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.

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.

How Ireland turned me into a whore.

Yup, you read it right. Ireland turned me into a whore. The concept of escorting is so lost on these Neanderthals, as to be a higher form of thought from another planet. When you have emotionally stunted men, who’s concept of sex, is a fumbled poke in the dark, and who’s biggest concern is getting you pregnant, have no clue as to what or how you catch an STI. Is it any wonder, that when faced with a sexy woman, their dicks shrivel and die?

I have worked for some high class escort agencies in my time, and every girl who is worth her false lashes, knows the best bookings are the longer ones. More money, and actually less work, a man by virtue of biology, can only shag so much over a 12 hour period of time. Even with the aid of little blue pills. Then of course throw in some alcohol and general fitness, and well you can get the shagging part down to 2 strategic shags, and everyone is happy. Now of course if the client is a fine specimen of manhood, and hung like a horse. I am quite happy to stay up all night and shag for country and glory. I might even spend a few extra hours for personal reasons. Good dick is indeed hard to find.

Not in Ireland! For one thing the fuckers turn a lovely shade of green when I tell them my overnight rates. Higher than normal, why because I really don’t want to spend that much time with one client in Ireland. They form attachments too quickly, and before I know it I would have 1) a stalker or worse yet 2) some idiot baying at my front door about being in love with me. Jesus and his angels, save me from shit like this. Mind you it isn’t that I am all that warm and fuzzy, you may have gathered that from my previous posts. It is the full on attention being paid to them. They are not used to that, and it can mess with both heads. Also, not coming from a culture of sexual exploration or openness, the rules of The Game are completely lost on them. They interpreted the angel in knickers to be the real me, not realising that it is a character I have created to play the part of the escort in this little pastiche.

So it became expedient to just see clients on a short time basis. It still didn’t prevent some from forming attachment, but you could nip things in the bud and still get paid for the privilege.

But now that I have returned to a market where the clientele are more the norm, and can actually enjoy the time with a woman without becoming a pest, I have discovered I am ruined! I had gotten so used to dealing with clients on a short term basis, that now I have to reprogram myself to being able to deal with them for longer periods of time. Oh God Help Me! Where I am now, an hour is an hour, not 33 1/2 minutes, including shower time! I have to suppress the 25 minute itch. Meaning I start to get irritated at about the 25 minute mark, and have to keep telling myself, it is ok, he isn’t over staying or becoming a nuisance. It will take some getting used to, but I have a feeling where I am right now I will adjust in no time.

Hell hath Frozen over-Touring Ireland-pt.2

I hadn’t been visiting Ireland for sometime, I mean seriously, the money is finished, and there is just so many times a girl can hear “Whiskey in the jar” before committing an act of terrorism. Or drink one more pint of beer before having an AA sponsor on speed dial.

A soon to be ex-gf talked me into coming here. I really didn’t think it was a good idea, but she made those big puppy eyes at me, and ok fine I will go with you for 3 days I agreed. I had a flash back akin to something a PTSD sufferer would have, but I managed to tamp it down and booked my ticket. I could only despair at the abundance of shitty asses awaiting me, look before the recession they were hygienically challenged, so what would be the state of the nether regions now following a few years later, less money, less inclination to keep clean? Oh sweet mother, Mary and Joseph. Arming my self with marigolds, cif, air fresher, and a mask. Off I went.

I was feeling nostalgic, until the plane landed and all those memories returned! WTF was I doing here? Why did I let this woman talk me into doing this? From the minute I received the first phone call I was planning on how get to hell out of this place. Luckily I didn’t have to offer the idea, after the first day she was wondering what the hell she was doing here too. It took an effort of great magnitude not to tell her ‘I told you so.”

Yes Whiskey in the Jar was being blasted still as loudly, but it rang some what hollow as the pub it was being played from was empty.

I have never packed so quickly in my life, and I practically ran to the bus station, the last parting shot from Ireland was the 10 euro taxi fare to travel 100 mts. I was so fucking glad to be shot of the place. Vowing NEVER A-FUCKING-GAIN to set foot in the damn place.

Why Am I An Escort?

Oh I am sure you will expect me to wax lyrical and soliloquize about a higher calling to bring joy and happiness to the unfortunate and the loveless. Ahhh, well no this is not why I am an escort. (Spoiler Alert:) I am about to ruin the illusion of the nymphomaniac who can’t get enough of sucking men’s cocks. So if you are a delicate disposition, please stop reading now: You have been warned.

Now I am an escort, because it pays bloody well, and I have a disposition to not being completely revolted buy the idea of touching a total stranger in an intimate way. There I have said it. It isn’t because I MUST have cock, it is because I MUST have a decent standard of living, and will not obtain this as a wage slave, working 40 hours a week for a pittance. If I am going to get screwed, I will do so on my terms.

So in a way I am somewhat annoyed with all the activists who are insisting that what I do for a living is so bad that it needs to be eradicated, or outlawed. Which if I were to continue to engage in my current occupation would render me or my clients criminals. I have a problem with this strictly from the point of view, that as a grown woman with all my faculties, I am being told I am not making my own choices? That I am being I pimped, even though I have never had a pimp of any kind. And that I am must not be right in the head to not hate sex work? Why should I hate sex work? I would be seriously fucked without the work I do. I seriously wouldn’t have the life style I currently do, nor would my family. Not a good thing. I would be no better off than the trafficked women I keep hearing about, except I wouldn’t have the luxury of the title of trafficked as I am from this part of the world and am here of my own free will. This whole campaign hasn’t been well thought out. It is just too black and white, and as usual with zealots about any cause they are forgetting the gray areas in which the rest of us life.

Now some of you are saying there are women being trafficked into this type of work and this must be stopped, again if the raids that took place in Ireland and Northern Ireland in May are used as a test case for trafficking, then the figures are not adding up. Where are all these trafficked women? Since they weren’t aware that a visit was coming, surely they all didn’t just suddenly decide to go on holiday? Or maybe the PSNI and Garda, when to a different set of addresses from the ones the trafficked ladies work at? Who knows, but the 97% of the trafficked ladies Ruhama is banging on about just weren’t there. Someone seriously fucked that one up.

Now the fact that I do indeed bring an element of joy and happiness to some gents lives is indeed a bonus. In fact occasionally I really make a difference to some of the clients who visit me, and it is rather nice to hear about this in the form of a text, or email giving me an update.

Most of my clients are decent sorts who just want a bit of fun, whatever the reason, they are willing to pay for it with a professional, and not engage in starting another relationship which could be detrimental to their family life. Plus, they don’t have the added complication of me contacting them, as a lover would. Remember I am done with them as soon as they leave my door. Not giving them a second thought until their number shows up again in my missed calls list. Remember, I am a professional after all.