Guys can write reviews on both of the websites I use, and as an escort I have no control over this. The good thing about Northern Angels’ reviews is they aren’t explicit; they concentrate on the lady as a person. But the negative side of this is that nothing bad can be written, so other members can’t warn each other about poor-quality service and any other bad experiences. When someone has a bad date, we can all get tarred with the same brush.
When people whinge about a girl’s poor service, I say the same thing, time and time again: they need to do their research, by checking non-biased review sites like Punternet, Punterlink and Captain 69. None of these reviews are to be taken literally, but you can read between the lines and look for similarities in what different people are saying about the same girl. Bad comments aren’t to be taken at face value either – it depends whether they are written as constructive criticism or are just plain rude and insulting. And of course, we all have off-days and you can’t ‘click’ with everyone. Generally, reviews by guys who have reviewed several other ladies carry more weight. Often I find that the reviews and the way they’re written say more about the guy’s personalities who write them than the escort herself.
Like any trade, there are good and bad escorts. There are some who don’t care and others who are unreliable, who simply won’t return your call or email, or even turn up for a date. Then there are those who take pride in their business – people like me. I’ve worked hard to build up a good reputation and I always make sure that I’m punctual, well groomed and at my best. In seven years I can count the number of cancellations I’ve made on two hands. And every time I’ve had to cancel, I’ve always compensated the gentleman by giving him extra time or some money off his next date. Interestingly, when it’s the other way round and the guy cancels a date with me, it’s extremely rare that I’m compensated even though I’m the one out of pocket. I’ve been compensated maybe four times in my career.
I hazarded a look at my watch because I knew our time was up. He was sweating, penetrating me on top, and he wanted to slow down because he was about to come. ‘Go on,’ I urged. ‘Later,’ came the reply. ‘Later? What do you mean? I’m leaving in a minute!’ I light-heartedly said, looking at my watch. Joking back, he looked at his imaginary watch as if to imply I shouldn’t have been checking the time.
I hate the word ‘later’ – especially when it’s referring to me or my date having an orgasm ; it’s usually said when there’s about five minutes, if that, left of my booking or at one in the morning on an overnight date. ‘Later’ is never convenient. What time can be classed as a minimum time for ‘later’ and what’s the maximum ? To me, ‘later’ suggests hours. It’s when the alarm bells start ringing and I know I’m going to overrun .
I don’t consider myself a clock-watcher, but my rule is I don’t want to be having sex when it’s time to go. If my guy has come, I’ll happily stay ten or fifteen minutes over time and chat, but after that I go. I don’t like people taking the piss, and clients who are still having sex with me five minutes before their time is up are usually serial piss-takers.
Today I met a Northern Angels member, Andy, for a three -hour lunch date. I had my old special on again – buy two hours, get one free (as long as you’re feeding me!). I saw him once two years ago for a lunch date and he contacted me recently, asking about a date and looking for any special offers. Cheeky bugger! He’s a car salesman… say no more.
So, I gave him my three -for-two, and we arranged a three -hour lunch date at a local hotel. I knew I would recognise him when I saw him, but I still couldn’t picture him. He wanted us to meet in the car park, but I suggested he waited in the bar to save either of us loitering around.
I arrived bang on time and strolled confidently into the hotel. Heading towards the bar, I ducked my head and grinned as I saw someone I recognised. I was pretty sure it was him but suddenly I worried about approaching him, in case it wasn’t. As I walked into the bar he turned around; it was him, after all… Phew!
I wasn’t sure if he was an eager beaver; I couldn’t remember. He seemed very relaxed and wasn’t in a rush to get to the table, so I ordered a glass of champagne and we sat in the bar and chatted.
Now this guy is the opposite of my guys with SMS – but it’s equally bad. Straightaway, he asked me lots of personal questions about how my business was doing and was eager to start talking about me, but not in a polite way. It was quite intrusive, even to the point where he asked me about a client I had seen who was a member on one of the message boards. Obviously, I gave nothing away.
