Tag Archives: dating

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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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From a saucy French maid and a 50’s housewife working naked to a serving wench, I have been the most domesticated servant in some category. My clients seem to enjoy the sight of a scantily-clad sexy agency escort working in their home. I can’t think why…

However, the polite request to be a ‘washer-woman’ left me slightly dumbfounded. I wasn’t sure how to proceed, given that I don’t have muscly arms and a belly over my waistband. I had visions of some cartoon-esque dame a la Tom & Jerry, and I can’t say it did much for my libido or self-image. So, I asked what my client meant for the first time in ages.

This client was Henry, a divorced father of two in his mid-fifties. As a resident in the affluent area of Bayswater, Henry described himself as having a natural thing for water, especially water splashed all over the place on a willing participant. He asked me to wear white, tie my hair up and not to wear a scrap of makeup. With these instructions, I arrived right away at noon on Saturday and was ushered to a high-walled garden with an immaculately cut lawn. In the blazing sunshine, in the centre of the patio, was a wooden tub full of suds and, next to it, a scrubbing brush and board.

Henry was reclining on a sun lounger, sunglasses on, regarding me as I stood in the patio doorway. He waved me over and stretched out a hand. As he passed me a glass of Pimms, he explained that he wanted me to scrub the clothes in the tub and get soaking wet. “Plenty of splash, my dear! Give those old flagstones a soaking! And make sure you get it all down your front…”

Well, thank God for the small mercies of a brilliant sunny day. I hauled the sheets out of the suds and gave them a good going-over, slopping water everywhere and mostly over myself. My underwear went see-through, and Henry leaned forward. My top in his view to get a better look. I used my arm to brush my hair out of my eyes, soaking my face and letting it run down my neck. I figured I resembled a drowned rat, but Henry was delighted.

“Peg them on the line when you’re done, will you?” he called gleefully as I stood up to wring out my long white skirt. I was drenched and longing to lie in the sun to dry off. He chucked me a towel and invited me to do just that. Thankfully, his sun-trap garden had me drying off within twenty minutes, and I was able to chat a little about the job I’d done. “Splendid effort…” he said, beaming.”I will have to call you again!”

After changing clothes and getting a hair dryer, I went home to Mayfair to glam up for my evening date with Oscar. It just wouldn’t do to let too many people see me in that state; I have an image to uphold.

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Women can be manipulative—even those who say they aren’t having a more subtle approach to the art. As long as there is no element of de-masculation, where is the harm? My mother used to say, “Ask, don’t get; don’t ask, don’t want.” I disagree.

I’ll be sure to set the scene for you…

This weekend, I spent the day at Westfield Shopping Centre, ten minutes from Paddington, with a rather delicious companion named throngs of shoppers and designer stores; I managed to do a lot of my shopping Victor, among t. I love shopping dates because I usually don’t get to spend a day queuing among other commoners, preferring to “add to cart” on Amazon.

So there we were, fingers entwined, our arms full of branded carrier bags. Victor had dragged me into practically every man’s clothes shop there (who says men aren’t fussy?), and I was longingly thinking of Kurt Geiger up on level one. I desperately wanted to slip my foot into the multi-coloured glitter stilettos that had been whispering lovingly to me from the website. As he tried on his fiftieth jumper, I was mentally itemising my wardrobe to justify £150 while subtracting the balance of my MasterCard from my credit limit.

Sensitive to others’ needs, I am adept at situations before they get out of control and Victor gets frustrated. I wanted my shoes, and he wanted a change of scenery, so I suggested Pret a manger, which was “coincidentally” on level one. Smelling the lure of coffee and fresh sandwiches, Victor offered me a smile as we ascended the escalator, at diffusing a, and I mentally calculated that it would take 30 seconds to pass my beautiful shoes once we were nourished.

A man with a full belly is a happy man – and a man open to bribery. Near the cafe was a huge Apple store with plenty of shiny laptops and iPads murmuring sweet nothings. Attention diverted from Fair Isle knitwear, Victor swung his hips through the door and took a lungful of Broadband. A London escort such as me must have patience as a virtue: the patience to accept her needs comes after those of her date. I watched Victor dribble over a MacBook Pro and counted down the minutes until I could lick the heel of that display shoe.

