After that, I felt as though we had a special connection—a relationship that transcended transactions. Maybe, I thought, she really liked me; maybe I could persuade her to quit escorting and be with me. Almost immediately, I found a website that advertised Sylvia and Eva—“Two girlfriends who love to love each other—who’d love to love you too! As I handed over the lilies and Bolly, I realised that the girls, both from Hungary, were as nervous as I was.On my next visit, as she was freshening up in the bathroom, I gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Not only had they never loved each other before; they’d never even met.Ninety guests turned up (of the 200 invited), the food was decent, and the few people who hadn’t already met got on famously.
And opportunities to change things were thin on the ground. During my next surfing session, I stumbled across an online escort agency.
With my friends either exiled or under house arrest, and my stand-up career faltering, I was spending most of my evenings and weekends joylessly surfing the net and playing computer games. After two years’ freelancing, I’d been made a full-time subeditor at the . Until that night, it had never crossed my mind to pay for sex. I prepared for that first illicit rendezvous exactly as I would for a real date.
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.
Each woman I approached seemed to crowbar the word BOYFRIEND into the conversation more quickly than the last.