The exclusivity of Hampstead…

.

Hampstead, commonly known as Hampstead Village, is an area of North London, 4 miles north-west of Charing Cross. Exclusive to a point and home to more than one or two millionaires, this elegant Victorian district is genuinely something to behold – especially in summer when many open-air attractions are on the agenda to bring in tourists from far and wide.

As well as being home to the rich and famous, Hampstead Heath has also been the locality for the 1980s films “Labyrinth” and “An American Werewolf in London”. Regents Park and Primrose Hill are right on the doorstep, as well as many long-standing restaurants and traditional pubs.
With all this splendour around them, is it any wonder that our stunning gallery of Hampstead escorts is among the most beautiful and clever in London?

Our North and central London escorts know all about out-calls in Hampstead and where to go for some “quiet time for two”. Ladies from Fulham, Chelsea, escorts in Baker Street and Kensington, such as Sandra and Elayne, will delight and enchant you with their European accents, sweet personalities and sensual curves. Whatever your preference, both girls are available for home and international assignments.

If these ladies don’t tempt you, then we have many more on our books who are willing to travel to Hampstead; they will never be longer than 35 minutes. So, if you thought Hampstead was a little out of the way for our ladies, then fear not – they love this upmarket area.

Have we convinced you yet? For a touch of elegance and a sophisticated date you won’t forget in a hurry, call us on 07811 160 160 or email us. Our ladies work around the clock, and we will always have a suitable lady for you, whatever time you call.

Whatever takes your fancy…?

.

I meet all kinds of people. From Belgravia to Kingston, from New York to Hong Kong. Tall men, short men, confused women and the odd married billionaire; nothing fazes me. As an expensive London escort, I revel in diversity, and in the amount of time that I have been doing this, very little has shocked me or made my eyebrows shoot into my back pocket. I am immune to shock, or so I thought.

I went out on a first date with Marco some time ago when he founded a new record label. He got to mix with some big stars and was so incredibly busy he didn’t have time to find his special someone, so he sought out my services and, residing in Mayfair himself, found my location very convenient. He took me to his label launch party and thrust me into the celebrity world. I was taken aback by his penchant for new and existing acts and quite impressed by his diverse music tastes, or so I thought.

So with date number one complete and afters at a top Knightsbridge hotel, he told me he would call me and arrange some more rendezvous’.

I’ll tell you a little about the man in the music. He’s 43, stunningly handsome, charming, witty and clever. A London man, born and bred and incredibly wealthy, Marco owns homes in Mayfair, Hereford and Surrey in the UK and has an exquisite villa in the South of France and two studios in New York. His music library in his Mayfair penthouse is eclectic and exciting, and I spent a long time looking at the rows of CDs as I was bent over before them…

So, in my unshockable state, I didn’t think anything of it when Marco asked me to come to his study and perch on the edge of his desk whilst he loaded up his state-of-the-art computer and told me that he wanted to show me some artists he loved on YouTube.

I thought it was pretty sweet that he got so excited, and his face turned goofy/childlike as he typed into the search engine… “Best X Factor auditions”. Up popped millions of reality TV gold, and Marco was in his element. He had discussed with me previously what I should wear: underwear to match pop, rock and soul music. I had picked out my finest from Selfridge’s new designer display, and I had no idea I would be checking my Dirty Pretty Things (Soul) camisole to Austin Drage (who?) version of Billie Jean.

As lovely as some of the artists voice’ are, the audience clapping at the end of their performances sure does put a girl off her stride…well, almost.

Patience is a virtue

.

Women can be manipulative – even the ones who say they aren’t having a more subtle undertaking 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.

Let me set the scene for you…

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

So there we were, fingers entwined, our arms becoming full of branded carrier bags. Victor had dragged me into practically every man’s clothes shop there was (who says men aren’t fussy?) and I was thinking longingly 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 the needs of others, I am pretty adept at diffusing a situation before it gets out of control and Victor was getting 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 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. Close to 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 in a lungful of Broadband. A London escort such as me must have patience as a virtue: the patience to accept her needs come 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 planted a kiss on my forehead and said, “darling, you have been so patient with me today. Let me buy my beautiful girl a present. 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 sort of 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 was looking 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 completely happy 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 I know where Kurt Geiger has an amazing store!

A British BBQ

.

What was I saying on Friday about not wanting to do this barbecue on Saturday? I couldn’t have been more right.

