Sex with Edinburgh Escorts

The dangers of tanning

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

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

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

Edinburgh escorts

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

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

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


As you are probably NOT aware, the responses to our consultation on decriminalisation of sex work in Scotland have been published a week ago. Endless source of entertainment and inspiration. Of course I had to read them, and of course some of them are thought provoking. So here are my thoughts.

Revd Lindsey Sanderson (13)


So what’s Revd Sanderson’s point? That alcoholics should be prevented from being in the company of each other? Or that people with history of childhood abuse should not be legally entitled to work collectively? You’d think that in the remaining 2 paragraphs of the answer to this question Revd Sanderson will answer the question, but no. We have to assume that Revd Sanderson means that since all hookers are forced into hookery, it’s best we keep them isolated. If all these forced hookers start meeting each other and share their experiences and find out they are not alone, and – god forbid! – meet a hooker who isn’t forced and offers to help… That’ll be the end of so many careers!

Dr Tom Sissons (106)


Been there, had that, really pleased that instead of me highlighting it and being ignored there’s a trusted professional whose word may be believed – saying that same thing.

Valerie Kerr (192)


Mrs Kerr makes some valid points, but, as she stresses, this Bill will never be able to save all these desperately vulnerable people, so let’s just forget it all and not even try.

Tom Manganiello (100)


A good point that would never have occurred to me as I’m far more concerned with my own health. It’s heart warming to see “married men will cheat, we can’t stop them so let’s make sure everyone is safe in the process” as opposed to the usual “married men will cheat, we can’t stop them so let’s try to stop them”.

Donald Fleming (184)


So a pair of brothers applied for a licence for a legal business. They were screened, met all the requirements, opened their business and provided safe working places to a number of people. Their business did well and they expanded it, providing more people with work and income. They pay taxes and have not been taken to court for exploitation or labour rights violations, otherwise you’d have pointed it out. You also say they have 18 million GBP each, either from this business or from any other venture they might be running alongside it. What exactly is your beef with this?

Also, could someone look up the percentage of fast food industry that McDonald’s “owns” in Wellington? Just out of interest.

The Very Reverend Kelvin Holdsworth (122)


Thank you, The Very Reverend. You deserve your title. I am thoroughly impressed.

Michael B (177)


The most obvious thing to note is that slashing a “girl” with any sharp object on any grounds was illegal at the time of the incident that Michael B describes, is illegal as I type this sentence, and isn’t proposed to become legal by Miss Urquhart’s Bill or any other Bill I can think of. Moreover, Miss Urquhart explicitly asked (question 8) if there should be a statutory right for sex workers to refuse sexual services.

And I can’t help but point out the fact that Miss Urquhart, not (allegedly) having been in sexual relations with unknown persons possibly under the influence, is seen as unfit to suggest laws on sex work. Michael B, however, not having had such sexual experience either, and – seemingly – not having read Miss Urquhart’s proposals, knows exactly what should be done. I want to believe that Michael B is a gay transgender person of colour.

On the fun side, let us all hope that Michael B and his colleagues were employed to do nothing of importance and precision, because they sure spent too much of their paid time hooker watching, which probably wasn’t in their job description. My personal experience says that people who spent 8 minutes in a sex worker’s room are as likely to be clients as food delivery people. If they are clients, they are unlikely to have treated the lady in “the dreadful way”. With only 8 minutes to knock on the door, negotiate the service, pay for it, receive it and drop off the food, you need to be good at multitasking to squeeze in some abuse. 8 minutes is enough to slash someone with a knife, but this isn’t a definition of “client”. This is a definition of a physical assault and grievous bodily harm. And apart from this, all “abuse” Michael B “witnessed” was women making money to pay bills and feed their kids. She had 8 clients in an hour? Good for her. I’d like to know where she advertises.

Some men do it professionally

I have a recent addition to my client collection. I’ll call him Prop for now. He spent the last 30 years of his life playing rugby. And you now think you know why he’s Prop. You don’t. Read on. Do you really expect me to be that predictable?

