Swedish Model

Of all the anti prostitution laws on the books, most aimed at making the lives of women seeking to make a living as dangerous as possible. Ireland of course chooses the possibility of criminalising the client, or the law more popularly known as the Swedish Model. Which makes it illegal to purchase sex, but not illegal to sell. The idea being to stop men from purchasing and exploiting women. Ha! The idiots who came up with this did not think this through. I have worked in countries where this law is in affect and it makes no difference.

But I have a feeling it will make a difference in Ireland. But not the one everyone thinks. The difference I think it will make is to possibly instill a slight modicum of manners into the punting population.

You must remember that the Irish punter as a whole is a slightly self entitled, xenophobic creature. But they are scared as shit of their own shadows, their neighbours, their wives, mothers, dicks, sexual urges. You name it. The idea of it being illegal to purchase sex will make them more skittish than ever. But trust me this is a good thing, why?

Because fear is a good thing when dealing with the Irish punter. It is shocking how many don’t know it is legal. And far be it from me to tell them differently. But adding the part that makes it illegal for them to buy will have the added benefit of making them even more fearful. Fear makes them behave, well in as much as they are capable of.

Guilt is another motivating factor. But the Catholic Church took care of that one already.

So the combination of fear, guilt, horniness and disposable income will create the perfect punter. Let’s hope the extra fear improves their ability to listen and follow directions.

Designer Pussy

Apparently I have one. I always though I just had a pussy, well it seems due to the bits all being neatly tucked in, mine is the go to for those seeking designer lips. Somebody shoot me!

Seriously, gentlemen! If you are looking at a woman when her legs are spread in front of you and all you can think about is the labia minora is longer that the labia majora, you my friend are not focusing on the right thing. Or you are getting way too much pussy! Trust me when my man is down there, he had better be attending to the task at hand, not bloody comparing a catalogue of cuntflaps! And if he is, I had better not find out!

You fools need to be more appreciative when you are at the altar. Designer pussy my ass!

1. Broke Ass Bitches

Lord in his heavens save me from the creature known as a Broke As Bitch-BAB! You will find these in all walks of life, and in both sexes. But the one that particularly chaps my cunt is the one who manages to find the one iota of ambition she has to get off her ass and then decides to sell it. This one is the worst, why? Because this lazy bitch is too insouciant to realise that the rest of use hos are doing this as a business and not to feed a boyfriend, pay a late bill, get a new Guess bag, or a weeks supply of weed!

So, she couldn’t careless if she is selling below market value, and offering the sun, the moon, and her ass for a few quid! Nope, it is more than she gets sitting on her ass collecting the dole, or the wage slave job she works, so it is all gravy to this female. This shit makes me want to scream in frustration!

And don’t make the mistake of pointing out to this vile little guttersnipe she is giving the farm away! No, the insults hurled at you will vary from, being too old to attract clients, to thinking this is a business and how hard and business like we are. God save me! I really want to slap some sense into the little bitches head! But I don’t bother!

Why, I simply rely on the law of averages. Which states, she is going to attract the wrong sort of clientele and that unfortunately is when she quietly disappears from the scene. Never to be heard from again. I say unfortunately, because usually it takes a nasty incident happening to her to realise all the hardened old bitches were right! No one, even a BAB should have to learn a lesson this way.

I will not for a minute pretend to like this type, I don’t, but I don’t wish them harm, I wish them success, why? Because the sooner she reaches her goal the better off it is for the rest of us who do this for a living.

How the fuck?

How the f*** did he sneak in under my defences? I mean seriously, was it those big, brown, fluttery eyelashes accenting lovely, warm, sweet, green eyes? No, not those.

Was it those arms like pythons that so masterfully wrapped themselves around me, or was it the excellent oral technique? Hole in murther fucking one! Leaving me panting on the bed in a puddle of my own juices, wondering who the hell was making all that damn racket, oh yeah that was me!

He is absolutely adorably cute, a lovely little bonbon. Kinda of like a delicious naughty stolen treat. Yummy, sex, sweet kisses, and touches. How the hell do I account for the f***ing withdrawals I am going through? Jesus, it has been a long time, since I have been properly loved up.

I am like a junkie needing a hit. Bad! It is messing with my head in a majorly bad way. I am wearing out my playlist of sad and soppy songs. How the hell did I, me, yes moi end up here? Need to get a grip on self and snap to hell out of this silliness. No more texts, and I will just have to endure. Horrible. I hate feeling like this. Aaaaarrrrrggggggg!

