Gallery of Edinburgh Escorts

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

————————————————————-

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.

Blackness kiss

Not sure if you remember, but Walter won a kiss in the Limerick Competition. And in case you don’t know, he had big plans for that kiss. Big Plans. We went through a few of them, mostly by location, and having ruled out North Berwick, Queensferry and Portobello, we decided to go with Blackness. To Blackness. What a strange, gothic name for a location which has nothing strange or gothic in it.

Edinburgh escorts

We drove for a while. First highways, then roads, then wooded lanes. In one of them, we passed a hen party – a dozen of pheasant girls talking loudly on a stone wall covered in moss and ivy by the side of the path. With each turn the journey was getting more and more surreal.

Walter parked behind some god forsaken church in the middle of a forest, got a backpack out of the boot and we went down a steep forest path. It was dry, still and unexpectedly warm for a September afternoon. The forest was very quiet. We came across a bridge over a little stream, followed the river, passed by a little shady bog and then suddenly there it was. I knew we were going to a beach but it was still a surprise.

Blackness beach is as wild as they come. Not a single soul there if you don’t count two thousand seagulls, and we had no desire to count them. We walked along the forest line for a while until we came to a spot which was less rocky, more sunny and decorated with bunches of cheerfully bright daisies. There Walter threw a plaid over the thin grass (in the true spirit of a non-Scot in Scotland), I took off my shoes, we snuggled up and the kiss started.

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What shall I say about the kiss? The ground was too rocky, the plaid too thin, the wind too strong, the seagulls – the seagulls were being seagulls, I can hate them for it but not blame. Even two can be bad enough, and multiplied by a thousand… Yet it was the most romantic kiss I’ve had so far. A couple of hours later the sun went down, I got cold and hungry and the kiss had to stop.

It was quite dark when we got to Queensferry. We stopped there for a dinner which, for reasons I will not disclose (in this sentence), Walter now considers unforgettable. Apparently, a certain dish they serve there gives one erection of a lifetime – yes, it lasts that long, I can attest this myself. Before that, however, Walter left the table to pay the bill and came back with a single red rose. I still don’t know where he got it, he wouldn’t say. I’ve never been there so have to ask – are men’s toilets decorated with flower arrangements? In Queensferry?

We made it to the hotel eventually. In the morning, after a very short night (I told you it was erection of a lifetime) Walter kindly took a few (more) pictures of me. This involves another man, I’m afraid. A gentleman I’d never met generously supplied me with lovely lingerie and no, he didn’t ask for the photos in return. I suggested it myself. In case you’re in doubt – no, I don’t usually send out my photos left, right and centre. I don’t need to, you can copy them from my website. If it’s not there, then it’s not for everyone. Which is why you get to see this.

 Edinburgh escorts photos

Look closely. It must have been a very good meal if you can have this in bed and still attribute your erection to food. And no, I’m not telling you what restaurant it was.

You know what? I’m glad I ran that Limerick Competition. Some wonderful things came out of it.

J or The Fortunes of Vice

In some inexplicable way our demonstration on Friday reminded me of her. She had the name of one of the infamous sisters from Marquis de Sade’s writings. I’ll call her J. Edinburgh escorts

I met J in the early summer of 200X. I had just joined a little agency run by an old gentleman. That evening I was sent to Savoy. I was told there would be 2 clients and one other lady. A man opened the door of a little suite and I joined the company in the sitting room.

My client went to sit down on a sofa, I sat next to him. The other man was sitting on a chair opposite us and she was on another chair, three quarters to him, I couldn’t see her face. She was wearing a plain black shift dress and low-heeled square-toed black shoes. Her hair was dark, very short and curly – the hair that I would have if I ever allowed myself to have it cut above my shoulders. She turned to me and stretched her hand.

‘I’m J,’ she said, and smiled.

‘I’m J,’ I replied and touched her hand.

I showed off my new shoes; I bought them the day before, they were made of fabric that was identical in colour and pattern to the bright summer dress I was wearing. My client, the host, served drinks, there were snacks, the men were talkative and funny and soon the conversation was flowing. J spoke little and always very softly; to hear her, everyone had to go silent. I thought it was a great trick.

