Saturday, 14 November 2009

The Slut In Me...

Well, it’s been a while since I wrote in the ol’ diary.
That’s because I’ve been a busy girl about town. Escorting has taken off practically where I left it over ten years ago. It seems to be the same four top hotels in London, same type of clients. I’m even wearing some of the same dresses lol.
I can’t say I’ve exactly had fun doing it though. Not the kind of fun I used to have. It’s just work, done in the privacy of a hotel, mostly after a nice dinner or lunch. I suppose being ten years older, I am living a different lifestyle. I don’t drink much anymore, I don’t indulge in curious substances (well, not that much. I definitely don’t go to the sort of parties I used to) and the sex has been normal straight stuff.

But there is the possibility to spice things up. One Gent wants to try swinging (as he so quaintly terms it).

I’m a little excited about this. I haven’t done it for ages. I’ve been with this gent about 4 times now and we’ve discussed what sort of people I like, so I’m hoping this couple he has for me to meet will be to my liking. But, at the end of the day I’ll be ‘looked after properly’ like any good Gent would do for his Lady, so it doesn’t really matter who I’m fucking and what they look like. Just as long as they’re bathed and mind their P’s & Q’s.
So it will be my first encounter with another couple for, ooh, approximately 11 years, 6 months and 3 days. Most of the couples I’ve been with were professionals (by that I don’t mean professional sex workers, I mean they didn’t work at Tesco), mostly older than me (that was before I grew this old, so I bloody hope they are now younger than me. Granny fanny, not my bag) and all were my kind of sexy.
So, yes, I’m looking forward to this leading to other things. But my main concern is; will the Gent handle my enthusiasm? You see, I do love sex with more than one person. The more the merrier actually, especially if I’m the centre of attention.

I once had a client take me to a private party in Paris. We were having a nosy around when three handsome men and a gorgeous girl turned up. I was instantly attracted and I‘d say the feeling was mutual because they pounced on me. Soon it was just me, the girl and the three men. Totally unprofessional on my part, but hell, the combination of attraction, chemistry and pure passion is something that doesn’t happen too often in life with one person, let alone three. The excitement was thrilling. Maybe it was their broken English in a French accent, maybe it was the wine, maybe it was because all of them were so damn hot they got me instantly wet as soon as I saw them.

My poor client. I looked up and he was just watching, crestfallen. Like a fan at a football match who‘s team is getting a good kicking. I pretended not to notice. When I looked again he was gone.

I had to follow him, and it was probably one of the hardest things I’ve done; to pull myself away as some man I have visually fallen in love with is giving me the sort of pleasure I still wank over to this day. I can still feel his hands on my body, and his girlfriends soft mouth whispereing when we kissed.
I found my client was at the bar, licking his wounds. He soon perked up when I told him I did it because I thought he wanted to watch, and they did nothing for me. All lies of course.
We left the party after a few more drinks. All I wanted to do was dump him and return to my new found Friends of Fun, but I couldn’t. We did the deed at the hotel, quick and easy, but it was an all night booking so I couldn’t leave and return to the party. Boo hoo.
I hope my new Gent understand what he is getting himself in for when he takes me 'swinging'.

Wednesday, 14 October 2009

Drawing The Line At Client Stroking... Or Trying To.

As I get older I realise some things are beyond trying. Take my old Sugar Daddy from way back. He was a selfish obstinate old bugger twenty years ago, and we had different opinions about such delicate subjects like racism, sexism, religion, all the important stuff. But when you are subject to being cut off from an allowance, it tends to make you keep inside things that you really want let out. I had to be tactful and demure and above all, ladylike.
To say I bit my tongue many times would be an understatement. Plus, come on, he was then a seventy year old man. Who feels good about arguing with a seventy year old man? I’d feel like a bully.

I had lunch with him just the other day. I had forgotten just how hard it was to spend time with him. He talks twaddle about how hard it is financially now. (He’s been saying that for twenty years) How expensive everything is (ditto) He asks questions, then ignores the response, saying “Yes, yes” as he nods his head, then looks around and doesn’t even pretend to be interested.
A least I pretend to be interested in his mundane stories.

He is ninety now. Oh sorry, Ninety-One as he kept telling me. “I don’t look it though because I dye my hair” he said proudly with a lowering of the head to reveal a well coiffured Bobby Charlton. I could still see his scalp through it though.

That enough was to make the couple at the next table snigger quietly. I don’t know what they were laughing at, they hadn’t heard his “Have you seen the size of the sex of an elephant? It’s huge!” statement plucked out of nowhere, and usually said when you are least expecting something like that to enter the conversation.

