I had a bit of a restless night, but got up without any problems. By the time I had washed in the tub again, it was time for the taxi. My driver was concerned to find that my flight was at 8.50, but he promised he would do his best. That was when I started to worry, but in the back of my mind I kept telling myself it would be fine. I couldn’t relax – the traffic was everywhere. It was looking increasingly unlikely that we would make it, so I started making calls to see what other flights were available, but I couldn’t find one that would get me there in time. So much for my leisurely afternoon in Venice! I asked the taxi driver if he would wait and see whether I caught my plane. Fortunately, he said he was able to take me somewhere else, if need be.
I flew through to departures with five minutes to spare, where I was stopped and my luggage hauled off to be inspected – apparently I had too many liquid toiletries. I only had my essentials! There was my eczema cream, Gucci perfume and body lotion , Chanel perfume, shower gel, three travel -sized body lotions, hand cream, my face essentials, vaginal lubrication and massage oil, foundation , lip plump, concealer and tinted moisturiser.
The lady took her time in opening my bags. I tried to keep myself under control and said my flight was leaving. They halved the contents of my toiletries. I ran to the gate and arrived out of breath to be greeted by a bunch of airport staff, who casually informed me the doors were closed and the plane had started its taxi to the runway. Teary-eyed, I made my way back through Security, where the kind lady who had taken her time to search my bag looked at me with pity and said, while handing me the toiletries she had confiscated, ‘Can you go another day?’ ‘Er, no’, I replied.
I quickly walked through to the ticket desk and stopped to ask BMI about flight times; they informed me they didn’t fly there. The only other EasyJet flight was too late. Ryanair had a flight at 3p.m. from East Midlands, but a 12.05 from Stansted. I quickly called and asked my taxi driver if he could get me to Stansted for 11, and he said he could, but the lady at the desk refused to sell me a ticket because she didn’t think I’d catch the plane.
I sprinted out to my taxi anyway, and we set off. Like Anneka Rice on some big mission , I just had to catch this flight otherwise I’d have to get a lift back up to East Midlands for the 3p.m. flight and then I would be late, something I absolutely hate. I was praying my client didn’t call because I didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily.
As time was ticking on , I worried the whole way down but when I called Ryanair they told me the flight was at 12.45, not 12.05 as I had been told at the airport, so I did have plenty of time when I arrived. I just prayed there was still availability and not too much of a queue at the sales desk ; I just wanted to be able to relax. I felt knackered as I’d been up since seven , and then stressing and travelling ever since. I felt dirty because I hadn’t been able to have a proper shower; I just didn’t feel my best. I only hoped I could relax when I arrived and be good company.
I got the ticket, and chastised myself for being so laid-back about getting to the airport in the first place. I had just lost £320 of my earnings – the flight was £220, and the taxi £100. As you can see, I’m more like Bridget Jones than Belle de Jour!
I managed to get a card to give to Roberto (my date) and a magazine before running to the gate to board my flight. Hot and flustered, I must have looked like a madwoman . I had walked so much, and I was tired and frustrated, yet I couldn’t sleep at all on the plane because I was still winding down from all the stress. Once we’d taken off, I went straight to the ladies’ to apply some make -up to try and make myself look a little bit glamorous. It certainly wasn’t how I felt!
Finally, I arrived in central Venice ten minutes before I was due to meet him – I’d been travelling for over eight hours. I nipped into a chemist, looked at their small selection of fragrances and picked one as a present for my date. I always like to take a gift when I’m travelling abroad to see someone, or if I’m seeing someone for a few days. I called Roberto and he said that he would wait outside the bar where we had agreed to meet. I suggested he went inside and ordered a drink for us both.
Then I switched into work mode, put a big smile on my face and put my stress behind me. It’s not about pretending to be someone else – I’m still me, but a focused me. Like a director of a company who has to do a presentation – no matter how stressful their day has been, or whatever personal problems they have, they put it all aside and do their job. I go over my little mantra in my head: ‘I am confident, happy, sexy, stress-free Bea!’ It’s about changing my frame of mind. As soon as I walk into the bar, my date is my focus and it’s all about how he feels, and how I make him feel: it’s not about me.