The first time I saw Prop, I noticed he had a habit of touching himself. A common habit in married people. But the majority quickly quit when presented with something else to touch. Not Prop. I introduced the rule straight away: if you touch yourself, you then either use the other hand to touch me with, or you wash your hands. Prop wasn’t entirely happy with that. Few people are ambidextrous. Ambidexterity is encouraged in many sports and arts, but sex work is never mentioned for this talent. The need for safety quickly teaches you to use one hand for your clients and the other one for yourself. Clients – obviously – rarely develop this skill, you’ll use your dominant hand to touch anything. Which means that on our second date Prop still touches himself and then reaches for me with the same hand.

Jewel: You just touched yourself! Go wash your hands!

Prop: I didn’t! It’s unfair!

Jewel: <silently points her index finger in the direction of the bathroom>

Prop: <glowers, growls, gets up, goes to the bathroom>

Fifteen minutes later, Prop touches himself and reaches for me with the same hand.

Jewel: You just touched yourself! Go wash your hands!

Prop: Did I? When? I would have noticed!

Jewel points her finger.

Prop gets up and goes to the bathroom.

You probably think I enjoy it. I don’t, actually. The constant interruption doesn’t make my job easier, and the constant need to be alert means I can’t relax.

Fifteen minutes later – yes, you know what’s coming! – he touches himself, then reaches for me and… smacks himself in the forehead. ‘I fecking touched myself! Did you see it?’ He sighs, gets up and goes to the bathroom.

Edinburgh escorts
A card I received from one of my clients

I love these little moments of sudden self awareness. I often wonder how many things about myself I’m not aware of.

And if you are still curious, here’s the promised revelation.

Jewel: (who up until 2 minutes ago used to think that the game they sometimes show in American films is rugby. Who’d think it’s foot-ball? They carry the ball!) So what’s the main skill in rugby then?

Prop: (rather amused by now) It depends on your position in the game.

Jewel: There are positions there???

Prop: Of course. First, there’s, erm, a hooker, it’s the person who, well, hooks. Hooks the ball. Next to the hooker there are props. They support the hooker. Then there are…

Jewel: Was that your position? Prop?

Prop: No.

Jewel: But you do such a good job of supporting the hooker!

The but

Yes, there’s only one letter t in that but.

As part of my investigations into a potential client’s needs, I received this:

I don’t want to give a typical male sob story so hope this doesn’t come across like that. I’ve been married a long time and our life is good – apart from the sex […] and it leaves me unfulfilled.

And it really is a typical male story (I disagree with sob), at least from my professional point of view. All my married clients use the same words: “our relationship is good, but (insert the but of your choice: but there is no sex, but the sex we have is very basic, but my partner doesn’t want me, but I don’t get the intimacy I need, etc) and I feel unfulfilled”. Will I appear radical by saying that goodbut actually means bad? Because goodbut doesn’t mean good. You’d never say “The weather is good but it’s raining”. You say “Damn, the weather is horrid again”. When you buy something from Amazon and it doesn’t do what it’s meant to do, you don’t post a positive review of “It’s good but it doesn’t work”. No, you return the item! Acknowledging that the relationship actually isn’t good is a good start. We don’t have this problem with things: if it’s broken – we see it, if we don’t like it – we say so. But when it comes to relationships, it’s never broken/ of poor quality/ unsatisfactory – no, it’s good. But.

First of all, we need to blame the parents. For the obvious reasons. If they only provided us with the goodbut relationship model, then a goodbut relationship is all we’ll be looking for. Secondly, we need to blame the parents for the less obvious reasons: for not bringing us up with the feeling of self-worth that would prevent us from settling for goodbut relationships.

