The Girlfriend Experience

by Rebecca Dakin

  I’m always learning from my mistakes and tightening up safety procedures. I used to give out my real first name and I made the mistake of letting a regular have my surname to book some flights to New York. We would be staying for five nights and he had paid me a deposit. I’d been seeing him for about two years, so you’d think after that amount of time that I could trust him, but what happened next proved that I couldn’t rely on my instincts 100%, no matter how well I thought I knew someone.

  He was an Asian guy in his thirties, quite good looking and not demanding at all. I used to look forward to seeing him because we got on very well. It started off as an overnight once a month and then progressed to a two- or three-night stay once a month. We would meet, have dinner and sometimes watch a movie. When we went away for a few days, he would buy me gifts and beauty treatments.

  Many guys don’t like any kind of other entertainment on a normal overnight date – they want you to be 100% focused on them. This can be emotionally draining, so I thought it was great that he would suggest a movie. He was very chilled. When we had fun in bed, although he wasn’t interested in pleasuring me, it didn’t matter because it didn’t take me long to please him.

  I was very excited about our New York trip, and he was happy to pay a deposit so I could block that week out of my diary. Then he cancelled the day before we were due to fly. Unfortunately he lost the deposit, as it was such short notice and I’d had other enquiries for that week, which I’d turned down.

  Then a good friend I know through escorting told me about an Asian man who had stalked her friend (who’s a bit ditsy) and it transpired this was the same guy. I had to think long and hard about whether I wanted to keep on seeing him. You may think that this was a silly thing to do, but he was a good client: he’d never pestered me and he was bringing me a good chunk of income on a monthly basis. I was glad to be made aware of the other lady’s problems, but she had made a big mistake. She made arrangements to see him as a ‘friend’, even though she had not met him as a client, which is something I wouldn’t do.

  She was in London and told him where she was staying, but then she changed her mind and said she no longer wanted to meet him. He pestered her with calls, on her mobile and at the hotel. Obviously, this was very inconvenient. He then said he would be waiting outside for her and although she asked the hotel to stop directing the calls through, he persistently called her mobile and threatened her. He said he could find out where she lived, and she was terrified.

  I decided if he tried to do anything like that to me, I would just ignore him and he would soon get bored. Generally, I think I’m quite a good judge of character, so I didn’t feel threatened. I genuinely thought that although this man clearly had a screw loose somewhere, he was harmless where I was concerned. So, we arranged to meet for a few days in London. I was very blasé as we had met so many times in the past and stupidly, and as I felt guilty that he’d lost his deposit before, I didn’t make him pay in advance this time. I wasn’t concerned that we hadn’t discussed what we would be doing during our stay in London, but as I was packing I called him and left a message asking what clothes to bring. He then started messing around, text messaging me, so I knew he had his phone with him, but he wouldn’t pick up when I called. I left him a message saying that I wouldn’t set off until I’d spoken to him, so it was in his best interests to call me, but he had decided to play a little game with me and I think it was all because he felt bitter about losing his money from the New York trip.

  He then accused me of pestering him, and text messaged to tell me not to contact him again. I sent one back saying OK, and that was my last contact with him. Over the next few days he repeatedly called me and sent abusive texts. I never answered his calls or returned his messages. He texted me my home address, and told me a date and time when he would be there. I ignored all his efforts and did not fear him. If he turned up at home, I would just call the police. I live in a secure apartment and it’s like Fort Knox, so I wasn’t worried he would get in. Even if he did, there’s no way I would let him into my apartment.

  I have kept a birthday card from him, which tickles me every time I read it. He wrote:

  You are a super woman. Great looks, super body, humour. Fantastic in bed, what else does a man want?

  I have never met a woman who eats so much and looks great.

  Long may we be good friends and the rest.

  I love and enjoy your company.

  Any man just needs to look at you and SPARKS fly around his pants. For a couple of years he called and texted me at least once a week. A few years ago, he sent me a self-addressed envelope with his mum’s address, asking me to refund the deposit he had lost when he cancelled our New York trip. I saved this address in case I ever need to take it to the police. What a plonker he was, giving me his mum’s address! The calls and messages became less frequent as he got bored because I wasn’t giving him any response.

  What I learnt from this experience was never to give out my first or last name, even to my regulars, no matter how much I think I can trust them. I use a pseudonym for my first name and I never give out my surname. I book my own flights. Clients have to transfer money to me, via my business bank account, but I still don’t give out my name, just the account details, or I use PayPal, the online money transfer system.

  A couple of years ago, I met an American guy at the Dorchester in London for a dinner date. He had booked and paid for a room for me, but he was staying elsewhere. Small and rotund, he looked about 50. I remember something bugged me quite early on. I arrived very early at the hotel and made a call to my friend Nat outside. We talked about lots of personal things, including work, and I noticed a short, fat guy lingering by the entrance, but thought nothing of it. When it was nearly time for me to arrive, I called the client and the guy who was lingering answered his phone. That was extremely freaky, and it set alarm bells ringing – it suggests someone with a controlling nature.