And then… a boom! Victor kissed my forehead and said, “Darling, you have been patient with me today. Let me buy a present for my beautiful girl. Shall we look at something for you?” I could have wept. “Oh, you don’t have to do that…” I said through my lashes. He made a pooh-pooh noise, and we fell into step… right past Kurt Geiger. And there they were… in the window, dazzling under the lights as I knew they would be… my shoes. Ten minutes later, I had a shiny gift bag dangling from my arm, and my date looked very pleased with himself as I let him “choose” a pair, though I can’t say product placement didn’t play a part.

Call me manipulative, then, if you want, but you can’t say that my gentleman friend wasn’t pleased to make me happy. The date had, as always, been about him and a trip to W12. I’m a big fan of West London, especially now that I know where Kurt Geiger has a fantastic store!

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So, Monday again. A new working week and a new month in my diary for summer pursuits. Although the catwalks have been sporting their summer range since the sales began, I have only started looking at them carefully while shopping. My reluctance can only be attributed to the up-and-downers of good old blighty weather. To flip-flop or not to flip-flop? That has been the question. Give me continuity any day.

I wanted to save at least five days this month for trips abroad; I have been withdrawing from my passport. One of my favourite fellow London companions, Amanda, has just returned from Milan with a suitcase full of Manolo’s. I almost threw up when I realised she had my much-coveted purple shoe-boots with the red velvet shoe laces. Sadly, my feet are smaller than hers, and I couldn’t justify the price before my following statement on my MasterCard. I could have been swayed when she mentioned they come in red and grey, but the angel on my left sucker-punched the devil on my right shoulder.

I love to look current and unique but still in keeping with all the trends. It would be a complete disaster if I turned up to a date where another lady at a top-class restaurant was wearing the same Prada dress as me. I have expensive taste but like to shake it up by combining my unique dress sense, which I know nobody else will be wearing. I may be headed, but I think I can always pull it off – my figure is fantastic, and I love to show it off – ever so classy, I may add!! I care for my body by working hard at the gym and eating organic food. After all, my body is my business, and I want it to last.

So, with a free (but rapidly filling-up) month ahead and a brand new credit card statement to enjoy, I think I will face the summer months with a smile. As a 24-hour escort, you never know what might happen tomorrow!

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When you have regular clients who need to re-book you for specific functions, you have to keep on your toes and bring change into the ‘relationship’ more than ever. I always attend Scott’s work/family/social arrangements as his girlfriend, but to keep the booking, I have to keep him interested just as you would in an actual relationship. This is why I’m single. These things are hard work.

Scott is a 40-something gazillionaire who loves to keep up appearances. He lets his staff run his hotel empire and reaps the rewards by holidaying on his private island, lounging in his luxury mansion in Hampstead and shopping in New York for the afternoon. He uses me as his long-term girlfriend stand-in. In reality, he has no interest in making a relationship with someone he doesn’t know and who may only be after his money.

In my mind, it’s classic real commitment issues, but what do I know? I’m a London escort, not a psychologist! So, he takes me to work functions, family weddings, press nights, and the works, but he also brings me shopping to cater to such arrangements, and that’s why, to keep this gig, I need to up my game.

As you know, I’m a very proud brunette, but when he mentions that he finds a particular blonde celebrity attractive, I crack out my favourite Barbie wig and act out any fantasy he wants. He loves the fact that he doesn’t even have to ask. Sometimes, when you spend a lot of time with a client, you do pick up on certain things. Whether they like olives, whether they prefer Gucci to Dior, whether they book a hotel more in Mayfair than in Knightsbridge and whether they respond in pleasure at being tickled just under the…

With Scott, we have a great partnership. I have even wrapped his very protective Mother around my little finger. Little does she know that boy is having a faux relationship with a top call girl! We have learned to walk in time with one another, laugh at the same things and finish each other’s sentences. We have been on many dinner and drink dates to get to know each other in such a way.

What can I say? I’m a dedicated woman.

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