After a while, the clients went to another room for a quick chat and we were left alone. J turned to me. Her eyes were blue. This is the closest I’ve ever been to falling in love. I looked at her.

‘I love your hair,’ I said and my throat went dry.

‘I love your shoes,’ she replied. And smiled.

The men came back and she left with her client. I ended up staying with mine for the whole night and didn’t get to see J for almost 2 weeks.

Next time it was a little hotel in Park Lane. I had met that client before, when he went on and on about how he would like to see me with a woman. This time I expected to hear it again because this talk seemed to be his favourite fantasy, but it turned out he decided to put his money where his mouth was (erm, yes, both puns). I walked into the room and J was sitting there on the bed, in her black shift dress and square-toed shoes. A couple of months later the old man who ran the agency would tell me that J asked him for that. Her lips and skin were soft and cool. She did everything slowly and quietly, concentrating fully on what she was doing.

She was kneeling between my legs as I stretched out on the bed. With her finger she traced the outline of my thigh. Then she squeezed it.

‘This is amazing. You’re thin and at the same time so fleshy. So succulent.’

Charles, the client, first got bored, then jealous. Men with this fantasy sometime don’t realise that watching 2 women together means you’re left on your own. He asked J to leave and I stayed for another half an hour. When I walked out of the hotel, J was waiting outside in a cab. I came up and opened the cab door.

J shared a squat in Baker Street with half a dozen other people. When she wasn’t working, she was up all night smoking hash and drawing horoscope charts for political events or daydreaming of the Vestals dancing around the sacred fire. Hedonism wasn’t her hobby, it was her way of living. She liked that I was so determined, she said I added structure to her life. She brought chaos into mine. Her company was a pleasure but I could never know when I would have it again. Eventually I left the agency and soon after that I moved to Newcastle. J was unwilling to keep in touch. Or incapable of it.

When I moved to Edinburgh, I came across her photos on a website of a little parlour in south west London. The rota said she was there every Saturday. A year later her photos were removed.

Last summer, walking along Princes Street, Violet and I passed a girl dressed up as air hostess giving out leaflets. She was about my height, slim, with blue eyes and fair skin. I came up and asked for a leaflet.

‘What do you need it for?’ asked Violet when I caught up with her.

‘I don’t need it. The girl was pretty.’

Violet laughed.

There was once a lady…

Right, I am now officially back to work after a month of highly unpaid sick leave. Ah, the joy of being self-employed! I still tire easily so I’m not exactly up to the usual 4-5 dates a week yet. Please bear with me and I’ll get there eventually. I would like to give my apologies to people whose e-mails I took days to reply and express my gratitude to those whose bookings I couldn’t take for their patience and understanding. I would also very much like to thank Violet for her help and support while I was ill. Violet went to the hospital with me and helped with other things that normally I wouldn’t even ask for – forget expect! – from someone in sex trade. If this doesn’t show that sex work is a caring profession, I don’t know what does.

I have been (very) slowly updating my blog and you can now enjoy both posts about working with Dana Popa, the photographer (Part 1 and Part 2). Part 3 (the after-Dana part) will be ready in a few days. I have also been reading poetry. This needs a little explanation as I’m hoping to ask you, dearest reader, for help.

Recently I was contacted by a gentleman called Leonard with a view to a date. And, while waiting for the coming date to arrive, he’s taken it upon himself to keep me thoroughly complimented (and, more importantly, thoroughly entertained). Frankly, I have no idea why; we haven’t even met yet so he can’t possibly know anything about me other than what my blog says, and let’s be honest, this is MY blog. It’s about how awesome I am. I’m too biased to accept another point of view on this issue. But since he doesn’t question these basics of Jewelogy, I kindly let him get on with praises. And, as part of his daily complimenting routine, he now arrived at poetry. Having tried haiku, he moved on to limerick. Here’s a part of his e-mail (and I have his written permission to publish it):

“Let’s try the Limerick.

There once was a lady named Jewel. . .

