I guess I'm one of nature's optimists so when my business meeting fell though a few weeks ago it meant I had a couple of hours to myself in town. Not that many years ago this would have been an opportunity for spontaneous, casual sex and I would have looked for a phone box with plenty of cards or rung Les Girls to see who was working. Back then it didn't take much to start my mind wandering - once I saw an attractive woman wearing a leather skirt, jacket and high heels waiting at the station and by the time I was in London I knew I had to have sex - and soon! These days more planning goes in to it and I have learned to enjoy the anticipation - and the week of abstinence before hand too!
I began wondering if it was still possible to get laid without resorting to the internet so being near Baker Street - the scene of many a fleeting hour of pleasure - I decided to walk from there to Berwick Street in Soho where Les Girls were for many years. I failed to spot a single card near Baker Street although there was evidence that they had been present but Westminster Council had done their usual thorough removal job. The cards back then were quite basic and the pictures bore little or no resemblance to the woman you would meet. These days when you see a working girl described as "young" you worry that it actually means a 16 or 17 year old or worse but then it meant anyone under the age of 50! Yet sometimes you got lucky. It was how I met "Flame" a sweet girl with a spectacular mane of red hair and a penchant for wearing latex even on the hottest of days - her card simply consisted of a line drawing of a woman in rubber and her number - it certainly worked for me!
I made my way down to Bond Street and headed for Soho - still no cards on view. As I tuned into Berwick Street the memories came flooding back. In some ways the street was just the same - certainly the market was still there but were the sex workers? This was where the "walk ups" were to be found with their hand written cards alerting passers by to the availability of "French Lessons" or the opportunity to purchase a "Large Chest". All long gone. Les Girls was very different and in many ways ahead of its time. They described themselves as "a group of professional working girls whose aim is to provide a high standard of personal services in accordance with their clients' needs and delivered in a healthy and mutually respectful environment." They started in the mid 1990's and were early adopters of an internet presence. Many girls worked there over the years but the two I saw most often were Paige and Chelsea - they were both attractive physically but more importantly were warm, friendly people who really tried to make sure you had a good time.
If I found myself with a free Saturday evening a session at Les Girls followed by a meal at Jimmy's in Frith Street then collecting an early edition of the Sunday papers on the way home was a real treat. Three things that were unique to London all now gone and almost forgotten.
Blore Court was a dead end off Berwick Street and it now seems to have disappeared into a new building on the corner with Peter Street. It felt safe and clean and you really were made to feel welcome. If we lived in a parallel Universe where honesty ruled there would now be a Blue Plaque there telling the world about Les Girls who helped me understand that engaging with independent professionals was so much better for both clients and providers.
Still no cards to be seen though the thought crossed my mind as to what I would do if I found some? Would I make the call and head off to have sex with a complete stranger? For all of 30 seconds I considered this and then thought about what J, the superb professional I now see regularly, would have to say. My guess is she would read the riot act - she considers health, safety and hygiene as being utterly non-negotiable and I suspect that if I confessed to a casual encounter like that I would find my self rapidly removed from her "white list"!
I finally did find a phone box with some cards clearly on display. It was just by the Edith Cavell memorial in St Martin's Place - not a hot spot for the sex trade as far as I am aware. I was about to go in and take a closer look (purely for research purposes of course) when a Chinese couple decided that this was the ideal place for some wedding photos - I am guessing that they liked the idea of having a quaint red London phone box in the picture but I can't help wondering if they noticed the unusual adverts too!
My time with A a decade earlier had made realise that BDSM was something I wanted to explore and over the ensuing years I would both try to persuade my partner to explore it and visit professionals. I was and still am unclear whether I am more sub than dom and have never indulged my kink on a regular basis. I am exploring some possibilities with one of my current regulars and the recent launch of the Kinky London Escorts (KLE) web site brings together some very impressive ladies and I hope to meet one or two more of them in the years ahead. This is an account of an early foray into professional domination.
I had been planning this for months. I had found someone who seemed to understand that for me domination involved the mind as much as the body and didn't require a full leather outfit (not that there is anything not to like about such outfits). We had exchanged emails and a time was set and a number provided to ring once I got to the tube station.
I had explained that I was an inexperienced submissive and wasn't looking for heavy punishment but wanted to give her complete control over what would happen during the hour we would spend together. I had given her information about my limits but what I really craved was experiencing something I could not anticipate and would have no control over. Finally we established that I would be enabled to ejaculate at some point. Her web site was very discreet and didn't contain any images of her at all.
By the time I emerged from Temple tube my heart was racing and my bowels were making ominous noises - always a sign that my nerves were getting the better of me. I called and was directed to a flat off Fleet Street. I was greeted by a maid who showed me to a small waiting area where a few moments later I was joined by Mistress B. She was dressed well but could have stepped out on to the street with a pretty face, long brown hair and a home counties accent.
She quickly confirmed that I wanted her to take charge and would do as I was told but that I wasn't going to be whipped (I was married by then and my wife might just have noticed if I had been) only spanked and paddled. I was directed to the "Play Room" via the bathroom and told to undress and await Mistress. She entered shortly afterwards wearing high heels and corset which I hadn't requested but pushed all my buttons. Her first words were to tell me I was overweight and offer to supply me with slimming pills which took me aback even though she was right! Her second words were to assure me that her discretion was absolute and she mentioned in passing that one of her regulars was a High Court Judge!
Once the session was underway I was restrained and given enough of a hand spanking to make me sting a little and then 12 blows with a paddle. She assured me that my now very warm arse would slowly return to normal in a couple of hours at most. After a delightful interlude while she sat on my face she left the room leaving me to wonder what was going to happen next. What actually happened never even occurred to me as a possibility. She returned leading a masked male slave! I have to be honest and say this freaked me out more than a little! AIDS was still seen as a mainly Gay disease then and I immediately assumed that the slave and I would be expected to have anal intercourse. I was well versed in buggering willing women but my interest had never extended to the exploration of male anal passages.
I actually started to panic a bit at this stage and Mistress B thought it would reassure me if she told me that the slave was only there to suck my cock which he proceeded to do! Interestingly despite my unhappiness about this my cock stayed hard and for the first and last time in my life another man's tongue explored it. Time was moving on and Mistress B now took things in hand so to speak and brought me to a climax though she left the slave to clear up the mess while she released me from the restraints.
I was left with mixed feelings about the experience. I knew there was much more that Mistress B could offer and for several years the business card she gave me lay hidden in my desk. That card said simply B..... Green, Personal Assistant and a mobile number. I never did ring that number though. The participation of the slave had changed the dynamic and while I have occasionally had sex with two escorts it has always been straight(ish) sex. FMM simply doesn't do it for me and the session taught me that while I might be prepared to undergo physical chastisement I wasn't really a submissive -I needed to to negotiate the scene in much more detail and thus have control even if I was placing someone else in charge.
3 Lions? The encounter took place on the afternoon of 18 June 1996 and later that evening I was at Wembley watching England beat Holland 4-1 and wondering how many other members of that crowd had spent their afternoon having sex with a professional dominatrix rather than sitting in a pub getting tanked up?
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......