The not so joys of working in Ireland-winter edition

What the very fuck has happened? I am still on tour, and am starting to notice that the wonderful inhabitants of the places I visited in England in the summer have somehow changed. I mean seriously, are people saving that much for Christmas that in the middle of October business is down by that much? Fucking hell! Or is it the influx of new and desperate hos, needing money for their presents as well?

Well whatever the problem is, I hate winter time. I am grouchier than normal, and that is saying something, I want to sleep more, and I have caught the bloody flu! I need a holiday! All in all I hate England, I hate Ireland in equal measure.

When the sun, if it shines, is shinning in this part of the world the clientele are lovely, when the weather changes, they all become bears.

Seriously men are dogs in the summer and bears with sore heads in the winter.

International travel

To say I am a jet setting ho is an understatement. I think I am up in the air more than my legs. 😉 so, during my many transcontinental trips you start to notice things, how certain groups of people travel, how people are treated at airports, how bloody inept the security really is, down to how certain airlines treat their passengers.

The bottom of the scale is Ryanair, a flying bus, that stops short of charging you to use the toilets. It was actually proposed. Not an airline I use, unless there is no other option, and I mean no other option. I would take the bus, or the ferry before traveling with those cheap bastards. And anyone who knows me, will tell you I don’t travel well by either of the latter options.

Traveling through LHR is akin to witnessing the migration of huge herds of various types of animals all at the same time. Asians tend to be like schools of fish, all moving in the same direction at the same time en fucking mass. Jesus, I try to avoid being any where near them. Africans, are like pissed off migrating pachyderms, with more flipping luggage than any human should have at an airport, arguing when informed they have to pay extra for the 80kg over the allowable weight. Loudly, too I might add!

Then you have your budget travellers, they remind me of bees, everything is micro managed to the ounce, as they can only afford to travel as the budget is limited and there is no pissing room for error. The clueless traveler, much like a fledging baby bird, never having ventured outside of their comfort zones. Announcements startle them, as does everything else associated with air travel. Often getting lost in the toilet cubicles.

And my least favourite traveler to be anywhere near is anyone who looks even slightly like they come from a country that ends in ..stan. They will get stopped! Searched! Grilled! I am not spending 20mins because the idiots that are hired to be the first line of defense against terrorism can’t profile properly. And seriously I have seen some of the morons that work for the various airport security companies, and I tell you now we are fucked if these are what is standing between us and a terrorist!

Some nationalities shouldn’t be allowed to travel, lets take the Irish for instance, they are either pissed or on the way to get pissed. It is like a traveling band of AA members without the sponsor. The French are annoyed because they are forced to leave their beloved France. The Germans are pissed the engineering, the food, the people, the place, the luggage isn’t German. Americans if they have managed to get a passport and have crossed the Border, will try to social engineer the entire trip to get upgrades or freebies. Brazilians think it is flipping carnival wherever they are. I tend to avoid all this madness by hiding out in one airport lounge or another. The Concord Room at LHR is the favourite, as is the Emirates First Class lounge at DXB

But when you land in a country where they are civilised about travel, it stops you in your tracks. Upon check in, the staff are actually helpful, assisting you with your luggage and even when over weight, not charging you and wishing you a good day. Upon boarding you are greeted with a smile and addressed by name! I thought I had done something wrong, why was this woman calling by my name!? And this isn’t in business class, this is economy! The airports are not mass migration portals, shuffling people from gate to gate like cattle. Your family can come with you as far as the boarding gate to see you off. I was like fuck me! Obviously, they haven’t had a terrorist attack happen, by either a disgruntled citizen, or an ungrateful foreigner. Long may the innocence last.

Hoing for fun

Yes you heard me correctly, one of my hobbies in addition loads of stuff civvie people do, is hoing for fun.

What I mean by hoing for fun, is this: When I am sequestered to any part of the world where I am not making a significant 4 figure sum a day, I am hoing for fun. I mean I cant really take it too seriously, due to the fact I am having to work for money far below what I would get as a tip in some countries. And the best part about hoing for fun, is when clients tell me I have an attitude, and should be grateful for the pittance they can barely afford. It gives me great pleasure to tell them, I am not working because I need this money, I’m doing this so as not to have to spend any money from my savings. This is pocket money for me, and not even decent pocket money at that! You should see the faces!