He was average looking, very tall and skinny, with dark hair, and he was around my age. He hadn’t ordered drinks. I told him about my nightmare of a day, and we talked about Venice and his family. He seemed a really nice guy and very politely complimented me on my looks. Well, I think it was a compliment. He said, ‘Wow!’ It could have been , ‘Wow, you look rough!’, or ‘Wow, you whiff a bit!’ or even , ‘Wow, you don’t look as good as your photos’!
We waited about half an hour before we got a drink. I must have looked like an alcoholic – all I could think was how desperately I needed a glass of wine! He asked if I was hungry, and as he hadn’t booked a table until 9p.m., and I hadn’t managed to eat much, I decided to have something. So, we ordered a platter to share. He delicately picked at bits of bread and meat, while I tried to make full on sandwiches with Parma ham and cheese. The ham kept sticking in my teeth – so much for trying to be sophisticated! I was starting to relax and was confident we would have a nice evening. He didn’t rush me at all, and we stayed until about 7p.m. before making the move to his flat. It was quite old, full of antique furniture and mismatched random things. He then informed me that his brother was also staying
– I wondered what he had told him about me.
I wanted to have a shower, but when I saw the Jacuzzi it seemed like a much better option, as it would help me to relax. In his room I gave him his present, and he was thrilled. We sat on his bed and he leaned in to kiss me. I wanted to be clean before I did anything, so I wasn’t very responsive, but suggested we share a bath. It must have taken over half an hour to fill up; disappointingly, it wasn’t hot. I stripped off and he just kept saying ‘Wow!’ so I think it was all good. He stripped off too, and we both got in. I ran my hands over his back, and we caressed each other and kissed, then I started wanking him in the water. After a brief few minutes he came and then hosed me down with the shower. So that was a quick session!
I wore my new giraffe -print dress, with a black cardigan and tan shoes. I was pleased to see that he made the effort and wore a suit. I didn’t know what to expect for dinner, but he said his friend had recommended this place and that it was high up and had views over Venice. When we arrived at the 5-star hotel I was impressed – it seemed this would be a bit special. The room was candlelit, with soft music playing. It was very romantic. One side of the restaurant was all glass, looking out over Venice.
We spent the next three hours eating and chatting. He said he had never seen any English girls before, and that he was pleasantly surprised that I wasn’t like the Eastern European party girls he saw, who wanted to be out drinking and clubbing all night. After the day I’d just had, there wasn’t much chance of that – I’d surprised myself by still being up!
The food was delicious. We had strawberry champagne cocktails with various canapés. I asked him if he liked English food, and he said he didn’t think there was any. All I could come up with was cottage pie! When I saw crumble on the dessert menu, I suggested he tried it. Thankfully, he really enjoyed it and, satisfied, we both left at midnight. Back at his flat I met his brother and I was impressed with his good looks (a threesome would be nice, I thought). He was shorter, with glasses; a bit geeky, but in a kind of sexy way, and he wasn’t skinny, just in proportion . Roberto joked that his brother would have to inspect me. Yes, pleas
e! He was only 22, and was finishing his medical degree.
After a few minutes we left his brother to his studying. Roberto then got me a glass of water, but I suddenly became paranoid he might have put something in it, so I paused and just looked at it. He knew what I was thinking because he said, ‘It’s not poisonous, you know’ and took a swig. I just had to check.
In his room we stripped off, dimmed the lights and I went down on him. Then we swapped around. It felt gorgeous, but unfortunately he didn’t do it for long. He got one of his own condoms and slipped it on. I climbed on top of him and ground away for a short while, looking at him in my best sexy way. We then changed to missionary and I wrapped my legs around him really tightly, while nudging his hips down with my feet, holding him tightly while kissing and nibbling his neck. This seemed to do the trick and he came pretty quickly.
