Blog of an Edinburgh escort

The dangers of tanning

Something interesting is happening in my work, and it started last week with this new client. He was suntanned. I don’t mean bright red and covered in blisters, I mean even medium-brown shade all over. I honestly don’t have an excuse other than it’s October and I’ve been having sex with pasty gringos since I moved to Scotland 7 forevers ago. He also looked smitten silly, but that’t not my excuse, that’s his decision. We were meant to have drinks or whatever the plan was, but I stood up and went to his room and he followed. I pushed him onto the bed, sat on top of him and, speaking as slowly as I could manage at the moment, made it clear that he was suntanned and I was premenstrual and he’d get his pampering later or possibly even elsewhere, because I had better use for him right then. If he minded, he wasn’t fast or loud enough.

This honestly isn’t how I work. I have megabytes of WordPress content which shows my work style as pretty much the opposite of pouncing on smitten men and taking them prisoner. I usually tiptoe gently around them and make sure we do everything at the speed they are comfortable with. That was the first foray into paid sex for him, and likely the last one, because, going by his pre-meeting communication, he was looking for a different sort of experience, the tiptoeing thing. And if I am totally honest, I’m not even too sure about what we did. All I know is that I left that hotel eventually and it was still October outside, and for a change I didn’t care. One thing I remember relatively clear about the whole date is him talking about the standards I seem to have for clients, and at the time I thought, ‘Not right now!’

I’ve been told many times things like “your site makes you look like an arrogant bitch while you’re actually a nice person”, and “you enjoy challenging men, don’t you?” and lots of similar things. And today (I think I’m getting to the point of this blog) I received this mail from a client-to-be:

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And when a man is right (rarely), a man is right. I do have expectations, and I do make them clear, but all my expectations are basically summed up by “don’t be a dick”. And frankly, if you find this challenging, then thank you for not meeting me. What the suntanned man brought up in me, and what the client-to-be is saying – and what I am finally getting thanks to them! – is that I want adult stuff. Client-to-be phrases it as “sex between equals” but let’s be fair, I will always be a little more equal than you, so sex between adults is what I really always wanted in my work. And I do get adult clients, but then I also get these men who are regular clients, good clients, but not actually adult in the end, and the “relationship” ends because they can’t handle the emotions brought up by my presence. I think 3 of these are mentioned in the blog, and 3 more happened since that I just couldn’t be bothered to write about. Even though the people are different and the issues are diverse, to me it feels repetitive. These relationships were what I enjoyed most about my work, but I think this is now changing.

Do you know what I want? I want a man who can take his heart, fold it into origami orchid, put it into my hand on top of the cash and say that it’s mine for the night and he’ll be man enough in the morning to not blame me for his decisions. Like I said, adult stuff.

I think the bottom line here is that while I will still be working with disabled people (and I have been questioning this aspect of my work as well recently) and with young (and old) people who need experience – because I don’t think I can make myself become less caring – I am done with the educaring aspect of my work otherwise. I am retiring as a companion, which has been my tag line and identity for the last 6 years. I am now a lady of pleasure. Maybe even your lady of pleasure, if you’re not a dick. I am not yet sure what the difference is  – at least not in words – but I feel it growing inside and I quite like this feeling. This is going to be exciting!

Drawbacks of education

Let’s start with this mail I received.

—– Original Message —–

Sent: 12/24/13 12:16 PM

Subject: Jewel

Jewel,

You are lovely and smart women.  Just from your web page I can see you are more then just lovely women.  Your web sites shows you have a education to go with that hot body.   Wish I know you when I had my visit with a women who does your job.  I bet it would have been much better with you then with her.

name

Sent from Some Mail Agent

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Sent: ‎Thursday‎, ‎December‎ ‎26‎, ‎2013 ‎11‎:‎11‎ ‎AM

Subject: Re: Jewel

Name,

Thank you for your mail, it’s kind of you to write to tell me you were attracted by my website.

