I’m an escort get me out of here!!!!!

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How can I not laugh watching “I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here!” – The Bush Tucker Trial reminds me of some of the beautiful cuisines I have tastedworldwider. However, I must tell you about my experience with an actual “foodie” client known for his recklessness and love for English escorts.

I wrote recently about my experience dining at ‘Dans Le Noir’, where I consumed a three-course meal in pitch black. Well, if you thought that was strange, you should have seen where I ended up this afternoon! Archipelago is a central London restaurant where the menu already contains a few creepy crawlies. Yes, folks. We are talking Scorpions, Crickets and Bees. Now, I couldn’t really give two hoots about the former two, but I am partial to watching bees at work, and I rather like the little furry bugs, more so because I love honey.

So I started my taste test with ‘Locusts and Crickets, pan-fried with chilli and garlic and served with spinach and rocket leaves.’ Yum. Crickets are bitter! Yuck. My date, Reuben, advised me to chew thoroughly – which seemed odd when I thought about what else you would do if someone handed you a cricket to eat. Still, the flavours within the meal itself helped to take a little of that away, and I started to enjoy it when the sweet fluid pooled at the bottom of my bowl.

Next was a roasted, chocolate-covered scorpion. Yes, a scorpion, and my word almighty, was that visually unappealing. Well, would you want something with a sting and pincers near your mouth – covered in chocolate or not?! In some countries, they leave the venom in the sting, which can kill you. Brilliant. Thankfully, the UK had some sense to make that against the law. I gulped much water after this to make sure I had flushed it all away.

And finally – the honey bee Brule. Preserved in honey, served to rest on a tuille biscuit, in a white chocolate honeycomb. The rosewater crème brûlée is supposed to accentuate the bee’s allegedly minty flavour. I don’t want a bee to be minty! He isn’t an After-Eight Mint! I don’t know how I will watch The Bees in Hyde Park now without feeling guilty. They are harvested during a swarm to prevent damage to the hive. At what point does the Queen do a quick head count and say, “Hold on, I think we’re missing a couple of hundred workers here!” I was happy to see the plate taken away, which is a pity because Brule is my favourite dessert worldwide, and I think I have tainted it forever.

After the meal, I made Reuben take me out for a stiff drink. He fancied flavoured vodkas. I just wanted something without the frills and fuss where I could order something everyone in the bar would have heard of!

Groundhog Day…

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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!

London’s Soho

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I love the whole Gay scene around the Capital. Although I don’t see a lot of gay men in my line of work, I wander through Soho, inhaling the vibe and the atmosphere with a smile.

And it was at G-A-Y that I met Lucas. Just for once, I had Saturday night free to sashay with my girlfriends among the queens of London. Tight tops, designer sunglasses and skinny jeans abound (and that was the men!). The crowd spilled out onto the pavement.

Soho is recognised more for its pubs, bars, nightspots and the fabulous West End than the seedy sex trade. We danced through the lanes to all the tunes carried along with the evening breeze, slightly intoxicated. And there in the shadows, I saw him.

Average height but better than average build, he was standing, looking bored with a cigarette burning at his fingertips. As we passed him, he took a drag from it, and something in me tingled. I persuaded the girls to stop ‘for a drink’, which worked because nobody spotted him but me. And quite a good job, too as I was, with many of my fellow delicious 24-hour escorts. What he was doing at one of the campest gay haunts in Soho, I do not know, but my Gaydar didn’t start beeping, so I thought I was OK. I looked at him over my shoulder as we stood in the queue, and he winked at me.

“What’s your name?” I mouthed. He responded with Lucas. I like to get straight to the point; maybe it’s my profession. There is no point skipping around the obvious for hours. I fancied him; I let him know it.

I liked the fact we were an ordinary boy and girl meeting by chance on a Saturday night. I also liked I hadn’t set this date up in advance and wanted to be me for a little while. Lucas had no expectations of me, and it was worth a kiss in a dark corner if nothing else!

Like Father like Son…

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Once upon a time, there was a man named James. James was 27 and an heir to a fortune from his daddy. James’ daddy, Bill, was a successful businessman who, at 52, was taking a very early retirement and passing on his business and knowledge to his only son.