More than anyone else, however, the responsible party is us. We don’t often enough get into a relationship with the awareness of our reasons for it – because this is the standard against which the success of something is measured. If you buy a violin because you want to make music, a crack in its body will spoil your plans. But the same violin will be a boon if all you want is to annoy the hell out of your neighbours. So if you don’t know what is important to you in a relationship, how can you tell if it’s working for you? Especially in a culture which is big on telling you what your relationship should be like. If you got into a relationship because you didn’t want to be lonely, and now you have a beautiful home, an attractive partner and a bunch of kids but you’re still lonely – it’s not working that well for you, is it?Edinburgh escorts

The truth is, among the billions of people on this planet there will always be others who have the same need (or lack thereof) for sex as you, the same life goals as you, the same attitudes to relationships as you. But we settle for whoever comes first and don’t give ourselves time to find someone who meets the needs that are important to us. And because a relationship is forever – nobody doubts this axiom, I hope – we find ourselves living unfulfilled lives, forever. Because god forbid you voice your worries to your partner, or worse, start working on having your needs met and getting some happiness in this life. And I don’t mean sex. I am talking about any aspect of a relationship that is important to you personally and in which your needs aren’t met. A relationship is there to enrich your life, not to turn it into a mind-numbingly boring descent into death.

All that said, I’m not in a relationship myself, so ignore me. The reason I’m not in a relationship though is this poem by Omar Khayyám:

You better starve, than eat whatever
And better be alone, than with whoever.

This isn’t the first time I tell people how to live their lives. Here is another possible reason of unfulfilling relationships, and ways of dealing with them.


In other news, there’s a blog entry out of timeline here, and I’m off to England in a few days. St Valentine’s in Cambridge will be exciting! Come be mine!

Tales of Stupidity: MEN

This is the second part of the tales. The first one, dedicated to women, is here.

He’s coming to Edinburgh for a week-end and we arrange to meet for a dinner on Sunday night.

On Sunday morning, however, instead of a confirmation e-mail I receive a cancellation one. It comes with a story: on Thursday night, when he’d landed in Edinburgh, he met a lovely girl at the airport (let’s say she was German) who also had just arrived to Edinburgh for the week-end. He got her number and texted her* the next day but never heard back. And then on Saturday he ran into her while sightseeing; it turned out that the settings of her German mobile wouldn’t allow her to text him back on his French number while in Scotland, that’s why she didn’t reply. She now agreed to have dinner with him on Sunday night, so he has to cancel our date.

Yes, of course I giggled a little and even said “Oh, honey!” but my reply read along the lines of “good luck! Hope you get what you’re after”. He immediately e-mailed back saying that he wasn’t after anything, he simply really liked the girl and wanted to make friends. I do wonder why he said it. His mother may have bought it. But me?

Here’s a woman’s take on this story.

Imagine you’re the German girl. At the airport you meet a bloke and you give him your number. You receive a message from him the following day and…

And if you really like the bloke and really think there might be something there, what do you do if your phone inexplicably tells you that you can’t reply his message? Exactly! You call him. If you can’t call him from your mobile, then you call him from your hotel room phone or from a payphone. Because if you really want to see him again, you only have these 2 days in Edinburgh for it.

Edinburgh escortsIf, however, you only gave him your number because he was sweet and you didn’t want to upset him, you ignore his text and get on with your short holiday. And when by some super-unlucky chance you run into him when sight-seeing, what do you do? That’s right! You concoct this story of how you couldn’t get back to him. Because even if you’re German, it’s still impolite to say something like “Yeah, I think I got something from you yesterday, but I couldn’t be bothered to read it and deleted it straight away”.

And now imagine you’re the French man. You have a sexy date arranged for Sunday night. Then on Saturday you meet a lovely German girl who agrees to have dinner with you on Sunday. Here are your options:

  • You can meet your lady of fixed-rate virtue and have sex – guaranteed. Or
  • You can meet your German girl and, with luck, you can have sex for free – no guarantee though. Or
  • You can lie to yourself that you’re not interested in sex at all: the German girl is only a friend and you cancel your date (sex guaranteed) to spend a sexless evening with her.

But we already know that the German girl isn’t going to be enthusiastic about sex**. So the inevitable happens: at 10pm on Sunday night the poor young man, having stopped lying to himself, calls his lady of fixed-rate virtue to ask if she’s still free and willing to see him after all.


