Not Hamish

I’ve already mentioned HB to you – here – but he deserves a proper introduction.

A good way to describe HB is to compare him to Prince. The two men have a lot in common, but their approach to things is very different. In the regal paradigm of naming, HB’s title would be “King”. Where Prince glides through life with ease, grace and an air of insouciance, everything about HB is heavy, hard, solid, dead serious and set in stone. He even looks this way. The kingly image on the right is HB to a T – less high heels, stockings and raven locks, obviously. If he were to take on responsibility for an empire, every last stray dog in the realm could depend on him, but the place wouldn’t be fun. Edinburgh escorts' clientsFor the first half a year I was absolutely sure he has no sense of humour. The first time I saw him laugh was in February, during our Cornwall holiday. We were up early in the morning to be on time for Eden Project. I was still fumbling in my clothes, half asleep and grumpy, when he walked into the bedroom, all dressed, bright and breezy, with a smile on his face. ‘Oh stop smiling, it’s inappropriate before 10 am!’ I grumped*. And yes, he laughed – inappropriately, as you understand.

Our first date was quite late in the evening with no chance of a dinner out, so we’d agreed that we’d cook something. There was a small kitchen in his temporary Edinburgh home, I brought some vegetables, we made a salad and sat down to eat. All the while he was acting like this is completely normal. I’m not saying it’s not normal: people making a meal and eating together is one of the first things that made us different from animals, nothing is more normal than this. But when it comes to sex work, it’s not the sort of stuff you engage in on the first date. Most of my first dates are spent trying to reassure clients and make them feel comfortable around me, cooking only happened twice. I suppose it’s one of those things that people usually do in their family circle, and sharing it with a stranger is weird – far more weird than having sex with that stranger. But it wasn’t the last time HB showed that his line between personal from public isn’t that well-defined. The time when I had to explain it to him why it’s not ok to walk in on someone in the bathroom – even if you’ve already seen this person naked and even had sex with them – is proof enough.

And you probably want to know what HB stands for. Not Hamish Buccleugh or other hard to pronounce Scottish name. In fact, it’s not a name at all, but he does sign his e-mails as HB closer to our coming dates. Everything is simple. He got this nickname during our second date. It was a crispy cold November afternoon; I texted to let him know that I’m in a cab and should be there in 10 minutes.

HB: I’m waiting outside for you.

Jewel: Go inside, you’ll freeze your balls off!

HB: My balls are hot!! I want to greet you when you arrive.

Jewel: Well hello, Hot Balls!


* A totally valid claim.

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.

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.

Sex. You either have it or talk about it. You can’t do both.

Long ago, one of my first clients, a journalist, asked me if I had a friend who knows about my job and whom I can talk with. I looked at him with large innocent eyes:

– What’s there to talk about?

This was partly because I really didn’t want to talk to him about my job and other clients as he was trying to initiate, but mostly because there really isn’t much to talk about. Not with someone who’s not a sex worker. That client (and I’m sure there are others like him) clearly had this fantasy of a bunch of hookers talking sex and dirty stuff. In reality, when I meet with other sex workers, sex is the last thing we talk about. When journalists get together to talk about work, how likely are they to discuss the news? Hardly. They will probably talk about different ways of presenting news, importance of some events over others, their interest and knowledge of one particular subject – I really have no clue what journalists would do when they get together to talk about work, but I’m pretty sure it’s not

– I’ve just seen the mayor and he has this NEWS! Can you imagine it – NEWS this interesting! And wait till you hear the details! You know how some mayors have good NEWS but no clue what to do with it? Boy, did this one know what he was doing!

– Oh I interviewed a mayor yesterday and he had some NEWS too, but it took me ages to get him talking and his NEWS was nowhere this interesting! Do tell me more! Exactly how interesting was this NEWS?

And just like journalists, when we get together, we discuss safety at work, marketing and media, different ways of presentation, secrets of creating a certain look or atmosphere, importance of some events over others, our interest and knowledge of one particular subject which we specialise in, etc. We may share experience of working with a particular type of client, give advice or ask for it, tell others about something new we came across that can help in our work – so much interesting stuff to talk about! Men and sex are the last things on our minds!

