I like to be called ‘a love therapist’…

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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…

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…

Busy, Busy, Busy…

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I have been so busy lately that trying to juggle everything is getting a little beyond me – and it certainly doesn’t help that I am well into the holiday spirit. I have a list of things to do pinned on the bedroom door, and there is undoubtedly a lot of planning to do.

Concentrate, girl, concentrate!

So you might wonder what I have to do that’s so important. Well, the first thing is to ensure all my international clients know I am going away soon. That way, no one will try to book me for the beginning of July or schedule a trip to London hell-bent on seeing me because I won’t be here. My luxurious Mayfair apartment will be empty, and I will have left a message with the doorman to divert my post to the charming girl who lives at number 2.

Secondly, I have to spend time seeing my parents – namely my mother. The last time I returned to Swiss Cottage was New Year when we went to that spa. I had some lovely quality time with the family – let’s face it, it’s not often! I have heard from the horse’s mouth (dearest eldest brother) that Mother is pining a little (read: whining) and that she doesn’t see me as much as the others. And on more than one occasion, I’ve heard she is starting to wonder what I DO that takes me away from them so much.

And thirdly… I have to get my hair and eyebrows done again. I have yet to let myself go, but one can do so much self-administration before you need to call in a professional. So, I’d like to tell you that a phone call to my beauty therapist is in order. A top expensive escort has standards, you know.

And they’re my top -3 things to do before July. I had better get a move on.

To book our very organised and multitasking ladies, they are only a phone call away – call 07811 160 160 to make all your dreams come true; whether you want an International escort or to visit an escort in London, we can make it happen for you – sometimes it’s good to book in advance as you can see our ladies are very busy…

Wet and Wild…

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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.

A Day at the Races

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I love going to the races. Something is exciting about Royal Ascot and Ladies Day (I have tickets this year for 21st June!) in a wide-brimmed-hat-and-suede-shoes kind of way. Half the fun (apart from betting) is celebrity spotting and seeing who came the best and worst dressed. The tabloids can’t possibly love it half as much as I do.

Tomorrow, I am off to Epsom in Surrey for a private hospitality event. I’m being chauffeured there and back by Clive, my well-to-do horsey friend. Clive and his friends breed thoroughbred racehorses and race them publicly and privately for vast sums of money. Put it this way: I couldn’t put a “tenner on each way” in that circuit.

Clive and I met at Newmarket last August. I was sipping Pimms with a group of fellow 24-hour Companions. We weren’t drawing attention to ourselves in any way, but, as if magic, the waiter came over and presented us with three bottles of champagne. As we followed his gaze across the room, we spotted a group of gentlemen (a direct ratio of them to us) laughing and joking together. One of them raised a glass to us, and we waved gaily back. Within ten minutes, we chatted away like old friends and went to dinner with them back in London at Wild Honey on St George’s Street.

Each of us was spoilt rotten, and Clive seemed to take a shine to me. Although we don’t spend a lot of time together, if he needs a dazzling brunette on his arm for an event, I get a call. In the interim, I learned a few horse-racing terms and tips that put me in good stead should anyone ever question me. It’s all about learning, you see?

With my well-educated client, I am sure to put on a few bets that will come up trumps for me, and Clive certainly knows that he has a certain chance with me.

So if you needed a special girl in London to go to the races with you, our ladies certainly know how to dress in their finery, which will never look out of place; they will turn heads with their beauty and sophistication and maybe give you some luck at the races?