The Girlfriend Experience

by Rebecca Dakin

  F or well over a year, I was single before meeting Steve. I met him through one of my neighbours while out on her birthday. Most people called it a night at about midnight, but I ended up staying out and partying with him and his friend Simon. We had a real laugh, and they both ended up staying at my place.

  Steve and I became good friends. He knew what I did for a living, as he’d asked on the night we met; he was always up for going out and I didn’t know many people in Nottingham at the time. After we’d seen each other a couple of times, he said that he fancied me. I asked him what he wanted from me and he said he’d like a relationship. Although he was very sweet (tall, skinny, with an attractive, boyish face), initially I didn’t fancy him, so I told him that all I could offer would be friendship. We became very close, to the point that we were seeing each other three or four times a week; we even went away together, but nothing happened. Even though I was quite horny on a few occasions, I managed to resist, and I have so much respect for him because he never tried anything. We’d lie together and cuddle, but never went any further.

  After a drunken night out, he confessed that he hadn’t had sex for a while. By this point he’d really grown on me and I fancied him like mad, so I joked that as he was a mate, I’d help him out. I told him it was a one-off, though, and not to expect it to happen again – but I wasn’t expecting to enjoy it so much! He is the best kisser I’ve ever met, although he doesn’t believe it when I tell him, and everything about our time in bed was amazing. Afterwards, I knew most definitely it would be happening again!

  It was then that I realised that I couldn’t have sex outside work without getting too attached. This wasn’t a one-night stand with a random stranger – it was someone with whom I was spending a huge chunk of my time. I wasn’t at all in control of how I felt. In my head, I was thinking, it’s just sex, but this was someone I genuinely cared about and I couldn’t help my emotions. We then had a bizarre on/off relationship. I didn’t want to commit to him because alarm bells were ringing, telling me that he wasn’t right for me, but at the same time I couldn’t keep away from him. I realised that I was telling him he wasn’t a boyfriend, while still treating him like one. How confusing that must have been.

  Deep down, I long to be loved and to be in a relationship, and to have someone it means something to, when I give myself. I loved spending time with Steve because when things were good, they were really good, but eventually I didn’t feel things would work out – he never complimented me, and there were other things about him including his ‘man moods’ that I found difficult to deal with. I care for him very much, but he lacks drive and enthusiasm about life and he sometimes tries to make people feel guilty and sorry for him. He tends to wallow in self-pity and negativity.

  When we were going out, I suspect a small part of him liked the fact that his friends assumed I was messing him around and felt sorry for him, but we were both to blame for the lack

  Boyfriend number three – Steve of success in our ‘relationship’. Eventually we had to call it a day – I knew it wouldn’t work, and neither of us was moving on because of it. We didn’t see each other for about eight months, and now we are just friends, but I don’t see or speak to him very often. I care about him very much. He’s very good to me and the times I do see him he still helps me out if I need his help and he is able.

  Steve wasn’t comfortable with my job. He never said much, but I just knew he wasn’t. He wouldn’t ask me about it, but then he never really asked me about anything. Instead, he would ask me how long I planned to escort, but I couldn’t tell him because I didn’t (and still don’t) know what I want to do. When I moaned about work, or anything else, he was always there to listen and he loved to comfort me when I was upset.

  I think part of him enjoyed seeing me upset because he felt needed. For example, it was Steve that I called when my ‘friend’ Nas spoke to me like I was a hooker. I got home in tears and he came round straightaway. He was very supportive, but in the long run he did resent giving me that support. Often, he was round at my flat when I’d be going out to work. Looking back, him being there while I was getting ready did make things awkward. I couldn’t get in the right frame of mind for work and I would rush around, worrying I’d be late, because I’d want to stay and be with him until the very last minute. Then he’d get annoyed because I was stressed and he would be in a mood if I didn’t drop him at his doorstep, even though he was only ten minutes’ walk from mine.

