Monthly Archives: August 2014

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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…

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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.

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Okay, I think everything that happened in New York has just about sunk, so I can share it without getting overexcited and adding the word ‘squeal’ after every paragraph! Jim and I had a brief gap whilst I was in a bar with another client and how he promised me the world, and I fell for it hook, line and sinker. His arrogance and boldness were attractive; speaking to me while my date stood 10 feet away was exciting. I see my job as two a   pure ansimplega profession which keeps me in a life of great acquaintances and superb shoppitripsp. Still, every so often, a client will pop up who makes it feel like an actual date – in terms of excitement or emotion or emotion-do not to confuse the two.

So, Jim gave me a little background on himself as he waited for me patiently in my Mayfair apartment as I hunted for my passport. At 46, Jim had pretty much conquered the world of media and had set up publishing houses in London and around the globe, one which saw him net billions in profit a year. He resides mainly in Belgravia (of course) but spends a lot of time in New York without a female companion who floated his boat. He told me he knew while waiting for my champagne to be served that I was something different even by watching my eyes scanning the room, drinking in the other sights and sounds of the wealthy and more affluent more prosperous as told not to pac,k a thing which in my world is bizarre. As a London escort, I have many beautiful dresses, sexy underwear and Louboutins to thrill and excite my clients and that I feel very comfortable in, but he told me not to worry about them. I did, however, contest my make-up bag as when you’re spending 6-7 hours on a plane, a lady likes to freshen up, don’t you know!

So, we went to the airport and bypassed the usual passenger traffic to be ushered to his private and most luxurious jet I have ever had the pleasure of flying on. The pilot and crew were happy, and I should think so too, being that their boss paid them handsomely and treated them with the utmost respect the second we boarded. Usually, I not only crack on the charm for my client and those around me, but Jim was already so attentive that I barely had time to lift the corners of my mouth into a smile in the greeting of the stewardess handing me a glass of my favourite bubbles when Jim gave me the usual envelope of payment and told me that he already knew how worth it I was and that the next couple of days were all about me. I looked confused, so he told me my reputation precedes me, and he would be my Super elite with a twist.

Okay, I feel a squeal coming on; I can’t wait!!!

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Lace is all the rage at the moment. Wedding dresses, shirts, intelligent frocks; so when Ray asked me to wear clothing, hehe bought, and it was black lace, I was over the moon. Immediately I started planning my shoes, hair, make-up etc…

Ray told me to prepare for 9 p and skincare to take me to Soho. The restaurant and bar took me, and I was so excited, but then I heard a knock at my door, and the bag with the dress arrived with instructions.

“Gorgeous. Be ready for 9 pm. Please wear a dress, no underwear, stupidly high heels, tousled hair and lots of make-up. Be prepared to bare all. xxx”

Ray is a 48-year-old exhibitionist. He’s mega-rich and sexy, and he knows it. He always uses this 24-hour escort agency, and he always asks for me. We enjoyed the odd date where we had been out for dinner and then retreated to the privacy of his luxury Chelsea home or a fabulous hotel. Still, most of the time, we play games of “don’t get arrested” by taking some acts as far as we can in public places.

The fact that Ray had requested me to wear the dress with no underwear and we were on our way to Soho made me think we were going for drinks and then to an underground club to compete in voyeurs-are-us. This is exciting, and frankly, it turns me on also, so Ray and I always have a great time together. As soon as I removed the tiny Pucci dress from the bag, I  knew we would have a great time! Long-sleeved, short in length and crocheted in the right (or wrong) places.

I had slithered into the dress, nipples grazing the material and peeping through enough to play the “is she/isn’t she?” card, towering Chanel heels, smudged smoky make-up, and that sexy tousled bedhead look. I was ready and correct with the venue. Ray was waiting for me in the bar, drink ready and standing to attention the second he saw me.

I felt fantastic and knocked my drink back to signal that I was prepared to hit the club. It was only a stone’s throw away from the bar, but Ray made a big meal of kissing me and groping me in the street in full view of Soho’s frequenters. This added fuel to our already raging burning des, ire and as soon as we walked through the door of the exclusive club, we were already at the point of no return. The great thing about this job is that I have the same lust and desire for attention as my clients, so I have always suggested a little PDA if the customer is willing.

What can I say? I am a great London escort if I do say so myself!

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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!

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