He seemed very relaxed and it was refreshing, but I reminded myself that so many guys who start out like this switch to being eager beavers in the bedroom. We spent around 40 minutes chatting with our aperitifs and I did wonder whether he was actually a news reporter, with all of his intrusive questioning. For once, I really tried hard to steer the conversation away from me and towards him.
Eventually we sat in the restaurant and we were the only ones there. He only ordered a steak, but I asked for a starter too, and then he asked me about my personal life. As if he hadn’t already got personal enough! Stupidly, I found myself opening up to him, gassing away about my string of failed relationships – maybe because it was refreshing to find someone interested in me for once!
When I’d finished my food, I was aware two hours had gone by, so even though I fancied a dessert, I declined. If I have a big meal at lunchtime, I make the most of it because usually I don’t have anything else when I get home.
He then ordered coffee, which was fine, but straightaway my radar popped up – I knew then he’d try to take the piss and get me to stay longer. I ordered a mint tea and finished it quickly. By the time we’d got to the room and both freshened up, we had 45 minutes left. When he came out of the bathroom, I had made sure I was down to my lingerie so we wouldn’t have to take our time undressing.
He poured us champagne, after asking if I wanted it now or ‘later’. I had 45 minutes left, so when exactly would ‘later’ be? I suspect he meant later as in ‘later when we’ve spent hours in bed and both lost track of time…’
Eagerly, he leant in for a slobbery kiss. It was disgusting. Why on earth do guys do this? Quickly, he evened things out by removing his clothes, leaving only his black briefs. Before long we were both naked, him taking the lead as he sucked my breasts and slobbered down my chest (which was quite nice, actually) until he found my pussy. His oral sex felt amazing: now I don’t mind slobber down there, just not on my mouth! But he tried to delve his fingers in , and I’m not a fan of that. It’s the kind of thing teenage lads do, and once you get a bit older it loses its appeal. It’s a bit uncomfortable and it makes me want to pee. I kind of like guys probing at the opening, an inch or so in , but when they try to poke their fingers right up, its not pleasant.
Eventually I had to physically remove his finger and thankfully he took that as a sign that it was my turn and he came back up to kiss me. As he hovered over me, I took the tip of his penis and rubbed it on my clit; he shook, sweated and went bright red as he tried to contain himself.
Gently, I moved him off and onto his back so I could take him in my mouth. ‘Careful,’ he warned. I wanted him to just come, not because I didn’t want to entertain him, but he had been the one wanting to spend longer over dinner. I just don’t enjoy a guy coming, then me rushing off; I like to relax afterwards and I’d rather sacrifice a little chatting time to be able to do that. Of course guys often want me to stay over time, and I know I could, but I never do if someone is trying to take the piss.
With five minutes to spare, I got a condom and by the time I’d put it on the clock was ticking like Countdown . He was trying to take his time and tease me. Am I going to have to fake an orgasm to prompt him to come? I wondered. So I groaned louder and panted, then he asked if I’d come.
And that’s when he decided he’d come ‘later’. After I repeated that I would be off in a minute, I asked what we could do to make him come, so the con
dom came off and I sucked with vigour. Sixty seconds left. Finally he came, and I moved away and squashed his member between my breasts just as he gushed over them. He then said that I could stay with him that evening in the hotel room. How kind! Er, no…
He wanted us to leave together, and again tried to keep me that little bit longer. Yes, he’d managed it. In true ‘ take -the -piss-and-getthat-little -bit-more’ style he’d managed to squeeze another half-hour out of me. I had better make sure I’m more on the ball next time. I took the rest of the bottle of Moët, which he put in a carrier bag. I looked like a real pisshead. ‘How are you going to carry it?’ he asked. ‘I’ll be swigging it from the bottle as we leave,’ I replied.