* Don’t. DON’T ever text the woman whose number you just got. Apart from the fact that it’s just plain bad manners (and she will be right to ignore your message), you run the risk of not knowing if your text was delivered, if it was delivered to the right person, or if the woman it was intended for is actually happy to hear from you.

** Actually, no, we don’t know that the German girl refused to have sex with him. Maybe the dinner was so good that she agreed. In which case his call to me later only proves the old axiom that if you want something done well, either do it yourself, or pay a professional.

And yes, it’s the same image for entries for men as well as women.

Tales of Stupidity: WOMEN

I’ve a collection of special stories – Tales of Stupidity. All the stuff that my civilian friends do under the impression that they improve or create a relationship. I’ve done some idiotic things too, but unfortunately not too many as my work soon provided me with enough experience to avoid silly mistakes. Some of these stories are sad, like a married woman getting pregnant after a one night stand with a sportsperson she had been a big fan of. He took off the condom without telling her. And some stories are silly. So I thought I’d share some of them just for the fun of it. I’ll also tell you about stupid things men do, but ladies first.

I have this friend (let’s call her Friend) who has recently started dating online. She’s a lovely woman in her late thirties, with a mature mind and a responsible attitude. She is happily divorced and works for a major bank (so no bimbo). She registered with a paid dating site: she reasoned that men who pay for membership will be serious in their intentions. So she came across a male member there (let’s call him X) whom she liked, and it appeared to be mutual. Besides, he worked in the bank across the road, so after a few e-mails and a couple of phone conversations they finally met for a dinner. This is what she tells me:

Friend: He picked me up after work and took me to a little restaurant nearby. We spent 3 hours there, just talking! Why do they say online dating doesn’t work? I had so much fun!

Jewel: (yawning) Aha.

Friend: He’s never been married, but he had 2 relationships, both lasted about 10 years; now that he’s 40, he’s ready to find someone to spend the rest of his life with. I told him I was planning to move outside London because it’s better for children to grow up and he thinks it’s a great idea! He even suggested XYZ area because he already has some family living there! [15 minute long monologue about all the ideas and values that X seems to share with her.]

Jewel nods (off) silently.

Friend: So we shared the dessert and he asked if we could go to mine! Can you imagine!

Jewel: (putting the book away) I know! The cheek!

Friend: But you know I couldn’t take him to mine (luckily for her, she really couldn’t that week) and we couldn’t go to his because I wasn’t really ready to meet his parents yet, besides it was too late in the day for it.

Jewel: He told you he lived with his parents???

Friend: Yes, and because there was nowhere to go, we had sex in his car.

Jewel silently picks up her mandible from her lap – the unlikely bodypart meeting facilitated by the word “car”.

Friend: And it’s been 2 days now and he still hasn’t called!

Jewel: Well, if I were him, I wouldn’t call you either.

Friend: Why do you say this? (pause) You think I acted like a prostitute?

Edinburgh escortsShe could have used so many other words. But she chose “prostitute”. And I haven’t met a single prostitute who’d have sex with a man in a car for a promise to bring up children together in XYZ area. So I reassured her that at this rate she will never come even close to a prostitute, and pointed out that a 40-year-old banker who still lives with his parents is either not worth meeting, or is lying to conceal a wife and kids in XYZ area.

For me the real issue here is neither the parents nor the lie. I’ve had sex with 50-year-olds who spend all their holidays at their parents’, and I’ve had (bags of) sex with married men. They showed more respect for me, a prostitute, than X ever had for Friend. None of them even dreamt of suggesting their car. If they couldn’t invite me to theirs, they either rented a hotel room, or paid me to do so. And it’s not even the car sex. I won’t be seen dead having sex in a car, but it doesn’t mean I judge others for doing it. I don’t care where you do it and with whom, as long as you enjoy it, use a condom and make sure your morning-after expectations match the occasion.

To be fair, he e-mailed her eventually to say “sorry, but I’m sure you noticed there was no spark”.

