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!

A well deserved day off…

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What does a London 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.

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…

Elite lap dancer?

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I never thought of myself as much of a dancer. A model first and foremost, an expensive escort, a fantastic shopper, but an erotic dancer? Not so much.

I’ve always had rhythm and been the first up for a dance in a club or at a party, but when Mark asked me to pose as an erotic dancer in one of his private and expensive men’s clubs in Knightsbridge and dance just for him but in full view of all the other punters, I admit I was nervous!

I had all day Saturday to prepare for my exhibition. I’ve done the strip-tease routine for clients and frequented many pole dancing clubs, but this is a different kettle of fish. Mark, being the owner, knows this isn’t my forte. He just wanted to see me in all my glory, giving him more than the average girls do to their customers. I think it’s a power thing; the club owner gets extras and flaunts it to his faithful, panting customers!

My outfit was a good place to start in my mind. Did I want to go demure, sweet and sexy or blatant sex on legs? I chose a glittering sheath dress with full bra, knickers and suspenders to peel off underneath or a leather waistcoat, hot pants and nipple-tassels and thong with thigh-high socks combo. Decisions…

I then did what I’m guessing every woman who has danced for someone has done…I practised with both. I even got into full makeup for each scenario. I did a quick shot of tequila, as I know I would do that evening, to see if that would loosen me up a bit, and believe me, it did!

If I do say so myself, as I revolved and ground into thin air in front of my full wall mirror, I was pretty good, with or without the happy juice. Being a model has the advantage of knowing how to stick out certain parts of your anatomy to full effect. I even invited a fellow escort friend to view my entertainment piece for the evening and got a few fantastic tips from her, too. She helped me decide on leather vixen, tousled my hair, and smoked up my eyes to perfection.

So, to say Mark was happy that night was an understatement. The added extras of letting his tongue touch me in places in front of his elite clientele went down a treat, and my special tip of a platinum Chanel bracelet was well worth the practice and tequila consumption.

A fragrance for moi?

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I have an acute sense of smell. Most women do, let’s face it, but my nose could smell a rose in a perfume factory. This brings me nicely to today.

I have a client who works as a perfumer in Fulham South West London, manufacturing on behalf of Gucci, Prada and Chanel – my three favourite brands. When asked what his profession is, he describes himself as a ‘Nez’ (nose), which incites confusion in the uneducated and a look of delight in others. As an expensive escort, I have many gentlemen friends in high-end professions, but nothing compares to Harvey.

As I am a “special friend”, Harvey says he wants to create a signature scent just for me – something that would be my essence in a glass bottle. I was thrilled and joined him at his workshop, bouncing full of excitement, determined to make something genuinely intoxicating that I could wear whenever I went out.
As a girlie-girl, I love smells like Emporio Armani ‘Diamonds’, Prada ‘Candy Girl’ and Givenchy ‘Truly Irresistible’. Granted, I have so many bottles of perfume on my dressing table that I could own a counter at Selfridges, but I can’t help if my clients want to spoil me. When we go out shopping, it seems to be a safe purchase, vetted by yours truly. I always carry a little bottle of Chanel No 5 in my overnight bag because it sits well with most clients, and it makes me think of Katherine Hepburn and Grace Kelly.

So, we spent the day sampling as many smells as my nose would allow. Harvey made me inhale coffee beans to cancel out the scents (like a sorbet between courses), and I decided that despite my penchant for sweet smells, I am drawn to oriental, warm fragrances. By the time we had finished, I had a bottle of amber-coloured liquid laced with musk, vanilla, exotic resins and wood, accompanied by exotic flowers and spices. Yum! We called it “Chameleon” for all the different faces I wear and my adaptability. And it earned Harvey many brownie points in my little black book!