  He always thought our relationship wasn’t balanced; that he did so much for me, while I did nothing for him. I’d ask him to help me with things because I knew part of him liked me to need his help, but then he’d say he was putting more into the relationship than me. The sad thing was, he didn’t acknowledge that I cooked for him, gave him lifts, made him feel good about himself, made him laugh, and was a genuine friend and lover; he’d just focus on the negatives.

  If I ever complimented him, he’d think I was lying, just trying to get him to compliment me. Yes, I did want him to compliment me, but I was being myself. I like to make people feel good - hence why I’m good at my job. I don’t lie, so any compliment I give is genuine, but he was so insecure he didn’t believe me.

  Maybe he didn’t feel he was good enough for me and was worried I would find someone else, but all this negative behaviour just pushed me away. Some of his ‘friends’ thought this, as they assumed I was with him for some ulterior motive, which in retrospect is an insult to him as it’s suggesting they thought he wasn’t good enough for me, so they fuelled his lack of confidence. As I said, the more I got to know him, the more I fancied him – I don’t think men understand this. As the months ticked by, I went from initially not being attracted to him at all to fancying the pants off him. I thought he had a lovely face, but I’m convinced he didn’t believe me when I told him so. Drunk, he’d be a different person: kind, loving, affectionate – even complimentary. I used to enjoy picking him up from the pub, because he’d be a bit tipsy and I’d be sober. His barriers were down because of the drink and he’d say nice things and be very complimentary. I’d tell him to repeat it all in the morning, if he meant it. He never did. Come the morning his barriers were back in place. Most women hate seeing their partners drunk, but I didn’t mind it. If only he could have been the same way sober. If he had, I believe we could have had a successful relationship.

  Even when we weren’t officially ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’, we’d always sleep together and people thought of us as a couple. I went to various weddings with him and I think he found it very difficult to deal with the fact I was so honest about my job. He never said anything, but I suspect he found it embarrassing because of people’s judgemental reactions. I really wouldn’t have a problem going out with a male escort, but I think it must dent a guy’s pride a bit, going out with the

  Chapter Title female version. When we had sex, I know he’d wonder if I was the same as at work. Of course I wasn’t! You can’t compare the two. Having sex with a boyfriend is completely different because emotions and feelings are involved. He never asked me outright, though and I didn’t bring the subject up because I wasn’t sure he’d understand if I tried to explain.

  The common denominator with all my long-term boyfriends is one way or another, they’ve had troubled childhoods and I suspect this is one of the reasons why things haven’t worked out. I haven’t gone out on the hunt for a man who doesn’t have a good relationship with his family – it’s just turned out that way. In future, I think I’d better check out the family situation early on! Also, none of them owned their own property when we were together, so I suppose that says something; the fact that they don’t want any responsibilities shows a lack of commitment and maturity.

  I’ve been single now for over three years and I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I’m sure when the time is right, Mr Right will find me. What I really want is to be wooed! I know this sounds old-fashioned, but I want someone to really want me, to do whatever it takes to get me and to
sweep me off my feet. For the right person, I know I have a lot to offer. Being independent, I need someone who isn’t threatened by this, someone who isn’t afraid to compliment me, support me and push me to get the best for myself. I’d offer the same and more in return. Although I’m independent, I still like to feel protected and looked after. I do want to have kids and I’m aware of my biological clock ticking, but I’m not going to force the situation. At the moment, I’m concentrating on this book and ending the escorting chapter of my life, before I can even think about settling down and having kids. If I haven’t found my Mr Right in the next few years, I might have to have a rethink – I’ve got a few male friends who I’m sure would help me out!

  I dashed out of the apartment in London Bridge to meet my date for the evening. It wasn’t our first date, so I didn’t mind meeting him at the restaurant. I had booked us in at Roast for a five -hour dinner date and was bang on time at 5 o’clock, but there was no sign of him. I was disappointed because I always think if someone’s a gentleman , they try to make sure they’re there before you, and he hadn’t contacted me to tell me he might be late.