Operation Windermere, or Sex with a Woman

Continued from Part 1 where I warned you that it was going to get graphic, so brace yourself.

If you’ve met me or read my blog enough, you know that I have “one a day” rule which I only broke a few times. But I don’t think I ever explained where it comes from. The weird reason for the weird rule is that my body usually produces one orgasm a day. Therefore, if I demand an orgasm from each client, it’s unfair on whoever didn’t turn up first. Or, from a client’s perspective, if everyone pays the same, it’s unfair that the first client gets more for his money than those after him.

If you’re thinking ‘her clients must be clueless’, you’re wrong, but let me leave this point for later. If, on the other hand, you’re thinking “ah, another boring story of how women have it harder than men (ahem)’, this isn’t the case either. Other women may have 25 orgasms a day, I don’t care: when it’s quality against quantity, you know what I go for.

Unlike a lot of civilian women (and men), I get to have sex most days of a year and with different partners. This provides me with a lot of things, and knowledge of my own body is one of them. I know what works, I know what doesn’t, I know what may work in certain circumstances, I know how to create them and I know how to use the tools I’m given to my advantage. Orgasm for me is not something that happens when the stars are in the right alignment. It’s something I can time to a minute.

The real reason it’s one a day is because, as I said, I have them most days of a year. My body just needs rest between them. And when it gets sufficient rest (like when I’m off work, for example), it’s capable of more.

If you still don’t know why I’m talking about it and where the Nutter fits in, then let me remind you that I was off sick all April. The Nutter was the only client that month. So when about midnight he looked deep into my eyes and asked ‘Why is it that when I give 2 orgasms to any other woman, they are 3 weeks apart?’ I had to catch my breath before I could answer. And here we come to the question of clueless men.

The one and only problem with women – for women themselves as well as for men – is that they don’t come with directions for use. So if you don’t explore your self (and your body) – you don’t know. And not everyone bothers to explore. I have met women who genuinely believed that a man will automatically know how to pleasure them as soon as they meet. Imagine everybody’s disappointment when it doesn’t happen. But what’s the logic behind this? If you start a new job, you’re given training even if you’ve done this before – simply because each workplace has its own little rules and ways of doing things. So when a new person is introduced to your body, you can give them the training, or you can wait till they figure out on their own how things work. This is particularly ridiculous when you yourself don’t know how things work for you or when you can’t be open enough to provide some feedback, even if in the form of ‘Cold. Cold. Ok, getting warmer’. So yes, most men will be clueless until you give them a clue or two. And in my experience, men are more than happy to follow instructions. On the first date. It’s quite heart-warming how on the second date they don’t need your instructions anymore because they remember your basics; just some fine-tuning here and there.

I have to say that the same applies to men in equal measure. A lot of them have no clue about what their body reacts best to and where it is most sensitive. My most sensitive body part is my wallet – just so you know. Nothing turns me on more than having that filled.

So we had this eye-opening conversation with the Nutter about the importance of being open in bed, and went to sleep. In the morning he drove me all the way back to Edinburgh because the idea of me being travel-sick again wasn’t fun. And also because it gave us a few more hours together. And I hate to have to say this again, but this is the last entry about the Nutter. It looks like good things come to an end just like anything else. However, I quite enjoy the fact that this regular client vacancy was very quickly filled.

For your entertainment only

Reproduced below without any care for the author’s permission, an entertaining trip into one man’s desperation.