If you don’t mind, I was hoping to explain that previous poor experience of commercial sex isn’t a fault of the woman you’d chosen. After all, it was YOU who chose her. Education isn’t in our job description: you employ us to have sex with you, not to teach your kids. If your chosen lady had sex with you – she did her job. If you were not happy with it – it’s your fault.  It was up to you to do a proper search, to compare different websites, to get in touch with a few shortlisted women and see which one of them met all your needs. And it was up to you to be clear about what you want. If a client doesn’t tell me what he is looking for, I can’t guess it – I’m not a mind reader. It’s only if you take time to think about your ideal date and then tell me the details that I can either create this ideal date for you or tell you that I can’t help you. If I don’t know what you want, worse still, if you yourself don’t know what you want – it’s only through good luck that our date can be satisfactory to both parties.

So with the experience you now have, next time you’ll do better.

Yours,

Jewel

————————————————————-

—– Original Message —–

Sent: 12/27/13 09:29 AM

Subject: Re: Jewel

thank you for answering by email.  It got me thinking about the experience.   When I had it, I was young and sure what I wanted.  I think I just wanted sex, not a lasting memory.   Now that I older I do know what I would like.   An experience that when I am  90 years old it still brings back a Great memory.   I did not tell the women what I want so yes it was my fault not hers.   I am sure if I was to meet and have a experience it would much better than my first.

Your website is not write by a sex worker but some one with a great education.  Your blog is written very well and your points in the blog are very good.

name

Sent from Some Mail Agent

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It’s a no win situation. If you’re illiterate, you’re either a victim of economic coercion (i.e. 99% of Earth population) or too stupid to make the right (i.e. approved by society) choice. If you appear to be educated, you’re a fake (most probably a pimp posing as a hooker to promote sex workers’ rights for the opportunity to pimp them some more). Fair enough, this isn’t what the author of the mail meant, he was simply trying to pay me a compliment by denigrating my job and my colleagues. I can’t really blame him for this attitude, the society is to blame. If a greengrocer or a cab driver blogged about their jobs and their clients in a way that people found interesting, how many would say “nah, too well-written for a cabbie/ banana seller”? Few. Because the society doesn’t know about these people, what lead them to their job choices and what they did before. How many studies show the level of education of people in these 2 professions? Similarly, few people know about prostitution, but suddenly everyone knows what sort of person can become a prostitute.

In other news, there are more well-written blogs out of timeline here and here. The first one is the graphic entry I promised a while ago. In Walter’s words,

On a scale of one to deeply shocked, I’m still firmly at one!

So ok, it wasn’t deeply shocking. It wasn’t meant to be. It just deals with the topic I usually avoid here – sex. I have to admit, writing about sex in a non-sexy way wasn’t hard, the hard part was to decide to write about it in the first place:  no-one likes clichés and what’s more cliché than a hooker producing wanking material? Next thing I know, I’ll be blamed for faking it. However, if you think there’s an entry on this blog that has more sex in it than this one – surprise me and send me the link.

As for the second new entry, it’s full of photos. Enjoy. On second thoughts – don’t. It most certainly wasn’t designed to be that entry with even more sex in it.

News of the world

Scotland

Edinburgh City Council consultation on sauna licensing is still open. The consultation takes form of a monkey survey so please fill it in when you have 42 seconds to spare. In a nutshell, the Council suggests they stop licensing saunas as public entertainment venues. This way, the saunas will lose the protection of the Council and will be left to Police Scotland to raid and close as they please (and we already know that harassing vulnerable women pleases Police Scotland no end: the removed article told the story of 5 police officers showing up at a sauna to close it down and taking women’s names and addresses until a call from the Council confirmed that the sauna wasn’t supposed to be closed down at all). This will mean the end of Edinburgh saunas and end of safe work spaces for sex workers.

Northern Ireland

The Assembly published the submissions to The Human Trafficking and Exploitation Bill I mentioned earlier. There are only about 130 and some are simply brilliant, but I’d like to link to this one. Even if you’re lord Morrow and believe that prostitution = trafficking = paedophilia =  rape = porn = any-other-unmentionable-evil, you still want to distance yourself from nuts like this. You wonder how he sleeps at night, being a man and all.

And many thanks to all those who responded to this consultation.

In Jewel’s world

New entries very well out of time line here and here. Also, please see my December offers and the details of London visit.