After hair compliments and general chit chat about everything and nothing, he suddenly announces how he heard about Stephen Gatelys death. How this old man even knew who Mr Gately was is beyond my ken.

“He was gay, you know” he says with a sad nod of the head.
Oh god, here we go I thought. And I wasn’t wrong.
“Tch, these gays, you know-”
“It wasn’t being gay that killed him!” I cut in, louder than intended.
I could see the lady at the next table nudge her partner with her eyes.
“Well, you know, they get into drugs, they are so promiscuous…” continued Mr SD.
“That’s a very outdated stereotypical image you have” I told him firmly. I wasn’t going to stand for this!
“Yes, yes, you are right my dear. It’s typical of them” he agreed.
This made the lady at the next table cough delicately and give me such a subtle wink that I thought I might have imagined it, had the corners of her mouth not been slightly curved upwards.

It was then I realised it was worthless to challenge him. Never mind the Sugar Daddy/Sugar Babe thing. Even for normal life, this should be left to lie. He is an obviously now quite deaf, ninety-one year old man who had been racist, sexist, and intolerant of those different from him his whole life. A conversation with me over scones in a Mayfair tea room wasn’t going to change his opinion; it was only going to Piss Me Off.

Our only hope is that when he leaves this Earth and he returns in another life, it’s as a person who has learnt something while he has been away.
This was confirmed by the lady on the next table shrugging her shoulders and lifting her eyebrows, as she quietly said “It’s not worth it”.
And the deaf old bugger didn’t even hear her. If he had, he probably would have thought she was complimenting his brand of shampoo.

Monday, 24 August 2009

The Re-whorification Of Me...

The Rewhoreification of me is coming along in leaps and bounds. I have a good feeling about it. I am looking forward to the next six months and the changes it will bring in my life, both professionally and personally.
I am looking forward to being single and able to go out to dinner with a Gent and not fret inwardly about when I should be getting home.

The good news is the BF is back on night shift, so going out and meeting these men will be easier, both physically and mentally.
We have discussed and agreed upon it, and he knows it’s going to happen, but that doesn’t make me feel less guilty when I am preparing myself to go out to meet-and sleep-with other men. I do have a heart, I know it’s hard on him, but it needs to be done.

I have two bookings for this week, both dinners first, which is really the sort of work I am looking for in the long term, although I don't rule out the Quick Shag in a Hotel though. It’s handy, quick, and clean and it’s always good to know I have my back to fall back on, repetitively, should I need to.

It’s just so nice to be going out and about to decent restaurants, all dressed up after being such a hermit for ten years. I can't deny it, I'm loving it.

The BF working nights is also good for the Phone Sex job!
The calls are of better quality. By that I mean louder, more intense. If the caller is straight and just want to hear a girl moaning, and “scream like I’m fucking you really hard and you love it” then I am able to provide that service.
I can’t do this when the BF is home. I know him. Me simulating sex, (loud, slutty sex at that) is going to turn him on and I don’t want that, which is why I always work in the other room and tend to keep it down a bit.

I’m not going to go into detail about it on here, this isn’t a blog about my personal life, and I don’t feel comfortable talking about the BF too much because, well… to sum it up, I’m not in love with him and never have been. I don’t think he knows about this blog, if he does, I’d be really pissed off that he knew and didn’t discuss it with me because I bloody would if the tables were turned.
But the last thing I want is to get him horny then have to turn him down. That’s just rubbing his nose in it.

So, the BF working nights gives me the opportunity to earn more money. I can also walk around the whole of the house as I take the calls- or at least in between calls- and tidy up, polish, iron, do any number of godawful boring household chores that we all need to do.

I can yell louder, or be meaner, to the subs too. Oh, they do like that. And I can do my housework while I talk, just to let them know how insignificant they are to their mistress’s life. They like that too.
I can also enjoy the odd call or two. It does happen. Like M from Up North somewhere. What a deep, sexy voice he has, and he says the things I would want to hear were he calling me for my pleasure. So fucking sexy he is. I can never resist playing with myself when he is online. Hmm, but enjoying my callers sometimes, that’s a whole other post…

Monday, 17 August 2009

Whoring is good for the soul..

Well, the deed has been done. I am now officially a whore. Again.

I met up with the bloke who I had lunch with (not the old, old dude) He is now officially my Sugar Daddy. Yeah! Deep down I still class him as a client though, just as I class myself as a whore for going with him. To me it's no different, just more fun.