And it’s the same with my non-working friends. They don’t know about my work so we rarely discuss men or sex. From their point of view, what use is asking for an opinion and help of someone who’s never been in a relationship? What can she possibly know about relationships? On my side, I will try to avoid talking about men because I disagree with most things that my non-working friends believe to be true. I may give advice if they ask for it (although by now they’ve learnt not to because my sense of humour is far better developed than my sense or compassion) but I will never ask for their opinion because what use is advice of a woman who’s only ever had sex with 3 partners (all of whom were not the type I’d ever have sex with even if they paid me) and who knows nothing about men? For example:

A non-working friend in distress: [a 30 minutes long soliloquy which can be summoned by] My husband stopped having sex with me. What do I do?

Another non-working friend: Try to spend more time together. Spend the evenings home, cook him a nice dinner, light candles, make him talk to you, discuss your relationship. Or his work – maybe there’s something going on at his work? And buy some sexy lingerie.

Jewel: Get a new hobby. Or revive an old one. You danced before marriage, didn’t you? Start dancing again. Go out more, make new friends, have fun! And don’t waste your money on lingerie – the only woman who buys her own lingerie is a single one.

Maybe things can really be improved by stuffing your husband with a home-cooked meal and forcing him to talk about how he’s feeling and what he’s going through at work – I don’t know much about relationships. I know about men and if you want a man’s interest, you need to be interesting. A wife who’s always in the kitchen is not interesting. A wife who has a life outside the marriage will keep his thoughts going:

– She took up pottery. Why would she do it? Did she meet someone there? Honey, how did your class go? So you had fun, did you… She’s hot, of course other men will want to flirt with her! Listen, how about I join you next time, I’m really curious to see how pottery can be fun. And hey, maybe we could pop to a shop on the way back and get you something… you know… so you could have fun at home, too. With me.


Terra Australis Cognita and “Sexual Deviation”

K the Aussie is in Scotland again. I think I’ve mentioned him so many times by now I might as well describe him.

First of all, he is the only man who is allowed to say I’m nice (noice rather, in his interpretation of it). Secondly, he’s the only man who calls me “mate”. I used to find it disturbing because not only do I hope that I’m not the “mate” type of woman, but also because a hammock would be a far more likely choice of a mate for K than me. But recently I checked it with another Aussie who said that calling me mate is simply paternal. K, when faced with the fact, tried to deny it and gave his own reasons for calling me mate which, in two words, is feeling fatherly. So I’m not disturbed anymore but quite pleased really.

K is fun. He has this typically Australian sense of humour, laid-back and polite. I know these are not the words you usually employ to describe a sense of humour, but I can’t do better than this. If you think about English sense of humour, and compare it to Scottish and then to American, you’ll see what I mean. So K is fun to listen, and he can talk for hours. His favourite subject is history of Australia, and I don’t think there’s anything there that he doesn’t know of (being born just a couple of years later than the nation itself, it’s not that hard) and by now I know more about it than the history of Scotland.

This time K’s health is in the way for a date but he brought me a present (aww…)! He came all the way from the other side of the planet and he brought me a present (aww…x2)! And it’s a book (aww… + clapping hands)! And it’s called “Sexual deviation” (HUH?). So we arrange to meet for a coffee for him to pass me the (well-deserved?) present.

I meet him outside the cafe. He’s standing there reading the book, holding it in such a way that the cover page doesn’t show (thank you, K. I’d most probably pass you by if the title was visible).

The contents page is impressive. It promises a lengthy talk on sado-masochism, fetishism, male and female homosexuality, transvestism and paedophilia. There are also 2 chapters dedicated to the methods of treatment. Before you ask, the book was published in 1964 and was probably quite advanced for its time, because the cover reads “It is not generally understood that the unhappy compulsions that plague the deviant person are evidence of an inability to achieve normal sexual relationships, and that such people deserve compassion rather than condemnation“. On the one hand, if by normal sexual relationship the author means heterosexual monogamy, then isn’t it the biggest perversion ever? On the other hand, I was surprised to see that even though the author does mention sex workers and the roles we play, he does not include prostitution into the list of deviations. Whether this is because we’re too insignificant to look into or because transvestites and paedophiles are not deviant enough to be mentioned next to prostitutes (although equally deviant to be mentioned next to each other) is hard to guess.

