Well goodness me! I submitted this to Wicked Wednesday and the Bibulous One has chosen it as one of the top three! He said "My final pick surprised me most, as it soon became apparent that I was reading a blog my a man who sees sex workers! We (men who write about this) are as rare as, well… something very rare indeed and so I really enjoyed Fear and Anticipation from Old Mike. His writing about his fear and anticipation before a meeting with an escort rings totally true for me. I like his acceptance that the meeting will mean different things for her than for him, and yet: “That laughter has connected us – and we begin to work together to create a few hours of shared pleasure.” Sounds exactly right." His blog is extraordinary and i'm honoured by his kind words.
Fear. Fear and anticipation. Pulse racing, guts in turmoil. Is this a huge mistake?
I am about to stand naked in front of another human being. I have not seen her face though her body is familiar from the photographs on her web site. If it is her body?
I have not heard her voice though her words are now familiar and resonate with what I hope to find. If they are her words?
Memories of past occasions when my fear was wholly justified crowd in but so too do those of times when the next, short, while was better, infinitely better than I could have hoped.
It isn’t the physical that makes me afraid but the question that cannot be asked in advance – will we connect? I remind myself that for the woman I am about to meet this is just another encounter with a new client. For her it will be mundane; her thoughts will be elsewhere. Once I heard them verbalised and learned that considerations of what the children will be given for supper can cause my erection to wilt in seconds.
Today I have requested a mask to sustain the mystery of the blurred face a little longer. And to let me play out my recurring fantasy of fucking a complete stranger silently, anonymously and only beginning to communicate when she is already sitting astride me with my cock buried deep inside her.
As my train crosses the river gleaming in the morning sun a text arrives telling me where to find her flat. I walk back across the same river wondering if any of the people I pass have similar thoughts – are they too planning to seek the thrill that comes with having sex with a stranger and anxious about the fear that comes before the thrill?
I decide that they are not because I need to feel that I am set apart from the workaday world, I am doing something today that few will have the opportunity to do. Of course I know that she will see others later today but as I approach her building I put that from my mind and focus on managing my fear.
I press her number on the intercom and for the first time hear her voice – soft, warm but a little guarded perhaps. Moments later her door opens and there stands a young, slim woman demonstrating that the pictures are real – this is the body that I will soon be touching, caressing, penetrating and it is beautiful! She closes the door and for a moment we stand awkwardly – she almost naked, me in my street clothes – she begins to explain where the shower is but then pauses – and says the mask feels strange - then she laughs – in a second my fear is gone and my desire for her is overwhelming. That laughter has connected us – and we begin to work together to create a few hours of shared pleasure.
She is superbly good at her chosen profession and I feel as though I have known her for years not minutes. The mask is immediately discarded and a lovely face revealed smiling with lips and eyes. This time I have been lucky, so very lucky – pictures, written and spoken words can be faked but spontaneous laughter is always real – and trumps fear every time!
"There's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone"
1984 and I’m going through a painful split with my long term girlfriend (I did learn from this however and she is now wife but more of her in later posts). Back then pubs shut at 2.00pm on a Sunday and it was my habit to have a couple of pints at lunchtime. But after closing time I was looking at a miserable afternoon and evening and started thinking about sex which I did a lot then and
still do now.
This was before the internet and in the suburbs the only ways to find sex workers (not that the term was in use then) was through handwritten cards in news agents windows or the small ads of the local papers. The South London Press was notorious for having dozens of adverts for “massage services” and as my thoughts strayed I remembered that Friday’s copy was still around.
The drink gave me the courage to pick up the phone and after a few no replies I found a place just two trains stops away that was open for business and made an appointment. Half an hour later one extremely nervous young man, pushed the door bell of a ladies “tanning Parlour” which was
apparently not as “closed” as the sign would have casual passers-by believe.
The door was opened by a woman in her mid 30s with short blond hair and wearing exactly the sort of white overall you would expect in a “tanning parlour” and I was quickly invited in. I was then ushered into the back room where a massage table awaited me. Helpfully I was told to take my clothes off and lie face down on the table. A towel was then draped over my behind and I was given
a gentle massage until I was told to turn over. The towel was then deftly rearranged
to cover my genitals and the massage continued.
I had only booked half an hour and with less than 10 minutes to go I was frankly puzzled about how this was going to work until for the first but not the last time I heard the magic words “Do
you want extras?” I most certainly did but had no idea what was involved – “hand relief £10, top less for £15” apparently.
The open top button of that overall had already revealed an enticing cleavage and absence of bra had so £15 was agreed upon. So at 32 years of age I was brought to a climax by a woman using her hands for the first time. I was encouraged to place an arm around her now naked upper body and fondle her rather fine breasts. Once the ejaculation was over and I was cleaned up we settled up and I went on my way albeit with a smile on my face.
I never went back and the lady’s name is lost in the mists of time but I have always felt that I was very fortunate to stumble upon such a sweet, attractive woman who made my first time memorable and satisfying. Somehow the invitation to put my arm around her while she worked on me made me feel that this was just a little more than impersonal sex. I'm sure I told her it was my first time and perhaps that is why she was so warm to me - but neither of us could have known that she was launching me on a career that would still be continuing more than 30 years later.
f I had known then what I know now I would have returned and showered her with gifts for doing so. The Sex Workers that I have known since have given me many memorable experiences - most good, some great and a few dreadful. But that is no different to anything else in life - when it goes wrong it might be an off day or someone who really hasn't worked through the implication so their profession. Or it might have very well have been my fault and today I like to think I really know how to treat these wonderful women with respect and care and if I do manage that we should both thank that woman in the Tanning Parlour I guess!
There is fascinating article about business cards advertising sexual services found in phone boxes which were a key way to find sex workers before the internet but still can be seen today in Central London. It is by Dr Kate Lister who also curates “Whores of Yore” which has an always entertaining Twitter Feed!
The realisation that I have been seeing Sex Workers for more than half my life came as something of a shock but prompted me to look back at how things used to be and how they have changed in my home town of London and elsewhere. There have been some great times and a few disasters too. Along the way I will look back at some of the amazing people I’ve met and reflect on some of things I have experienced.
At the very beginning I want to be clear that I believe Sex Workers do an important job and that our deeply hypocritical society treats them appallingly. They are entitled to be respected and treated as the professionals they are. The job is a tough, even dangerous one, and Sex Workers need help to stay safe instead all too often across the world efforts are made to drive out them out of business and increase the risks they face.
The Independent Sex Workers I know are talented, confident and take care of themselves and their clients. I also know there are women who are being exploited in many ways both here in the UK and across the world. The English Collective of Prostitutes seems to me to be a sane organisation and I support their campaign to decriminalise prostitution.
I know that I am lucky to be able to enjoy the services of women who are independent and have made a choice and there are two I see regularly. They have web pages and I think it is only fair if I share them with others who might also want to use their services - but you need to treat them with respect.
The Ultimate Courtesan is a remarkable and independent young woman from London – bright, beautiful and articulate – time spent with her is always quality time
Jade Heart is an independent escort based in Newcastle (though her very discreet flat is on the Gateshead side in fact) – she is warm, funny and makes you feel so good!
An old man called Mike remembers sex in London before the internet, rants about the hypocrisy of today's society and shares some links to the best companions around today......