‘Yeah. When we spoke on the phone, although that was before she said you’d be writing it. I was under the impression she was going to do it.’ He ran his hands through his hair before covering his face. ‘Can we start again?’ he said through the cracks of his fingers.
‘I think we should,’ I replied, shifting in my seat to get a better look at his eyes. They were deep and green. Just enough softness about them to make me feel more at ease. ‘Can we start with a few questions, and then we’ll get onto my vision for the article.’
I was hoping I could come up with one, but my thoughts appeared to have scattered across the floor.
‘What about my vision…Stash?’ I narrowed my eyes and wondered what on earth he was talking about, until he pointed to my coffee cup.
‘Don’t you just love it when they get your name wrong?’ I said.
‘Stash isn’t a nickname then?’
‘No. I think we’ll file it under terrible handwriting more than it being a complete name malfunction.’
‘Shame. It’s kind of cute. I liked it.’ He shrugged.
Matt was comfortable in his skin. I knew just from his posture. His elbow was a breadth away from mine and if he nudged me with it, I would have considered it foreplay because he was doing strange tingly things to my lady bits. The ones that had been sad and neglected, and were now seemingly interested in a male escort. It was a weird turn of events. I wondered if that was part of his skill set, the reason why he was so popular. The art of orgasms without being touched.
‘How old are you?’ I asked.
‘I turned twenty-six last week.’ Two years younger than me. I could work with that.
What are you thinking? Has it escaped your notice that he’s a bloody male escort?
‘Happy birthday for last week.’
Stop talking, Stace.
‘Thanks.’ He smiled again and I almost forgot myself. This wasn’t a friendly chat with the most handsome man I’d ever seen. This was work. A job. An interview. I needed questions.
‘Are you from London?’
Highly unoriginal, but we’ll go with it.
‘Originally from Brighton, but I live in London now.’
‘Hold the front door!’ I said, grabbing his arm. Stop touching him. ‘I live in Brighton. Aside from London, it’s my favourite place to be.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah! My best friend has a café. Sorry, had a café. She’s just sold it, but we still live there above the shop, and Skye works a few shifts.’
‘Whereabouts?’ he asked.
‘North Laine. Turnip The Beet.’
‘I know it! That little place on the corner with the retro board games. Great place.’
‘That’s the one,’ I replied, genuinely enjoying this small connection we shared. I always thought if someone had a love of Brighton, they were my kind of person.
‘Tell your friend that it’s a brilliant name.’ He smiled. ‘Totally fits in Brighton.’
‘You should hear what her new business is called. We couldn’t have named it better.’
‘Another café?’
‘Mobile dog grooming.’
‘Different.’ He smirked. ‘Let me guess. Dogs on Wheels? Barking Mad?’
‘Vanity Fur,’ I replied, smiling. ‘My favourite magazine is Vanity Fair. Mum’s from Liverpool and she always pronounced it as Vanity Fur. The accent shone through and the name stuck.’
‘That’s better than Turnip The Beet,’ he replied.
‘You can’t miss the van. She wanted it bright pink, like her hair, but I insisted she needed gold-and-black writing to keep it classy, much like my adored publication.’
‘I haven’t been to the café for a while but next time I’m home, I’ll definitely drop in.’ My stomach flipped on the word home. ‘Some of my family still live there. My aunt and cousin, Beth. She’s more like a sister, though…I don’t go back as often as I like.’ Silence fell between us. Matt chanced a few glances, smiling when he caught my eyes and for the first time in my journalistic career, I had no idea what to say next.
He crossed his arms and smiled politely. ‘Have you done this before?’ he asked. ‘You seem nervous.’
‘Yeah, I’ve done this before.’
I’d interviewed before, of course I had, but there was no denying I was discombobulated. The man was stunning. He also happened to make a living out of shagging, and I didn’t know what to do with that. ‘I’m…just…’ Insanely attracted to you. ‘Wondering where to start.’
But he has sex. Lots of sex, with lots of different women.
