Business as Usual for Me

“Are you busy at Christmas then, or do escorts take a break at this time of year?” my hairdresser asked me the other day.

She tried to sound casual, but I could see the curiosity in her eyes reflected in the mirror. She was blow-drying my hair, leaning in close so she didn’t have to raise her voice. It was just the two of us in the salon that afternoon — the last appointment of the day — the radio humming in the background, a few stray bits of tinsel drooping sadly from the mirrors. She glanced toward the door, checked we were really alone, and then gave me that mischievous little smirk.

I laughed. I’m used to people asking me what my job is like at Christmas — they’re always half-fascinated, half-scandalised.

I smiled at her in the mirror. “Busy like you wouldn’t believe,” I said. “London escort agencies never stop.”

She raised her eyebrows, genuinely surprised. I think she’d imagined we all just vanished for the holidays, the way offices empty out between Christmas and New Year. But it doesn’t work like that for me.

The Reality of Escort Work at Christmas

It’s true, you know. I’ve been working as an escort for a while now, and Christmas is every bit as busy for us as any other time of year — sometimes even more so. December has its own particular flavour of work.

For a start, there are the Christmas parties. Office parties, client dinners, black-tie charity balls — you name it. A lot of my clients want the added confidence of having a beautiful, poised woman on their arm when they walk into a room full of colleagues or business partners. For some of them, it’s about status, the subtle message that they’re successful enough to be accompanied by someone glamorous. For others, it’s more about having a buffer — someone who can carry a conversation, smooth over awkward silences, and rescue them from corner chats with boring managers.

Those events can be quite fun, actually. The hotels are covered in fairy lights, there’s usually a huge tree in the lobby, and everything smells faintly of mulled wine and perfume. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve stood in some glittering hotel bar in Mayfair or the City, a glass of champagne in hand, listening to yet another CEO tell the same stories he’s been telling for the past decade — while his colleagues try not to stare at me too openly. I smile, I laugh at the right moments, and I make sure my client feels relaxed and admired. That’s part of the job.

Lonely Men in a Festive City

Then there are the clients who are visiting London on business, from other parts of the UK or even from abroad. December in London can be magical, if you know where to look. The streets are strung with lights, shop windows are full of elaborate Christmas displays, and there’s a constant hum of people rushing around with shopping bags and takeaway coffees. For someone staying in a bland hotel room, that kind of atmosphere can be both enchanting and isolating.

Imagine flying into Heathrow from New York, Dubai, or Frankfurt, landing in this glittering, cold city where everyone seems to have somewhere to be and someone to be with. You go back to your room after a long day of meetings, take off your tie, and suddenly the silence is deafening. Men get lonely too, and those business trips can really heighten that sense of being on the outside of other people’s lives.

That’s where I come in. They want to share their experience of London in December with someone — to walk along the South Bank with their hands wrapped around a hot chocolate, to wander through Covent Garden under the giant baubles, or to sit in a cosy restaurant while the staff play Christmas songs that everyone pretends to hate but secretly sings along to. They don’t just want sex; they want company, warmth, a sense of connection, even if it’s just for a night. So they look to a London escort agency, and to women like me, to oblige.

Escaping Family Christmas

One year, I remember, I simply couldn’t face my own family Christmas. It had become a bit of a ritual by then — the same old drama replaying itself every December like some worn-out TV special.

My mum and my aunt fall out every year, usually over something tiny. One time, it was about how the roast potatoes were done. Another time, it was about who had forgotten to buy the cranberry sauce. It never really matters what the trigger is; they’re both stressed, both tired, both a bit sad in ways they don’t know how to talk about, so it all comes out sideways. Voices get raised, doors get slammed, and by the evening, everyone’s pretending everything is fine while looking like they’d rather be anywhere else.

My sister doesn’t help. She spends most of the day drinking too much — “it’s Christmas!” is her excuse for topping up her glass by noon — and then she either turns into a monster, snapping and sniping at everyone, or she collapses into tears, sobbing about things that happened years ago and can’t be fixed now. You never know which version you’re going to get, and you’re expected to tiptoe around her either way.

And my brother… well, he’s perfected the art of doing absolutely nothing. He sits on his butt all day in front of the TV, stuffing his face with whatever’s put in front of him, and just waits for us to bring him drinks. He somehow always manages to avoid the washing up, the cooking, the shopping — all of it. If laziness were a sport, he’d be an Olympic champion.

That particular year, as December rolled around, I could feel the dread building in my stomach. Every time someone asked, “What are you doing for Christmas?” I felt this heavy, sinking feeling. I didn’t want another day of tiptoeing around arguments, pretending we were one big happy family while secretly counting down the hours until it was over.

So I made a decision. I chose to work.

Working Through the Holidays

I let my agency know I was available over the holidays, which is something not everyone is willing to do. A lot of escorts understandably want the time off. But I said yes to Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day.

And I got booked. All three days. Back-to-back.

Christmas Eve: A Divorced Dad

On Christmas Eve, I spent time with a divorced man in his fifties who didn’t want to be alone when his kids went off to their mum’s house. We went out for dinner, walked through the lights on Oxford Street, and then back to his place, where he played me the same Christmas album he said his family used to put on every year. He talked, mostly, about his children, his job, and his regrets. He just needed someone to listen.

Christmas Day: A Five-Star Hotel

On Christmas Day, I was with a client who’d flown in from Europe and was staying in a five-star hotel overlooking the Thames. He ordered room service instead of a traditional Christmas dinner downstairs, and we ate in bathrobes on the bed, watching old films and laughing at how surreal it all felt. At one point, I realised that if I’d gone home, I’d probably be sitting at my mum’s table, silently wishing I were somewhere else. Instead, I was exactly where I’d chosen to be.

Boxing Day: Quiet Company

Boxing Day was spent with a regular of mine, a quiet man who hates the forced cheerfulness of the holidays. We went for a long walk in one of the parks, both of us bundled up against the cold. The paths were muddy, the trees bare, but it felt peaceful. Later, we went back to his flat, drank wine, and listened to music. The TV stayed off.

My services were very much in demand, you could say. And strangely, it felt less lonely than being at home. At least with my clients, expectations were clear. I knew what I was there to do: to provide company, comfort, escape.

An Unexpected Bonus

There was another unexpected bonus. Unlike most of the country, I didn’t spend the festive period slumped on a sofa, inhaling mince pies and leftover turkey. I was on my feet a lot — getting ready, travelling across London, going out, dancing at parties, walking around the city.

All that exercise over Christmas, combined with the fact that I skipped the massive Christmas dinner and three days of constant snacking, meant I didn’t put on a single pound. In fact, when I finally stepped on the scales afterwards, I discovered I’d actually lost two.

So I treated myself. After New Year’s, I went out and bought a fabulous dress — the kind of dress that makes you stand a little taller when you put it on. It was silky, dark, and fitted in all the right places. I wore it to a New Year’s party with a regular client, and as I caught sight of myself in the mirror that night, I couldn’t help but smile.

While most people were recovering from too much food, too much drink, and too much family, I’d spent my Christmas working — and in my own peculiar way, it suited me just fine.