Well, now I am stuck. I need two words that rhyme with Jewel. My choices seem to be limited to “cool” (too cliché or completely the wrong temperature), “fool” (well, I feel like one for trying to capture your essence in verse, but still not quite right), “pool” (your eyes are deep pools of . . . well, your eyes are lovely but this is overdone, so no), “rule” (interesting, could close with “my heart she doth rule”. Need one more…) “school”, “tool” and “wool” all rejected, and don’t even think about “drool”. Maybe a new opening line?

A Jewel in Edinburgh lies

The cause of many men’s sighs

Clever and gorgeous

A mind like the Borgias

Her loveliness no one denies

Well, a reference to the Borgia family will certainly be new and the rest is properly complimentary, so it might work.”

I won’t lie, it did work. I was particularly taken with the fact that said Jewel lies. I suppose my job isn’t called “horizontal trade” for nothing. But I was upset to see the first opening line rejected when he already had these great rhymes lined up. All I had to do was put them together in the true lewd spirit of limerick:

There was once a lady called Jewel

Who saw every man as a tool.

While every man clamoured

to be her jackhammer,

I wrote her a poem, old fool.

Please understand that all I wanted was to show that the rhymes were good and could easily work. I didn’t mean to provoke another limerick from Leonard in reply:

there once was a lady named Jewel

like Pavlov she caused me to drool

my love for her brain

went right down the drain

when she started to talk of my . . .

I hope you laughed as much as I did. Which, at last, leads up to my question: what do you say about a little limerick competition? All limericks about me, of course. Anyone is welcome to take part, I’ll publish all the limericks (no names attached) that I receive (a month should be long enough, I think, after all people don’t look at my blog daily) and then the readers will choose the best one. I’ll be sure to come up with a prize. A dinner with the winner? Well, the rules and the prize will need to be thought through, for now it would help to know if people are interested to take part, so please comment below.

A damsel in distress

If you remember, in Part 3 of my London visit I went to Praed Street clinic. That was a Monday. Friday of the same week, sleeping sweetly in my Edinburgh bed, I am woken up at dawn by a phone call.

– Jane?

– Merrr?

– Jane, this is Andrea from St Mary’s hospital.

– Wherrr?

– I’m calling about the results of your latest test.

– Oh?

– Please don’t worry, but…

(Funny how you always get a panic attack when they tell you not to worry. Suddenly I am wide awake)

– … one of your test results is inconclusive.

She goes into long explanations of why this could have happened and what it might mean, but, being in panic, I only get this much: an inconclusive test result means that I either have it or not. They test each swab twice. My first test for throat gonorrhoea was positive but the confirmative test of the same swab was negative. I need to take this test again.

I hang up and lie for a while looking at the ceiling. It feels surreal. Everyone knows that condoms don’t provide a 100% protection from anything, so this one time in 7 years is, I suppose, good enough. Hold on, it’s not like I have it for certain! Besides, if this really is the case, how did I manage to get it in the throat but nowhere else? How long will the treatment take? And then I’ll have to take another test, and wait for its results, hopefully negative then, so how long will I have to be off altogether? Hold on, it’s not like I have it for certain! I don’t have to be off. It’s only my throat that’s off limits. Gonorrhoea sits deep in the throat so I’m unlikely to pass it to anyone unless they lick my tonsils and I am yet to get a client with such a fetish. The rest of my body is disease-free although of course this isn’t how clients will feel about it. It’s getting in touch with clients I saw recently that I need to be worried about. Hold on, it’s not like I have it for certain!

And so, after a miserable week-end, on Monday morning I go to Edinburgh GUM clinic. I hate this place. The walk-in clinic is open 8.30 – 10am. If you show up at 9.15, you are told that the clinic is already full and you’ll have to come back tomorrow. Unless you’re a hooker with gonorrhoea, in which case they’ll kindly squeeze you in as an extra patient. EXTRA patient! In a walk-in clinic!

