Monthly Archives: August 2014

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Have you ever played sexy strangers in a bar with your partner? Have you ever had a grope in a restaurant under the table or visited the toilet simultaneously at the interval in the theatre? If your answer is no, then maybe you need to enlist the help of a very sexy brunette escort. Oh yeah, me!

I have turned men’s outlook on women from unapproachable to unbelievable. And I don’t believe that anything is too much or I am giving men a false sense of hope. Believe it or not, I have friends outside of my line of work who have been in relationships for a long time and like to keep the spark alive with a cheeky fumble at the cinema or dressing up in some amazing outfits, clearly inspired by moi but with all the drive and passion from them.

As a 24hr agency escort, I have loved playing ‘restore his faith in women’ with many clients. We have taken the stereotype of gorgeous but a real bitch and turned it into a beautiful but genuine laugh and added a few bits of super sexy mystery as a bonus. I have held hands, shimmied in close and strutted my stuff around like I have the best man in the world next to me, and I love giving them the confidence to either send them on their way or get them to book another date.

Yes, call me Ms Therapist of all things sexual. Move over, Barry White; listen to my sensual callings…

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I am not at home because I am typing this from Italy, L.cky me!!!
My long weekend break, returning tomorrow morning, with Giovanni, started as “coffee soon?” and became “take your passport and meet me at Heathrow at 13:00 hours. Giovanni was born in London’s West End to Sicilian parents and emigrated there in 1990 before making his home somewhere between Tuscany and Paris. He has an ex-wife, five children, three dogs in a villa in the Tuscan countryside and a mistress in Paris with one child. Before you ask how he manages to afford to keep them all, his six-figure salary seems to be that.

How do I fit in? Well, he does like to keep up appearances with the Italian social elite and to rub his ex-wife’s nose in the fact that he hasn’t lost touch with the ladies. Ex Mrs Giovanni doesn’t know about the Parisian mistress or the half-brother of her offspring, so I step in as the model girlfriend. I don’t mind, I love Italy, and I am used to being discreet.

So we came to Italy for proper coffee, ground from good coffee beans, in an authentic restaurant by an adequate barista. I used a small amount of Italian vocabulary on him – enough to say “grazi” – and flashed my most dazzling smile. Red-blooded Mediterranean men do like to feel appreciated by red-blooded British women! And how do I like my coffee? Well, I am partial to a cappuccino, but I do prefer a latte – especially when it is homegrown.

And I discovered that barista training is right around the corner from the hotel. How exciting!

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What does a London agency escort do on her day off? Well, you could argue that every day is a potential day off considering she might spend her time being wined and dined in a fabulous 5-star restaurant or entertained in the suites of some of the plushest hotels in London. But I mean an actual day off.

By definition, a day off means starting and ending the day doing nothing or entirely as you please. When was my last day out? Oh my word, now there’s a question. It might have been when I was ill and convalescing at home last month, but I don’t call that a day off as I was booked to see a client. I couldn’t make it. So, I might have to go back a little further.

Maybe it was my last haircut day? No, not that either, as I think I saw someone that evening go to a show at the Bloomsbury Theatre. So when was it?

OK, I can’t remember, so that should tell you something about me. I’m a) a workaholic, b) utterly spoilt for work, and c) knackered.

I should probably book myself in for a day off soon. With the summer holidays nearly ending, I need to have a day to myself and book a lovely week away and maybe see some friends I haven’t caught up with for a while. But is that an actual day of rest, considering I will be beating the pavements as usual, just under another guise? Does that mean I have to stay indoors in my apartment all day? Alone? That could get seriously boring. Well, I suppose I could rent a few DVDs or download some music while lobbying for something comfortable. It would also mean I could actually (horror!) switch my phone off until 8 a.m. the following day…

Do you know what? I think I am going to do it. Quick! Before I change my mind.

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Do you ever have days where everything goes wrong? Whether you forgot to switch the hot water on, so you wake up to a cold shower, or your phone freezes when you’re trying to return an important phone call. Well, I am having one of those 24 hours.