I wouldn’t say I like family get-togethers. I’m forced to sip warm wine and converse with maiden aunts and weird uncles whilst scanning the room for one of my many cousins, who may rescue me. It is, as I extricate an errant hand from my behind, that I realise they managed to bow out gracefully. How is it that my excuses of actually having a life never wash with my mother?

It was my Dad’s 60th birthday, so to be truthful, I would have endured Uncle Simon’s mauling just for him. I arrived at my brother’s in Swiss Cottage with a gift basket from Selfridges and a bottle of something more substantial than Lambrini. My mum kissed me, noticed my lack of a date, and I felt for the entire world like Bridget Jones. All I needed was a turkey curry buffet and Mark Darcy in a reindeer jumper. I wanted to scream at her that I was a London escort with more admirers than Cleopatra and a more-than-attractive dowry for any suitor. However, under my guise of a £20,000 a year job in PR, I had to endure her steely gaze.

I noticed my sister hopping from foot to foot in the background, and in my haste to reach her, I was tripped up by my niece’s skipping rope and landed at the feet of her boyfriend – ‘ginger Gerry’, my ex-client. He helped me up, and as usual, neither of us looked into the eyes of the other. I’ve seen (and heard!) more than enough of him in the past for this to ever be forgotten. I said “hi” and fled.

There are four of us in our family – my eldest brother, myself, my younger sister and my baby brother. I noticed, with distaste, that my little brother managed to get out of the party unless he was late, as he often is. My mum will forgive him anything, and it makes me quite ill.

Being the “middle child”, I have always been very independent and somewhat of an enigma to my parents. The eldest brother is married with 2.4 children, an excellent job in Canary Wharf and a five-figure salary. His wife is a stay-at-home super-mum who only feeds the kids the best organic foods and comes out in hives at the mention of Wotsits or Wagon Wheels. My little sister has decided to shack up with “Ginger Gerry” and whom I hoped wasn’t about to tell me what I dread… they’ve got engaged!!!!

So the rest of the afternoon/evening/next morning was spent admiring her rock, planning colours and what would be fabulous on me as the maid of honour. It pained me to think I would soon be related to someone who has paid for my time and company, but I know neither of us will ever mention it nor burst her bubble.

On a lighter note, my thinking time kept me up during the small hours on Sunday, so I managed to finish my book – yes, it was brilliant. And I need a little BDSM to help clear my head. I have a somewhat willing client who likes to clean my toilet with a toothbrush – maybe I’ll call him.

Tailor-made dates…

.

The most important part of the 24-hour Companions experience is to make every gentleman client feel as though he is your “One and Only”. Whether I am an in-call or out-call escort, the finer details have already been sharpened so the date is perfect, and I’m in control of his satisfaction.

I take special pride in my work, and I revere repeat business, so to me, it is vitally important that my London clients leave smiling. You may find this strange, you might not, but my Filofax has a special section reserved just for date history. I wrote their name, age and contact details down, where we went and what he wanted me to wear. Next comes his preferences: is he straight or kinky? Does he like me to participate in role-play, or are we sightseeing in London? At the bottom, in small letters, I write his budget. I ensure I know exactly what he wants to spend because embarrassing him is a big no-no. Remember, he is paying for my company and time; I want him to be delighted with his purchase.

Tailor making a date is a fine art that I have learned to perfect. Of course, I’ve made mistakes (who hasn’t?), but being the professional girl I am, I’m always able to smooth things over. I know my Marble Arch from my Belgravia and my Kensington from my Knightsbridge- believe me, I’ve told black cab drivers enough shortcuts to drive myself around! We cover all areas of London 24 hours a day.

One thing I always have to be aware of is that even though I think I have the measure of a client, the goalposts can move at any time. He might go off on a curious tangent and want me to do something totally out of the ordinary and unexpected. I have a variety of wigs, outfits and dark glasses for role play, and I’ve always got another good escort friend to call on should the date become a menage a trois. Nothing shocks me much these days, but they can undoubtedly surprise me.

So, what am I up to today? Well, I have a brand new client at midday for lunch in Leicester Square and then an hour getting to know each other. He told me on the phone that he had never done this before and was a little nervous. I assured him there was no pressure and that the date was his to enjoy. So we decided to keep things low-key, both of us in jeans, and hopefully, he’ll realise what a great time he can have with a bubbly, intelligent woman – who happens to be a top escort!

You needn’t worry about booking an elite lady at 24-hour Companions as they have it all covered; they don’t just ‘turn up’. They put a little thought into their dates, so if you’ve ever been curious, now is the time to book your tailor-made lady through London’s best escort agency.