  As I sat down , I caught the barman’s eye and he came over, gave me a flirty smile and left the drinks menu. I was in London ‘on tour’. I had booked an apartment and had three dinner dates arranged. These work in the same way as my usual dates, except my clients come back with me to the apartment rather than me visiting them at a hotel. I’d booked a 4-star apartment as I was there for a few days, and it would be much nicer than being stuck in a poky hotel room. At the apartment I had washing and cooking facilities, a lounge, a dining area and even a DVD player and Sky TV. I was lucky enough to have a balcony, too – it’s often cheaper to book a decent apartment than a good hotel.

  A work friend of mine was in London , too so we both had some social time together and were able to chat between clients and have a whinge and gossip. Norman , my date, is extremely hard work and emotionally draining. Not only does he suffer severe SMS, he also mumbles! I can’t hear a word he says, and when you’re surrounded by noisy people in a public place, it’s quite frustrating; it means I have to concentrate really hard to try and lip-read for a good three or four hours. It’s exhausting!

  Anyhow, my waiter had been eyeing me at the bar, and as soon as I put the menu down and looked up he was over like a shot. I couldn’t decide which of the two cocktails I wanted, so I asked his advice and he recommended the Berry Blitz. When he brought it over, he waited for my approval before launching into a conversation about who I was waiting for and whether I’d eaten there before. He was flirting, and I wondered what the tall, dark, handsome young man would think when my date arrived: geeky, sweaty, mumbling Norman! I still hadn’t heard from him and now, it was nearly ten past.

  As my phone started ringing, I grabbed it, thinking it must be Norman . ‘Wanker’ was calling me. I clicked to voicemail, but he didn’t leave a message. If you look at an escort’s phone, we have all sorts of names for callers we want to avoid. I actually have one called ‘Avoid’, then there’s ‘Persistent’ and ‘Idiot’. Usually, I get confused as to which name belongs to which person , but it doesn’t matter. They’re all calls to be avoided, and if these guys leave messages, I won’t reply to them. They’re usually people I haven’t met, who have left me dodgy messages, or someone I’ve briefly spoken to and had problems with, so I know I won’t agree to see them.

  ‘Wanker’ is a guy who contacted me recently about a platonic date (one where there’s no private time at all), and I spoke to him but put the phone down when he started making very specific requests, saying he wanted me to take my shoe off and massage his penis with my toes while we were in a restaurant. He then repeatedly texted me to apologise, saying he’d really like to see me. So, his number got saved as ‘Wanker’.

  The waiter bought over the food menu and gave his recommendations before going back to the bar to serve. I finished my drink , and ordered a champagne cocktail. I still hadn’t heard from Norman . I wasn’t about to chase him – after all, he was paying for the time. I wasn’t about to let him stay any later, though, especially as he hadn’t even had the courtesy to call. He worked round the corner so I knew he wasn’t stuck on the Underground with no reception .

  Norman finally arrived, sweating as I’d predicted, but also smelling strongly of B.O. He plonked himself down next to me – by this time it was half past five. Believe it or not, he was late because he’d been showering! He absolutely stank, so I can’t imagine he used any soap and he definitely doesn’t use deodorant or cologne. He’d been held up at work and had booked into the same block as me to stay over; he hadn’t thought to let me know. Selfish SMS, say no more!

  By 6.05p.m., he was agitated and hungry, so we moved to our table, only to be told we’d have to vacate it by 8p.m., which I thought was extremely rude, especially as it wasn’t mentioned when I’d booked. There was no way I was spending two hours in the apartment with him! I’ve never made him come and it ends up with him wanking himself off as I can’t even get him hard. It’s exhausting and unproductive, so I let him do most of the work. If he can’t even make himself come, what hope have I got?

  He talked about his work, his allergy to plasters, his Games Workshop battles, and every time I tried to talk about me, he stared around the room, making it clear he wasn’t interested in what I had to say. He’s probably over shadowed at work by strong characters, hence his need to just talk about himself and his total lack of interest in me. I kept asking him to speak up, telling him I couldn’t hear him, but he never did. Had he been interested in me, I would have been interested in him, but I was bored stiff listening to him talk – well, mumble – about himself for hours.