Altogether I found the book fascinating, not only because of the quantity of delusions per page (e.g. “those lesbians who protest that, for them, this kind of relationship is better than any possible intimacy with a man do not know what they are really missing” and “it is largely the readiness of prostitutes to cater for various forms of deviation which keeps them in business“),  but also because of the author’s style of writing. Most of the time I have to wonder whether he’s being serious or sarcastic in a typically British way. For example, “one of the reasons for the prevalence of divorce is that, since emancipation and higher education of women, marriage has become a more difficult relationship“. Or “a boy of nineteen or twenty who has had an active homosexual career at school and who is worried that he may remain homosexual rather than progress to involvement with girls, will be well advised not to enter the Navy or […] to take up schoolmastering” or to become a Catholic priest, as K added.

There are, of course, a lot of sane ideas there (though few of them are new) about how hard it is for men to fulfill the masculine role (although it does not explain that this fulfillment is so hard because the role is so vaguely defined in the modern times) and how “the orthodox Christian attitude towards sex is […] exceptionally severe“, and that “a person’s attitude to himself and his attitude to others is essentially the same“.

By the way, the notion of copyright in 1964 not being what it is now, it doesn’t say anywhere in the book that I can’t reproduce it in whole or in part. It only says I can’t re-sell it. So there will most probably be another entry dedicated to “Sexual Deviation”.

One day in the life of…

K the Aussie, the inspiration of many a post here, is back in town. To get in the mood for the date, I decide to watch Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. No, not what you think. Time with K is less colourful, but when it’s over, your stomach hurts from laughing so hard. Mid-film, he calls (he’s quite perceptive on top of his other talents) to say hello and let me know he got to Edinburgh ok. Naturally, I have to tell him I’m watching the most Australian film of all times. The surprise that follows goes like this.

– Yeah, great film! Do you remember the [description of location] there?

– Of course!

– Did you see the bloke called X doing ABC? He’s my father-in-law.

– Huh?

– That part was shot in my hometown. My father-in-law had that place for years so he got to take part in the film.

Do you ever get this feeling that the Earth is slightly overcrowded? Six degrees of separation? For an average lady of fixed-rate virtue with international clientele three degrees is more than enough.

Anyway, a date is arranged and I go to meet K in a little cafe. We can talk for hours – the usual stuff you discuss with a client: problems with estate agents, politics, environmental research, his health and his past relationships with women, family, and then, of course, food, Australia, sex, Australia and a little more sex. K asks me what I do for kicks. I honestly tell him I knit. For kicks. Why is it so hard for people to see women who charge for their time as ordinary human beings? If a woman who knits every day for a living tells you she has wild sex for kicks – this is fine. But when a woman who has… Anyway, I knit. K is not convinced.

I take him to mine. Fix him a drink, we chat a little more, and I take something out of the drawer – something I’ve just finished knitting. K’s eyes light up. Now he believes me. He looks at the item closely, trying to figure out how knitting works. A minute later we’re sitting together on the sofa, yarn and needles handy, and I’m showing K how to knit.

And then we have wild sex. Because if we don’t, what’s this whole post about?

Getting to know my clients

Last week-end I met quite a character. I haven’t yet met other people who would use words like “French letter” and “lady of the night” solely. Together with “ken”. To top it all, he is one of the sweetest people ever. If you’re thinking: “Yeah, she says it about every other bloke”, – true, but this only shows how lucky I am to meet so many wonderful people! I was treated to an outstanding massage and A LOT of stories.

What I like about people over 55 is that they have a lot to tell. Some of it is amusing, some is educational, and I’m very grateful for all of it – sharing your experience with me is quite fetching. It shows trust. It’s a pity that so many people still think that prostitution is about sex. Yes, it has to do with sex (most of the time) but there’s also a lot of communication and personal trust involved. Some things that clients tell to their favoured “ladies of the night” they have never told (and, probably, never will tell) anyone else. There was a gentleman whom I saw at the beginning of January who, while talking to me, stopped abruptly and asked: “Why am I telling you all this so freely? Why can’t I tell it all to my wife?” There’s an answer to this, but right now – back to where we were.

As the date goes by, you really get to know a client. True, not everyone, only those who are ready to open up a little. But if a date is at the client’s place, the surroundings will tell you as much as you’re willing to look into. The “quite a character” character of this story ran a certain company for most of his life before retiring a few years ago. There are many nice things I could tell about his personality, sense of humour and attitude to life. But what I’d really want to mention is this. His living room was decorated with… photos of his staff. In fact, he showed me a few. I’d say – with pride. And they were not pictures of him shaking hands with Sean Connery/ Deborah Kerr/ Billy Connolly/ Margaret Thatcher (find the odd word). They were photos of some elderly folks being given awards, and a group photo. And he had something nice to tell about them all – with gratitude.