It’s in the detail

I met HB in September. It was a curious date but you’ll hear more later. It was obvious that he looked forward to it. He dressed up (because my blog says I like a well-dressed man), he invested heavily in chocolate (because my blog mentions chocolate and so do I), and he clearly spent some time reading my blog – the telltale signs of a detail fetishist. I’ve already described a few of these here, I just didn’t describe them in detail. Now is a good time.

Body

This type of detail fetish is quite common is certain circles. The Nutter. Being a researcher, he had an eye for detail. And this eye was always open. Everything he saw was filed away neatly between his braincells, evidence was presented, conclusions were drawn, summary was printed in triplicate for each relevant department and the research abstracts were made available to me on request. He gave me the most intimate present I have ever received. A shirt. How is a shirt intimate? It was a shirt in my size, of my favourite shirt brand, with my favourite type of cuff, in a colour I often choose myself. None of these parameters were ever discussed. Moreover, when I asked “But why a shirt?” he said something that never occurred even to me. Because I’m a shirt-wearer. When I thought I was dressed, he thought of the patterns that made this type of behaviour different from that of specimens of corresponding gender, age and occupation. I freaked out, went and bought 2 sweaters. Half a year after we’d parted ways I had to admit that he was right. I’m a shirt-wearer.

Soul

Walter has a heart for detail. He may be unable to recall what I wore for our last date, but he always knows how I’m going to react to something before I decide if I even want to react. Walter made it clear from the start that much as he enjoys the carnal part of our relationship, its less physical aspect is at least equally important to him; but it was our (almost) totally social date that made me see the bigger picture. During lunch we talked about the potential sequel to my video. A few days before that a client had shown me a video of a London lady which I, of course, shared with Walter. Unfortunately, the video isn’t there anymore, but it was a minute long shot of a provocatively dressed woman, tracing the outline of her hips, showing some skin above the stocking and then playing with her cleavage. The film was really well made, sufficiently tasteful, revealing and yet preserving the lady’s anonymity. I liked it, but I simply could not imagine having one of these myself. The inner resistance to it was puzzling to me until Walter shrugged and simply said, ‘This isn’t you. The London woman is playing with the viewer, showing off her assets. You don’t do this. You express your sexuality naturally: the way you move, the way you smile… To show how sexy you are, a film needs to show you doing everyday things.’

Ah, to have spent years selling your sexuality and have a man tell you how you best express it…

Mind

This last variation of detail fetish is most probably a by-product of a long unhappy relationship, although I can personally attest that certain occupations can also influence its development. It doesn’t come naturally to HB, it stems from his desire to please – a natural desire, but because his natural abilities to fulfil it have never been appreciated and therefore cultivated, he developed a mind for detail. Once an object is chosen, he takes it upon himself to read every scrap of information that can be found. Every e-mail. Every tweet. Every blog entry. Even I haven’t read them all. He’s done it twice. What he can’t find information about, he asks. And he listens. I commented on a beautiful fan in a shop window and I received it a few days later. I mentioned that I particularly like a specific gluten-free snack, and now I’m given it every time I see him (yes, I always think of Pavlov’s dog, too). The most memorable experience HB provided me with was finding lambs for me after I said I’d always wanted to see lambs up close – you’ll have to wait for the details, I’m afraid. Of course I’m pleased, but I’m also touched. I’ve been blessed with wonderful people for clients and the fact that some of them go out of their way to please me is nothing short of miraculous. I must have done something seriously good in my past lives.

Edinburgh escorts

My restaurant business

It’s odd but this part of London I have not visited before. From the cab window I can see little boats and large willow trees, bridges above the canal and ducks in the water; everything in Little Venice looks cute and laziness-inducing even in the hail – up until the moment I suddenly think “And how is this different from the Water of Leith?”

I’ve lived in Edinburgh long enough to be unable to enjoy London again.

By the time I check in and unpack, the raging torrent outside turns into an ordinary rain and then disappears altogether; the sky is bright and clear blue and my mood is better. I put on my new grey jumper and set off to explore.

I walk down the path along the water for quite a while before I suddenly realise I’m in Paddington. By now it’s well past 6 so I pick a restaurant for an early dinner.

