Category Archives: Safety Tips

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I am not under any illusion that I am not mistaken for a beautiful elite escort on many occasions at the fantastic 5-star hotels I visit clients at; I’m no fool. A woman walking alone through the lobby of a London hotel that the concierge is never seen with a large bag, no luggage and dressed to kill in the middle of the day; it’s not exactly rocket science, but the excitement of giving the attendants a little wink as I sashay past in my finery gives me a sense of power and the man on the door a thrill of sharing something sordid with a gorgeous 24hr Companions lady.

Not only am I a top expensive escort in London, but it feels like I am the creative director of someone’s fantasies. That is so much fun, let me tell you. Working out my wardrobe, makeup and props for making their date one to rebook is such a rush. My fellow elite escort pals and I (all 3 of them are on the same wavelength as me) have a whale of a time swopping tips and showing off our new treasures that have been showered on us by our most faithful clientele.

In my line of work, it will not embarrass me easily. Whether I am acting out an unusual fantasy or contorting my body in various positions to be observed in great detail, I cannot get the giggles nor get all self-conscious and reluctant. Being in public with men of all shapes, sizes, ages and fashion dos and don’ts are other factors I must overlook. I am very open-minded, which is a massive bonus if you want to do this job.

Even going shopping or dining with a much older client who has requested I wear next to nothing and hang off his arm all date is a sure sign to the general public that I am either a hooker or a gold digger. But again, I don’t care. The things I get to experience, like eating in the finest restaurants, shopping in the most expensive of boutiques and visiting the most fantastic countries, is an exceptional lifestyle for me, and I believe I well deserve it with the effort and dedication I put into making my clients time with me a fabulous one!

Now, as you know, I am not just a model escort; no, I have a brain, and I’m not afraid to use it. I love the intellect of some of my “friends”, and it’s not all about the glitz and glamour. But as soon as I head to the beautician and the hairdressers or to Selfridges to pick out some gorgeous couture, current events and world politics slip away and I am caught up in a world of coiffing, bronzing and Gucci.

What can I say, it’s a beautiful life!!

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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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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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Today, I am going to an Auction. Well, it was an early start. My right-hand man Franco was in Mayfair with a cardboard carrier of Americano coffees and some croissants to go. As I had my hair in a towel and my stress head on, this was a very welcome sight! My door was wedged open with a shoe – not being auctioned off – and some burly and tasty young men were moving in and out of it. Sometimes, I almost said, “Oh, not that one,” but Franco shook his head wordlessly at me, and I had to let them go.

And then we were off to Oxford Circus! I could feel the adrenaline as we watched the crates and rails being unloaded by a team of highly organised young women. I have no idea where they came from, but they had something to do with James and his abundant knowledge of fundraiser organisers. They treated me like royalty, and I could almost taste the palpable aura of garment lust. “If you want it, you’ll have to bid on it, darling, Franco said to one young, sexy blonde pawing a limited edition Pucci silk jacket.

At ten o’clock, the doors were flung open to the public. The rows of seats were immediately filled, the edges of the warehouse flanked by assistants on the phone and other buyers. I recognised a few faces from my regular haunts (Kensington, Fulham and Chelsea) – a few gave me the thumbs up. My beautician was right at the front with her life savings to bid on one of my pink fur coats.

There was an expectant buzz, and then Franco introduced the cause, and then… me! I was waved to the front to say a few words, and my mouth went dry, but I managed it. And after deafening applause, it began…

Money, running into tens, hundreds and thousands, flew across that warehouse. A pair of strappy Jimmy Choos from SS07 went for £900 within the first ten minutes. Scraps of silk, lace, satin and feathers exchanged hands like hotcakes. A few Japanese girls were in the audience battling for Chanel and Chloe, whom I thought might get ugly at one point. Thankfully, James had the sense to hire me some security guards when he was dishing out the employment for the day.

And by 13.30, it was all over. The cash tin was counted, the cheques and credit card slips bundled, and after checking three times, the total for my designer goods at auction was….. £327,089! And no, I’m not kidding. Bear in mind that I have (had!)My collection has some pretty wealthy clients and some retro, authentic pieces; it is still pretty staggering!

Enjoy St. Barnardo’s and SCOPE – two worthy causes.

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