The UK mid range market is totally ruined! There was a time you could get some decent gents in the mid range sector, not anymore. They have either moved, died off, or become incredibly demanding cretins with entitlement issues. None of which I want any part of.

So you may ask, why bother returning to the UK at all? Well, due the fact I have family there, whom I really am rather attached to, and I actually enjoy spending my summers there. The Middle East is blistering hot, Oceania is cold-ish, so Europe is about the only place on the place on the planet worth spending time in at this time of the year. Thus, why I am on hiatus in the UK.

I am a hardcore ho, I am not doing this to get by! I am doing this to earn silly amounts of money, make no mistake, this isn’t some damn vocation or calling! I am not some sacrificial lamb sucking cock for the betterment of mankind! I am simply doing this because it pays bloody well. And if I am not getting a certain amount per day when I am working, time to move. Simples. I am not loyal to any place unless I am making money there. At the minute certain Middle Eastern countries are my favourite.

The day is coming soon when the UK client will start to appreciate a quality escort again, when those damn flood gates open and Eastern Europe dumps en mass the hordes of people seeking the land of milk and honey, the difference will soon emerge. And it will be something so simple, as when they hear that I speak perfect English. But until that day, I will be hoing for fun elsewhere.

I Dont Really See The Point

I know I may come off as a misangonist, but I don’t really hate men, I am more alone the lines of I just don’t see the point of them. I tend to find they clutter up my well organised space. Are needlessly in the way, and when not engaged in some inane activity, hopelessly inept and just bloody annoying. From hogging the tv remote to leaving the toilet seat up, men are pointless.

Ok maybe it is just the brilliant specimens of manhood I see gracing my doors, grown men who can’t follow simple directions, wear clothing their mothers still buy for them, are still living at home, and if asked when last showered, usually answer with, “ahhhhh?” This could cloud a girls ability to shift through what passes for the pinnacle in men today.

I cant blame my inability to tolerate men on my work, I was this way long before I started working as an escort. But since working as an escort, it has firmed up my already lingering suspicions as to why we women tolerate having them around. And I secretly wonder if other women are like me in this regard?

The roles of women have changed some what drastically in the last century, I think wars have contributed to women realising that we really don’t need men as much as we thought. In addition to that, it certainly culled the male population. Not necessarily a bad thing. We really don’t want too many of them running about unchecked. China is beginning to notice this, since they sold off put up for adoption a large percentage of their female children. There are now some villages that are practically without females of marrying age, and this has led to gangs of young men going about raping girls from neighbouring villages. Delightful! So culling the population every once and a while has its benefits. I am not referring to killing those off that are already here, boys by default are quite careless and will generally end up doing themselves an injury or die off young, so the balance is kept naturally.

Really, what purpose do they serve? To take out the trash, can do it my self. Usually better, faster and on time so it doesn’t pile up until the following week. Hang up curtains, nope. I prefer to hire a professional, so if they fuck it up I can yell at them with impunity. Sorry, I lost respect and affection for the last man in my life who hung my curtains crooked. And he should be grateful he wasn’t found at the side of the road wrapped in said curtains! Every time I looked at them, my blood would boil!

About the only thing I can see they are good for is a lovely pair of shoulders to squeeze when I get bored with pleasuring myself with my vibrator. Oh, well I suppose that is something.

Hooker Etiquette

Where do I start?
One of the things I learned in the posh private school I attended as a child, was how to hold a phone conversation. Seriously, we were taught how to hold a phone conversation. And that is where I think it stopped. People now a days don’t seem to know how to hold a phone much less a conversation. Or maybe it is just the cretins I encounter? Whatever it is, there is something I have noticed is sorely lacking these days when it comes to making an enquiry about something, people just don’t seem to know how to go about doing it. Or maybe I notice it more in my line of work. Whatever the cause, it drives me batty when someone is calling an escort, and goes about the most curvilineous fashion to get to the point. Sweet Jesus, I want to scream at them sometimes, “GET TO THE FUCKING POINT! There isn’t anything you can say to me that I haven’t heard before!” Hemming and hawing on the phone will likely result in my hanging up on you.

The other group of annoying phone miscreants are the ones who call and can’t seem to formulate a question and expect me to carry the conversation. Or the ones who are plainly not listening with their ears and keep asking the same question over and over, or demanding more and more in depth details. Seriously? Do I sound that daft?