I asked him if he could play with my boobs while I used my toy because I was turned on and a bit tipsy! He was thrilled at the idea and I came in about a minute. He made a point of saying how much he enjoyed watching me play with myself – and he was still hard after we finished, so I went down on him again . He enjoyed it for a few minutes and then said he needed to take five minutes’ rest. That brought me back to reality, and I suggested we wait until the morning. Thankfully, he agreed, as it was now past 1a .m.
I had to leave at 10.45a.m., so when he offered to set the alarm for 9.30 the following morning, I thought ‘perfect’! I kissed him goodnight, thanked him for a lovely evening and hoped I would get a good night’s sleep. But I needn’t have worried as he didn’t snore and kept to his side of the bed. It seemed really late when the alarm finally went off, but it was 9.30a.m. I figured we had about 30 minutes to play.
In the morning it’s generally a quicker session , so I just started giving him a blow job. He enjoyed this for a while before saying in his sexy voice, while gently pulling me away, ‘I waaaaant a beeeeet of pussy.’ Phwoar! I passed him a condom to put on . He lay behind me and groped my breasts while sliding inside me. He had his hands free, one of which was very gently rubbing my pussy. Then he wanted doggy-style, which I like because he could go nice and deep. I glanced up at him through the mirror over his bed, and he was looking at me and getting off on watching us. Eventually he took the condom off, I poured lubricant in between my breasts and he quickly climaxed in between them .
Unfortunately there really wasn’t time to hug and relax, so I asked him for a cuppa and dived into the shower. Once I was ready, I barely had time to drink my tea , which had gone cold, before setting off for the airport.
CHAPTER 11:
Crossing the road can be dangerous
I know many of you will assume my job is dangerous, and it can be, just like crossing the road. But how you choose to do things determines whether a situation is dangerous or not. I’m not saying my safety is 100% guaranteed, but then what is? All I can do is minimise the risks involved. However, I cringe when I think of the dangerous situations I put myself in during younger, pre-escorting days.
What angers me is society’s view on my profession, when there are so many women who frequently put themselves in more dangerous and degrading positions socially. Why is escorting so taboo, when you think of the increase in bingedrinking and the state some women get themselves into before going off and sleeping with strangers?
Girls get drunk and wander off from their friends without saying where they’re going, and then they go to some random guy’s house to have sex with him. That’s what I consider dangerous – yet people think my job is far worse. I’m proud to say that I never get myself into an embarrassing state when I’m out socially. In fact, when I’m with my friends, I’m often the one who takes on the role of looking out for everyone, making sure they’re OK. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy going out and I love to have a dance, but I’m always aware of what’s going on around me and I never go out on the pull. I can’t stand the way men think it’s OK to grope women and I hate the fact that they often take advantage and look for pissed-up women who might be too drunk to protest. One-night stands don’t interest me at all. I’ve been there and done that, and I don’t want any more meaningless sex in my life: I have enough of that with my work.
I’ll tell you what I think is dangerous: the number of friends I have who meet guys on the Internet or in the street, and who go to these guys’ homes without telling anyone where they are. I’m extremely protective of my friends and some I really worry about. One friend often gets drunk, and then takes a man back to hers and has sex with him. She does this at least once a week, so she probably sleeps with more men than I do! I can go for over a month, sometimes two, without work.
Another friend met someone on the Internet and went to his house to meet him in person for the first time. She was going to stay overnight with him, and of course he said he was sleeping on the sofa. Yeah, right! I asked why she didn’t get him to meet her somewhere neutral and she said she would, but she didn’t. Needless to say, she had lots to drink and they slept together. I think this is a million times more dangerous than what I do and yet I’m the one that gets judged. How many more will be judging me just from reading this book?
Many women use sex to get what they want at some point in their life, whether it’s sleeping with their boss to get ahead, or withholding sex from their husbands because they’re annoyed at them. Then there are girls who make a bee-line for DJs and club owners to get various perks, or women who marry for money. They’re all being deceitful. At least I’m not trying to be sneaky – people know where they stand with me.