Bill was a regular client of mine, and though being married to James’ mother and living with her in their spectacular home in Hampstead Heath, he wooed and wowed me in his secret apartment in Kensington and took me on business trips worldwide. We visited Sydney, New York and Dubai on many occasions, and his business associates were the epitome of discretion. Mum was the word regarding his escort companion because they had their international companions to worry about.

One day, one of Bill’s business acquaintances (Paul) approached me and told me he knew someone who would like to impress a new set of colleagues with a proper woman by his side. I told him to go through the correct channels to book and thought no more of it. A few days later, while lounging in Bill’s fabulous pad in Kensington. I overheard him on a conference call discussing Paul and how he had betrayed the company. Shame, I always got on with him, but, again, I thought no more of it.

So, let me bring you to the present. I had a date lined up with a man who wanted to take me to a farewell party for his company’s founder, and he wanted to make a grand impression. He asked me to dress like a lady! I could immediately tell that the man I would be accompanying would be young and inexperienced and, without doubt, would be losing his escort plates to me. I dressed in a fabulous Pucci gown and wore my hair loose and curly, immensely grown up and elegant. I met my date, James, and though he was handsome and polite, he was very nervous as we entered the Crystal Room at the Mayfair Hotel. As I held onto his arm to make him feel more at ease, I stiffened in nervous fright as I saw the stage set up with a slideshow of the man whose farewell party it was. Bill, James’ daddy himself – clever Paul.
I have never been in a situation so close with a client… more so, a client who is my client’s father! Thankfully, I recovered myself quickly, and when James introduced me to his mother and father, I smiled politely, and my eyes told Bill (who was frozen with fear) that everything was okay. We didn’t stay too long anyway, which I thought was strange, but James wanted to take advantage of his suite.

And I can safely say, as weird as it sounds, it was a case of like father-like son…

All for a good cause

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Today, I am going to an Auction. Well, it was an early start. My right-hand man Franco was in Mayfair with a cardboard carrier of Americano coffees and some croissants to go. As I had my hair in a towel and my stress head on, this was a very welcome sight! My door was wedged open with a shoe – not being auctioned off – and some burly and tasty young men were moving in and out of it. Sometimes, I almost said, “Oh, not that one,” but Franco shook his head wordlessly at me, and I had to let them go.

And then we were off to Oxford Circus! I could feel the adrenaline as we watched the crates and rails being unloaded by a team of highly organised young women. I have no idea where they came from, but they had something to do with James and his abundant knowledge of fundraiser organisers. They treated me like royalty, and I could almost taste the palpable aura of garment lust. “If you want it, you’ll have to bid on it, darling, Franco said to one young, sexy blonde pawing a limited edition Pucci silk jacket.

At ten o’clock, the doors were flung open to the public. The rows of seats were immediately filled, the edges of the warehouse flanked by assistants on the phone and other buyers. I recognised a few faces from my regular haunts (Kensington, Fulham and Chelsea) – a few gave me the thumbs up. My beautician was right at the front with her life savings to bid on one of my pink fur coats.

There was an expectant buzz, and then Franco introduced the cause, and then… me! I was waved to the front to say a few words, and my mouth went dry, but I managed it. And after deafening applause, it began…

Money, running into tens, hundreds and thousands, flew across that warehouse. A pair of strappy Jimmy Choos from SS07 went for £900 within the first ten minutes. Scraps of silk, lace, satin and feathers exchanged hands like hotcakes. A few Japanese girls were in the audience battling for Chanel and Chloe, whom I thought might get ugly at one point. Thankfully, James had the sense to hire me some security guards when he was dishing out the employment for the day.

And by 13.30, it was all over. The cash tin was counted, the cheques and credit card slips bundled, and after checking three times, the total for my designer goods at auction was….. £327,089! And no, I’m not kidding. Bear in mind that I have (had!)My collection has some pretty wealthy clients and some retro, authentic pieces; it is still pretty staggering!

Enjoy St. Barnardo’s and SCOPE – two worthy causes.