Confessions

When people find out that I'm a London escort, they usually ask two questions: how I got started and what my life is like.  The first answer is a long story for another time ' suffice to say that while waiting tables long into the night to pay for university, I met someone who showed me how I could earn a living doing what I love most: enjoying the company of men ' but I can answer the second by telling you about a couple of dates from last month.

Shall I introduce myself'  Obviously I'm an escort; I'm American by birth and I fell in love with the UK when I studied here for a semester, so I came back as quickly as I could.  When I'm not on the arm of a charming fellow, I do some freelance graphic design, take yoga and ballet classes, and go out with my friends.  You pictured a tall, willowy girl when I mentioned ballet, didn't you'   I'm only a nudge above average height at 5'7'.  What's that, 1.7 metres'  I've always had a slender build, but I rounded out in the right places at puberty and ended my girlish dreams of being a prima ballerina.  How much more fun my life is than it might have been!  The classes have kept me strong and flexible into my mid-twenties, but you won't find me in the next production of Swan Lake.  My hair is long and straight, the colour of damp sand, and my eyes are pale blue.  People tell me I resemble a younger Liz Hurley, but my accent doesn't quite fit the image. 

Though I was raised in a typical American suburb, I love living in the city, where I share a lovely apartment with a friend from college.  No husband, no children, and no boyfriend right now.  My last boyfriend had to move to Germany with his job and I'm in no rush to settle down; my life is good just as it is.  I spend too much money on my wardrobe ' I love fabrics that feel silky against my skin and clothes that are classy yet showcase my body. Trinny and Susannah would approve.

I've been in the business off and on for a few years now and, like a lot of London escort girls, I have a nice set of returning clients, but I'm always excited to meet someone new.  Now that I'm established, the only dates I accept last a few hours or more.  I like having time to get to know a man and be sure we really enjoy ourselves; that's much more fulfilling than a rushed couple hours of glancing at the clock.  But why don't I stop talking in the abstract and actually tell you some details, so you can see for yourself'

Last week I met Bill for the first time.  I offered to meet him at a pub near where he was working, the Melton Mowbray in Holborn.  It's a nice old place; I was there on time and didn't see anyone matching his description, so I went to upstairs where I could keep an eye on the door.  I was dressed simply: a form-fitting black skirt slightly above the knee, a pale blue silk top that wrapped in the front, and a tailored black jacket.  A careful look might reveal that my stockings were held up with suspenders and the heels of my shoes were a bit too tall and skinny for the office, not to mention that when I bent over, my top had a naughty tendency to open and reveal a glimpse of rounded breast and lacy lingerie beneath, but I could blend in with the after-work crowd.

Bill arrived within a few minutes, the poor fellow looking flustered as he pushed through the door.  I caught his eye and smiled as I descended the stairs, and his features rearranged from harried to pleased in a moment.  He was a good-looking man in his late 40s, with a head full of wavy silver hair and creases around his eyes and mouth that revealed a quick laugh.  His body was full and solid beneath a conservative, well-tailored suit and he was just the same height as I was in my high-heeled shoes.

We had time before our dinner reservations, so he found us some seats and we had a drink.  We hit it off immediately and I found that I really liked him.  It was good to see the tension release from his shoulders as we got to know each other; while the Melton Mowbray isn't one of my usual haunts, starting off somewhere we could both feel comfortable made it easier to talk.  Bill was a professor and researcher from the north, in town to meet with the law firm sponsoring one of his projects, and he wanted to enjoy an evening with a beautiful woman to forget the days of meetings, presentations, and budget negotiations.  Who could blame him' 

I was glad he found me.  When I was first in the business, I worked with an escort agency.  I'm as bright as I am pretty, though, so as soon as I knew my way around, I got some professional photos taken and started marketing myself as an independent.  Bill found me online; on Cherry Girls, the leading directory for escorts in London, which is where a lot of my new business comes from.   He had quite a selection to choose among; I figured we were both lucky that I was his choice.

Bill found a cab for us and as we crawled along in traffic, I slid close so we could talk, letting my leg rest alongside his.  I pointed out some landmarks we passed; one thing about being an immigrant is that I've filled my head with all sorts of trivia that people born here never had any reason to know.  Being mischievous, though, sometimes I'll invent outrageous historical nuggets when I'm playing tour guide for friends or dates, to see if they catch me at it.  So I did. 'That little park is where they hanged King Frederick the Negligent after he inadvertently burned down half of London in a night of drunken debauchery in 1653.  They say the Queen herself pulled the lever and was in the arms of her lover, a Hungarian circus performer, before the body stopped dancing.'