For my safety, I always ensure someone knows where I am when I’m working and who I am with, and I make sure the guy knows that someone knows where I am. I think that’s basic common sense. I cannot believe how many escorts don’t tell anyone where they’re going – there’s absolutely no excuse. You need to have common sense and listen to your instincts in this job. If something doesn’t feel right, then it isn’t.
For three years now, I’ve also trained in the Japanese martial art of Aikido. I do this to keep fit and to build up my confidence, but also for personal protection. I’ve recently got my 2nd Kyu (I’m two belts away from black) and go two or three times a week to train. We also learn a lot of selfdefence techniques, for knife and gun attacks as well as physical attacks.
A young friend of mine started escorting at 18, and I was extremely concerned when she said that her mum had encouraged her. I think the legal age for escorting should be higher than 18 – in my opinion, at least 21, but preferably 25. At 18 you think you’re really grown-up, but you’re not. I couldn’t discourage her, so all I could do was to advise her on how to be safe. The first piece of advice I gave her was to always tell her mum where she was going, who she’d be with and when to expect her back. And the second most important thing was never to do anything she didn’t want to do. Unfortunately, she didn’t take my advice on either of these things.
One morning I got a phone call from her mum, who was in tears saying she hadn’t come home. I asked her where she had gone and what information she had; all she knew was that she was in Liverpool somewhere. She was supposed to have been back the night before, and by 11a.m. the next day there was no sign of her and her phone was off. I was worried sick, as was her mum. Finally, she called about half an hour later, when she had returned home. She said that the guy had decided he wanted her to stay overnight, and she’d done so without calling her mum, probably because she thought it would be unprofessional to make a call. I had a go at her, but her carelessness and immaturity put a strain on our friendship as I was constantly worried about her.
As an escort it’s extremely unprofessional to have your phone on while with a client, but when I’ve been in a similar situation, I’ve said that I would be able to stay over but that I need to call my mum/boyfriend/friend to let them know I’m OK and won’t be back that evening.
Mostly, I visit hotels, and hotels have to swipe a credit card on arrival, so they know the identity of the person in
the room. Nowadays, if you want to pay for a room in cash, hotels are very cautious. I once had a dinner date in Sheffield, and the guy called to tell me he was going to be late because the hotel wouldn’t let him check in and pay cash without seeing his passport, so he had to go home, which fortunately wasn’t far away, and then come back with his ID. So, at least there’s some security there. If I’m going to someone’s home, I ask for a landline number and I use this to check that the person is who they say and that they really do live there. If the number is ex-directory, I’ll ask for a reference from another girl he’s seen and call her to see if he’s OK. If none of the above can be done, I usually ask him to book a hotel.
I take a full name, contact number and a booking reference for the hotel. The more hoops you make people jump through, the more it puts off anyone dodgy. There are plenty of girls who won’t even take a name or number. I don’t do anything with the booking reference, it’s just one of the hoops, but sometimes I call and ask to be put through to the gentleman. Then, if he has given a false name, I’ll find out.
When people give a false name, it’s not necessarily because they are dodgy; it’s usually because they’re paranoid. Recently, I had a dinner date booked near Birmingham. When I spoke to the guy, I asked his name and he said that the hotel was ‘booked under’ James Smith. This told me he hadn’t used his real name, so I asked what his real name was, and he said James Smith. He made me feel a bit silly for asking, like it was obvious.
I didn’t believe him, but I knew I could check it with the hotel. I decided to put my name check into action by calling and asking to be put through to Mr Smith. When he answered, I said, ‘It’s meeeeeeee!’ ‘Who’s me?’ came the reply, and I realised I had the wrong person. ‘Ooops, sorry,’ I said and hung up. Then I called my client on his mobile and said I had been put through to Mr Smith and that it wasn’t him. I asked what his real name was, and he told me, but I said he’d have to wait while I sent that information through to my friend, who always knows where I am. He apologised and said he hadn’t considered that side of things.
The Girlfriend Experience Page 13