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.

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

The Jewel box

The first time P got in touch, I told him off and didn’t hear back for a long time. What happened? As always, I asked what sort of experience he was looking for. He said all he wanted was a touch of class but so far he’d only been disappointed by the women he saw. And true to myself, I told him that if a man is disappointed with a sex worker, it’s his own fault. Let’s be honest, it takes two to tango, be it bad or good. Men tend to assume that if they pick a woman with the right bra size or the right accent or the right price – it’ll be good. The reality is that you are going to have sex with this woman, not with her bra size or her accent. If you did not enjoy it – you didn’t choose the right woman or didn’t make it clear to her what you were looking for. Communication is everything: sex workers are not mind readers.

Which reminds me of one young man who was trying so hard not to be shy that it was obvious that I was his first lady of fixed-rate virtue, so I sat him down on the sofa, climbed on top and explained the rules:

– Rule number one. If you don’t enjoy what we’re doing – you tell me. Ok?

– <emphatic nod> Ok.

– Good. <kiss> If you do enjoy what we’re doing – you tell me. Ok?

– <emphatic nod> Ok.

– Good. <kiss> And if you want to change what we’re doing – what do you do?

– I’m a farmer. <Jewel slides down on the sofa in a fit of laughter>

And back to P. As you can guess, we meet eventually. He shows up on time with the bribe in hand – a cup of hot chocolate which I requested as a token of his appreciation for my waking up at a ridiculous hour to see him at 10am.  He says he was so taken with my bus ads (have you seen them? A few bus routes in Edinburgh promise you a heavenly ride straight to “The Jewel”. Unfortunately, my website URL is too long to fit into the destination box on the bus foreheads) that he couldn’t resist buying some of my produce – and he hands me “The Jewel Box”. This I haven’t seen yet: a little square blue and pink box of chocolates with my name on it!

We end up in the bedroom where things unfold smoothly, but P keeps a little distance. You can see he’s enjoying himself, but he doesn’t allow himself to relax and open up fully. Oh well, you can lead a client to bed but you can’t make him buy the dream.

I sometimes wonder why men do it – avoid intimacy. Fair enough, there are men who are not looking for intimacy, but these don’t usually want to meet me. Those who become my clients are usually men who want a little more than sex. Obviously, a close connection doesn’t happen straight away. Newcomers, like the farmer above, open up quicker (literally on my 3rd sentence), probably because of the negative experiences and misconceptions they haven’t yet amassed. Others take a little longer. Yet, if we leave out those whom, for various reasons, I fail to establish a connection with and those who open up sooner or later, we’re left with about 10-15 percent of my clients who seem to be happy in my company and make an effort to help me enjoy theirs, but somehow I can see that they are not all there with me. Here’s the little list of reasons that I think they go by, but please correct me if it’s wrong or incomplete. Some clients keep the distance because:

  • They think it’s wrong to enjoy paid sex fully: ridiculous, I know, but I have also met sex workers who think it’s wrong to enjoy paid sex;
  • They don’t want to get emotionally attached to their chosen sex worker: I’ve been told quite a few times (BY MEN!) that for men it’s much easier to fall in love than it is for women (and the cursed love has already cost me a few very good clients over the years);
  • They don’t know how to be intimate with a stranger (which is a weak argument for when they see you a few times and you’re not a stranger anymore);
  • I’m not trustworthy enough for them to open up. Oh well.

And only at the end of our date, when we’re cuddling in bed, something happens to P and the no-intimacy switch goes off in him. Now he’s being his real self: it’s in his eyes, his tone of voice, in the way he suddenly wants to express how he’s feeling. He sits up, I wrap my legs around him, and he starts gliding his hands over my body. It only lasts a few minutes and then he’s back to his formal mode of interaction.

When a client opens up – it is so touching, even if it’s only for a few minutes. Totally worth working for.

Farewell, February

Sorry about the break, I really am. I’ve been busy with the main site’s updates (if you haven’t seen it yet, go and have a look now! You may have to refresh your screen) but feel free to be upset anyway.

The results of the video survey

were very positive. 18 respondents altogether, of them at least 3 were female.

Question 1: Did you like the videos?

Needless to say, everyone said yes. 5 comments were added, mostly along the lines of “Great idea!”

Question 2: Which one do you prefer?