Bill didn't fall for it and told me I was a bad girl to lie.  I pouted and tossed my head insolently, then broke into a grin as he slid his hand onto my thigh, saying, 'I suppose I'll have to keep a close eye on you.  Who knows what trouble you might get into''

I wrapped my ankle around his, parting my knees slightly so my skirt slipped higher.  'Yes,' I said, a little huskily.  'Who knows''

He stroked the back of my hair gently, looking at me with an appraising smile.  'Are you always so naughty''

'Well' sometimes.'  I squirmed like a co-ed accused of cheating on a test.  Inside, my stomach was doing flips and I was feeling very warm at the sudden change of mood from casual to suggestive teasing.

Bill wrapped his fingers in my hair and pulled with a slow, firm movement; not a fast tug that would hurt, but a controlled gesture that tilted my head back and made me flush.  My lips parted as I sucked in a gasp of sudden arousal.  He smiled.  'Ah, I see.  Stop me if I'm too bold, but,' and without saying more, he slid his other hand up my leg, over my belly, and up my torso to cup one of my breasts.  It was an enormous turn-on to have him take charge yet still be polite -- I'm a sucker for an authoritative older man ' so I was not surprised when he found my nipple hard beneath his circling thumb.  He leaned against me, his lips so close to mine that I could feel his breath.  'This is good for you, isn't it'  I've found something you like''

I tried to nod, but his fingers in my hair prevented the motion, so I murmured, 'Oh yes.  Yes indeed.'  He wasn't just pressing my buttons, he was hotwiring my engine!

'Perfect.'  With that, he sat back, gave my nipple a last tweak and smoothed my hair.  'Mustn't have you in disarray for dinner, my dear.  I think I'm going to enjoy spending the evening with you even more than I expected, and I already thought it would be superb.'

I rolled my shoulders, shaking off the daze of excitement I had been in, and smiled.  Bill's eyes were shining and all traces of nervousness and work anxiety were gone.  I slipped my fingers into his and agreed wholeheartedly.

Bill had booked me for dinner and chose an excellent restaurant, explaining that if he had to eat pub food with his patrons one more night, he would start a hunger strike.  We got out of the cab and he offered his arm as we walked through the courtyard of Somerset House to The Admiralty.   It was a clear, crisp night and we made an attractive couple: the handsome middle-aged academic with the fresh-faced young woman strolling at his side. 

Dinner was splendid.  The food was a bit on the rich side ' I wonder if Bill guessed I was feeding him forkfuls from my plate as much because I couldn't finish it as because it was sexy' ' but it was delicious.  We talked about travels in Italy and the historical fiction books we both enjoy; though very different people, we had more interests in common than we expected.  He was a charming man and we were both at ease in the elegant surroundings, sipping excellent wine and lingering over each course, even splitting a decadent mousse for dessert.  By the time Bill helped me slip back into my jacket, I was hoping that we'd extend the evening long into the night.

Bill suggested the same thing as we lingered in the softly lit courtyard.  His hotel wasn't far; would I be interested in taking a look at the view from his room'  I told him I would have been terribly disappointed if he hadn't asked.

In the lift up to his suite at the Edwardian Kenilworth, Bill positioned himself behind me and lightly gripped each of my elbows with his fingers.  He pulled me gently against him, his voice husky and full of teasing, mock menace.  'So, my naughty girl, do you have more stories to tell me'  Any exaggerations or historical fabrications' You didn't think I'd forgotten your lies just because I had a wonderful evening, did you''  He nuzzled my ear, nipping it lightly as we arrived on his floor.

The room was modern but luxurious, with dark wood, lush fabrics, and upscale electronics.   Bill touched a wall switch and the bedroom lights, inset in the floor around the periphery of the almost circular room, made the place look like a stage. Bill slid my jacket from my shoulders and draped it over a chair.  'I hope you'll excuse me for a few minutes; I'd really like to take a quick shower.'

'All by yourself'' I asked.  'Aren't you afraid of all the mischief I might get up to left out here unsupervised'  Besides, a scrubbing might do me good.'

'Think so, my dirty girl''  He stepped toward me and pressed my back against the wall.  His hands held wrists at my sides as his gaze focused on my full, warm lips.  'We can't have you being all filthy in my bed, can we''  He raised his eyes and closed the distance between us, his lips brushing mine then pressing more firmly.  I moaned involuntarily and kissed him back, wrapping my tongue around his, my eyelids suddenly heavy.  We moved together, the pressure of his body trapping me against the wall as my hips churned and my spine arched.  I wanted to reach up and wrap my fingers into that gorgeous wavy hair, but he held me fast, my frustration making me want him even more.