In front of me, a couple of empty tables away, a man is sitting on his own, nose in a newspaper, picking at something on a plate with his fork now and again. He raises his eyes from his paper and instead of looking at his fork he looks at me. I acknowledge his gaze. Half a salad later I catch his eyes on me again. I look back. He smiles. Must be the new jumper. I smile back. With pleasure.

He looks like someone who would work in Central London and live in Watford with a wife, 2 kids and a dog. Only he’s clearly just finished work and instead of rushing home for dinner he’s idly reading a newspaper in a restaurant and making eyes at a strange woman. Either not married or something is rotten in the state of Watford. His plate is long empty and he’s still there, looking at his newspaper.

He stands up eventually, picks up his raincoat and briefcase, and waves good-bye to me. I wave back. He leaves.

What an English way to go. Sometimes I wonder how this nation still reproduces. You see a woman, you show your interest, the woman reciprocates – what do you do? You leave! Why not come up to the woman and tell her that her smile made your dinner and that you’d like to buy her a hot chocolate*. Or at least pay for her salad. Ah, romance is dead…

Independent Edinburgh escortsBack in Edinburgh, a few days later, I’m having lunch at my favourite restaurant. The waiter, who had previously endeared himself so much by totally looking at my bum, brings me a hot chocolate. In the centre of the thick cinnamon-sprinkled froth I can see a little, uneven heart-shaped opening. Clearly custom-made, not a result of a mould or some froth-arranging device. An analogue of waving at me? Or just re-creation of something memorable?

* I sometimes have a feeling men don’t understand the concept of offering a drink to a woman. By buying her a drink you buy her time. If she accepts your offer, she agrees to give you her attention for as long as the drink lasts. This drink should be enough for both of you to decide if another drink is a good idea or if you’d like to move on. See, nothing scary! Yes, you two enter into a sort of social contract but it’s not a commitment to spend the rest of your lives together. Not even an obligation to exchange phone numbers. Just an opportunity to get to know each other a little to decide if it’s worth it.

————————————-

As you no doubt have noticed, I’ve been very quiet lately. August is a mad time anyway, plus I’ve been working on a personal problem so I didn’t have that much time left. I am sorry about any disappointment caused and I will try to resume the semblance of regularity on this blog. To make up for my online absence, I looked at some of the old drafts and here‘s a new old entry for your amusement.

Dauphins, divine heroes and decorations

There aren’t enough letters in the English alphabet. Well, enough for the language but not for me. It’s not that I ran out of letters to mark clients by (which, in turn, is not because I have had fewer clients than there are letters in the English alphabet), the problem here is that there aren’t many male names that would start with Z or X or Q. On the other hand, the amount of Daniels, Deans, Donalds, Darrens, Dominics, Douglases… Don’t even start me on Davids and dicks. So this one will be called Prince, and not just because of his princely name. His features, his figure, his bearing, his manners, his voice, his words – everything about him exudes composed and dignified refinement. Not the affected sort, but the one that shows breeding and innate elegance. Composed and dignified refinement comes off him in generous waves and engulfs you until you feel you’re soaking it in through your pores. Yet he’s so light-hearted, easy and romantic that, regardless of his age and royal mien, king is not his title. If there were a stereotype of a retired dauphin, this man would be its embodiment.

On our first date he impressed me with a line of presents. The biggest surprise was not in the presents but in how they were presented. The flowers, the box, the envelope were all done in the same colour scheme and were accompanied with a hard copy of a poem dedicated to me. I love clients with good taste. I always take them as a compliment.

The second date we started at the National Gallery. It was enjoyable because we soon agreed that most classical figure painting can be divided into 2 categories: religious motifs and wanking material. Sometimes these categories overlap.

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Look at this painting. What purpose does it serve? It’s clearly not there to remind you of the pain Jesus went through to save the human kind. So it’s for decoration purposes only. And since throughout most of history women were decorative objects rather than agents, what image is better placed to be decorative than that of a woman? However, if all you really wanted was to decorate a wall, does the woman have to be naked? Probably not.

