Tag Archives: fantasy

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Women can be manipulative—even those who say they aren’t having a more subtle approach 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.

I’ll be sure to set the scene for you…

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

So there we were, fingers entwined, our arms full of branded carrier bags. Victor had dragged me into practically every man’s clothes shop there (who says men aren’t fussy?), and I was longingly thinking 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 others’ needs, I am adept at situations before they get out of control and Victor gets 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, at diffusing a, 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. Near 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 a lungful of Broadband. A London escort such as me must have patience as a virtue: the patience to accept her needs comes 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 kissed my forehead and said, “Darling, you have been patient with me today. Let me buy a present for my beautiful girl. 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 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 looked 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 pleased 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 that I know where Kurt Geiger has a fantastic store!

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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.

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Everybody seems to be in Cannes at the moment. Have you considered taking your favourite escort girl or duo escort girls abroad? Or, if you were heading to the South of France (‘Le Midi’ to those who live there) for business or pleasure, then why not take one of our lovely 24-hour Companionss who will look ‘just right’ on your arm when they accompany you to the beautiful restaurants and top places in the South of France.

We cannot begin to stress how much chic, glamour and luxury there is within the main areas – Cannes, Monaco, Aquitaine, Midi-Pyrenees, Languedoc-Roussillon, Provence-Alpes-Cote d’Azur, Rhones –Alpes and Corsica. Your lovely escort will be beside herself looking at the designer cars, clothes, brands and luxurious hotels dotted everywhere. If you haven’t already thought about what you will do with your time (apart from reaching your credit limits shopping), let us tempt you further.

The South of France is renowned for playing home to many super-yachts of the rich and famous. Just look at Simon Cowell with his harem of beauties! Taking a day trip to the marinas would mean a spectacular view of these floating palaces and maybe even your lady in her bikini – should she wish to do a little sunbathing!

But what about places to wine and dine? There are many famous spots – far too many to put here – but we have chosen a couple to get you started:

L’Oasis in Mandelieu-La Napoule is a culinary landmark with two Michelin stars. This Gothic villa by the sea is home to Stéphane Raimbault—a connoisseur of unexpected flavour collisions (think medallions of roasted blue lobster in a risotto of spaghetti à la Puttanesca or hazelnut venison with a pepper sauce and blueberries). The €98 a la carte menu shouldn’t be dismissed either!

La Villa Archange in Cannes also boasts two Michelin stars. On the high end of most price ranges, this is a treat for two, surrounded by centennial trees and gardens. If you love veal, lobster or squid, this is your place.

We have expensive travel companions and cheaper escorts to escort you on your trip. We at 24hr Companions love the South of France, and this is the place to be now. So why not consider for a moment that a 24-hour Companions lady could be just what you have been after to give that je ne sais quoi?

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Okay, winter weddings, summer weddings, Spring weddings, autumn weddings… whatever month you choose to celebrate your magical day. NOTE: I don’t find them magical! I have been to so many weddings. I have been in enough awful bridesmaid’s dresses and themed weddings to last me a lifetime. I’m not cynical. I can see the romance and dedication of the betrothed couple and the love that they share, but I am a busy lady! I think more of “save the date” cards being “save the date for a great trip to New York”.

So imagine my horror when Rich requested the pleasure of my company for his colleagues’ big day at the Ritz London: black tie and ball gown shindig.

I have plenty of beautiful dresses and designer shoes so don’t worry about what I will wear. It’s the thought of all these people acting like they have just been invited to this day to celebrate “Hello” magazine style and not care what the occasion is. But I will play the perfect beautiful escort companion and not let Rich out of my sight.

His only request for me is to play out the girlfriend experience and be attentive and then accompany him back to his penthouse suite for a night that will not reflect the romance and magic of a wedding but to be whomever he wants me to be, which is usually exciting and in some ways very sordid. That’s when the fun begins, and the work stops. I don’t find it challenging to act out any scenario a man wants in the bedroom. I have enough experience with all kinds of men and women to know what works and what doesn’t. Also, the old saying of the customer is always right. I believe a brilliant escort in London must’ve made it up.

My clients know from my fabulous escort profile on the website what I do or don’t like to partake in, so there is never any confusion regarding wants or needs. If it says I’m up for anything, then who am I to disappoint?

So, being a professional model and doting girlfriend, I know how important it is to be with a man as their partner should they request it. I know to laugh at my colleague’s unfunny jokes and be charming and intelligent when right.

But get me to the church on time. It isn’t when we return to the safety net of the two of us after hours, and he will not be disappointed with our own “magic”. Thank you!

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Have I ever mentioned how much I love to dance? Whether it’s a slow bump ‘n’ grind or a quick Foxtrot in a shimmering ball gown – I’m your woman. I have no professional training; I happen to have visited some pretty extravagant places where dancing is the order of the day, and my partner happens to love it, too.

This weekend, I have a late evening date with Jack, a professional dancer and choreographer. At the moment, he is in the West End, finishing up a run on ‘Dreamboats and Petticoats’ before heading back to New York. Despite his American good looks and piercing brown eyes, Jack doesn’t have a regular girlfriend, so he calls on me whenever he is in town – which tends to be once a season or every nine months, depending on how you look at it. I always have a fantastic time with him as he can gain us entry into all the top nightclubs or VIP treatment at a Wrap Party.

Above all else, Jack has a fantastic body as well as snake hips to match. His whirls, twirls and grinds with me till I’m sweating and begging him to take me home for some bed dancing instead. One day, Jack will probably meet some fabulous dancer who can get her foot behind her ear, but he seems to prefer my company at the moment. He explains that he could quickly bed half the chorus, but for emotional reasons, he tends not to. A lot of sexual tension makes for better on-stage chemistry rather than giving in to it and suffering a messy breakup mid-season. Never mix work and pleasure – unless you’re London call girl, where it is mandatory!

Now, I keep myself in shape, but Jack’s stamina far out-rivals mine. I’ve watched him from the front row before (he was in “Grease” in 2012), and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He didn’t even break a sweat. However, I can’t say I wasn’t damp after that one…

As I look through my wardrobe, I need to consider the weather, although skirts and heels tend to be the order of the day for a 24-hour London escort. Not only is it easier to dance in heels than flats (unless you’re being thrown about in a Lindy hop!), but jeans are too cumbersome. However, it’s meant to snow this weekend, and I don’t want frostbite in unmentionable places. I think “Jack” will understand that I have to wear leggings when the temperature plummets to zero, rather than the floaty number I donned in the summer. Brrrrr!

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