This could be magic…

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Have you ever seen a live magician at a party or show? I have often been entertained by would-be Derren Browns at weddings and occasion-birthday parties – even at the pub on a Tuesday night. I always say “oooh” and “ahhh”, and no matter how closely I look, I can never work out how they do it. In short, I love being impressed by someone who can do something I can’t.

I was introduced to Jerry at a friend’s anniversary gathering. He was sitting on the sofa in their Hampstead home, drinking coffee, shuffling a deck of cards with one hand. Jerry cut and flicked the cards over and under as I stood mesmerised. I didn’t even realise how rude I was being by staring, but I was entranced. He must have felt my eyes on his because he lifted his head and gave me a wide grin—something clenched in the pit of my stomach.

By the end of the evening, I had begged him to show me a few tricks and slightly fallen in love. His long, tapered fingers caressed the coins he vanished; the red foam ball that tripled in my clenched palms was sweaty with lust, and I fantasised about him making my underwear disappear with a wave of his hand. Brazen or not, I handed him my business card as he left and hoped to hear from him again.

I asked my friends about him, as you do, as soon as the door closed. They told me he worked the Kensington circuit and had been performing quietly for friends and family before being taken on by an agent in 2009. Although he wasn’t entirely up to David Copperfield’s standard, he could make things vanish before your eyes.

Well, I don’t want to be big-headed. I knew I would hear from him by today, and he rang me at 09.30m, wondering what I was up to. Was this a typical escort and client date or something purely personal? I didn’t want to throw my hourly rate into the mix, so I hoped he wanted to spend some time with me because I impressed him. We arranged to meet at the South Bank for lunch at 1.00 p.m. I wanted to wear something flowery and floaty, but that weather seems to have other ideas.

I feel nervous as I type this as I haven’t been on a date for myself in a long time. I don’t want a boyfriend, but I would like a new playmate who can teach me something to wow my social circle. It’s never too late to find him.

Whatever takes your fancy…?

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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.