CHAPTER 10:
Captain 69
C aptain 69 is primarily a review site. It’s UK-based, but covers escorts worldwide and has members in many other countries. Guys can use the site to review a lady’s performance as an escort, and these reviews inevitably help and hinder our careers. The site consists of male and female members. Most females are escorts (active and retired) and most of the men are punters. Male members can review any working girl or agency worldwide. There’s a forum for discussion, a chat room and various other advertising tools there. No escort, member or not, can prevent reviews from being published, and she can’t view her own reviews unless she’s a member herself.
I pay for a membership. Fortunately I’ve over 35 positive reviews. I’m very selective about the people I see, and I think this helps me avoid negative reviews. I tell people straightaway if I don’t think I’m the right escort for them; I won’t take on just any job for the money, even if I’m desperately short of work.
People rate your looks and performance, and then write about their experience. Some ladies get reviews that are very explicit and I always think they say more about the guy and his view of his own sexual prowess than about the escort. It’s amazing how different the client’s view of the date can be! The guy might say he made her come three times with the noisiest, most satisfying orgasms, thanks to his stamina in the bedroom, but the escort’s recollection may be that she didn’t come and he suffered premature ejaculation.
Even though I have no control over what’s written about me, fortunately my reviews aren’t generally of the explicit type. As I offer the ‘girlfriend experience’, I prefer people to talk about their experience with me as a whole, including my companionship. The common theme of any bedroom action in my reviews is, ‘I won’t go into detail’. I don’t want to be booked or not booked because of my performance in bed; I want people to make their choice based on my personality. Thankfully, most of the guys I see respect my wishes to keep our private time private.
I’ll show you how different some of these reviews can be. Here’s an example of one of the explicit reviews, and a nonexplicit one of mine:
‘I wanted a Porn Star Experience with lots of dirty talk, and that’s what I got. C seemed to enjoy herself as much as I did. After our first round, it took her a matter of minutes to get me hard again. What followed was an amazing blow job with lots of eye contact. I came in her mouth as she looked at me, smiled and swallowed the lot!’
‘It was an extremely high-class experience from one of England’s top courtesans, Bea. From the website, telephone calls and emails to her arriving exactly on time
– everything was highly professional. When you meet Bea, it’s clear from the start that she genuinely enjoys meeting people and providing them with a very special time. Some ladies have that easy-going nature and natural charm that makes them even more attractive in person. The rest of the evening turned out very nicely too, but you’ll get no details from me. If you want the Bea experience I strongly recommend that you book well in advance and plan a minimum of five hours or an overnight.’
The guys on Captain 69 are a different breed. Of course there are some horrible people on there, too – escorts and guys alike – but also some real gems. Threads on the Captain 69 forums are often more serious and sometimes quite crude, such as ‘Who offers the best rimming in London?’, ‘PSE [Porn Star Experience] recommendations’, ‘Working girls offering bareback sex [sex without a condom]’ ‘Boob jobs: what guys really think about them’, ‘Who’s got the biggest tits? Biggest clit?’ and so on. But the threads also cover sport, politics and general world news; sometimes even amusing jokes.
Captain 69 also has a section called Members’ Requests, where guys can request girls for certain trips and services. I reply to them if I’m interested. Here’s an example of one that piqued my curiosity – it’s one of the dates I’ve written about. The ad on the board was from a guy whose pseudonym was Andy, and it read:
‘Hi!
Do you fancy enjoying a 24-hour visit to Venice? I am looking for a slim and busty girl who provides a good GFE service (DFK and OWO above all) for a reasonable rate.
Send me an e-mail and let’s see...
London based or anywhere else based, doesn’t really matter.’
I love Venice, and I’ve been fortunate enough to visit twice already with work, so I know my way around a bit. Also, I can fly there from East Midlands very conveniently, so I checked and there were flights available for the dates he requested. DFK means Deep French Kissing, and OWO is Oral Without. I offer both these services, so I thought he was worth replying to. So, I sent him an email – my standard email introducing myself and pointing him to my site; I also mentioned that I offer a GFE, and listed a couple of other qualities that I have. I said that I’m friendly and reliable, and I always finish by saying a response would be appreciated. Many don’t even bother to reply, but it’s worth replying to some of these requests because sometimes it gets me a job.
