Well. Here I am all 5'7" of me, enjoying the company of my cat, Sparky, my books (currently: Organic Chemistry, 1516 pages), the orgasmic flavour of Ben & Jerry's 'Phish Food' and the inevitable distraction of the internet. My point being I got a text from my agent, to confirm my first booking say, oh, an hour ago. And am laughing at myself, at this whole situation.
I confess I am the ultimate blagger. I have blagged my way into teaching, when I hated kids; I blagged my way into temping as an assistant vet, minus the qualifications and any knowledge of biology; I blagged my way into becoming the features editor of a local newspaper, even though the last time I picked up a newspaper was to clean the bathroom window (try it- with a mild vinegar dilution, it works wonders!). And now I have managed to blag my way into escorting, one of the highest paid professions in the country.
The thing is, you don't need a C.V. to get into escorting; nor are your 'previous experiences' verified; best of all, no-one asks for referees. Because I have a feeling that all 4 and a half of my sexual encounters (use your imagination darling) don't technically qualify me as the next Mae West.
Before I was permitted to sign over my soul to the devil, I was interviewed. 'How do you feel about straight sex?' Check- been there, done that. 'Oral? With or without a condom?' (Umm, oral? Unventured territory, honey). 'CIM?' 'A-levels?' Smile sweetly, say 'yes' and hope the 30FF natural bust wins them over (mental note- google terms later on). So the interview rolled on...final question 'Are you bisexual?' (the trick here, as I learned, is to make yourself sound as uninhibited as possible. So the answer was a resounding 'YES'. Does having watched lesbian porn count?)
Well, the agency seemed satisfied that I was capable of carnally pleasuring their clients, so I was to await my first booking. Which is now this Friday. EEks.
My problem isn't actually having sex with a complete stranger (I havent been laid in over a year, I'm getting desperate here), or the thought of being paid for it (when was the last time you went out/on holiday/did something with your boyfriend/fiancee/husband, let him pay for everything and showed your gratitude by fucking him later on that day?)
My problem is, I want to be good. I want to do this right. I want to fuck an 80-year-old man, who can barely keep up his erection for more than 10 seconds, and make him beg for more. I'm simultaneously panicked, yet intrigued by the thought of prostituting myself. Different techniques arouse different men; how do I know what each man wants? Should I be sweet and caring? Or dominant and rough? Should I wear sexy underwear, or go commando? Help!
Right, things to do for tomorrow:
- Book waxing appointment (apparently hairy mammoths are not a turn on).
- Manicure, pedicure.
- Buy condoms (definetely Durex), lubricant, massage oil and *gulp* a thong.
- Hand in coursework (tomorrow's the deadline).
- Visit local animal shelters (am planning to get another cat to keep Sparky company while I'm away)
Cheers Kiddos! xx