I get to see a nurse. I tell her why I’m there. She goes. I wait. A doctor comes. I tell him why I’m there. He takes a throat swab and goes. I wait. Second nurse comes, with a Petri dish for another swab. This one is for cultures, so they could determine what antibiotics will work better. Then I wait again. Third nurse comes, with a syringe and a pack of pills. She tells me what the treatment involves; details aside, it’s a heavy-duty course of antibiotics. She rips the syringe open and starts filling it.

– Hold on, have you already received my test results? Even the cultures?

– No, of course not, they’ll be ready next week.

– So why do you think I need the treatment?

– Well, er, because… You know, to save time.

– Would you take this amount of medication for no reason?

– Er…

– When I have the test results, I’ll take it. Or not.

I leave. I feel sicker than ever. A whole week to wait for the results.

Incidentally, that was the week when Walter could visit Edinburgh. And I couldn’t see him! Well, I could, but without kissing this is a waste of my time and his money and kissing he wasn’t comfortable with in my ambiguous condition. He comes anyway – to show his support in more than just e-mail.

We start with a lunch. We’ve a lot to talk about, mostly his plans for my next video. Then Walter wants to go to the cinema. I don’t. Guess who wins! It’s not that I dislike cinema. It’s that I love Walter. And in the cinema we’ll be watching a film, not spending time together. So instead we have a hot chocolate and do what we always wanted to do but were afraid of: shopping for lingerie. In a little boutique in West End I introduce us as Mary and Alfred Hotchpotch (his nome-de-videocamera), he sits down on the sofa with a cup of tea and I disappear in the change rooms. Some time later he joins me there.

Out of the boutique, I take him for a walk in Dean village, we have another hot chocolate and then go home where I change into my new lingerie, he wipes his saliva with his sleeve and we go out for dinner. A beautiful day and we didn’t even kiss! Oh alright, we did. More than once. Mostly in the change room. And also after dinner when it was time for him to go to the railway station. A beautiful day nevertheless.

The following morning I get another call. All results are negative. The crappiest week of my working life over nothing. Well, I have some lingerie to show for it. Quite literally! Walter took a couple of pictures!

February in London, Part 2

Continued from Part 1.

The Old Nutter opens the door and I sneak in with Dana in tow. He plants a kiss on my cheek and steps back a little, opening his arms:

‘I made an effort this time,’ he smiles.

I laugh. It’s a reference to our second date and I’m pleased he remembers what I taught him. And, just as that time, he looks very presentable indeed. I do have a thing for a well-dressed man.

I introduce him to Dana and disappear in the bathroom for a few minutes while they are chatting. I told him what taking part in the project involves (nothing except being photographed. In a way that doesn’t show his face) and he agreed, but I still expected him to be apprehensive. He wasn’t. He looked as relaxed as I’ve ever seen him in my presence.

I return to the room to find him talking to Dana pleasantly, something about the political situation in Romania. It’s unclear if the Nutter is gone all professional because of anxiety or because the concept of small talk is beyond him. Either way, if it’s not about me then I’m not interested, so I tell them we are ready to start and Dana moves to the corner of the room where she found a good spot to take pictures from. She sits down on a chair by the window, opposite a mirror on the wall. I sit down on the bed next to the Nutter. Dana watches us in the mirror.

This is probably the hardest beginning to a date that I’ve ever had. With the camera winking at me, I find myself unable to do any of the things I usually would when meeting a client I’ve seen a couple of times before. Talking about the weather is just too silly but bringing up a personal subject is impossible because we’re not alone. I’ve always known I take responsive clients very close to heart but I never realised just how close. It feels like something between us will evaporate if shared with an outsider. So for a few minutes we just sit on the bed, him waiting for me to take the lead (as always) and me not knowing what to do (as never). But it can’t go on like this for hours so I ask him for a glass of water hoping to get a minute to collect myself.

As he gets up, I pinch his bum and, without turning to me, he tells me to stop objectifying him. I giggle. He pours me a glass of sparkling water, I quickly finish it and… pull off his pullover. The sooner I do what Dana expects to see, the sooner she’ll leave. This isn’t fair to her: she is looking for the authentic experience and she most certainly doesn’t want to be a burden, but I brought her all the way here and I don’t want to kick her out with nothing. It isn’t fair to the Nutter either: he is looking for the authentic me and he most certainly deserves neither empty conversation nor a hooker show. But he can wait a few minutes while I sit in his lap, kissing him and unbuttoning his shirt. I make sure I hear a few more camera clicks from Dana before I tell her that now would be a good time for her to go.