Andy replied, and was very keen for me to fly out to Venice. It was a positive sign that he replied so promptly. He wanted to know what he needed to do, and said his budget was £1,000 and that he wanted to meet from 5.30p.m. until late the next morning. That’s fine with me. My flight got in at lunchtime, but I could have a few hours to myself to enjoy a shop. His English was so good in his email that I actually thought he was English and wanted me to travel out to Italy with him. I told him I book my own flights and that the total inclusive cost would be £1,300, to cover my flights and transport.
He wanted me to stay at a flat he owns in Italy. He’s Italian, and it transpired his real name was Roberto, but doesn’t live in Venice. He shares the flat with his brother. He said he was mid-thirties and that I would find him attractive. ‘I’ll be the judge of that’, I thought. Normally, I wouldn’t visit someone I’ve never met before at a private residence, but so long as I can verify the address and the landline number there, then it’s usually OK. I told him I would need to speak with him before I could confirm anything. He agreed to give me a call and let me have the personal information I needed.
I always wonder what percentage of time guys will want to spend in the bedroom. Although I enjoy sex on an extended overnight date, I’m not a nymphomaniac, so I wouldn’t expect to have sex more than three times – once after we’ve had a drink and got to know each other, once after dinner and once in the morning. I can hardly ask clients how many times they expect to have sex, so I usually email them in advance to ask what plans they have for our time together. If they really are some sex-crazed addict, they’ll mention the sex and maybe say something like, ‘Well, I don’t imagine we’ll get out much’, and then the alarm bells would ring and I wouldn’t agree to go.
Roberto pleasantly replied suggesting we have a drink and a ‘get-to-know’ session at his place (this I take to mean sex) and then a leisurely time getting ready for dinner. He suggested a traditional restaurant, and then a wander around the city in the evening before retiring. It sounded perfect to me.
God, I had an absolute nightmare yesterday! I decided that I would check in online for my flight to Venice, giving me a bit more of a lie in . My flight was at 8.50a .m., and checking in online meant I only needed to be at the gate 30 minutes before. I booked a taxi for 7.45, th
inking the traffic wouldn’t be so bad then . How the hell would I know? I never drive that time in the morning. That’s one of the benefits of being an escort – I don’t have to spend hours stuck in rush hour traffic. Why I didn’t ask my taxi driver what time to set off, I have no idea .
Tuesday night, I had my early night planned; I had packed and watched a bit of telly, so I felt suitably relaxed. I decided I would have a shower and wash my hair at about 9p.m., and go straight to bed. However, my plan was foiled when I found I had no water. I willed myself to keep calm despite this obvious crisis: I knew it wouldn’t be back on by the morning – last time we had a leak , there was no water for 14 hours. Fortunately, I had a good supply of water left from the last time, so I would have to bath and wash in mineral water. How terribly posh! I’m sure some famous people only bath in Evian . So I put the kettle on to boil. I kissed goodbye to my early night, which would now be replaced by boiling the kettle and spending the evening trying to clean , shave my bits and the mammoth job of washing my hair while hanging my head over the bath with a washing-up bowl and jug.
Suddenly there was a spurt of water from my shower, so I dived in and frantically started wetting my hair and trying to put shampoo on it. As the water spluttered to a final stop, I cursed and begged it to come on just a little bit more. It didn’t. Fortunately, the kettle had boiled so I finished washing my hair and shaved in a washing-up bowl that I’d placed in the bath. By the time I dried my hair and got myself ready for bed, it was about 11p.m... Then there was a knock at the door, which I really didn’t want to answer because I thought it would be my neighbour wanting to moan about the water. I opened it to find the plumbers standing there, saying the water would be back on at about midday. Of course this was absolutely no use to me! Stressed, I went to bed and set my alarm for seven .
The Girlfriend Experience Page 12