We spent the afternoon holed up in a hotel, guzzling champagne. Turns out he’s quite dominant, which is ok. I like that, but it doesn’t mean I rule out the possibility of me bending him over and fucking his arse with a strap on. I think he’d like that too. For obvious reasons I can't give any info about him, I would never be so indiscreet, but I will say it's always the ones in top public jobs, or well known in their field, that are the kinkiest, isnt it lol. And the more fun, IME.

My arse was a bit red after, as it hasn’t been slapped for a long time. (terrible shame, that!) Thank god for Aloe Vera gel. Feels soo good and soothing.

He went back to work and I lazed in the tub, sobered up with a few coffees and rang a few friends. I resisted swiping the white bath robe as I forgot to ask if he minded, and as I'm going to see him again I figured it wasn’t wise to presume he would be ok with me taking it.
There’s always next time. They make great gifts (just unpick any logos they have and bobs your uncle)
We are planning another meeting soon, and have swapped a few texts and emails. I like this. When I was working before (over 12 years ago now!) texts and emails weren't common yet. It's so easy to keep in touch and give the GFE they are looking for, without all the clingyness they fear and hope to avoid. Perfect.

I've also seen another client. Same stuff, afternoon in a hotel. Central London, nice hotel, decent gent. This one was just your Common Garden Variety businessman looking for a bit of fun. Not SD material, just a one off, possibly becoming a regular, we'll see. But no shopping trips or travelling, methinks. He's just not that rich.

I have other men to meet. I have a reliable source introducing me to these types of clients. Clients that I meet regularly and get to travel with, shop with etc. From their word of mouth the client list grows as well. If they are good, then mostly you find their friends are good too. Mostly. There’s always the odd Fuckwit that a pain, but that’s life.

I am also meeting a lady who can set up short term clients for me, in London. Hopefully she is as reliable and respectable as she sounds. She caters for the more mature lady, and doesn’t advertise so once again it’s through word of mouth.
I think it’s a good indication, if something is successful without advertising. Fingers crossed that will go well.

You know what’s the best thing though? The way I feel sexy again. I haven’t felt sexy for ages, I mean a good few years. Sad but true. I can’t really go into detail why, as it’s not fair on a certain someone, but lets just say I feel like me again; flirty, sexy, horny, and confident. Bags of confidence.
Not just because some client shagged me enthusiastically, but because of the response I got all day from different people. From the young man in the street that whistled and said “hey sexy lady”, to the old dude on the train who said “you’re gorgeous”. Even my friend’s 12yo daughter said “you look so pretty. I’ve never seen you look so pretty” when I popped in to visit them before I went home.

This wasn’t because I am stunning or beautiful, because I’m not, but I was oozing confidence and smiling and just generally feeling sexy. And it showed.
Whoring must be good for the soul. My soul, anyway.

Sunday, 9 August 2009

Screening The Gents...

Things are coming along nicely on the returning to work front. I had lunch with a lovely Gent last week. We chatted about our arrangement and it seems we both understand what we expect from each other. So now I’m looking forward to afternoons indulging in debauchery in a top hotel in W1, regular holidays in the sun and of course those lovely little gifts…

I met with another possible client last night. He was 70+. We went to the theatre and dinner afterwards. It was okay. Just okay. I think he will be a useful contact, more of a Sugar Daddy type than a client. But I’m not sure how I feel about that, with this one.

SD's are great, I want as many as poss! But maybe not this one.
When I was just a sprightly 24 years old, I had a SD who was 71. (actually, I had a few but that’s another story…) I still see him once or twice a year to stay in touch, but now he’s 90ish, so it’s just a quiet, respectful afternoon tea in Mayfair, reminiscing old times.

Back then, he may have been 71, but he was young with it. He dressed well, he strode out smartly with me on his arm, smiling and laughing, like a younger man. He didn’t seem 71.
Yes, it was so obvious I was with him for the money, but I didn’t really care what other people thought. I was having fun, going to health farms, posh hotels in the Cote d’Azur and being thoroughly spoilt. Everyone was doing it. All older men had a young sexy lady at their side, and nothing’s changed there, we all know that.

But now, being a respectful 43 myself, I was kinda hoping that this time around I would feel less like an obvious gold digging whore, because I would be with men of around 50- 60 or so. People would never quite know for sure, would they.

I knew how old this Old Gent was before I met him, but I was hoping he would appear a little younger. IBut it just didnt feel right being with him. I wouldn’t mind shagging this new Old Gent as a client, in private, but to go out and about with him, as he shuffles along in his Mr Magoo specs trying to cop a feel is just, well, embarrassing, I don’t care how rich he is.