Can you now see why I love a lot of my clients so much?

How to jewel a client – a manual

This was a special booking indeed, mostly because I enjoy these bookings but also because they are not as frequent as I’d like them to be – a strap-on booking. There was a string of them in July but I haven’t had a lot of pleasure since so I’ve been really looking forward to this one since Monday when I got the call.

The door was opened by a man who can only be described as cute. He was totally at ease, not anxious or nervous as most, and funny, so I could skip the “help the client relax” part and go straight to the point – which he was very happy about. And so we got busy. Then we got busy a little more. And then came the moment when I could at last get my hands on his cute little bottom.

Not everything went as I planned, but when he was done and crawled, panting, back to the centre of the bed, he looked quite pleased, and his “Oh god, I’ve been jewelled!” sent me laughing. He joined in. We cuddled. I think I managed to fool him into relaxing because it was all over. Yeah, right! I’ve got this bum all to myself and only have one go? No, my mind was firmly set on jewelling him again. I like leaving bums a little sore. This way (as I’ve been told a few times) you’ll be sitting in a meeting the following day and the soreness will remind you of how great the night before was. And the meeting is not so boring any more. I can see how this bit of being naughty can make your day.

So I reached to squeeze that bum to make my intentions clear, and we got ready for another jewelling session, but eventually had to settle down for a prostate massage. I don’t know if you noticed how anything to do with your prostate gland leads to volcano eruption. This is why I love hotels so much – I don’t have to wash the bedlinen and curtains after that or clean the floor. I can just leave. Which I did after we cuddled a little more and he was looking happy and sleepy. I turned the lights off, kissed him good night and closed the door behind me. Having given someone a little happy memory felt great.

Farewell, May.

Sunday 30th, 8am. My phone rings. The only reason I answered it was because the guy next door decided to mow his lawn. At 8am on Sunday. He’s obviously done something unimaginably wrong to his wife and now has to think of another way to use his energy in the morning. Sad. But why does everyone in the neighbourhood have to suffer with him? I should probably drop my business card through his letterbox.

Anyway, the call. People who call so early on Sunday mornings are those for whom it’s still Saturday night. I answer anyway. The caller, a young guy, asks how much I charge. I tell him.

-What?! This is too much!

-Have a good day then.

I thought that was all. 3 minutes later my phone says I have a text message. I check it. It’s the guy I’ve just spoken to, informing me that he has 4 mates there with him and they are all, well, you know. And they are wondering if I would consider seeing them one after another at half my rate as I’d still make good money.

5 guys? One after another?? At 8am on Sunday?! FOR HALF MY RATE! A lamp post would be more interested than me. So I text back saying that if there are 5 of them there, they can easily help each other out. Turn round, pillow over my head. Will definitely introduce myself  to that hobbyist next door, if only to give a piece of my mind. My phone goes again. Pillow off, sour face, expecting an irate text from a bunch of hobbyists but what do you know? They actually have a sense of humour. The text reads “Oh yeah!” I laughed. The best way to wake up on a Sunday. Text back a chuffed to bits emoticon (instead of “Respect, man!”) and make a conscious effort to get up. Isn’t it amazing how lack of sex deprives everyone of sleep, even those that are not affected by the said lack?

And that’s my May to you.

Bunnies, balls and boxers

Happy Easter to those concerned and best wishes to everyone else.

Talking of Christian celebrations, I’ve this story “of a Christmas card received from Mr and Mrs Ball when I was a kid which they had signed (honest!) with “Best Wishes from the Balls”. Life was simpler and more innocent back then” (courtesy of P).

I saw this American bloke (hot and hairy. Why? Why? Isn’t it Scots’ prerogative?) recently who told me a moving story – how every boy is given a pair of boxers with stars and stripes design (cotton ones, unfortunately, not silk) at birth and he had his own carefully preserved but didn’t want to flaunt them. Actually, for our encounter he only wore stripes, no stars… still, something to giggle about. I mean, you know he was having a laugh, but had he actually worn stars and stripes, I’d have probably left, that’d be too creepy.

And generally speaking, it was an interesting week. At the start of it I saw someone with one leg (and one artifitial one) and someone on crutches (and morphine!) at the end of it – and I think I was lucky. They both had a great sense of humour and were really lovely people so I had a great time and a good laugh and learnt a few things. Hopefully, they did, too.