  • The long one – 11 votes
  • The short one – 2 votes
  • Both are ok – 5 votes

6 comments here: 2 in favour of subtitles, 2 almost identical (longer video = more Jewel), 1 respondent said that the length was irrelevant as long as he could see me there as this brings back the memories, and 1 respondent mentioned that being a female, she did not appreciate the dressing scenes that much and this defined her preference for the shorter video (which I agree with. The stockings scene makes me think of grocery shopping, partly because this is what I usually think of when putting on stockings).

Question 3: Videos or photos? (one respondent skipped this question)

  • A video is more informative – 14 votes
  • Either is fine – 1 vote
  • Photos, please – 0 votes
  • Other options – 2 (both saying that these are different things and there’s no general answer to this question, one of the respondents further stating that what really worked for him was the blog – Aww! Now I feel so bad about taking a break!)

5 comments here: almost every comment says that there’s more personality in a video, one going further to note that unlike with photos, in a video you can’t alter the image or show the object only from an angle that gives a better impression. The same respondent finished his comment with “more people should follow in your footsteps”.


I always knew I’d make the headlines. While personally I agree that if there were more people like me around, the world would be a much better place, I also keep it in mind that the competition would skyrocket.

Question 4: Suggestions for the next film.

  • Show how sex workers operate – 10 votes (I’m sure some respondents just mistook this option for a polite way of saying “where’s the action???”)
  • Make it longer with more details – 5 votes (this must be just my dirty mind but details of what? Of the action? I should have had better phrased options – these are notes to self, by the way)
  • Provide more wanking material – 3 votes. Now this is unmistakable. The only consolation is that, judging by the comments, the respondents were not serious about it.
  • Choose better music/ Make it 3D/ Keep it short – 2 votes each
  • Lose the subtitles – 0 votes!
  • Other options – 2. Comments – 9.

Here it’s hard to come up with a system as all comments are so diverse and often completely opposite. Some say that it’s possible to show more without it becoming sordid (as the director put it, an average 12-rated movie is daring in comparison to my videos), others say it’s just fine the way it is, and yet others actually criticize the video for showing too much and remind me that “less is more”. Seriously, what’s a girl to do in a situation like this? That’s right – do as you always did: sod the public and please yourself (again, it’s a note to self, not a call for action to the reader. I’d be out of work if all readers here started pleasing themselves).

Some comments do deserve a little attention though.

“Sit back, let this ride for a while, and then get Almodovar to do your next film”. I can totally see myself in the role of a nun who solicits matadors right outside the nunnery and, once the victim is in my cell, I knock them out with the help of spiked gazpacho and stab them (the bodies are then kept in the fridge in the closed down restaurant next door) – all this is to relieve the pain and grief I’m in ever since my matador lover (played, of course, by Antonio Banderas) left me for a transvestite actor. At the same time, I am haunted by the ghost of my mother (either Carmen Maura or Marisa Paredes, I haven’t made up my mind yet) who is not happy because Banderas was her lover first. Hopefully, Penelope Cruz agrees to take on the role of a street walker who I have to fight for the spot outside the nunnery but eventually we fall in love and leave for El Salvador. X-rated. How can one not love Almodovar!

Another comment: “Show more romance… Have Jewel serve the gentleman the wine (Jewel does not serve gentlemen. It’s the gentleman’s responsibility… to pour wine. And do the rest) by candle light. Perhaps flirt… show Jewel sipping wine (Jewel does not do wine), showing some “leg”, undressing slowly (Jewel does not undress herself unless she’s by herself). Perhaps the more upscale the video than the better clientele?”

The last sentence is completely true and this comment really made me think hard. The idea is tempting, but here are my conclusions:

  1. Scotland and Upscale being on the opposite end of the scale, I’ll have to look for another job.
  2. Showing an upscale client in my video could potentially scare off all my farmers and virgins and I don’t want this to happen! Not only because I’ll be missing them, but also because I believe that
  3. everyone has the right of access to good sex, not just the upscale clients.

And the king of comments (unfortunately, you’ll only see the end of it): “give us (men) more cheek and hard time, we like it really”. He totally nailed it. Forget Mars and Venus. Give a man a hard time and he’ll be yours forever. Took me a few years to figure this out. Where was this respondent in 2006???