He wants me to accompany him to Paris. Maybe I’ll go there with him, but I don’t think I want to go out and about with him in London. I might see somebody I know…

More men to meet next week!

Saturday, 25 July 2009

The Real Mentalists...

It’s late. I’m on the phone line again, taking calls. I haven’t been particularly receptive for the ol’ phone sex lately. The Dom calls are okay, but good grief, I’m getting fucked off with the dicks who call on the other groups. Where have all the sexy men gone lately? I seem to have acquired a lot of regulars, almost all of who (whom?) I dislike.
Up until a couple of months ago there was always the odd caller here and there, who would do it for me. It didn’t happen every night. This job for me is primarily about making money. If I was having phone sex for fun, I’d be participating in quality calls. I wouldn’t be doing 200 boring repetitive calls every bloody night, would I?
So anyway, the this sexy caller would have a combination of things would get me going; the sound of his voice, the things he would say, vocal mannerisms that in my mind I could convert to an image of physical presence that I find attractive.
Quite often he’d only start the process and I’d run with it, dreaming up my own little scenario after he had long gone, with the images of past encounters running through my mind adding to the excitement.
The occasional sexy caller aside, most were just run of the mill, and that’s okay. It’s my job, even if it’s boring.

But lately the non-Dom calls have been more monotonous and repetitive that usual, to the point I find myself being sarcastic rather than sexy.

This is not a good way to make money!

But I can’t help it. What’s wrong with these fuckwits? Lately it seems to be antagonistic, argumentative wankers who have no clue how to hold a conversation on any level whatsoever, be it sexual or just about the weather. For fucks sake!
They ask for a description, so I give them one and they say they don’t believe me. This is usually followed by accusations of being in a call centre, and general disbelief at anything I say. I have found though that the best way to make money and keep them on the line is to argue with them. If I try to appease them, or be a Stepford Wife type, they hang up. It seems they are looking for an argument. Is there a market for this type of thing, I am wondering.
But I suppose arguing releases tension and I am a Scorpio, so I can stand my ground very well, to the point of being viciously honest.
It’s just annoying sometimes.

It’s the callers with lack of communication skills that are making me want to bang my head repeatedly on the desktop. They don’t listen, they don’t have any manners. They interrupt all the time, not making sense. It’s very draining trying to keep up and humour them.

Example? Here’s one;

Me: I’d like to lick your cock all over like a lollypop , big long licks, then use it like a lipstick to give myself pre-cum flavoured lip gloss, mmmm (etc etc) then I want to-
Caller; (interrupting) Tell me what you’d do to my cock if you were here.
Me; Okay darling (I thought I was you fucking dickshit). I’d like to lick your cock all over like a lollipop… (and here I repeat what I have just said)
Caller; (moaning) Yeah baby that’s it.
As if I was saying something different! That’s just plain mental.

Wednesday, 22 July 2009

Shiny Nails & Straw-Free Hair...

Short and sweet post. Feeling a bit blurgh.

Things are progressing. Nails are shiny, feet are smooth.
Over the past month my skin has been loofahed, moisturised and moisturised some more. I’ve been sunbathing, spray tanning and even had a couple of sun-beds.

I’ve been to the dentist, & dental hygienist, and started to use whitening toothpaste once a day.
I’ve had facials, (in the beauty sense of the word, not had a cum-mask) been plucked, exfoliated, used Youthful Essence (not bad actually) and my top lip has been waxed (the lady was very kind and said she didn’t think it really needed doing, so that made me feel better. Until she ripped the wax off. Maybe it was a ploy to distract me?)

I’ve been running, working out and I’ve cut out all snacks in between meals. My body is toning up nicely and I'm feeling healthy.

My bikini line is now as I say it is on the phone to my callers; smooth between the legs with a silky triangle of hair at the front.

I’ve shaken out the proverbial moths from my designer clothes and have them either ready to wash, or to hang out on the line to freshen.

I have three pairs of new shoes. Subtle, sparkly dinner types shoes, with a heel strap, a pair of black patent leather, high ones, and the very high sexy red satin ones.

New lace top stockings, in both black and natural.

New black lace knickers to match the new black bra I got a while ago.

It feels nice to feel ladylike and sexy again, after all this time of wearing wellies and mud.

I'm keen to get started now. I have appointments booked for next week in London.

The anticipation of starting work is building. I can hardly wait.