—– Original Message —–
Sent: 04/25/13 01:25 PM
Subject: Proposition
Hello Miss. Jewel
I have a question, do you think any of your clients would pay good money to see two good-looking people together?
I’m a young guy in my early twenties and I often get complimented about my looks, but as I’m sure you already know good looks alone don’t bring money in the bank!
I find myself in a situation where I need more finance, so I thought maybe I could use what God gave me, to my advantage.
I understand you chose a profession and I respect it totally. The way I see it is many women do it indirectly, your just completely honest about it.
I was wondering if I could make sum income in a similar way? Nothing gay though.
Thank you for your reading this short message and I apologize if I wasted your time.
Hope you have a fruitful day,
From: Jewel <>
Sent: Friday, 26 April 2013, 0:25
Subject: Re: Proposition
Hello J,

Thank you for the entertaining mail. The best part of it is that you enquire about how my clients would feel but you don’t seem to give a dead rat’s arse about my feelings, i.e. if I would want to engage with a man who wants to make money off my labour.
It’s not entirely clear to me what the many women you refer to do indirectly (have sex for money?) but I appreciate it that you understand that this is my job – having sex in return for payment. In view of this, I can’t see why you think that I would agree to have sex with you for free. If you are not paying, then I am not interested, it’s that simple. I’m a prostitute, not a slut.
As for my clients, since you asked, if they wanted to see two or more good-looking people together without engaging with them, they could do it online for free.
If you would like to become involved in the sex industry, you can either audition for porn films or become gay for pay. I can’t think of any other way that would bring you money in this trade.
Good luck.

To: Jewel <>
Sent: Friday, 26 April 2013, 2:32AM
Subject: Re: Proposition


Hi Miss. Jewel,
Looking at things from your perspective Something you should have done before getting in touch, you kind of have a point.
I wasn’t looking to make money off your labour, I was thinking maybe we could both have a good time, make some nice money and you wouldn’t have to fake an orgasm for once. I used to think that after years in my work there is nothing a man can say to insult me: I’ve heard it all by now and I know what it’s worth. But look at this! He managed to insult me and all my clients in one sentence. This takes some talent.
I wasn’t looking for a free ride either, Really? Were you looking to pay me?  you look amazing and I’m sure your very good at what you do and so far I’ve always been told that I’m not too bad at what I like doing, so what I was looking to recreate was pure, pleasurable entertainment for the paying customer. Yes, but were you looking to pay me? 
As for what I said about other women doing it indirectly, how many women put up with some incompetent fool, never experience any form of joy in the bedroom and look completely miserable, Rhoda&Co comes to mind just for the sake of some financial stability…? At least you get it over and done with. So what you’re saying is that putting up with some incompetent fool and never experiencing any form of joy in the bedroom is definition of my profession. I’m afraid with this attitude your career in sex trade will be very short-lived.
I have nothing against homosexuals, what they choose to do with their ass is totally their business. I look at a beautiful woman like yourself and a get a feeling inside that’s hard to describe in words, but its like something triggers my animal instincts to hunt down and devour my prey. I wasn’t keen on meeting in the first place but now I have an overwhelming urge to actively stay away. I’ve never had that feeling towards a man, maybe its because I only like to give. So you are not looking to receive any pleasure from the free ride you’re asking for?
Some things money can’t buy and money alone definitely can’t make a woman cum. No, of course not. This is why I have sex with men and women instead. I personally find great joy and satisfaction in watching my woman orgasm, if that makes sense to you? It totally does. I see it in every client.
Even if I did have the money for your service Ah! Now we’re getting to the point! I still wouldn’t pay you, because you’re a cheap and arrogant sleaze. if you really liked me you would fulfill my every fantasy, I wonder what line of what page of my website gave this impression. regardless of how much money I had in the bank, right? Wrong. I can’t say for all women – there are stupid ones out there, too – but why would I want to waste my time on a man who promises only pleasure in return when I can have this same pleasure with a man who will provide something else on top: money, affection, responsibility, shared future, children, or at least a nice dinner?  
Anyway considering I managed to entertain you and we definitely can’t work together, how would you feel about becoming friends in the future? You have got to be fecking kidding. This is after I said I am not interested if you are not paying. You sound like fun!
And one last thing, what’s the difference between a prostitute and a slut?
I didn’t know it was a tricky question. It’s the difference between me and you. Starts with P and it isn’t “penis”. 
Sweet Dreams Miss. Jewel,

An endeering client

He wasn’t the first client of the year but I can’t wait to tell you!