I laughed, putting my hands out on the table. ‘How did you get into your…profession.’
He blew out a laugh. ‘I know it’s not conventional,’ he replied. ‘It isn’t something I share. I find it’s a conversation killer. So, what do you, Matthew? Oh, I meet women, go on a date, and if it calls for it, we have sexual intercourse.’
He shook his head, like he couldn’t quite believe it himself, and smiled as I started to laugh again. His eyes crinkled as he did, laughter lines and well-worn ones at that. I imagined he laughed a lot, it suited him, and I had an urge to get closer—and even closer still, to kiss him there, right along the lines.
‘I can see how that could end a conversation.’ He moved in too, his eyes shifting slightly to the waves of my hair, like he’d never seen the shade before, like it intrigued him, and his fingers were itching to touch it.
‘You…give good hair,’ he said.
I smoothed it out with my hands and arched an eyebrow. ‘Thanks.’
‘I love the colour.’
‘My ex told me it’s the “good” shade of red,’ I said, using air quotes. ‘I’ve never been entirely sure what that meant.’ I cocked my head to the side in thought. ‘It almost verged on being a backhanded compliment.’
‘Almost? It’s skidded through backhanded compliment and is well on its way to hitting the insult area.’
I pinched my nose, smiling behind my hand.
‘I’m glad he’s an ex,’ Matt added seriously, his eyes lifting to my hair again. His finger twitched like he wanted to reach for me, but he stretched them out and placed them palms down against the sheer white of the tabletop. ‘He sounds like a dick.’
I wanted to say, ‘He was, you’re bang on,’ but that wouldn’t be right because we’d only just met despite it feeling longer than the brief time we’d spent together at this table.
‘I think I asked a question about how you started escorting,’ I said softly, not wanting to lose his eye contact, but did. He glanced down, like he was unsure of what he wanted to say or how he wanted to say it. I got a feeling this interview was going to be taxing for the both of us.
‘It’s kind of weird how I got started,’ he said. ‘My girlfriend at the time worked for an escort agency. She was answering phones but went on to manage the accounts. I knew we didn’t have a future together when she asked if I’d be interested in joining the team.’
‘She didn’t want you to answer the phones, then,’ I replied, tongue firmly in my cheek.
He laughed. ‘No. Wouldn’t have paid as well.’
‘What were you doing before?’
Cue a big sigh. ‘Various jobs. Factory work, a waiter, sales. Nothing that I wanted to do long-term. I was a dog walker for a while. That was fun.’
‘So, why the change?’ I asked.
Cue a bigger sigh. ‘You’re getting right in there, aren’t you? I hadn’t prepared myself for this. I was expecting to talk about cock size and multiple orgasms.’
My pencil jumped across the page and I wasn’t sure if it was on the word orgasm or multiple. Hello, libido. I’ve missed you.
‘That comes later,’ I sassed, as Matt arched one of his perfect eyebrows.
‘You mean the lighthearted stuff is shelved for deep and meaningful? I thought this publication prided itself on position of the month.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘Stacey…can I call you
Stacey, or is it Stash?’
‘My friends call me Stace.’ He looked at me with full attention, and a swoony smile that had me reaching to undo my bra clasp.
‘Stace, it is then,’ he replied, his voice low, velvet and smooth.
Oh, crap. I was being lured in by the banter of an escort.
‘You’re a charmer. Is that why you’re so popular?’ His face dropped a little. A small smile replaced the bigger one I liked so much, making me instantly regret my silly quip at his expense. ‘We’re going off script, aren’t we? Let me bring it back a little. Why did you leave what would be classed as normal jobs for the life of a male escort?’
‘I needed the money.’ He shrugged and I leant in.
‘Why?’
‘Family circumstances,’ he replied, but gave me nothing more.
‘This is going to be a short interview, Mr Shaw.’
‘Matt,’ he replied. ‘I was told today would be an informal chat. I wasn’t prepared for anything more. I’m sorry. I’ve never…talked about it.’
I watched him, trying to make sense of why bravado wasn’t shining from him. I expected a male escort to be cocky. Full of himself. Overly confident. Matt seemed like a really nice guy who just happened to have amazingly defined shoulders and great hands. Perfect aesthetics for his escort promo shots.
‘Tell me about an average client.’
He sat back, more relaxed now. ‘There isn’t an average. I see a wide range of women.’
‘You’ve built your own client base?’
He nodded. ‘I work for myself now. I left the agency when I had a client list I could rely on. Word spreads. Just like one of them contacted Upfront to tell their story. If a client has a good experience with me, they tell other people. Pretty soon, I had regular work and a healthy waiting list.’
‘Give me an example.’
‘Of a client?’ he asked.
‘Yeah. Age, circumstances. That kind of thing.’
‘Well, there’s Sarah, who contacted the magazine. She lost her husband a few years ago and isn’t interested in relationships. He was the love of her life. She could never imagine finding anyone else. She describes it as not wanting a replacement for him, but wanting an aspect of their life she misses.’
‘Intimacy,’ I replied, softly.
He gave a small smile and held my gaze. ‘Sex was important to her. She didn’t want to lose that side of herself, and after doing her research…she found me.’
‘How does it work?’ I asked, resting my head on my hand, so interested to hear more.
‘We started off by meeting for a drink. For a while, we just talked. The first time she booked a hotel room, she bottled it and I left. A few weeks later, she made contact again. We took things slow, building up to the sexual side when she was comfortable. It went from there.’
‘Do you have sex with all of your clients?’
‘Not all, no. Sometimes they just want some company or to feel special for a few hours. I’ve been paid to go to the cinema, attend parties as a date. Sometimes I meet them in a hotel and we lie on the bed, cuddling. Very often, it’s just a form of human connection for them, especially if they’ve lost a partner. Some women are divorced, some never married. I’ve also met women who want to lose their virginity to someone they know will make their first time good.’
‘I find that so sad,’ I said, putting the pencil to my mouth.
‘You do? Why?’
I thought for a second, trying to place my words right. ‘Not the fact they use your services,’ I said. ‘Just the human connection aspect. Wouldn’t they rather lose their virginity to someone they have a romantic relationship with? And the women that are widowed, they’ve lost something so sacred but don’t feel the need to find it again with another partner? It’s almost as if they’re limiting their happiness. They want the sexual connection but not all that comes with it. I feel like they’re missing out. Does that make sense?’
‘It’s their choice,’ he replied, glancing at me. ‘Most of them have already experienced wonderful. They don’t want to taint what they had with someone else, but they’re still women with needs. I help them out with that.’ He shrugged, like it made all the sense in the world, but still looked for my reaction or a reassurance he was right. ‘Surely, that’s a good thing?’
‘What about the women who’ve never had wonderful? The inexperienced, both in sex and relationships.’ I had so many questions and they were threatening to spill because I didn’t have the luxury of pre-prepared questions and notes. ‘Do you worry that they’ll fall in love with you? Become obsessed? Do you think they have high expectations of men after their night with you?’
I turned my chair slightly to face him. ‘I’m assuming you’re good at what you do?’ He placed his finger on his lips casually but offered no other response. ‘You must be, if women keep coming back for more.’
‘I offer them the guarantee of an orgasm. One, definitely. More, probably.’ A shiver passed over my spine and moved my body. Physically moved it. I tried to ignore it but as I opened my mouth to speak, a breathy gasp escaped. I didn’t miss that his breath hitched too. ‘I know what women like, Stace.’
‘Which is?’
Easy girl.
‘To be treated well, in and out of the bedroom.’ I almost salivated onto my notepad. ‘I show them the respect and dignity they deserve. Listen. Advise. Show them what they’re capable of.’
Holy G-spot.
I said the first thing my journalist brain plucked from the abyss. ‘Were you a porn star before you did this?’
He let out a soft laugh. ‘No!’
‘Then how do you qualify as some kind of…sex guru?’