Excuses, excuses…

I’m just back home after a fun morning with one of my darling farmers (yep, they keep coming!) when my phone rings again. A pleasantly-sounding man asks if I’d be free for a couple of hours in the afternoon to spend them with him. As you know by now, I’m not into 2 bookings a day, but before I know it I answer that sure, I could be there in an hour – after all, having just returned from a booking, I’m pretty much ready, only need to have a shower. This was the first sign of what was to come and I totally missed it.

We meet at the bar of his hotel. He’s easy to talk to and quick to smile. Smooth talker? No. But I feel comfortable answering the personal questions he asks even though usually I avoid them. We go up to his room. He’s just the same in bed: his presence is solid but unobtrusive, it surrounds you without taking you over.

Time to get dressed. I tickle his feet on my way to the bathroom. He asks why: after all, we’ve established 2 hours ago that he’s not ticklish. So what? I enjoy touching him, ticklish or not. He calls it “a sign of endearment”. It’s remarkable how easily clients express their endearment, but find it hard to believe I can fancy them, too. This one doesn’t seem to have this problem.

Later, when I’m in the gym, it dawns on me. I’m not one of those people who get their best ideas while in the gym, but looking at the men around me there makes me understand what it is about him that attracts me so: we share a little secret. Just like me, he knows who he is, and he is very comfortable with this knowledge. Not something I come across very often.

Late evening, I’m trying to persuade myself to update my blog when his text arrives: if I could consider sleeping next to a man with alcohol inside, he’d love to see me again. Most other ladies would probably reply that as long as that alcohol stays inside, they don’t care much for its presence. Neither do I: I know he’s not drunk. But sleeping? It means overnight.

You’ve probably noticed by now that I’ve quite a few rules on what I do and how I do it. Well, here are two more: overnights are only for clients I know well, and I do not see one and the same client twice in one day. The first rule probably needs no explanation, and for the second one the explanation is simple: it borders on obsession. Nothing is wrong with obsession (ask anyone else with CDO* and they’ll tell you an obsession has a lot of advantages to it) but in the context of my job it’s not an idea I want to entertain. But… But he’s not the sort of person to obsess. Neither am I. And I’ve already met him so I know him well enough for an overnight. Besides, by the time I get there it will already be tomorrow so technically speaking it’s not the same day.

The thought of how easy it is to find an excuse for yourself, when there’s something you want to do so much, comes when I’m already in the shower. I wash it off. Having rules is no fun if you don’t break them from time to time.

*CDO – Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, but I always thought that for this condition the letters should go in alphabetical order.

The Return of the Farmer – the original series

Today, the very first farmer who started it all, was back. I really wish I could title this post “How to get the best out of a farmer”, but there’s more to this visit than that.

To begin with, considering 2 hours drive to Edinburgh, the farmer in question preferred to combine pleasure with business and had a meeting prior to visiting me. Naturally, I had to ask what sort of meeting it was that it was more important than me, and got the answer no-one ever thought of, myself included – my own words.

– Whatever I tell you will definitely be all over Internet by midnight, so I’d rather not.

Can’t even argue with this, especially in the light of this post going online as soon as I finish it.

And at the end of our date:

– Well, now I can go on for another 5 months.

– ??? (stupid facial expression while I’m trying to imagine this)

– Or what was it? Last time I saw you in September, so it’s 3 months then.

– … (thinking hard) What date in September was it?

– Xth, why?

Just as I thought. He even remembers the date. I’m chuffed to wee bits when told that time with me is so memorable (and lasts 3 months!) but I do think that hard-working people deserve more fun in their life. Still, waiting is so much easier when you know how long you need to wait for, and I’m now waiting for 3 months only.

The return of the farmer

Another great week in my life. I now have one more writer, one more farmer and one more virgin to add to my extensive list.

Farmers invading my blog is an interesting thing. This one is the fourth. Out of other three, two show up rather regularly, and considering the fact that it’s quite a drive for them, I see it as more than just endearing. Now add to this a strong muscly body that knows how to work long and hard and you’ll see why I’m so totally smitten. I’m trying to figure out how they find me but to no avail. A dozen posts ago I did contemplate advertising on a weather forecast website, not seriously at the time, but if this is what brings farmers in, I’m starting to consider it now. I can clearly picture my own photo under a header ” Scottish Farmers Choose”. Or would a laconic “Farmers’ Choice” be better? I wouldn’t mind at all taking part payment in fresh produce (oh, did I tell you about a baker I used to see in Newcastle? He would always bring me some bread! At 4 bloody AM!) but it’s not fair on those who deal with livestock as I’m a vegetarian.