And in case it’s not obvious, these aren’t just objective images of nude women. They didn’t have Playboy in those days, they had something better: a bunch of tireless blokes who instead of photoshop used their imagination to create something iconic yet ubersexy. Because from an aesthetic point of view that booty ain’t no accident. And if you still feel it doesn’t inspire any wanking in you, consider this. From the Middle Ages till fin de siècle (and even nowadays in case or Ireland) most married men of middle class never saw a naked woman live. Everything to do with procreation happened in the dark, under the sheets, and a good wife would still have at least 6 items of clothing on. If I were one of those men and I got to put this on one of my walls, I’d wank like there’s no tomorrow. Because what we miss in porn nowadays is its user’s imagination.

Edinburgh escortsLook at this beauty. You can choose to be her lover, or one of the young voyeurs, or join them for a threesome, or you could prefer to go for the bloke. And whatever point of view you take, from there on your imagination will provide you with everything you need, including the finer details of your imaginary lover’s body that are not visible on the painting. In case you’re interested, this is Heracles and Omphale, or just another proof that even mythology in art was a cover up for high quality porn. I mean, think of everything Heracles is famous for. Of course, mostly it’s his farming labours (Cretan bull, mares of Thrace, Erymanthian boar, the Hesperides’ apples, Geryon’s cattle, Augean stables) but he also had a brief career as a sperm donor for the 50 children he fathered with 50 sisters. And of all these deeds you choose to paint the moment when he makes out with his wife?

And the apotheosis of wanking material: all sorts of genders in all sorts of races and all sorts of sizes. By a Scottish painter. You can tells Scots have little to do on those long winter nights.

Edinburgh escorts

You can also tell the second date was quite successful after we left the Gallery.

My clients

Can’t live with them, can’t live without them. It’s my clients who make me a prostitute and they do a brilliant job. Again and again. They even write poems about it.

Ever since Rhoda Grant published the results of her consultation (and for some time before that) I kept wondering what was going to happen. Quite naturally, my feelings ranged from “We’re all gonna die!” to “Nah, this ain’t gonna happen” depending on the day of the week. At the end of June, a few days before the bloody Bill failed, I went through my accounts for the first half of 2013. Ms Grant kept stressing that prostitution can’t go further underground, that if clients can find us then so can the police. So I made a list of everyone I saw in the half a year and did some simple mathematics. I admit that it’s not a representative half a year as I was off for 5 weeks with a kidney infection and then took time to get back to work*, but I wasn’t bored enough to go through 2012 accounts to verify my 2013 findings. The short of it is that out of all my dates in these 6 months only 28.5% were with new people. Others were repeat clients. Don’t know about you, I arrived at 3 conclusions:

  1. I seem to be good at my job
  2. I seem to be bad at marketing
  3. If forced, I could take down my website so the police can’t find me, and live off regular clients. Neither ideal nor impossible but does smell of underground.

And then, having made the list, I thought I could look into other things. The new clients. 50% of them I met while in Brighton, Cambridge and London (i.e. wouldn’t have met if hadn’t travelled. Definitely need to put more energy into marketing) and 25% of them all I have already seen again within this half year.

And out of curiosity I also had a look at my clients’ jobs. To be fair, I don’t always know what new clients do, and sometimes with clients I know well I only have a vague idea (e. g. something boring in marine policy making that neither me nor him want to talk about), but I know where the vast majority of my benefactors get the money to pay me, and the two general groups that came up first were

  1. IT dudes**
  2. Academic professionals

I have to face the fact that I mostly attract geeks and nerds. And geriatrics. The group that came up third was “pensioners”. Or I can choose to believe that I tend to attract mature and intelligent men whose unique preferences (and tastes in women) set them apart from the majority.

And finally here are the results of the Limerick Competition:

And in case you’re wondering, the people who took part are:

  • 3 IT dudes
  • 1 academic
  • 1 pensioner
  • 1 sweet man I’ve never met so don’t know what job he has if any.

And the winner is Leonard with

A woman of fixed virtue price

she’ll bind up your heart in a trice

from the top of her head

to the foot… of her bed?

Fuck virtue, let’s celebrate vice!

