Involuntary memory

You know how Proust goes on and on about recollections of the past that are triggered by simple things in your everyday life, like a taste or a smell? Or maybe knickers?

Edinburgh escort's knickers
Exhibit A

I recently got myself a pair of red silk French knickers – exhibit A. In case you wonder what they look like in real life, think boxer shorts but red, silk, sexy and evocative of the words “drawers” and “Edwardian”. I didn’t go out of my way to find them, I just came across them online one night and thought ‘may as well. Together with that black lace thong’. They arrived, I put them on, looked in the mirror, and the memory took me back a decade or so.

I was 22 – the “poor student” years I mentioned a few times here. I made friends with Allie, a beautiful blond girl of my age and one-of-a-kind personality. Allie worked as a stripper. She shared a small flat in Pimlico with 2 of her colleagues.

One Saturday afternoon we wanted to go to a gallery together, and she said I could come to pick her up. I found the door and rang the bell. For a while, nothing happened, and then the lock clicked, a sleepy-looking girl appeared and welcomed me in. She was tall, slim and busty, with masses of long fair hair, slightly tangled from sleep. She was wearing blue silk French knickers and fake eyelashes. Some glitter was smudged over her shoulder.

‘Are you for Allie? She’s in the bathroom,’ she said, rubbing her eyes. The fake eyelashes didn’t mind in the least. ‘Want to come in?’

Unsure of what I may see if I venture further from the door, I declined. The sight in front of me was enough.

‘I’ll wait with you then, I need to pee,’ said the girl and leaned on a wall. She rubbed her eyes again, looked at her hands, saw the nail polish on one of her nails was chipped, and started picking on it.

‘Allie! Out!’ she hollered 2 minutes later without warning. I jumped, and someone deep inside the flat snored in disgruntlement. There was no sign of Allie, so the girl started chatting to me. I don’t remember what about. I remember looking at her lips as a way to avoid looking at her breasts.

I had never seen other women’s breasts before. I mean I had, like in a gym change room or on TV, but those breasts were never so real, close and, well, available to look at. I was fascinated. Thinking of it now, this was probably the moment my attraction to women found itself deep inside my ovaries. I’d only just discovered sex, as you know, didn’t know much about it and, frankly, didn’t realise it was possible to have it with people of other than opposite sex. No, I wasn’t naive, just disinterested in sexual matters and thus mostly uninformed.

At the time, I thought it was her lifestyle: you know, sleeping till midday, being beautiful and wearing silk bloomers. But now I know the lifestyle wasn’t the real attraction factor. I have it now – I’ve got the underwear to show for it! – and I’m nowhere near less attracted to the girl as I remember her. It was her utter naturalness, and femininity, and those breasts. And, of course, the ease/ mental disorder with which she opened doors to strangers without bothering to cover up.

And yes, starting with Proust gives me a touch of chic, but the truth is, as a teenager, I opened Swann’s Way, read greedily a few pages, said ‘oh what bollocks!’ and never went back to it. Maybe the translation wasn’t too good. But at the time I couldn’t read the original. Still can’t. Not Proust. I don’t know the French for “bollocks”.

Frans van Rossum

Proust might have loved you memory of lost times! That ‘culotte’! Oh quelles conneries!
Thanks, Jewel. So innocent at the time, and maybe still, at heart. Where it counts.


I’m not sure innocence is a virtue or even an advantage, Fim, but thank you for giving me the words! I guess I don’t need to carry a tome of Proust to use them, and use them I will!

Peter A

Hey, tart. Stop badmouthing us men. We take about as much shit in this “business” as anybody. Maybe the problem isn’t so much with them but with you. I called you yesterday and you were highly rude for no reason. What the fuck do you know about my sex life? Quit being all righteous, about everything.


Hi Peter,
Thanks for reaching me here as well, for toning it down for public, and for proving me right in my decision to not meet you. Sorry if that makes me righteous.

Peter A

Well, you think you’re it. Your attitude is disgraceful. There was nothing wrong with what I said on the phone. You lot are only in this for the money, and you can deny it all you want. You are “rough diamonds” and you’d much quicker blame all us men the minute you cry abuse. Like you’re so great. If you have that much cash to spend, why donate it to some charity?

Peter A

I see you’ve been ducking all my comments up to now. Well, perhaps I should have risen above your initial rudeness, but you were indeed being rude. That day I called you, I *HONESTLY* explained my situation to you. I contacted YOU because you are listed on The TLC-Trust – a site that specializes in bringing so-called ‘responsible’ sex workers to disabled people. Not that I’m really that disabled. […], but I still deserve a good sex life as much as the next bloke, and this has eluded me greatly. Then I’m talking to you, you’re mumbling in a low voice, then asking me WHY it was I called. I’m openly telling you my concerns about the hookers I’ve saw before and you’re like, well this guy is all woe-is-me here and you appeared to be making a fool out of me.

If I’m holding hostility against you, it’s because people like you seem to enjoy making my life hell. Now tell me if there is something you’re not doing right.

You’re not the only one being “mistreated” by people in your life. I’ve been abused as well. […]



Let’s be clear, I published your previous comments because they were laughable, and I didn’t reply the last one because it spoke for itself and, to a reasonable person, needed no explanation. This one I am publishing partially because it contains personal information which is too identifying for you, not to mention useless for my site.

If you remember, I told you straight away I wasn’t able to help you. You just kept on talking, so I tried to explain why I wasn’t the right person for you to see. If you can recall a single rude word I said to you, please share with me – yours I have in my inbox in abundance. If all my rudeness was in saying no to you, then I’m afraid you need to learn to see no as a valid answer. The fact that you found my ad on a site that says I’m a responsible worker doesn’t mean I’m going to jump through your hoops. It means I’m responsible with people I agree to meet. if you have issues with that, maybe you should contact TLC Trust and tell them what a whore I am and that I’m only in it for the money. These facts, I am sure, they are not aware of.

I agree with you wholeheartedly, everyone, including you, deserves a good sex life. But it’s not going to be with me, and, if you remember, my decision had nothing to do with your disability. I was not there to make your life hell: I did the opposite and declined to be a part of your life. You are very welcome to keep hating me if it makes you feel good, or you can move on and find a worker who suits you better. Neither of these options makes any difference to me.

I am genuinely sorry to hear you feel you’ve been abused in the past, but I’m afraid I can’t relate to the feeling as I have no experience; and if this is what you would like to talk about, you are, again, better off finding someone more suitable for it.

And for the avoidance of doubt, I am not going to publish any further comments from you: this is becoming a drag and benefits neither you nor other readers.

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *