Why Did I Even Bother?

I started dating(I lasted a few weeks), why the hell did I do that? What a disaster! My gf were giving me lessons how to behave. Some of the things I was informed to do and not do.

1. Don’t talk too much about myself, ask questions about the man, and make him feel important!

Seriously? Is the average male this insecure? Wait, this sounds like work, why would I want to engage and encourage this foolishness for free?

2. Don’t dress up too much, they will think you are high maintenance.

WTF!? Really! News flash! I am fucking high maintenance! Yes, I am and you know what else, I am really good with this. If he wants a blow up doll, he should go get one.

3. If you do have a BF, make him feel useful around he house.

Jesus Christ almighty, how the hell do women tolerate having men around? They are worse than children.

Oh, my god! How the hell do civvie women go on dates? Please tell me, what are your secrets? I can’t manage to feint interest for longer than 20 mins. The conversation about their non existent lives, them trying to impress me with what they think is their prowess!? Jesus, or the ones who can’t seem to manage to match their clothing! Talk about useless! Or are my standards that high!? Surely not?

Then there was this point when I realised I had to pretend to enjoy bad sex for fucking FREE! That was as Malcolm Gladwell said, the tipping point. Oh hell no! I am not going to shag for free, badly! So I axed that budding relationship and am once again, single, happy, and have the big bed all to myself. Am I selfish? Yes I am! And as well as being high maintenance, I am so ok with this.

Some Universal Truths About Hoing

 1. The minute you decide to de-ho, after sitting around looking glamorous all day and doing sweet FA, the phone will ring just as you are removing the last vestiges of make up.

2. After sitting around all day doing nothing, and finally you get a booking, during the time you are busy, you will have missed 5 phone calls all from regs, all looking to book with in the next hour. Men fuck in clusters.

3. The minute you decide to go out to do errands, no matter what time of the day, you will get a call from someone wanting to come NOW!

4. The client that pays you thousands, will take you to dinner, treat you nice, buy you pressies, asks permission to shag you once and tips. The one who books for he hour, and has to save for that hour, will shag you senseless for 58 mins, to get his money’s worth.

5. Clients will get the hump if you are running 5 mins late, but can’t seem to get why you are pissed when they book, confirm, and rock up 45mins late!

6. Guys with the he smallest dicks, always think it is bigger than it really is, and guys with big ones seem to think they are average.

7. The cutest hottest guy will come in for just a blow-job, massage, no sex!

8. The day you have the worst gas, will be the day everyone want to stick their finger, toy, dick, or tongue up your ass.

9. The day you are bleeding like a crime scene will be the day you get every large dicked client who books and stays for the full hour.

10. The day you are horny as hell, you will get every 80 yo geriatric travelling in from miles around.

11. Doesn’t matter the culture, the race, or the language. Men do not read profiles! They just don’t.

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.

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.

Cat Amongst The Pigeons

History is filled with stories of the Norths vs. the Souths. America has the Civil war, with the south and the North going at it tooth and nail. Korea is currently divided into North and South, Germany had its own division going on, but they were in the other directions, east and west. But the north and south for the purposes for this discussion are those of Ireland. Northern Ireland , and the Republic of Ireland, here forth referred to as NI, and ROI.

Now the two capital cities of these countries are located about 100 miles apart, but dear god one could easily be on the other side of the planet, I find them so different in speech, attitude, and temperament. In Dublin, I feel like I am about to get hustled, dragged down an alley and robbed. In Belfast I actually feel safe. Ironic actually when you consider that a few years ago here was heavy sectarian fighting, and on occasion in July the odd fire bomb will break out during the marches. But for the rest they happily coexist in a weird kind of pretend peace. It seems to work for them.

The title says pretty much what this post is going to be about, putting the cat amongst the pigeons. By this I mean, I am going to go to a place that will probably piss a few more off than those already out to lynch me. But hey, if you aren’t pissing a few people off, you aren’t doing something right.

So where to begin? First off when I talk about the Irish, I am firmly refering to those that live in the southern part of the island, known as the Republic of Ireland. I am not referring to those in the North, why the distinction, because the differences between the two are so vast as to cause me to think I am on two different planets.

The first difference is the accent, the Northern Irish accent does something to my bits, I absolutely love hearing the wee dears chatter and natter on about things. But after living there for sometime you also come to realise the accent is just one of the many differences between the two Irelands. The inhabitants in NI are polite, I mean to the point of I bumping into someone, due to not looking where I was going, and having them apologise for being in my way! How is that for poiletiness?

But the thing that strikes me the most is the genuine gentleness and sweetness of the inhabitants. Now mind you, this is the same place that during July when marching season is in full swing, shit can kick off and the odd bombing can happen. But generally speaking when the two halves are not trying to kill each other, they generally manage to co-exist in a rather tenuous peaceful sort of way.

They are also unaffected. Sincerely not up their own asses. When I look in utter shock at the size of one of the wee lads members, and comment on the fact that the size is some what on the larger scale of things. They genuinely think I am just being nice. Bless them.

Now drive 100 miles to Dublin, and you are entering a different planet. I feel now a days just walking down the street that I am in fear of getting robbed just for having matching shoes. Granted that may be an over exagartation, but when you hear about the various robberies of escorts on an almost daily basis, it makes one think twice about visiting the place.