And if you think I’m making fun of farmers and their work here – I’m sorry it looks this way, it’s absolutely not so: they are great clients (as I’ve said more than once on this blog) and I’m the biggest fan of their market in Edinburgh!

As for the writers I’ve seen, it always makes for a good conversation, and then I get home and start leafing through books. This time it’s R L Stevenson.

And, of course, the weather. Last night it snowed. Edinburgh is magically beautiful. I made 3 snowpersons: 2 of them (one large, the other small and shapely) hold hands below my window. The third one (a tiny thing) decorates the postbox on the corner.

When will I see you again?

Before I say anything else, guess who was back! One of the farmers I wrote about a month or so ago! Scottish countryside gives life to some incredible things. And I have a feeling I’ll see him yet again. What a delight!

And now to the point. A regular, who’s also been mentioned here a few times, came last week. When leaving, he said he’d “see me soon depending on matters arising”. Well, I’ve seen these matters and they don’t need much to arise, trust me, and so he was back again this week.

To be honest, I’m not keen on people coming every week. In a couple of months this relationship will turn into a sort of marriage where both partners are getting slightly bored with each other. I’d rather clients returned in 3-4 weeks when they’ve had enough time to realise how much they miss me and to forget most of the stuff we did last time. Because, believe it or not, the amount of things to keep you busy (things that I can come up with and am capable of doing) is limited.

Oh, this reminds me of one of my first Edinburgh clients, a gentleman who came to see me again the week following his first booking. The second booking was going great when he said: “I’ll come again next Thursday then” and I answered: “No, don’t”, but at that moment we were sort of busy and I didn’t have the chance to explain why I’d rather he gave it at least 2 weeks and I didn’t even realise it till he left. As you can guess, I haven’t seen him since. Pity. But there you go, a fine example of a category 4 client. Cringe. Oh why an I such an idiot?

It never rains but it pours

Would you believe it, I saw another farmer the other night! *giggling silly* It looks like good things come in batches. This reminds me of something that happened a while ago.

I had a dinner date arranged in advance by e-mail. It took quite a few e-mails to settle all the details and in one of them my client-to-be mentioned that he would be visiting Edinburgh for XYZ project and the whole group would be staying in the same hotel. To avoid anyone seeing me knocking on his door, my client asked for an incall.

The day arrived, and I’m about to leave for the flat when my phone rings. The caller asks whether I could arrange an incall for later that night: “It would be easier for you to come to my hotel, of course, but you see, I’m here with a group for XYZ project and we are all staying in the same hotel. I wouldn’t like anyone from the group to know about my pastime”.

I’m sure you can imagine how hard it was not to say: “Well, try not to run into one of them here” but I managed. Another thing I managed that night was seeing 2 clients with a short break in between. Who could say no in a situation like this?

On farms, fields and agricultural implements

I have been off ever since the previous post: I’ve obviously been giving more attention to work recently than it was necessary so I’ve taken a break there and then. Almost. Just one exception on Thursday morning. And this is how I found myself in bed with a farmer.

Well, not quite. I was in bed with that farmer because he carried me there. First time in my life. I’ve never thought this would happen. I’m petite but I’m no Thumbelina and I weigh accordingly. A few have tried but this man was the first to easily succeed. And it wasn’t the only thing I enjoyed about that encounter.

He wasn’t Adonis, he was far better, but he took his body for granted and had no pride in it whatsoever. When I commented on the rock hard… muscles in his legs, he just shrugged and said that there’s always something to do on a farm. “But let’s not talk about it, because a woman like you shouldn’t even know what a field is.” Oh, the temptation to look at him innocently and ask: “Isn’t it where they play football?” Not willing to upset him, I just rolled my eyes and looked at him expressively.

Then the usual questions followed: where am I from, how old am I, etc. I gave the usual excuse: I’ll keep this to myself because I don’t want my personal stuff to be all over Internet by midnight.

– I wouldn’t do it even if I knew how. Look at this hand (stretching out a rake size arm rippling with muscles). I can hardly type!

– You knew enough to find my site.

– I was looking for the weather when your site popped up!

Yeah, right. Still, an interesting marketing opportunity I should probably explore…

He left and for whole 7 minutes I seriously considered moving to the countryside and living on a farm. Again – yeah, right. But this was the second sign that I needed a break. My sanity is paramount, can’t afford to lose it.