She quickly shows us the images on her camera so the Nutter can make sure his face isn’t there. One of them she points out as a particularly good one.

‘Mmm, I look good!’ I think, looking at it.

‘I didn’t realise I am that bald,’ says the Nutter with a sigh.

Dana leaves and at last I can be myself. We fool around a little and then I remove the rest of his clothes. Now it feels natural and effortless. With Dana watching a prostitute at work this same action was an act of prostitution. On our own, it’s just a man and a woman doing what men and women do. For me, the difference is almost palpable. For the camera – I don’t know. In her project Dana wanted to show women who happen to be sex workers. Maybe she got exactly what she wanted after all: on my own, getting ready, I happen to be a sex worker. With a client, I clearly am a woman. It’s rather sad that it took me years and help of another woman to find out how I really see my work.

Some time later we get dressed and go to a restaurant close by for a late dinner.

‘Did you really feel objectified when I pinched your bum?’ I ask as we walk and the wet snow gets into my boots.

‘Are you kidding? I’ve never been so flattered.’

The morning in the gallery will be in Part 3.

Sex Work: Myths and Reality, Part 8

Myth: sex workers whose ads appear classy are better than sex workers whose ads don’t.

Reality: “Classy” refers to advertising while “better” refers to the experience you are looking for. You don’t compare season with fashion. This is the explanation I promised earlier. The reason for it is I don’t like being stereotyped. But I don’t like being singled out while other sex workers are stereotyped either.

Let’s start with “classy”. Each sex worker’s advertising style depends on many factors: sexual persona advertised, location, accessible pool of clients, accessible means of advertising, preferred ways of working, available start-up capital, planned length of working, preferred depth of involvement, desired level of anonymity, urgency of the need to profit, and basic understanding of term “advertising campaign”. I’ll explain.

A single mother of 2 with a University degree in marketing, based in North Shields and looking to make some money fast to take kids on holiday will, after 90 seconds of hard thinking, put up an acceptably pornographic profile with a few close ups from a mobile phone camera on a tacky and therefore popular adult work site. In case you don’t see the point, I’ll explain further. She has young children so the time she has available for work is limited. She can’t take work home so the only other option is visiting clients at their place (which isn’t what most clients want). Plus she’s based in North Shields, poor thing. All these factors limit her client pool massively. To pay for the holiday she needs money now rather than gradually, so she isn’t interested in building up a reputation and clientele which means that her advertising should be aimed at pretty much anything that has a couple of tenners and a stiffy. Yes, she has education and probably standards that could help her create a lovely profile of a well-presented lady charging over £50 for her company but this profile won’t meet her needs: it demands investment of time and money which she doesn’t have and will yield no immediate profit. Not in North Shields. Besides, it may expose her as one of those few educated people in the area.

Escorts in Edinburgh

Other than my opinion of North Shields, this example shows that our ads reflect the clients’ expectations rather than our own tastes and standards. For example, women working in the street don’t look “classy” not because of their lack of taste but because looking tacky in the current British street work culture is the only way to let clients know we mean business. The same online. Believe it or not, it’s not ourselves we’re advertising, it’s a certain persona, an image that we think would appeal to the type of client that we want to reach. If you don’t like someone’s ad, there’s a good chance that this ad isn’t aimed at you.

Now, “better”. Leaving out people who pose as sex workers to rob clients and sex workers who rip clients off by not providing adequate level of service intentionally, a better sex worker for a client is the one who meets the client’s needs and appeals to the client’s taste. How this sex worker advertises is irrelevant as long as the client and sex worker find each other.