Bill stepped back and said, 'You can't shower dressed like that.'  His fingers sought the buttons on my silk blouse and pulled them open.  He parted the front and slid the supple garment off my shoulders, slowly and deliberately, catching it between his fingertips and placing it on top of my jacket.  He unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor.  'Step out.'  I did and he bent to pick it up, pausing eye level from my crotch, close enough to feel the heat I was giving off.

He walked a few paces away and looked at me.  I balanced in my high heels, sheer stockings caressing the shapely curves of my dancer's legs until they ended on my thighs, pink suspenders holding them in place.  My panties and bra were from the same set, sheer pink fabric accented with elegant lace scallops that couldn't hide my pert nipples or the dark triangle at the bottom of my torso.  The only other adornments were my earrings, sparkling as they dangled in my soft hair.  I smiled and shifted my weight, hip rolling smoothly to one side like the pendulum of a clock.  'Like what you see, Bill''

'I do.'  He lowered himself to the couch and began to give me soft orders.  'Take off your brassiere.'  I unfastened the hooks and slid the straps down.  I began to turn coyly away but he stopped me with a couple firm words, so I faced Bill directly as I let the bra drop.  'Now the knickers.'  They hit the wood floor with a quiet whoosh.   'Stand there and let me see you.  No, hands at your sides.  That's it.  Spread your legs a little.  A little more.  More, dear.'

I was achingly aware of my body, from my hardened nipples to the wetness between my legs, and of his keen observation.  His appreciation was apparent on his face and I was aroused by his control, guiding and directing me.  This was a man who knew what he liked, but was also perceptive enough to read what made my pulse faster.

'Very nice.  So very nice.  You're a stunning woman.  Walk over to the bathroom, slowly, and get the shower started.  You can finish undressing there.'

I did as he wished, conscious of his stare on me as I passed using my sexiest walk.  The bathroom was a comfortable affair of marble, with a large, unenclosed walk-in shower.  Perfect!  I turned the water on, slipped out of my shoes, and removed my suspenders and stockings.  When I looked up, Bill was standing in the doorway, taking off his own clothing.  'Go ahead and get in; I'll be right there.'  He vanished back into the bedroom as I stepped under the spray.

He joined me a minute later, his slippery body against mine.  We kissed with water streaming down our faces. Sometimes we laughed, slick with soap and splashing, and sometimes we moaned as our passion made it unclear whether the drops on our skin were water or beads of sweat.  His talented hands and mouth made me squeal in delight; I giggled when he put a hand over my mouth to keep me from waking the people in the next room.  When we were both spent, suddenly weary, we shared a final rinse and then towelled each other off.

Collapsing onto the bed in the middle of the round room, heartbeat slowing, I ran my fingers through the curly salt and pepper hair on his chest.  'Will you stay the night'' he asked softly.  'I'd like you to.'
I nodded and kissed him as my body began to feel heavy with sleep.  I put my head on his shoulder and draped my arm over his chest, snuggling in, and fell asleep within minutes.

Morning light shone through the curtains a few hours later and I could hear Bill brushing his teeth.  I rose, wrapped myself in a hotel robe, and went into the living area.  I could see sun glinting off the roof of the British Museum half a block away; I knelt on the couch to get a better look.

Bill came into the room; I began to wish him a good morning but his finger on my lip silenced me.  He stood behind me, caressing my calves, then thighs, then my firm rear.  My breath came faster as he touched me all over, keeping me positioned to look out the window.  He flipped the robe up onto my back and took advantage of the access gained to explore, first with fingers, then with his mouth, and finally slipping inside while he held handfuls of my hair.  I bucked against him, my senses caught up in the contrast between the simple city scene in front of my eyes and what was happening to my body in the room.

Afterwards, we agreed that we should shower separately if we planned to leave the room that day.  When we were both dressed, he kissed me and thanked me for a wonderful, memorable night.  'Everything from the first glance, through the delicious dinner, through our time here at the hotel was beyond my imagining.  This was terrific.  May I call you again next time I'm in town''

I made him promise to do just that, and he called down to the desk to get me a cab. 