I’ve been doing exactly that. Right after him we have Walter with

There is this fine lady named Jewel

Whose stubbornness matches a mule.

If you call her a whore 

You won’t get past her door

(AND you’ll have to face ME in a duel).

Leonard gets a free dinner with me as promised. Walter gets a kiss for his knightly inclinations and, quite possibly, something else on top of the kiss to encourage the right type of behaviour and further literary endeavours. And on the subject: am I really that stubborn? I mean, people dedicate poems to my stubbornness! And so many people voted for it! In fact, some people in SCOT-PEP voted for this limerick exactly because of this line. And there was I thinking they’ll go for the one about the parliament… Here’s George’s (SCOT-PEP co-chair) take on things:

Done and chosen my two

Although there were quite a few

That were very clever.

I thought “Well I never!”

Jewel’s so popular. Who knew?

Indeed.

Many thanks again to everyone who contributed to the competition and also to those who took the time to vote. The new poll is here, please vote if you feel that it’s relevant to you in any way.

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* I have a limerick for that

There is a Jewel in Auld Reekie

Who’s lately been feeling quite peaky

And men everywhere 

Wept with despair

‘Cos they couldn’t meet her for a quickie

 

** I’ve a limerick for that, too!

I’m a man who can’t wire plugs, 

I’m a programmer with software bugs.

I cry in the night,

But everything’s right

When Jewel arrives and gives me hugs.

Ye gods and little fishes

The limerick of the day:

When money is buying affection,

there’s no guarantee of erection.

But Jewel, we know,

will set us aglow,

and without any chance of dejection.

As you probably know, last week there was a debate on prostitution. The leaflet said it was Rhoda Grant (MSP) and Richard Lucas (some obscure personage of some obscure christian movement in Scotland) VS Laura Lee (sex workers’ rights campaigner) and Douglas Fox (IUSW representative).

The debate was held in a hotel across the road from the Parliament; one has to wonder if this location was chosen intentionally. I was a little late, sat there for about an hour and left early when Rhoda was speaking. Outside the meeting room, I got the mobile out of my handbag and dialled a number.

– Are you done? – asked H(ugh).

– I left early, – I said. – Shall I come round then?

– Sure, see you in a minute.

I put the phone back into my handbag and go to the lifts. 30 seconds later he opens the door, I step in and he gives me a kiss. I get home really late.

The following afternoon Walter comes to pick me up for lunch. At the restaurant, our drinks served, he asks:

– So, how was it?

– Boring. I left early.

– Not the feedback I expected! And what’s this Rhoda like?

– Well, she’s like… How do I put it into words? She’s a little… A lot, actually… I don’t know… She’s like a fish.

– Out of water?

No, it’s not that. It took me a while to figure out why it was exactly a fish that came to mind, but now I know. When you look at a pretty little gold fish in a tank, opening its mouth and making little air bubbles, you get the same level of passion and interest. And the same amount of information. The only time she came up with something fresh was when Douglas asked how the legislation will be enforced and what sort of evidence the police will look for. She admitted that the women would have to be tracked down (all hail decriminalisation a la Grant!) and as for evidence, well, the police would come up with something. That was the point where I got bored.

Walter went to pay the bill and, waiting for him, I looked around the restaurant. 3 tables away from me Douglas Fox was chatting to a woman who was scribbling his words down. I waved at him. He gave me a blank stare. Oh well. Walter returned, I told him about Douglas and we marvelled at the coincidence. Although frankly, considering how many beliefs Douglas and I share, it wasn’t a surprise at all that we ended up in the same restaurant. We got up to leave and as Walter opened the door for me, he whispered: “He looked at your bum!”

– Errm… Douglas??? What, is there a stain on my dress?

I turn round trying to look at my own bum. Walter rolls eyes, probably the first time in the years I’ve known him:

– The waiter! He totally looked at your bum!

Once inside, we have a shower and move on to the bed. There Walter picks me up (naturally, I scream and demand that he puts me back down), kisses me and throws me on the bed. What’s it all about? If you remember, some time ago Walter pulled that trick off the first time and although it was a little different to actual throwing, it was rather exciting. And this time it’s even better. The bed creaks, as if to complain; clumsily, on all fours over the duvet I make my way back to the floor and demand (again! Some women just won’t give you a break, will they?) that he throws me again. He does as told and jumps after me.

