Risks dating an escort girl
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Over the previous few years, just about all of my friends had settled down.Every other weekend, it seemed, there was a stag night or a wedding.
Such was the variety of escorts available—black, white, Latina; blonde, brunette, redhead; sassy, classy, naughty—that I never visited the same girl twice. Hayley was 27 years old, from Lancashire, and exactly my type: petite, brunette, with a cheeky smile, gorgeous bum, and mind-blowing oral technique.And it may be that she was just very good at her job, but she genuinely seemed to like me too. If I did give this up for a man, he’d have to earn twice as much as I do.On our second date, she gave me her real name—Jill—and her real phone number, and promised to come and see my stand-up routine some time. And I earn a hundred grand a year.”She never did come and watch me do stand-up.Each woman I approached seemed to crowbar the word BOYFRIEND into the conversation more quickly than the last.And the few singles who had shown an interest were unsuitable for various reasons.They asked if I wanted to go upstairs, but I insisted we talk for an hour first. We talked a lot, we laughed a lot, and we did things that would give my parents a heart attack.
Even so, I left the flat that night with a nagging doubt.I always showed the girl the utmost courtesy, I always took her flowers and champagne, and I always paid for at least one extra hour so that I could get to know her first. Almost.)My fifth visit was to Roberta, a stunning blonde Brazilian based in Mayfair.(It was on my fourth visit that Daniella—a cute, funny 26-year-old Canadian—laughed and told me that no one else did that; most guys just paid for one hour, got down to business, then buggered off. When I walked in, she looked me up and down and said, “Thank God—a good-looking one for a change.” I looked behind me to check she wasn’t talking about someone else.You see, about halfway through the evening, when Eva went for a toilet break, Sylvia and I had a brief chat alone.“I am very happy you come tonight,” she said.“Why’s that?”“Because you are nice.” I blushed, but then she went on: “And also because now I can pay gas bill.”My blush turned to ash.For my 31st birthday, I treated myself to a whole night with Jill. The morning after, I woke to find a cup of tea and a gift-wrapped box on the bedside table. It was another month before I drifted back to the virtual red light district.