The next day, back in my apartment and reflecting on the night with Bill, I got to thinking about my clients in the US and here.  I had traded one national capital for another, so there are similarities: a lot of powerful men, political players and those trying to influence them, and a constant stream of business and pleasure travellers.  In both cities the dominatrix trade -- not one of my specialties -- is a busy and profitable one, perhaps due to the number of men who need to maintain controlled and authoritative images.  Both have a wealth of events for which my companionship is often requested: embassy dinners, business events, and such; anywhere that a man wants to have beautiful, discreet woman who can make good conversation on his arm.

But there are differences, too.  Men in the US seemed more businesslike; some would become anxious and unpleasant if they had planned for four hours of my time, but service at dinner was slow or we had trouble flagging down a cab.  Many were more secretive, as well, getting tangled up in lies as I tried to make conversation.  Perhaps the increased sensitivity to such scandals in the US -- where Puritanism is alive and well, at least on the surface ' made them more cautious, but it kept them from relaxing and enjoying the evening.  While I'm always careful, of course, I think that men in the US made me more nervous.  Bill's slightly dominant teasing was a lot of fun, but from an American man it would have been accompanied with less gentility and may have felt threatening.

Another difference, and a reason I prefer men here, is subtle.   In my experience, the men who hire London escort girls are able to put aside their daily lives and indulge themselves better that those who hired me in Washington, DC.  They understand how to truly enjoy the evening and let political correctness, appearances, and the restrictions they usually put upon themselves be damned.  We'll have champagne before dinner and share a slice of lush cheesecake afterwards, while in DC a date is just as likely to ask the waiter how many carbohydrates are in each entr'e.  In London, men will smoke without apologizing and telling me the story of their previous attempts to quit.  They'll tell me about their wives and children instead of claiming that they're divorced and trying to hide the tan-line where their wedding ring usually sits.  It's very contrary to stereotypes to find Englishmen less inhibited than Americans; perhaps it's the nature of the cities they're in or just my luck.

Another of my dates last month was with Jeremy.  Ah, Jeremy!  He's one of my regulars, a turbo-charged exec in the advertising industry, some sort of former wunderkind who made Internet millions in the '90s and used it to start his own agency.  Now that he's 30-something, he's determined to be the next Richard Branson and is always off on some new venture; sometimes they succeed, sometimes they're gigantic failures.  He's tall and wiry, with floppy brown hair and devastating blue eyes.  And, much to my delight, he enjoys the company of escorts when he's between gold-diggers.  Oops!  I meant to say, when he's between girlfriends'.

We're pals, Jeremy and I.  No romantic illusions on either side and we're as comfortable shooting pool as attending a premiere together.  He's narcissistic and has the attention span of a blow-fly, with a short-fuse temper to match, but he's a lot of fun.  'My girl, do you have your dancing shoes polished'' he had asked.  'I just landed a big contract and I'm in the mood for a celebration.' 

We agreed to meet for dinner, then hit a bar and see where the evening took us.  For this date,  I dressed more colourfully, in a slinky silk dress with a retro print in aqua, brown, and coral.  The skirt flared at the knee -- perfect for showing off my legs and strappy high heels ' and hugged the curves of my hips and rear.  I was happy to see heads turn as I walked toward Jeremy in Blue Bar, where he was chatting up a pair of blondes.  He ordered me a ginger martini and slid his arm around my waist as we talked to the girls about their visit to the Tate that day.

We said farewell and took our seats for dinner at Blue Elephant.  I love Thai food; it's so aromatic and sensual that I swear it has aphrodisiac properties.  It had been a couple months since I'd seen Jeremy, so we caught up over satay and dim sum.  His life is so fast-paced and outrageous that it makes even a busy girl like me shake my head in wonder sometimes, but watching his eyes shine when he talked about his latest deal, I knew he was having a grand time.  We held hands while waiting for our main courses, leaning close and talking about our families and relationships. 

Being out with a regular client like Jeremy is a treat; we know each other well enough that we're as comfortable as long-time lovers without any relationship entanglements.  The first couple of dates with someone new can be more exciting, but with a regular we can figuratively let down our hair and be ourselves.  Of course I'm still an escort, so Jeremy gets me on my best behaviour and with my attention completely focused on him, but that just makes it more enjoyable for us both.

Jeremy checked his watch as we finished.  'Perfect!  Shall we head back to my hotel and get a drink or two at the bar''  I agreed enthusiastically and we zipped over to the St. Martin's Lane. 

The hotel fits Jeremy: it's relentlessly modern, but very stylish.  It's a little cold to my eyes, but the hot music and crowd at the Light warmed the place right up.  We sipped drinks and checked out the crowd for an hour or so, yelling greetings to people we recognized.  'Oh look!' I said, pointing out a woman with straw-like hair and implants the size of beach balls that threatened to tip her skinny frame.  'I think I've found your perfect missus, Jer.'

