Tag Archives: fantasy

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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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So, it hasn’t escaped my attention that my apartment building in Mayfair has its fair share of resident Arabs. This has proved a bit tricky in the past with client-on-client run-ins in my building, but it has also meant an abundance of new clients right at my doorstep.

Though I am a very discrete London escort, I have been approached while locking my front door to ask what services I provide. It has been more luck than them working on the fact. I leave and enter my home looking more than perfectly coiffed and manicured. The expensive clothes I adorn are not to be mistaken for anything other than lining the body of a model who knows her labels.

Some chance encounters have been a very wealthy businessman’s hired help handing me their gold embossed business cards showing me their master’s work address boasting a skyscraper view from Canary Wharf or private offices in Chelsea, with a number to call for personal appointments. My reply to most of these slip-of-the-hand meets is to slip them my 24-hour London escort card right back. They can work for my hand rather than me chasing a new client.

After going through the correct channels to book my time, I was satisfied when the final details were agreed upon and always sat. I have always described my work ethic as being a chameleon, and behind closed doors with specific nationality clients, I can be whatever they want me to be, and when accompanying them to Dubai or not even out of London,

I can be demure and discrete and worth every penny!

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Sometimes, when a client requests something very different for them to enjoy, nine times out of 10, it is very different for their escort, too.

Jacob is a very successful and talented songwriter and is constantly jetting off around the world on business meetings and hooking up with artists at their swanky homes or hired venues. He tells me this is all well and good, and he gets to visit some beautiful places, but sometimes he wants to let his hair down and go. Being as successful as he is, Jacob only has a little time off, and when he does, he always makes sure he books some girlfriend experience time with his favourite escort. This usually entails hanging out at his vast Belgravia mansion, just chilling together and doing “normal couple” things before he jets off to New York, Paris, or wherever else the A and R lot tells him to go.

So, with a rare three days off, Jacob has asked me to accompany him to a club in Central London and told me to check my e-mail for an essential list of requirements for his favourite escort. I will tell you that when I read it, I headed straight out the door for an extraordinary shopping trip.

Jacob had requested that we go to a mainstream club, with no VIP or guest list, and blend into the crowd, but blend in with me dressed as any other woman in the club…

Now, this may seem simple, but Jacob insists that I adhere to the high street trends of today, complete with hair extensions, fake tan and lots of bling. I am all for dressing up and having a laugh, but I was stumped for ideas on how to blend in when I am more than used to clubs in the VIP section dressed in my usual designer gear and being coiffed to perfection.

I am far from a snob, and usually, I don’t mind where I go or what I wear, but when you’re going to a mainstream club and under the watchful eye of so many others, I know I have to get my look spot on. Cue internet searches and glossy magazine scouring.

Remember I told you, whatever my client wants (within reason), they get, and I’m sure my TOWIE makeover just about fits into the within reason category…

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Most of the time, my clients want me to be well-turned out, svelte, sexy and, well… arm candy.

I sport all my finest labels (usually within at least two seasons of purchase unless it’s vintage, of course), making sure my hair is tousled and my make-up subtle. Above everything else, I want to look good for me.

So when a client asks me to wear something I wouldn’t mind ruining, I have all sorts of visions. Extreme sports? Quad-biking? Mud wrestling…? Well, maybe not the latter, as that would usually involve two 24hr escorts and a rather skimpy bikini. So, I went for clothes I typically wear when I decorate and tied my hair up in a messy ponytail. It went against all my principles, but when clients call, they call the shots.

I arrived at his sumptuous Kensington apartment bang on eleven o’clock. Usually, my clients can hear my stilettos from a mile away, but wearing pumps meant I arrived unannounced. Jasper answered my knock promptly and showed me through his hallway to a large white room right at the back. The walls were as stark as the tiled floor, and there was a giant dust sheet covering most of the sparse furniture. Set up at the window was a tripod with a long-lens camera being tended to by a trendy young man; Jasper introduced him as his wingman, Mark.