And here is another myth busted: all hookers aren’t the same. Yes, we all do the same job, but the trick here is that we’re all different people and we offer different experiences, that’s why we’re all in business. So if you met a sex worker and were not happy with what you got, there may be a number of reasons for it. Yes, it’s possible that the one you chose was genuinely not interested in providing you with what you wanted but (another revolutionary thought!) we get more out of clients who are happy and come back than out of clients who don’t want to see us again. So the logical conclusion here is that the sex worker you chose would have been happy to give you what you wanted, they just didn’t know what it was. Maybe you yourself don’t know what you want – this isn’t rare. A lot of people only know what they don’t want. Or, knowing what you want, you failed to explain it to the sex worker. Or didn’t even bother to explain, assuming that the sex worker is a mind reader and should figure it out. There is also a chance that this sex worker couldn’t give you the experience you were looking for because it wasn’t what this sex worker offers, but you hadn’t asked in advance.

Summary: a 5 minute search and an appointment with half an hour notice will get you a quick shag. If you are looking for something slightly different from this, you’ll need to do a proper search, compare the available options, get in touch explaining what you are looking for, see what you get in response and then play your part during the date. In other words, the more effort you put into the date, the more likely you are to end up with the right sex worker (whose ads may or may not be classy) and enjoy the experience.

Updates

Yes, yes, I know everyone wants to see the new photos. Here’s the secret – so do I! But we’re almost there. Honest to god (pick one of your liking. Or two)! Here’s a little preview of what’s going to be on the site

Independent Edinburgh escorts

Also, an entry out of sequence and my December tours. I do realise that I haven’t come up with any offers for a few months now, and I am genuinely sorry, so here’s one to last up until next year.

And a summary of the last poll (just so I could clear up the page at last):

If one or more links in my blogroll showed a view of sex work that puts you off, would it

  • reflect the diversity of sex workers’ experience and ways of working – by far the winner, 9 votes
  • make you question yourself and your opinions – 3 votes
  • show Jewel in the new light – 1 vote (and now I have to guess what light that is. I should have come up with a better put phrase)
  • I don’t care for the view as long as it’s well-written – 4 votes. Aesthetes. Don’t you love them?
  • Whatever. No-one clicks these links anyway – 1 vote. Which, I think, is true for a lot of people visiting my site, but only one was honest.
  • Make SOMEONE (not me!) think that by its presence Jewel endorses this view – 2 votes. Actually 3, because it was one of the 6 “other” replies which made sense so I included it into the main options.

The remaining “other” replies are:

  • It would “broaden my horizon” by teaching me something new
  • It’s your view that matters to me, not somebody else’s, so as you say – whatever. I guess that’s the lonely honest “whatever” voter trying to explain his (her?) vote. Thank you. Sounds like a compliment.
  • Only my own stupidity will put me off meeting Jewel. There’s no arguing with that.
  • A link to DemandChange may alter my view for a pico-sec before sanity returns. Hmm, do you think I should be linking to them? After all, I link to different views on prostitution, and theirs is just another view. An uneducated one, I’ll grant that, but it’s still a view.
  • Puzzled. If with the poll, here’s the explanation: a couple of months ago I updated my Blogroll links (the ones on the right) and one of the regular readers e-mailed me saying that one of blogs that I now link to does not paint a picture of prostitution that clients I aim for would be attracted to. As far as I’m concerned, if clients I aim for are not attracted to other bloggers – good for me. But as the reader pointed out, they may assume I endorse that unpleasant view which would put people who don’t yet know me off meeting me. So I put together the poll to see what people think. And the results are… above. That’s the whole story.

Now tell me how much you like the photo. After all, this was the only thing you noticed in this post, wasn’t it?

The cost of a blow job

It looks like people actually read my blog! Literally the next day after I announced the new photos coming, I got this e-mail:

Pro Edinburgh photographer. Will shoot location or studio for a blow job or two. All the photos will be edited and are yours.
Interested?

This isn’t new and I’m sure my colleagues all over the world enjoyed these e-mails ever since the invention of Internet (the guy was a genius!). What was fresh is the self-view of the author. He starts with defining himself as a pro (don’t even start me on whether it stands for someone who practices an occupation as a means of livelihood or someone who sells his sexual services as he clearly does) and goes on to propose his preferred process of payment for the proffered professional portfolio: a blow job or two. This is the first time the words blow job appear on my blog next to each other. Oh alright, forth if you count the quote above and the entry title. Please excuse my English: I can’t avoid a blow job in this post.