Let me take you back to where it all began:

06:00 hours today – I wake up in a plush hotel room with my client for the evening/overnight. We had been out to a Japanese restaurant in Knightsbridge and taken a stroll in the August evening air afterwards back to the hotel. Well, nearly… my client is a regular of mine, and we have been on many dinner and hotel dates without a hitch until now,

23:00 hours last night – I was not feeling right after coming out of the Japanese restaurant, but to not disappoint my client, I agreed to a stroll arm-in-arm back to the hotel, which by usual standards was not far away. By feeling terrible standards, it seemed like 100 miles. I felt sick and quite dizzy and had to give in to my pride and tell my client that I was not feeling quite well, so he didn’t think me rude at mumbling my responses half-heartedly as he discussed his current ventures. He was the complete gentleman I know him to be, and promptly called his driver to take us the remaining distance to the hotel.

23:20 hours – Upon arriving at the 5* establishment, the hot and cold waves of nausea overtook me, and I could not control my reflux any longer as I stumbled past the blooming shrub outside reception and watered it with Ise Eb! My lovely client didn’t even bat an eyelid at my decorating the £4,000 marble-boxed plant. He just brushed my hair back and helped me up the steps, past the completely gobsmacked maitre’d and steered me carefully to the lift up to our suite. He was a complete angel and super sympathetic, as every half an hour or so, I would rush to the stunning en suite to unload more of my Asian delights.

Fast forward to 06:00 hours today – I am feeling fine now. I creep to the bathroom to scrub everywhere (my body and the tiles) and hope to salvage what I and my client missed out on last night.

07:00 hours – I am gleaming and smelling gorgeous, so I pop into the bedroom to show my client that I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye correctly. Still, he was already up and getting dressed, informing me of a crucial meeting he had to go to in Canary Wharf. So, no make-up on, and I leave feeling sheepish.

08:00 hours – I return to my apartment, which is like an oven. My heating has done something crazy, so I have to call someone out, and of course, they can’t give me a time, so I have to wait all day and re-schedule another client, George, for our shopping and lunch date.

Noon – Still no sign of the repair man, so I’m sitting in this sauna I used to call home, and I receive a text from Jordan, my evening’s client. It read…

“HI BABE, SO LOOKING FORWARD TO TONIGHT. THINKING NO TO THE ITALIAN RESTAURANT IN CHELSEA B4 THE SHOW AND YES TO THE JAPANESE PLACE IN KNIGHTSBRIDGE. I’M DESPERATE TO GO…WILL BOOK NOW. SEE YOU THIS EVENING GORGEOUS X”

I cry…

So, no matter how many fabulous dates I go on or how lucky I am in my 24-hour London escort world, I feel like I am experiencing Groundhog Day. Help!

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What a miserable and wet day here in Mayfair, far from yesterday. The sun was shining and beautiful, but we were in England, I suppose. I did think about taking a trip down to Oxford Street to see my sister,r but the size of the raindrops falling into the puddles convinced me that staying indoors was a better option,

And what a good job too! I received an in-call from Marcus at 11.30 a.m. asking if I was at home as he desperately needed to see me, and I was all too eager to a) have the company and b, know his fetish for women’s shoes, have he come over and help me. Maybe he could persuade me to keep some and donate others to my auction. By the way, I’ve decided to do that on the last Friday of the month – the 27th – to allow for payday and credit card payments.

Marcus hot-footed over to me from Bayswater in a taxi. As he shook out his umbrella, he complained that the stormy weather was playing havoc with his bike riding. “I just don’t trust these London motorists”, he said as he bounded up the stairs to my apartment. “They’re absolute maniacs!” I tutted my sympathy, handed him a mug of my finest coffee and pointed him toward the cupboard.

Honestly, you’d have thought all Marcus’s birthdays had come at once. He dropped to his knees and fell upon the boxes of heels, boots and pumps like a man dying of thirst on the banks of an oasis in the desert. I hardly got a word out of him for ten solid minutes.

Between us, we caressed and licked (Marcus), sorted and stacked (me) the contents of my shoe cupboard in readiness for the auction. We managed to weed out the ones I wear from the ones I definitely would never again, and I let Marcus keep a couple of pairs for the odd lonely night. In return, he told me to grab my coat as it was past lunchtime, and he wanted to treat me to “something delicious” from a celebrity restaurant. Armed with my Burberry Mac and designer umbrella, how could I possibly refuse? I’m a very lucky escort 😉

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