But the ones that really chap my cunt, are the ones who seem to think I have all the time in the world to stay on the phone and chat to them. If they are not calling to get clarification on a detail, confirm a booking, get directions, or generally check to see if my number is working, there really is no reason for me to be on the phone chatting to a client for longer than a 30 secs. They are not a friend, or a treasured client whom I have known for years and will engage in conversations beyond the prerequisites. I wouldn’t expect my nail technician, masseuse, personal trainer, or housekeeper to stay on the phone with me, so why does a man with a hard dick think it is his inalienable right to drag a phone conversation out with an escort? Part of this problem, is there is this sense of entitlement some men seem to suffer from. And they wonder why they have to pay for sex?

The Business Model

I am back on the road again. Bags packed, condoms sorted according to size, lube by flavour, and lingerie by cost.

Yes I sort my lingerie by how expensive they are. Why? Because depending on what the client is paying will be a great determining factor to what I will wear. I take the airline business model to hoing now. The more you pay they more I am willing to fluff the ego, with champagne, nibbles and a blow job.

My Gulfstream and Lear clientele are those who are spending 1xxxx, and above. 5 figures in a first world currency, GBP, USD, EUR, AUD, AED, NOK, CHF, SGD, HKD. My base price is set in GBP, when a client calls an asks for a quote, I ask them what currency would they like the quote in. It facilities an easier understanding for the client to register what he is dealing with. If I am honest, I am still shocked that anyone these days is mono-currency. I can do quick calculations in my head as to what things cost in different currencies, but that is just me.

Now these gents get AP, La Perle, real silk stockings and a designer shoe collection that just thinking about it makes me wet. They get Christian, Jimmy, and Guiesspi. Manolo’s, though lovely to look at, but are designed for alien feet. They offer the best champagne, cavier, smoked salmon, nibbles. In other words, I have to be kitted out to kill. I make one hell of an effort. Even the fragrances are rare and expensive. Not the commercial shit available in department stores. It is expected, considering when you are flown in half way around the world for someone’s entertainment, usually on said Gulf Stream or Lear. Luggage is designer, as is every piece of clothing I am wearing. But well worth it, as these gents keep me in the little luxuries of life, well the big luxuries.

The next level of service offered is for my first class, premium, and platinum members. These are paying my premium hourly rates. The lingerie drops a level, not too far, but instead of thousands on lingerie, they get hundreds spend on the stuff. Mylar, Pleasure State, Simon Perle, Chantal Thomas. They still get designer, but from a season or two ago. To be honest, most gents don’t notice the difference. Red soles are still red soles.
They are invited into the lounge, chatted with, treated like royalty. They get sucked and fucked with genuine interest to their comfort and I pay attention to desires needing to be met. I become a geisha in a matter of speaking.

Here we come to the unfortunate reality of the business now, premium economy and economy class rule. Now, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it is just that there are more clients in this category and it means a girl has to work a bit harder. And for some strange reason more and more desperate hos are donning knickers and going on the game and aiming their wares, as it were, at this over saturated segment of the market. I tend to find this particular demographic annoying in that they are spoiled for choice and come with an over inflated sense of entitlement, which just baffles me. It is amazing how a man paying for sex seems to think he is entitled to everything and anything. This particular group tends to spend the most time researching. This is bordering on obsession. I find the list of demands far too long for my patience level, and will usually ignore them. Any man that spends that much time mulling over the idea of sex, is either going to be a total pain in the ass, a complete disappointment, or require far too much of my energy to fluff the ego, that the ratio of compensation isn’t worth me bothering. I will fluff egos with the best of them, but there had better be a serious pay check at the end.

All the flashy trimmings are gone. Designer lingerie is packed away in the silk box, and locked up. Why, I am not having someone coming in for a quick shag
manhandling my expensive lingerie, that cost more than they earn in a week! This also prevents me for being done for justifiable manslaughter. Believe me it is better I wear the cheap and cheerful stuff. Purchased in bulk, with 2 or three matching knickers at a time. Thrown in the washing machine along with the other clothes and discarded after a few weeks of wear and tear. No drinks offered, no nibbles, and straight down to business. And I dare the cretin to expect ego fluffing at the price level. Seriously, they should just be glad I am keeping my mouth shut.

And I love when a budget class makes the mistake of calling me, and complains my rates are too high. I spare none. I don’t want these clients at all. The hardest work of any. It shocks me still, men who willingly spend thousands expect nothing and are usually grateful for whatever happens, whereas men who have to scrimp and save, are expecting the world for 50 pence. I guess the poor man knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.