He followed my gaze and laughed.  'What makes you think you're not my perfect missus, sweet thing''  He grabbed a handful of my rear end and squeezed, making me giggle.

'Ooh!  Was that a proposal I heard'  I'll go pick out a china pattern tomorrow.  Mom will be so thrilled!'  He pinched me and I giggled again, wrapping my arms around his neck.  'Ok, ok; I won't call her just yet' if you come dance with me.'

We squeezed through to the dance floor, joining the crowd of boho chic, little black dresses, and men with Ashton Kutcher's hairstyle.  Jeremy is a very good dancer ' he nearly outshone me at a salsa club one night ' but even better, his sense of humour shows through and he's not afraid to be a goofball.  The music had a disco flair and he went into his best John Travolta imitation, spinning me around and pumping his hips, pouting his lips and slicking back his hair.  He's such a clown!  I danced with a grin on my face.

After he worked off his first burst of energy, Jeremy pulled me in close and we danced together, our bodies rubbing against each other as we twisted and shimmied to the beat.  He's a slim man and I could feel his pelvic bone pressing into the softness of my hip, the physical closeness turning me on.  We made it through a funky remix of Madonna's latest and then he guided me over to an open area further from the speakers.  We moved together a little longer, then he put his lips to my ear so I could hear him above the music.  'So, I've got you for the night.  How much more of it do you want to spend here''

I glanced around at the gyrating crowd and then tilted my head back to look him in the eye.  'How long will it take you to clear a path for us to the door''  He wrapped my hand in his and pulled me through the throng behind him. 

I barely had time to appreciate the odd lift and we were at his floor, then through the door and into the room.  White!  So white.  A clumsy girl like me could cause a disaster with a simple glass of merlot in a place like that.  The blinds on the floor-to-ceiling windows were open and the view outside contrasted with the stark interior.  'Isn't it brilliant'' raved Jeremy.

'It's' clean.' I smiled.

He dove for the bed.  'But look, coloured lights!'  He touched something and the lighting turned an intense green.  'We can play out all your kinky alien sex fantasies!  Or,' he touched the switch again until the light was purple, 'you can be Violet Beauregarde from that Willy Wonka movie, and I can roll and squeeze you.  Come here, girl!'

I stretched out on the bed and he rolled on top, both of us as purple as grapes.  I couldn't help giggling, so he covered my mouth with his, squelching my laughter with a warm kiss. Mmm, he's good at that!  The kiss was soft at first, then firmer and more exploratory as our hands began to wander.  His tongue entwined with mine.  Our breathing slowed and deepened.

'We should do this more often.  This evening was so' how to say it'  Comfortable, I suppose.'

'Call me anytime, Mr. Purple.  You know I love seeing you.' 

Jeremy rolled over and sat up, so I took the chance to slip off the bed and use the bathroom.  Standing at the mirror, brushing my hair, a naughty thought crossed my mind.  I took off my dress, then slipped out of my tan satin bra and panties.  I unhooked my suspenders and slid my stockings off, placing the lingerie in a neat pile on the edge of the bathtub.  I put my shoes back on and pulled my dress over my naked body.

Back in the room, Jeremy had switched the light to red, closed the blinds, and popped in a Massive Attack CD.  He was reclined on the bed in his trousers, with his shirt untucked and open, revealing his taut swimmer's torso.  Rawr!  I walked to the foot of the bed and locked eyes with him, my body swaying to the music.  The corners of his mouth rose into a slight smile, so I continued to move, running my hands over my curves through the thin fabric of the dress.  I danced seductively for him, as he watched with smouldering eyes.

I turned from him and looked back over my shoulder, swinging my hips slowly as I bent forward, pulling my skirt higher and higher.  Jeremy touched himself through his trousers as he looked on; it was so exciting to see how my show aroused him.  Before my skirt revealed anything, I turned around and went to the side of the bed beside him.  'Unzip me,' I said, lifting my hair so he could open my dress.  I stood and shook my shoulders; the soft fabric slid down, revealing my shoulders, my bare breasts, the sleek lines of my waist and belly, my hips, and then splashed to the floor, leaving me nude except for my shoes and a smile.  The red light covered me and Jeremy let out a small, appreciative moan.  'Come here,' he sighed.

I shook my head.  'No no, my dear.  You're overdressed.' 

Jeremy almost jumped off the other side of the bed, dropping his trousers and shirt in a heap.  'There!  Better''