  The evening went well, as did the time in the room. The only thing was that he tried to stay longer than the four hours for which he had booked and paid. I mean, I was OK with 20 minutes extra, but after that I wanted to sleep. He got a bit short with me. With him paying for the room, I couldn’t just up and leave – that made things a bit awkward. He then requested I visit him in Paris for a couple of days and for two nights in Monte Carlo the week after. I told him I would book the flights and gave him my bank details, minus the name, so that he could pay me a deposit (this was before I had a business bank account). He called me numerous times to say he was unable to make the payment and that he needed my surname. I wouldn’t give in, and eventually he said the money had gone through. I was so thrilled when he told me we’d be meeting at the Ritz! I had always wanted to stay at the Ritz and go to Monaco, so I was really excited.

  I am always dubious until people pay a deposit because there are so many timewasters and so many guys in a little fantasy world – they enquire, but simply haven’t got the money. Some say they’re going to take you to exotic places just because they think you’ll treat them differently, and they’ll get more out of you on a date because you’re hoping to impress them so you can be taken to the places they’ve tempted you with.

  Anyhow, this guy did pay the deposit for both trips, so I booked my flights and he gave me the confirmation for the Ritz and our hotel in Monaco. Both hotels looked amazing. I found them on the Internet and eagerly perused their websites. I remember thinking, ‘This is what my job’s all about: I’m living the dream!’ – although of course it would be nice to be able to frequent these places and pay my own way rather than relying on my clients to take me!

  A lot of people don’t realise there’s so much travel involved in my job and they’re often surprised when they ask where I’ve been for work and I reel off a few of the places: Zurich, Milan, Venice, Rome, Hong Kong, Dubai! I get a real buzz from travelling abroad to see clients and for me, this is what being a high-class escort is all about.

  I touched down in Par
is and got a taxi to the hotel. It felt great to be able to say ‘the Ritz, please’. When we pulled up, it was everything that I’d imagined it to be. All the staff treated me like royalty, opening doors and wanting to help me with my small suitcase; I was mesmerised. My client came down to meet me, and took me up the grand gold staircase. The hotel typified luxury in every way, from the large chandeliers and gold railings and trimmings to the fabulous, huge, exotic flower displays and immaculately-presented staff. The room we had was quite small, but I’m sure it must have been ludicrously expensive. There was a large, French-style window with shutters, and the beds and décor were luxurious and classic. It was a shame we were only staying one night, but I wanted to make the most of it.

  We went straight out for a walk around the streets of Paris: we walked to the Louvre and then went on a big wheel with views over the city. Afterwards, we stopped at a little café and sat outside, as it was a beautiful day, before heading back to the hotel, where I showered to get ready for our evening out. The bathroom was spacious and beautiful; all the fittings were gold and there was marble everywhere. There was a double sink and fluffy, luxurious peach robes, embroidered with The Ritz logo. If only my bathroom at home could be like that! I remember thinking ‘I’m going to pinch all the freebies here’! My date kindly said I could take all the bottles in the bathroom, along with the shoe shiner, slippers, sewing kit and flannel, all with the printed Ritz logo, as souvenirs. I imagined how nice it would be to be there on my own, or with a friend or a boyfriend.

  Our next trip was to Monaco, and just ten days after our return from Paris, I was flying out to Nice. We spent the afternoon on the beach in Cannes, but I was thoroughly embarrassed by this loud American, with a huge swollen belly sticking out of a cropped T-shirt. He looked pregnant! Men should never be allowed to wear cropped T-shirts, especially if they are overweight. It was a relaxing afternoon, and we ate lunch in a restaurant overlooking the beach. It was wonderful.

  The hotel was gorgeous, high up on the side on the cliff face with views of the town below. It was my first time in the south of France and I couldn’t believe I had never been before. There were two outdoor pools with stunning views out to sea. The hotel room was quite basic, but I suspect that because of the location it would have been very expensive. The first night there we ate in the hotel, and ended up having eight courses! I was stuffed. I had worn a glamorous dress as I knew we were going to the casino, and I waltzed in, Sharon Stone style, enjoying the turning of heads. Feeling lucky, I frivolously put lots of chips over various black-and-red boxes at the roulette table. We did quite well, but I’m not sure I’d have been so blasé with my own money!

  The next day we drove to St Tropez. We had been told that he wouldn’t be able to eat out in the restaurants wearing shorts, so we went on a mission to find some trousers. When he finally found some, he insisted on keeping them on in the shop before he had paid for them, and he spent about ten minutes trying to sit on the security tag remover. It was very comical! On our last day, he had to leave earlier than me, so I spent the morning by the pool admiring the picturesque view, drinking it all in and making the most of the experience before returning to rainy England.

  I’d had a wonderful couple of days. Why is it that the nutters are so pleasant to go away with? Before he left, he’d mentioned something cryptic about life being a journey, not a destination, and to enjoy the ride. I thought nothing more of this until I returned home and received a postcard from Cannes: it had my full name and address on it, plus the quote. He didn’t sign it, but obviously he didn’t need to. He’d sent it while we were away.