Now, a professional photoshoot in a studio costs £500-600. On location it’s usually from £800. Which means that a blow job delivered by me is seen to be worth at least £250, but possibly even above £400. I’ll take it as a compliment. Moreover, I will now spread the word! Next time I get a caller saying that he doesn’t want to pay for the hour because he only wants a blow job, I’ll be able to say that actually an hour with me is a cheaper option.

That’s seven blow jobs (oops, eight now) in one entry. I think it about covers the past 3 years of the blog and 5 more to come.

Independent Edinburgh Escorts

Farewell, August

Please excuse the 2 weeks of silence. There were good political reasons for that. No, the political reasons were actually bad, but they make for a good excuse.

The poll results

The festival poll was nowhere as popular as the weather one. Oh, the britishness of it! They’d rather talk about the weather than about the things that are fun. There were 13 votes altogether, exactly half of the weather poll results.

In case you forgot (as it’s been over 2 weeks now), the question was You and the festival time in Edinburgh are like…

  • Fish and water – you may try living without it, but you’ll fail. 0 votes. Pity.
  • Fish and fins – you can live without it but who wants such a life? 3 votes. One of them mine.
  • Fish and chips – you often go together but it doesn’t make your life longer. 1 voteI guess some people are just born enthusiasm-free.
  • Fish and the shore – you know it exists but you’re not remotely interested in it. 2 votes. Spoilsports!
  • Fish and umbrella – some find it useful but not you. 0 votes. I’m glad it was 0!
  • Fish and the critical period hypothesis in linguistics – what? where? 1 vote. The Fringe HQ need to invest more in their advertising campaign.
  • Why am I always the fish? 1 vote. A fair question which I don’t have a ready answer to. It just happened this way. Could have been anything really, from prostaglandin to an ingot, a fish just has more idioms and connections already available.

And the 5 “other” replies which are the real fun (in order of appearance): 

  1. Love the atmosphere, but trying to go anywhere on foot… Tourist Rage! Funny. I thought it was driving that gave people the tourist rage during the festival, as tram works on their own are bad enough, add the increase of traffic and… I went (as I always do) everywhere (work unrelated) on foot and didn’t have any problems, only fun. I mean, isn’t it fun when out of the blue you’ve got 10 people rubbing against you at the same time? And for free!
  2. Fish and strawberry sauce. We don’t mix well. Pity to hear this but great to see that the fish caught on.
  3. A fish who loves the festival but dislikes the shoal. Beautiful. Just beautiful.
  4. No! I don’t want one of your fucking flyers – and relax… Very cathartic, thanks. How often does it happen nowadays that a SMILING person comes up to you and GIVES you something? For FREE? In Edinburgh it’s only one month a year. I find it refreshing. 
  5. Fish and the bicycle – I’m in the USA so I miss the festival. You poor fish! Now you know where to spend next August.

And other news. Jewel’s news:

  • I’ve arranged a new photoshoot in October so new photos are coming! Probably not till early November, but you can start salivating right now: I don’t charge for anticipation.
  • Another big tour, not just a night in London, details here
Blog news:
  • I’ve shuffled and updated my Blogroll a little and as a result there are now 5 categories there, feel free to explore. Oh, and Blogroll is the thing in the column on the right, where I have links to other blogs and sites which I find either useful or amusing.
  • In view of the political changes mentioned above, there is a new page coming on this blog very-very soon. The sooner the better so I’m working hard in this direction.
  • And a new blog entry (dedicated to touring) out of sequence here.
Client news:
  • Do you remember my first Belgian experience? He was back to Edinburgh for the festival this year and although I didn’t get to see him again, he gave me his ticket for the show he couldn’t attend. How sweet is that! Thank you so much!
  • The ex-old nutter texted to apologise for his behaviour. “Diffidence in the presence of a beautiful woman comes easily”, apparently.