  By the time we ordered dessert it was past 8p.m., but thankfully we weren’t asked to leave the table. He ordered some sort of chocolate dessert and he got it all round his mouth. It was repulsive! I looked and noticed his napkin hadn’t been used at all. The first time I met him, by the end of the meal he’d managed to layer up all his courses on his large, full lips: soup, something tomatoey, and cream from an Irish coffee. It was absolutely revolting! This time, I left it a couple of minutes, amusing myself by wondering if he’d notice. He didn’t. So, I told him he had chocolate all round his face and said, ‘No wonder, you haven’t even used your napkin!’ Vile table manners are usually standard with SMS men .

  By the time we got back to the apartments, we had about an hour. He went to his apartment to collect my envelope and brush his teeth. I’d asked him to brush his teeth after we had our first lunch to get the gunk from his lips, but I still tasted the cream around his mouth when I kissed him… yuck! Back in the bedroom, I put on some music. His armpits stank and I contemplated asking him to shower, but for some reason I didn’t. I decided to be assertive and asked if he’d like to give me oral sex, so he did. It felt really good, and I let him do it for about 15 minutes before giving him oral. He never gets an erection and it’s really disheartening, so I usually get him to sort himself out. He started wanking as I deep French -kissed him and rubbed my breasts in his face and down his torso. It took 25 minutes of sweating and straining, with his face bright red, before he managed to bring himself off.

  I think he thought he’d stay late, so I got up and put on my pyjamas, making it clear I was going to be off to bed. He left about ten past ten , and I opened the window to disperse the lingering sweaty smell and enjoyed a long bath.

  CHAPTER 20:

  Bad hygiene and inappropriate behaviour

  My pet hate is bad hygiene. I spend a lot of time preparing for my dates and I’m always fresh, sweet-smelling, shaved and in tip-top condition, so when someone hasn’t made the same effort, I just think it’s damn rude. I have no respect for guys like that, because they clearly have no respect for me; I think guys should shower before they meet me. And if they feel sweaty during our date, they should shower again before we get intimate.

  Please make sure you’ve eaten, because this is going to get g
ross… I’m amazed there are grown men who don’t know how to wash their bits. Don’t they realise they need to pull the foreskin right back and give it a good old clean with lots of soap? I always think circumcised is so much nicer. One guy’s bits smelt so bad, I didn’t go anywhere near – I wasn’t going to ask him to wash it properly, so I just avoided it. The first time we met was for an extended overnight in Bristol. After kissing him and smelling a bit of B.O., I excused myself and went to the bathroom to do my hygiene checks… only to discover the bottom of the shower was dry, the soap was unopened, and the towels hadn’t been moved or used. He hadn’t even washed! I tried to be subtle and asked if he wanted to shower, but he said he was OK. Talk about not getting the hint! ‘So, when did you have one?’ I inquired. ‘This morning,’ came the answer. I had met him at 3p.m., and we’d been out for a late lunch; it was now nearer 6p.m. and he stank! So, I had to ask him to have a shower if he wanted things to go any further in the bedroom. Reluctantly, he went in.

  We went away numerous times, and once we went to Rome. He’d started showering twice a day, which sorted out the B.O., but I still didn’t have sex with him or give him oral or touch him down below because he wasn’t washing properly. So, we just cuddled and kissed. Silly man, he didn’t know what he was missing!

  On our last date in Rome I jumped in the shower, and asked if there was a towel. He gave me a used one – it looked like it had make-up on it, so he said it must be mine. I have no idea why, but I decided to give the towel a quick sniff. It was actually poo! I was fuming. How could anyone do that? I don’t get it. Yuck!

  I hit the roof. I told him it certainly wasn’t my towel, as I wiped and washed myself properly! He stood there, bemused, looking a little embarrassed, but he didn’t apologise. I couldn’t believe it. Thankfully I never saw him again.