  He then emailed me and tried to arrange to meet again. I ignored him. He asked if it was because of the postcard, and said there was no way he would have sent money without checking me out. That was fine, but he was obviously another control freak – he didn’t need to make a point of telling me he’d looked me up. I never responded, and I wasn’t worried – he had more to lose than me. At the end of our date, I left the hotel after him, so I still have a copy of the bill, with all his office addresses and details of his business partners.

  A fellow escort once told me always to take my passport with me everywhere, even to the bathroom, and to sleep with it under my pillow. The key thing about safety is to make sure you’re always on the ball. That means not getting drunk, so you can keep your wits about you. I’m not saying I never get tipsy, but I try not to, especially with people I haven’t seen before.

  On one overnight date in London I was given champagne when I arrived, and then we went out and had a taster menu at a Michelin-starred restaurant, with wine to accompany each of the dishes, so I did feel quite tipsy by the time we got back to the room. My client was in a hyperactive mood and asked if I minded if he had a joint. I wouldn’t have agreed to him doing any other drug, but I have the odd joint myself so I didn’t mind it, and I thought it might help chill him out. I have only ever had a joint with someone twice on a date and would never touch any other drugs, or knowingly see anyone who was on drugs, not even Viagra.

  While we were having sex, he put his hands loosely round my neck. I pushed them out of the way, but then he put his hand over my nose and mouth. Then I pushed him away and he apologised, but it was too late. He had made me feel uncomfortable and I abruptly stopped our play-time and said I was going to sleep. I didn’t feel scared, because although it sounds scary, my instincts didn’t tell me to be fearful. If he’d been forceful then I would have been terrified, but he seemed to just want to see if it was something I was ‘into’ or not. Had I been near home, I would have probably left. Recently, I got a call from him about a date, and I will see him again. He apologised profusely for his behaviour on our last date and said he wasn’t into anything weird. His voicemail said, ‘Hi, it’s the Boston Strangler’! Although this time I will be making sure he doesn’t start smoking his wacky baccy!

  In seven years of escorting, the only time I have been genuinely scared is when a French guy who’d been acting very oddly – which I’d initially put down to nerves – was lying next to me with his arm around me. He’d come to visit me at a hotel, where I was staying in London. I was snuggled into his chest, so couldn’t see his face. Although he looked younger, he said he was 50. To make conversation, I asked what he’d done for his 50th birthday. He told me he had gone to the shop, bought a bottle of fizzy water – which he’d pretended was champagne – and a porn magazine, and had gone home to masturbate. Without looking up, I asked why he hadn’t had a party with his friends. He said he didn’t have any and that he had killed them all, one by one. The last bit was said very slowly and my heart lurched into my stomach. I jumped off the bed and told him to leave. He insisted that he was only joking, but I had a bad feeling and panicked, asking him to leave immediately. I spent the next thirty minutes shaking and sobbing. Why anyone would ‘joke’ about killing their friends, I have no idea.

  Then there’s the safe-sex aspect. As soon as I started escorting, I got myself checked out at the clinic and received the all-clear. I told them I was working as an escort and they were very helpful, offering to give me Hepatitis B jabs and giving me good advice. They always gave me a bag of free condoms, which was great considering how expensive they are in the shops. There are things I can catch from kissing and from offering oral sex without a condom, but I have always been clean. And if I’m not sure of someone’s hygiene, then I don’t go there. Like every escort, I made a choice about my services and I’ve stuck to it. I can understand why girls don’t kiss or offer oral without, but they don’t get as much work and in my opinion you can’t offer a GFE and not kiss! Girls who don’t kiss or do oral sex without a condom mostly get short meetings with clients who just want sex. Some guys don’t give me oral sex – I’m sure they think that because of my job I might be dirty!

  There are girls who don’t use condoms, and in the past I’ve been offered more money to have sex without one. I refused. Some girls get amazing reviews, with clients rating them a 9 or 1
0 for looks when their photos tell a different story, and that’s usually because they’re not using condoms.

  When I first started out, I was careless and slept with two guys without condoms. We’d used them initially, but then got lost in the moment and just had sex without. I saw both men regularly and was genuinely very fond of them. When one guy told me he’d caught something from me, I was mortified. I went to the clinic, only to be told I was fine. It transpired his wife had been sleeping with someone at her local gym and he’d caught it off her! It didn’t occur to him he might have caught it that way and he obviously assumed, because of my job, that it was from me. Thankfully, that brought me back to reality and I have always used condoms since. Occasionally they have split, but I’ve never had any problems when I’ve been checked out.

  Most of the guys I see are frequent users of escorts and either only see escorts, or they’re married, or have a partner. Generally, they are not people who sleep with multiple partners without protection. I get myself checked out about once every three months and I’ve always been fine, touch wood!

  ‘Make love to me!’ It was an order, not a request – and I was not in the mood. I think it’s incredibly rude to order anyone to do anything. Clearly, this guy didn’t care if I wanted to have sex or not, and I felt sad that I’d misjudged his character. Only 20 minutes earlier I’d told him that I was sure he wouldn’t want me to just go through the motions when I didn’t actually want to have sex with him. Obviously, I was wrong.