drinks when he went out, even without me. At first I found it attractive that he wasn’t one for going out and getting drunk, but then I realised it was because he was tight.
It seemed that being an escort was going to get in the way of our relationship, but not in the way you might think. He didn’t have a problem with me being with other men, because he knew I would be coming back to him, but he seemed to think that I had the money to pay for everything! In the year and a half that we went out together, he bought me one meal and maybe a couple of drinks. I bought him a mobile phone and when he moved house, he didn’t let me have his landline number. He’d withhold his number, call me, hang up before I answered and then expect me to call him back on his mobile! He had a well-paid job, but always claimed not to have any money – I suspect he was saving a small fortune going out with me, so he probably had a huge savings account. What a complete mug I was!
Kenny also had a massive chip on his shoulder and was harbouring a lot of hatred and resentment, mainly for his parents, to whom he hadn’t spoken in years. Then one Christmas, he became aggressive. I had driven to see him in Sheffield on Christmas Eve, and when I got to the house he shared, he wasn’t even in. For over an hour I waited for him and when he waltzed in, needless to say I wasn’t happy as I could have spent more time with my family. He blew up and started pushing me around. Then he tried to physically stop me from leaving, and threw my keys out of his window into the dark.
I believe his behaviour stemmed from the fact that I’d received some compensation money because of problems with my apartment, and I’d decided to take my sister away to Orlando. He was so pissed off – for some bizarre reason he believed that I should have paid for him to have a free holiday. After that night, he was asked to leave the house by the couple he lived with, but I still didn’t dump him. I think I’d got used to being with someone, and couldn’t bear the thought of being on my own again. Maybe because I didn’t think many other guys would go out with an escort, I thought I ought to make do with him… or perhaps I didn’t feel I deserved any better. It seemed that whenever I had a boyfriend, I became weak, and I hated myself for it. At work I was confident, but clearly in my personal life I wasn’t, or I wouldn’t have put up with Kenny for a year and a half!
Then he was made redundant and had to move out of his flat. After complaining that he’d be homeless, I reluctantly said that he could move in with me. I didn’t want him to because I didn’t feel the time was right and I wasn’t in love with him, but I thought that as his girlfriend I should help him out. So, he sat at home while I went out to work.
I know he never had a problem with my job because although we argued a lot, my work was never mentioned. I think he thought he’d hit the jackpot: an attractive woman who was willing to look after him. It was just like my relationship with James. Even though Kenny was given redundancy pay, he never offered me any cash for putting him up, saying he had to make it last. Thinking about it, he must have been getting dole money as well, but he never mentioned that to me. On my birthday I gave him money so that he could come out with me and my friends: he bought one drink, and pocketed the rest of the cash! He had absolutely no shame and couldn’t see he was doing anything wrong.
I was determined he was going to pay his way, so every now and then I used to ask him to clean and to organise things on the computer for my work. He made a real fuss about the cleaning, and made no effort to do anything at all around the house. Once, I explained a few things I wanted him to do on my computer. He then came to me with a bit of paper, saying if I wanted A and B doing, it would cost me £250, and if I wanted A, B and C doing, it would be £350. I couldn’t believe my ears. Of course, I should have thrown him out there and then, but I didn’t. I was fuming and said if he wanted to start charging me for what he did for a living, I would make him pay for what I did for a living! For 150 overnights, say, his bill would be £120,000. I managed to put up with him for about two months before I asked him to move out.
I think being with Kenny made me more aware of people taking the piss. Now, I’m very conscious of it. I’m always aware of those who expect me to buy drinks for them, and of people who avoid buying rounds, are slow reaching for their purse or wallet, or who make comments about not being able to afford to go out when they actually go out more than me and have more holidays. It irritates the hell out of me. I’m naturally a very generous person, but I don’t let people take advantage of it.
I’ll never forget getting back in touch with one of my ex-best friends from school, a few years ago. I drove all the way over to Chesterfield to see her, and she’d forgotten I was visiting. I was fuming – I can’t stand it when people waste my time. So, I had a 60-mile round trip for nothing. She rang me to apologise, and after about ten minutes said, ‘Anyway, I’d better go – we can’t all afford to be chatting on the phone for hours.’ I knew then that it was unlikely we’d rekindle our friendship.
I also feel that one of my close friends, Hannah, doesn’t understand about my work and my life. She lives in a bedsit, doesn’t drive and works a 9–5. Hannah hasn’t a clue about responsibilities, because she doesn’t have any. She goes out all the time and lives for the moment, which is fine, but as I don’t know how much I will earn from week to week and have a car, house and business to run, I simply cannot do that. She thinks I’m loaded when I’ve had a couple of busy weeks with work, because of my high rates, but what I feel she doesn’t understand (even though she claims to) is that I don’t have that sort of regular work all the time, yet I still have the same high outgoings every month. I spend a fortune on my website and advertising, then there’s my mortgage and other essentials, and I do pay tax, so it’s not like every penny goes in my pocket. I have to make sure I always have emergency money saved for when I have a dry month.
Hannah also knows someone who works for an agency, and she probably thinks we earn the same amount. Girls working for agencies don’t have to pay anything for advertising, and their time is only taken up with their work. They don’t have to put any time or effort into screening clients, or sorting out advertising, or maintaining websites; they give the agency their photos and just wait for the jobs to roll in. Usually they don’t pay tax either, so all the money’s in their back pockets; they probably earn more money than me and use less of their time.
Our priorities are different. Yes, I may spend £200 on a pair of shoes sometimes, but I don’t go out at all during the week and rarely socialise at weekends. Hannah will spend £200 a week on going out. She does more socially than I do, and she actually has more disposable income than me, but I know she thinks I’m loaded. I love her dearly, and we have such great fun when we are together, but I just wish she was more understanding about my work situation and my responsibilities.
I feel very uncomfortable when friends want to see my website because they just see the high rates and think, ‘wow!’ They have no idea how much work I get, or how much disposable income I’m left with at the end of the month. People ha
ve a false impression – I’m not rolling in money. I do get to visit spectacular restaurants, eat incredible food and see stunning sights, but someone else is always paying, not me.
‘I’m sorry, I’m looking for a non -English girl,’ was the email response I had when I replied to an advert a guy had placed on the escort site Captain 69, looking for someone to take to Cirque du Soleil at London’s Royal Albert Hall. Charming, I thought. Why would someone specifically want a non -English escort? Perhaps they’re cheaper, or maybe if they don’t speak much English, they won’t waste too much time with conversation! I get the feeling a lot of the Eastern European escorts aren’t as assertive as some of the English girls like me, so they can be taken advantage of.
It was the last weekend of the show’s run , and I was desperate to go. I remembered Charly, a young 24-year-old virgin that I had met a couple of years ago (no, I didn’t pop his cherry by the way!). When I last saw him, he was working in a bar. He comes from a rich family, but I didn’t get the impression that he got handouts, so he must have but I didn’t get the impression that he got handouts, so he must have hour date and we stayed at Claridge’s.
Charly’s a very nervous person and I suppose he’s a bit geeky. Although he’s a really sweet guy, I imagine he struggles socially. He’s average height, a little overweight with dark, wiry ginger hair. We’d been liaising about a meeting since December and I hadn’t heard from him for a few weeks. As it was now mid-February, I decided to be assertive and email him asking about a date, suggesting we might go to the Cirque du Soleil show. I sent him links so that he could see if it was something he’d like.
The Girlfriend Experience Page 10