I haven’t said it before on the blog, but Walter is one of those clients who turns my job from a nice pastime into a rewarding endeavour, a hard task that’s totally worth taking. For a very long time our relationship was a teacher-student one, with him asking questions and me doing my best to explain things I’d never even tried putting into words before. When I met him, he had very little (and mostly negative) experience of sex. But he was eager to learn, with a clear goal he set himself from the start. I’ll never forget the kiss he stole while we were waiting to be seated in a restaurant on one of our first dates. Such a small thing but it was a big step for him at the time. And, step by step, he is now at the stage where he knows how to make love to a woman, he knows how to take the lead and he feels comfortable with it. I don’t think he thought it was possible 2 years ago. And all this time he’s been unwittingly teaching me back things that I lack: humility, open mind, putting trust into people. Prostitution is a nationwide educational programme focussed on safe sex and personal growth. You should be investing into it, not criminalising it.

And in case you’re interested, here‘s (much) more about the debate from Douglas Fox and the article about each panelist by the lady-scribbler in the restaurant.

Competition – updated AGAIN

For the long-awaited Limericks Competition go to the Monthly Poll page. Please excuse its appearance: limericks were only allowed as one line text by the format of the poll. I tried other versions of polls, other providers of poll service, html tags and even tried uploading the limericks as an image, and I’m afraid that what you see there is the best-looking and least-complicated option. If you know the secret to how to break each option in the poll into individual lines – please please tell me.

I would like to thank everyone who contributed to the contest, you did me proud. 

The limericks you see in the poll are only about a half of everything that I received. Some people sent only one or two, others sent a dozen, and although there were so many brilliant ones, I felt that to make the competition a little fair (and to help the reader get to the end of the competition list) I should limit the amount of entries by one person to 3. It was hard to choose just 3 from, say, 8 great verses, and it’s harder still to keep the remainder to myself (apart from the very personal one. These are between me and the author only, I’m afraid), so the limericks that aren’t in the competition will be published later. Maybe I should release them one a day? That’ll last till the end of the competition.

Votes: from 1 June to 30 June, the entries are listed in random order, you can choose up to 2 limericks (simply because it would be hard to pick just one), 1 vote per IP address. I know it’s not too hard to vote from work and then from home, but I hope that voters will try to be fair. I won’t be casting mine: I’m a bit of a biased party here. Also, of all the limericks I received one stood out to me as an immediate winner. I did not include it in the competition because, as I said, this one already won my heart:

There is nothing about Jewel I would alter –

Nor would Mariner, Leonard, or Walter.

We all worship her,

She’s our shining star,

And her loveliness will never falter.  

Most limericks in the competition touch on my work in one way or another, and the affection between some of the lines is obvious. But this one is so special to me because it brings up the side of my work I enjoy most – my clients – not as faceless “them” or even “us”; it shows that all of my clients are individuals, very different people, yet they have something in common: their good taste (and not what you thought it was). And their fondness for me. The author has not featured on this blog yet although it’s been over half a year now since I first saw him. I hope to finish his entry soon. He’ll go by the code name of The Scot.

And the prize, of course. Since no-one made a suggestion in this respect, let’s stick with the dinner with the winner*. I’ll be giving away 2 of these: one to the actual winner and one to The Scot. Unless, of course, The Scot’s other limerick wins; I haven’t yet decided what to do in this situation. But I never thought I’m so bloody generous anyway.

Independent Edinburgh Escorts

*THE SMALL PRINT: a dinner with the winner is a dinner date between the person whose limerick gains most votes (The Winner) and Jewel (that’s me!) that includes at least 1 hour of private time for outcalls, or 2 hours (plus deposit) for incalls which is charged as per usual; the dinner at a place of the winner’s choice (his kitchen is just as good a place if he thinks he can cook and can manage something gluten-free) will be provided by the winner, with Jewel contributing her time (around 2 hours) free of charge in recognition of his literary achievements. This generous offer expires on the day Jewel decides to retire.