I meet him at Waverley. He looks exactly the way he described himself: tall, thin and barely legal to have sex with. Let’s call him B – later you’ll see why. He doesn’t know Edinburgh that well so I offered to pick him up from the station and walk him to the hotel room I’d booked for the date.

B got in touch over a month before. First he said he was a virgin – would I see him? Why wouldn’t I? But then he admitted he was 18 and suddenly I had doubts. I’ve seen a few virgins before, as you know, but none of them was that young. The issue I have here is the reason. A virgin of 25 (or 35, or 45) contacting you is – no, not the norm – but you understand why they want your help. Someone who’s 18 and in a hurry to lose virginity makes me wonder. Is it because all his mates have mated numerous girls at school and he feels left out, or because he thinks still being a virgin at 18 is embarrassing? None of these reasons sound right to me. I’ll be the last person to persuade you to keep your virginity for that mythical “right one”, but I also disagree with getting rid of it at your earliest convenience.

So we had a lengthy email conversation. B didn’t have a reason as such, but he wanted to meet a girl and being shy as he was, he thought he’d feel much more confident with women if he knew what he’s supposed to do. This seemed good enough for me: I would never accept “want sex” as a reason but confidence issues you meet often enough in clients (and usually get great results with) to know it’s a valid reason to see a sex worker.

First of all, I check his ID: make fun of his photo and look at the ceiling trying to add 18 to 1994. Yep, he really is 18. Then we sit down on the bed and I teach him to kiss – doesn’t take long. In just a few minutes he’s kissing me like there’s no tomorrow, but it’s still a while before he feels brave enough to put his hand on my waist. I take it as a sign that he’s feeling more relaxed and less scared so ready for more. I pull his t-shirt off.

B hasn’t yet shaved but the fluff on his upper lip says this time is not far off now. No chest hair either and all his body is smooth and soft, long and slender. He reminds me of Bambi. His view of himself is obviously that of a typical Independent escorts in Edinburghpubescent teenager: tall, skinny, with awkwardly long extremities, shy and gawky. In reality, at 6’4″ he’s very well-proportioned and slim. He’s clearly a late developer, but you can tell that in a year or so he’ll fill out and become a very attractive young man. And in ten – twenty years he’ll be missing the times when his waist was so slim. But right now he’s just a very touching boy.

We do all the usual stuff: I show him how female body looks and works, we try different positions so he could find what works better for him, a few dos and don’ts, but throughout the date it’s clear that the thing he loves most is kissing. When I first entered prostitution, I was very puzzled by this: it is general knowledge that kissing is for women while men prefer more exciting things, so why do all clients want to kiss? Ah, the beauty of stereotypes! Men love to kiss just like women if not more.

I walk him back to Princes Street. Yes, usually it’s the client who sees me off and hails a cab for me, but B is just too sweet to let him wander around an unknown city at night. On the corner, he bends down a foot and we kiss for a few minutes until eventually I tear him off my face, pinch his bum one last time and push him in the direction of Waverley. Later in an e-mail I send him the link to the condoms of his size with a few more tips on things we didn’t cover in person. I’d rather he learnt from me than from his mistakes.

The thank you e-mail arrives the following day. He’s sorry he wasn’t showing just how much he enjoyed himself, but he did and he’s very grateful. Pity his job isn’t too well-paid or he’d see me every month if I let him. This is sweet, but if you recall, a long time ago I outlined 5 groups that clients can be divided in and he’s that rare example of someone who I think should find a girl and settle down. This isn’t to say that sex work is bad and we aren’t as deserving as civilian women, this is just because I’d very much like to see him happy. Or, which you will find easier to believe, I’d rather he gave the civilian women a chance and through this found the true appreciation for my work when he’s forty and ready to re-discover the wonderful world of prostitution.

And something else on the subject. Maybe it’s my age, but recently I’ve been curious about what happened to those men who brought their virginity to me. Have they been able to apply their newly-acquired skills? Have they found them useful? Do they feel that the lessons paid off? One of the downsides of my position: I don’t get to find out what happens to people once they leave.


