A friend asked me last week, “So, do you ever take a holiday from the fabled Escorts business?”
I guess she meant a two-week break sunning myself on the Spanish coast kind of thing, so I shook my head and said, “No.” She looked at me pityingly and I smiled to myself. Little does she know!
In case you didn’t already guess, my job means I dictate my own time and hours. So the other week when it was really hot – scorchingly so – I decided that a mini break was in order. So, I packed an overnight bag and took off for Brighton. As it was mid-week, the hordes weren’t out in force. I visited my favourite boutiques and stocked up on lots of gorgeous underwear and an incredible pair of high heels (the combination together is sublime), and I ate fish and chips whilst sat on a deckchair watching the sea. Now that was contentment!
Later that evening, I batted off the attentions of a rather sweet group of young men celebrating one of their number’s 21st birthday. I did allow them to buy me a glass of champagne. A girl needs standards, after all.
By day 3, I’d had enough and I headed back to my London Escort life. My client for the night had just returned from a two-week family holiday on the Spanish coast and he was frazzled to say the least. By contrast, I was as relaxed as it is possible to be without actually lying down (although we did do a bit of that later…) and thankfully I could feel those little knots of tension seeping out of him as the evening went on.
“I tried to get you earlier in the week,” he said to me later as he admired the underwear/stiletto combo, “but you weren’t available?”
“Busy, busy,” I replied. My holiday and his holiday were two very different entities; his dictated by obligation, expectation and the school holidays and mine only by hedonism. I didn’t want to make him jealous but I couldn’t help the odd smile to myself.