‘Can you hold that question,’ he said, holding up his hand. ‘I need to think that one through before I reply. Find the right words. I don’t want to come across as a dick.’
Gah, his humour was dry and he wasn’t afraid to poke fun at himself, and that ticked another box of mine. Shame the ‘don’t date a male escort’ box had a thick red cross running through it.
‘You’re interesting,’ I said.
It came from nowhere, but I was desperate to know more about him, explore the human side to this, not the jokey talk of cocks and sex positions. I wanted the stories of women who made the gutsy decision to go against what was considered the norm in society. We didn’t openly admit to paying for sex. Prostitution, escorting, whatever you wanted to call it, was not debated and discussed over the dinner table. It was considered taboo. Seedy. Desperate. Illegal.
But Matt talked about women needing to feel fulfilled sexually, to tend to the part of themselves that had the right to feel beautiful, wanted, and desired. He highlighted women who wanted to feel confident in what could be the first steps in embracing their sexuality, not fearing the unknown of what it would be like in a situation they didn’t feel in control of.
‘I’d like to know more,’ I said, ripping out the page in my notebook and starting again. ‘I want to explore this further, try to understand why women pay for your services. I want to turn the stereotype on its head, talk openly. Share that women of all ages and backgrounds deserve to explore their sexuality and not be judged for doing so.’
‘That’s exactly what I was hoping for,’ he said, his eyes sparkling, his hands animated. Matt’s excitement was infectious, and I found myself unable to curb my smile. ‘You get it. I’m so glad you get it.’
‘I need some time to plan the article. I’ll also need to pitch the angle to my boss. If she’s happy, we can get started as soon as possible,’ I said, frantically scrawling notes.
‘Sounds good,’ he replied. ‘What else do you need from me?’
I looked up, catching the soft green of his eyes, and took the breath he’d stolen from me. Oh crap, why did he have to be exactly what I fantasised about when I pleasured myself? Granted, it hadn’t happened for a while. Accordion playing and research was taking over my life. I didn’t even have the urge like I used to, and I was c
lose to seeking medical advice just to confirm my vagina hadn’t shriveled up, it wasn’t funny.
I knew for the benefits of the article—my story and I was sticking to it—that I needed to consider tasting his wares, so to speak. Whether that be a date to get the minor details of his magical ability to make a woman feel glorious, or the full details of Matt’s very-experienced-penis-in-my-averagely-experienced-vagina. Was that even ethical? Could I be thrown in jail for violating the journalists code of ethics? This publication had values. We weren’t on Fleet Street, for Christ’s sake. This was a somewhat classy establishment, if we ignored position of the month.
I put my hand on my forehead, feeling lightheaded. Looking at Matt would do that to a woman.
‘Can I get back to you on that?’ I screwed up my face and he smiled beautifully. ‘I want to get into the heads of these women, but I’m not sure how far I want to go to get there.’
‘I understand,’ he replied. ‘Really, I do. You have to be completely comfortable.’
My mind and my libido were in a tangle with each other, each wrestling to come out on top. My libido was shouting, ‘Do it! God knows you need some professional action. Your G-spot has died, woman!’ But my brain was sparring too, saying, ‘I can’t believe you’re considering this! What would your grandmother think!’
‘Stace? Are you OK?’
My eyes were still scrunched shut and I was trying to drown out the voices by humming ‘Girl, I Want To Make You Sweat’ by Bob Marley. I had to be honest; it wasn’t helping much.
‘Stacey?’
I opened one eye first, swiftly closing it again when I saw the Adonis in front of me, it suddenly dawning on me I could pay him to have sex with me.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ I said, springing from my chair and opening the door for him. I wafted my arm and he followed the gesture.
‘If you have any questions, just let me know.’
As a matter of fact, I do. What was it you said about multiple orgasms? Oh, and while we’re at it, how big is your penis?
‘I will.’ I put my thumb up to him and gave him an overly ambitious grin.
‘Great,’ he said reluctantly. ‘No question is too big or too small.’
One Night Only Page 4