Right off the train from Newcastle I found myself on a lunch date in, believe it or not, a Scottish restaurant in Cambridge. No, wait, there was something worth mentioning just before that: cows. As my cab passed the city centre on the way from Cambridge train station to the restaurant, I could see cows grazing on a little bit of green. Cambridge received city status half a century ago. Someone needs to inform the citizens.

M meets me in the restaurant. This lunch can be summed up under the title “Introduction to the city of Cambridge, its life and lifeforms” lecture which was very helpful indeed. Of Cambridge lifeforms there are three:

  • Petrol-based intelligent agents, road-rage-driven. Commonly known as drivers.
  • Biwheeled embodiments of kinetic energy and the three Fs (this, by the way, stands for “fast, furious and f@cking annoying”, not for “female, forty and fat”) – cyclists.
  • Bipedal carbon-based near-extinct minority of pedestrians, woe is them.

As for the life, the daily entertainment consists of the correspondence page of “Cambridge News” where one day a driver slags off the cyclists and the next day a cyclist slags off the drivers. The downtrodden pedestrians don’t get the chance to trample anyone. If I were to stay in Cambridge for anywhere over a week, I would start this tradition, being completely pedestrian by birth and religion. I don’t mind drivers that much as I’m already used to them: I can speak their lingo should the need arise and I know how to kick a car and keep my shoes intact. The cyclists were a novelty and in all honesty I didn’t exactly take to them: I’m not fast enough to kick a passing bicycle, and shouting my opinion after it is rather pointless. Suddenly I see what the cows are for. Sorry, make it four lifeforms of Cambridge:

  • Graminoid-fuelled ruminant quadrupeds. These are situated right at the exit of the pedestrian anger vent.

M has soft blue eyes, a way with words and a needlessly critical view of self. He is genuinely fun to talk to and I’m not only saying this because of his cute little bum. His curious take on things makes him funny in a see-the-bigger-picture way. It’s probably due to his job which some could call bureaucratic but he practices as inventive. He’s a pleasure to share a meal with. After lunch M picks up my suitcase and we make our way to my hotel where I check in, he runs a bath and we enjoy each other. Somehow afternoon just flies by. What a perfect start to my first time in Cambridge!

The following day begins with a quest: find the Wren library. It’s on the map, but its location on the map isn’t entirely relevant to its accessibility in terms of real life. It took me half a morning to find the entrance and once I did, I was supremely disappointed. Oh no, it wasn’t closed, but photography was not allowed where all I wanted was a photo of Winnie-the-Pooh’s manuscript. Damn!

To get over the disappointment, I go to the Fitzwilliam museum. For a cow-infested place Cambridge has a marvellous collection next to which the Scottish National Gallery may consider investing in comfort food.

The evening I spent with P. His introductory call quickly turned into a friendly chat. First he made himself irresistibly attractive by describing my writing style as a real turn on. Then he went on to ask if I’d had my first punt yet. I somehow tend to think of myself as a punted rather than punting type, but in Cambridge this word is still used in its weird boat-related meaning.

We didn’t get a punt as it was too late in the evening. We got something better: P took me for a walk around night-time Cambridge and then to the college where he studied. This personalised tour was studentically romantic in a hungry but intellectual sort of way. Hungry, incidentally, is the word cut out for P. As a lot of self-centred people (I speak with authority here), he is hungry for new experiences, new conquests, more admiration. He appreciates women so he learnt to attract them by making them feel good with him. He enjoys sex so he learnt to be great in bed because the better your contribution, the better the sex. What a perfect finish to my first time in Cambridge!

Men are like lifts. There is this one button, you press it – the lift comes. Women, they are like accordions. You can get a melody out of it but you have to know how to play. This may seem unrelated, but it’s a good way to explain why I now think of Cambridge as a place filled with music. I am so going back! Even if only to finish my tour of the Fitzwilliam museum. And for the cows, of course. You don’t really think I’ll forget about the cows, do you? Or the great clients.