The lads in the north are plain and simply yummy. I mean they are quite stylish in their own way, polite, and as with the English demographic, I will see under 25s. Not in Ireland. The 45s are bloody ignorant and clueless, I am not having some young cocksure, clueless twat turn up and get cheeky with me, or try to rob me. They are moving in packs nowadays, like rabid wild dogs. Scary to be honest.

Time and Companionship

This is generally the disclaimer that is tattooed to the front of most websites that have anything to do with escorting. We are in essence telling clients that anything else that happens between two consenting adults is a bonus, and to some point some people seem to take this far too literally, and end up believing that there are emotions involved because more is taking place than just time and companionship. Sighs!

For some ladies, this is is taken to mean, get sucked, fucked and piss off. I can subscribe to this school of thought, but considering what I charge I go one tiny step further. My clients are paying me to give a fuck. Literally, to give a fuck if they come. Simples. Now how much they pay me is directly proportional to how much of a fuck I will give. So in essence they are paying not for my time and companionship, but for me to be willing to get them from point a to point b. Now, just because I give a fuck, doesn’t mean I will allow the situation to be taken advantage of, no no no no! Seriously, I am an escort not a fucking miracle worker. I can only do so much. Nerves can play a part in the lack of reaction, but even the most nervous man can over come this with the right technique.

Why do I give a fuck? Because, even though I can’t stand most men, think that they are cretins, and pointless fucks serving no purpose other than to clutter up my precious space, I have principles. Shocking, I know! A ho with a moral compass, a sense of fair play. Yup! A saint waiting to be canonised. Genuflect and leave offerings, preferably of the paper variety, with the queen’s face on them. ;D
But seriously, I get paid a decent amount of money to provide a service, and I would like to think I do that to the best of my ability. Well at least my clients seem to think I do, they keep coming back. It can’t possibly be because I am such a ray of sunshine, naaaaa.

I know I Shouldn’t, But I Can’t Help It.

You know as part of the WG training, we all pledge to treat all clients the same, wether young, old, thin, fat, fit, hung or chipolata. Well, I may have to return my membership card. Because even thought I do treat older, less fit gents to a good service, and do my job to the high standards I set for myself. The younger, good looking fit ones get me. They get me in all my horny glory. It is so hard to get truly turned on by a set of sagging balls, and moobs. Sorry, it is. It doesn’t mean that I will shirk my duty and not give a good service. Not at all, I am a skilled actress, and can moan on queue like the most seasoned porn star. I can clinch my vaginal muscles and buck as if in the throws of unbridled passion, kiss passionately, and look longingly into their eyes whilst thinking about what colour to paint the downstairs bathroom. I have become a past master at uh-humming at the majority of the conversation, most men aren’t interested in having anything more that a sounding board anyway. So I will let them rattle on about this that and the other. They are happy for the attention, and I am happy for the money. Everyone wins.

But let a fit, handsome specimen of manhood wonder into my boudoir, and the dynamic is different. I am front, center and present for the encounter, believe me when a decent looking, sweet smelling man, with a six pack, and a decent sized dick wonders into a girls bedroom, it is to her benefit to take full advantage the bounty that has been placed before her. Oh and do I! I mean seriously I have been known to rape the odd luscious looking gent, and send him home buzzing. Only to replay the lovely moments later on when a girl needs wanking fodder. I am human after all.

Victims In Need Of Aid

Victims, there is a certain image that comes to mind when one thinks of a victim. The image that comes to mind is someone defeated, broken, abused, and not in a position of defending themselves. Now for the aid organizations, regardless of the cause, a victim needs to fit into a special type of box. You just can’t be a willy nilly victim, oh no no, they want their victims type casted. It markets better and is easier to sell to those governments who are shelling out the money. The sadder, more pathetic the victim is, the better. Oh of course in some instances the victims need to also be the correct color, the correct ethnic background, and the right gender. God forbid, that any sufferer of an injustice should be helped just because it is the correct thing to do. No, if you don’t fit the required measurements of their program, you are flat on your ass.

Now there are aid organizations who need to create victims, because in reality the people they have decided to save really aren’t that many, or are far and few between. Or they are victims, just not in the designated industry that generates the right amount of income or sex appeal.

The sad reality is there are real trafficking victims out here, invisible, hopeless, and living lives of incredible inhumane cruelty, that are ignored because of their ability to blend, or in some cases because of their perception of their situations. They don’t perceive trafficking as a bad thing, when compared to the lives they would have had they stayed behind in their home country!

But running an aid organisation isn’t about actually helping the choosen demographic, no no no! It is about talking about helping, spending money on pointless campagnes, getting front page press coverage, and finally making money roll in to the coffers. Ultimately it is about money. They are the biggest whores! At least prostitutes are blessedly blatant about what you gonna get from the first moment. Aid organisations work on the principle of the long con. Seling you loads of guilt wrapped up in good deeds, to keep the steady stream of precious gold coming in. Vermin!

Let’s look at Ruhama an organisation to help prostitutes. If they fulfil their charter they have in virtue removed the demographic they are intending to help, thus elimating a number from their needed head count to gain funding. Wait a minute? They compound the problem, with their meddlesome behaviour, empty promises, and bullshit grandstanding. Furthering the transition time for some women out of prostitution. Not everyone is a happy hooker, some ladies really do want to move into other phases of life. They need skills, or ways to turn the skills they have developed into a productive way to earn a living. Interesting, indeed. If Ruhama were to really help these women, they wouldn’t need to exist once the job was done. Would they?