That’s what I somehow found myself doing with a client this weekend – wakeboarding in the south of England, no less. If you’d told me on Friday that by Sunday I’d be strapped to a board, clinging to a rope, and skimming across choppy water like a badly balanced duck, I’d have laughed you out of the room. But my client is an enthusiast, the sort who lights up at the mere mention of a wetsuit, and he absolutely insisted I give it a go.
So there I was, bobbing up and down in the water, life jacket fastened so tightly I could barely breathe, listening to a cheerful instructor shouting instructions over the roar of the speedboat. “Keep your knees bent! Lean back! Don’t fight the pull!” Easier said than done when every instinct you have is screaming at you to let go and swim back to solid land.
Within minutes, we were off. The boat surged forward, the rope snapped taut, and I was yanked out of the water in a most undignified manner. For a glorious half-second, I thought, Oh, this isn’t so bad, I might actually have a knack for this. Then reality hit. Or rather, the water did.
I think I managed to gulp half the English Channel in the space of an hour. Every attempt went the same way: a brief, wobbly moment of triumph as I rose up onto the board, followed by some dramatic flailing, a twist of my hips in the wrong direction, and then – splash. Under I went again, arms and legs everywhere, mascara probably streaked down my face in fine horror-movie fashion. By the fourth fall, I was emerging from the water laughing so hard I could barely speak. My client, of course, thought it was absolutely hilarious and utterly adorable.
But here’s the thing: for all the undignified plunges and the salty aftertaste lingering at the back of my throat, I was smiling every time I resurfaced. It’s impossible to take yourself too seriously when you’re being catapulted face-first into the sea in front of an audience. Besides, he was so eager for me to enjoy it that I couldn’t possibly complain. His idea of fun and mine might live on completely different planets, but I do appreciate that he wanted to share something he genuinely loves with me.
And honestly, what’s the point of life if you’re not willing to throw yourself—sometimes literally—into new experiences? If I’d refused, I’d have spent the day sitting on the boat, watching everyone else shriek and cheer. Instead, I now have a perfectly ridiculous story and a newfound admiration for anyone who can stay upright on that board for more than three seconds.
The Curious Cruelty of Wakeboarding
In case you’ve never had the, shall we say, unique pleasure, wakeboarding is a rather cruel hybrid between snowboarding and water skiing. You stand sideways on a board like a snowboarder, but you’re being dragged at speed across the water by a boat, attempting to look graceful while your legs and core muscles stage a full-scale rebellion.
Whoever dreamt it up must have had a slightly sadistic streak. I have my suspicions it might have been someone exactly like my client—someone who finds uncoordinated people being slung into the water endlessly entertaining. God only knows who first thought, Yes, let’s strap people to boards and tow them behind boats. If you want a name, you’ll have to ask him.
From Chaos to Candlelight
Fortunately, the day improved significantly once we’d survived the afternoon’s adrenaline fest. After we’d towelled off, warmed up, and restored some semblance of glamour, we headed to the sweetest little seafood restaurant tucked away near the marina. Candlelight flickered on white tablecloths, soft jazz hummed quietly in the background, and the air carried that perfect mix of salt, butter, and lemon that only a good seafood place can muster.
Lobster has always been my favourite main course, and this one did not disappoint. Cracked open, perfectly cooked, dripping with garlic butter – the sort of meal that justifies every perilous moment spent out on the water. We lingered over dinner, sharing stories, laughing about my less-than-graceful falls, and enjoying the slow shift from the wild chaos of the afternoon to something much softer, more intimate.
Dessert was its own small performance. He ordered cherries and champagne, and I certainly wasn’t about to object. There is something unmistakably decadent about having someone dip glossy cherries into chilled champagne and then bring them to your lips one by one. Sticky fingers, tiny bubbles, that delicate sweetness on the tongue – I can’t say I minded in the slightest. Some risks, unlike wakeboarding, I’m very happy to take repeatedly.
The Journey Home by Sea
The journey back to London could have been exhausting, but even that turned into an adventure. Rather than a simple, uninspired drive back along the motorway, we returned by speedboat under a sky slowly deepening into evening. The water was calmer by then, the earlier wind having died down, and the horizon was brushed with dusky pinks and soft greys. I wrapped myself in a warm jacket, let my hair tangle in the breeze, and watched the coastline slide past.
Luckily, I’m not the type to get seasick at the drop of a captain’s hat. Instead of feeling queasy, I felt oddly peaceful – that pleasant kind of tired that comes after a day of exertion, sun, and too much laughter. And as if the day hadn’t already spoiled me enough, I managed to bring back a couple of fresh lobsters as a parting gift from my very own Mr Seafarer. A girl could get used to that sort of treatment.
The Unpredictable Perks of the Job
That’s one of the things I genuinely love about my work as one of the 24hr London escorts: the sheer unpredictability of it all. I never quite know where I’ll end up from one weekend to the next. One week, it might be a discreet dinner in a private club; the next, I’m being hurled across the surface of the sea attached to a wakeboard.
For some people, that degree of uncertainty would be a nightmare—the lack of routine, the constant change of scenery, the ever-shifting cast of characters. For me, it’s exactly what keeps life feeling bright, sharp, and alive.
It’s that extra spark of excitement, that delicious sense that at any moment your plans could veer off in an entirely new direction. One client’s passion becomes your unexpected adventure. Another’s quiet preferences turn into evenings of low-lit conversation and whispered confidences. Nothing is ever quite the same twice, and that, for me, is the magic.
What Comes Next?
Who knows where I’ll find myself next? There’s already talk of something more outdoorsy later in the year – perhaps wild camping in September, he said, with that unmistakable gleam in his eye. I’m picturing damp grass, chilly nights, and the distinct possibility of wrestling with tent poles in the dark.
But if the sleeping bag is heated, and there happens to be a bottle or two of champagne nearby to take the edge off the wilderness, I might just be persuaded. After all, if wakeboarding taught me anything, it’s that the best stories rarely come from playing it safe.
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