The thing that concerned me the most was there was a long table on the left-hand side of the room. On this table were creamy cakes and tall blancmanges, all decorated with strawberries, cream and icing. They wouldn’t have looked out of place on a hostess trolley at The Dorchester; Jasper stuck his finger into one of them and licked the digit clean. “Perfect,” he said. Suddenly, a light bulb went off in my head.

I looked first from Mark, looking through the lens and adjusting his shot, to Jasper, who was watching me. With a grin, I went to one of the blancmanges and took a fistful. I lobbed it at Jasper, and the flash went off on Mark’s camera. With almost a guttural scream of joy, my client dived for the table and its contents. Within a few minutes, there was a full-scale food fight going on.

I was covered from head to toe in sponge, cream filling and jam. The floor, walls and even the ceiling had an uneven coating of patisserie goodness. I should have brought a shower cap as a whole trifle upended over my brunette locks. I felt a triple shampoo and condition coming on when I got home.

The only thing I should have had the foresight on was a change of clothes! Thankfully, Jasper lent me a pair of joggers and a jumper for my journey back to Mayfair. But my oh my, what fun!

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One of my favourite words in the English dictionary is ‘passion’. There’s the passion you show your partner between the sheets when you just want to grab them and bite a chunk out of them; an intense appreciation for the arts or music and the passion of a couple arguing in the middle of the street (or wherever they happened to be when the first voice was raised). Without passion, the world would be a very boring place and no one would become excited about anything.

I consider myself to be a passionate girl in the most obvious sense of the word. None of my clients or past boyfriends could ever dub me an Ice Maiden. Good God, no! I put as much energy into my emotions as I do every aspect of my life. However, I’m not particularly confrontational so my newest client, Jon took me by surprise. He was a referral from a fellow London escort who was too poorly to make her date. She told me that Jon was a bit of a character but she thought I would be fine. “If you get stuck,” she said hoarsely, “text me.”

So I entered into our arrangement with my eyes wide open. Dressed for the summery weather and with a beaming smile, we met on the South Bank, outside Temple tube station. The first thing that riled me was that he looked me up and down before shaking my hand. And even though, for the most part, he as a gentleman, he kept trying to wind me up – bordering on rudeness. As the sun went behind a cloud and the wind picked up, my mood became equally as overcast. Jon started to irritate me. We walked and talked from Park Lane to Piccadilly, without holding hands and at least three feet apart. Now, being the professional I am and bearing in mind I’ve heard worse over the years, I started to reply through gritted teeth. I so wanted to be nice to him but I could have cheerfully strangled him. We ate a meal at The Cinnamon Club where the conversation was littered with insults. He criticised the food, the service, my table manners and those of all around him. Eventually I could take no more. With a slam of my napkin and a scrape of my chair, I turned on my heel and fled.

I was absolutely raging as I arrived home. My neighbours must have wondered what all the commotion was about as I slammed my front door shut and kicked a chair across the room. How dare he! And I was so annoyed with my colleague for giving me such a vile client. I text her and asked why she thought I would enjoy a date like that. I got no reply but Jon text me the next day and explained that he arranged dates with our 24 hour escort agency to have a really good fight with the lady. He was aroused by a fiery woman and I had left him speechless. Although when I didn’t come back he had worried that I’d been briefed before agreeing to stand in. Well, that explained it and after that I stopped giving him a hard time. So, slipping into character, I made my voice as petulant as I could and asked what the hell he thought he was playing at being extremely rude to me and his voice immediately animated. Before I knew it he was yelling all sorts of obscenities and asking if I spoke to all my boyfriends that way? It was rather surreal but oddly satisfying.

Now Jon wants to book my company at least once a fortnight so we can really scream at each other – in a completely controlled environment, of course. He says he enjoys the company of the other escorts at the agency but that I really get into the spirit of things. I told him he should see me with PMT!

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