Thursday, 19 February 2015

209.

R arrived back in town from Hong Kong, we'll usually meet up 3-4 times a year, occasionally have dinner too. He doesn't look dissimilar to Hemingway though somewhat shorter, about my height (5ft 4inc).

And for a man with a full beard, it is certainly the softest I have ever nuzzled, what's his secret, does he moisturise it daily, I shall ask next time and pass it on to you wiry beardy types.

R was staying at The Dukes Hotel (SKN toiletries), quintessentially English and famed throughout the world for their Martini's, combining top-shelf ingredients with flare and ceremony. A brass and mahogany drinks trolley is wheeled over to your table, whereupon alchemy is performed before your very eyes; I imagine it all adds to the taste expectation in one's head, a grand party piece.

I wonder if one could tell the difference in a blind tasting, comparing it against one that has simply been shaken at the bar, never stirred at The Dukes (Ian Fleming drank here). For those interested enough in learning this sleight of hand, one can book a 'Martini Masterclass' for a mere £95.00 with bar manager maestro Alessandro Palazzi.

Suffice to say we ordered two (with a twist), it'd have been a crime not to, along with a champagne chaser, doubly criminal not to.

Having caught up on each other's gossip, R had a lightbulb moment, well...more of a trouser bulge moment really. 'Frances, do you know anyone who might like to join us?' It was now 11pm.

'Well it's too late for TS Becky, she's an early bird these days, switches off her phone at 7pm and puts her feet up for a G & T,' good for her I say. 'There's Sophie, I could try her,' 'Great, give her a call.' 'Hi Sophie, are you busy, if not would you like to come join us at The Dukes for some fun,' 'Actually Frances, I'm in bed reading The Times but give me half an hour.'

Thirty minutes later Sophie was sat with us sipping upon a chilled Martini. I announced, 'I think we should all retire to the boudoir, anyone disagree, all those in favour raise you glass, chink chink chink. Having arrived at the room R suggested we order up a bottle of fizz, I played mother and called down to the bar, 'Yes, three glasses please.'

Room service arrived promptly, so I shuffled the other two off to the bedroom while I showed the waiter into the sitting room, where he poured three glasses of bubbles. I tipped him as he left, leaving him to his thoughts, I'm sure he's seen it all before.

R and Sophie were already getting it on or rather, off, when I entered the room. Stripping down to my lingerie I sat on the bedroom chair, glass in hand and watched, before joining in a few minutes later. R was rather taken with his new plaything, so I acted a bit like a traffic cop, waving and suggesting what should be their next move.

If I'm completely honest, I can't quite remember what we got up to (sorry about that, I blame the martini's), but I do know we had an awful lot of fun. I took care of Sophie's gift before she left and stayed on a little longer chit chatting with R.

Rather than jump a cab straight away, I took a stroll down St James' and along 'The Mall' beside Green Park, it was a cold crisp night with a bright hazy moon, but the winter air felt refreshingly good for my rather muddled head.

What I'm reading in bed...

Meadowland: John Lewis-Stempel





Friday, 30 January 2015

208.

The New Year brings self imposed challenges, I feel the need to strike a balance between my hedonism and Catholic guilt.

Oh how swiftly that last year seemed to fly by. Of course it doesn't really, it's still 365 days of 24 hours, unless of course it's a 'Leap Year,' in which case it's 366 and time goes by more slowly.

Here's one explanation of why time seemingly goes by quicker, Does time really fly?

Overall, I'm pleased with the accomplishments of 2014's resolutions. I became a better guitarist; performed more solo gigs;  swapped that car (goodbye Mini hello Land Rover), and religiously shipped myself off to Rye every 6-8 weeks for a weekend break.

Oh, and I became a more knowledgeable gardener. Yes you too can possess mystical, magical green fingers, it's mainly a science of do's and don’ts. However...the 'Talk less listen more' resolution continues to be a work in progress, perhaps never ending?

2015’s resolutions in no particular order are thus…

Learn to play the piano in the key of ‘G,’ it has one sharp i.e. a black note. I can competently play tunes in the key of ‘C,’ white notes only, but it’s limiting and even a monkey could do it, well one with a musical ear who can play triads and a melody at least.

Continue my sanity break weekends away in Rye, also start stomping about exploring the surrounding East Sussex countryside too, it's quite beautiful.

Cycle across England on the ‘Coast to Coast’ route, it's only 150 miles (Whitehaven-Tynemouth), with stop-offs for leg massages and cider tasting at the pubs en route; four days would be a doddle and I imagine quite wobbly?

I’ve already ticked off two resolutions, a dry/no booze January (leaving one feeling both virtuous and pious) and getting back to my hour long cycle/jog 4-5 mornings a week (bloomin freezing out there), which unfortunately fell by the wayside last year due to…’Come on now Frances, no excuses,’ ‘Oh OK then, I was lazy, sorry.’ 

This year also sees me involved with helping design the interiors of two London restaurants, I'm looking forward to the opportunity to vent my creative side, not quite full rein but close enough and at no expense to myself.

So I've now four irons in the fire, music gigs; gardening (employed as my neighbour's gardener); interior design and fret ye not...of course there's always the 'Office' that needs attending to.

What I'm reading in bed...

Freud On Food: Clement Freud.

Monday, 22 December 2014

207.

B, called Monday afternoon to book an appointment for the following Saturday morning; I like that kind of forward planning, and the chance to have a good think about what I'd like to wear on the day, plenty of time to really dress it up, instead of the usual one hour's notice and the big rush. 

T and JR, give me some six-months notice or more, both being from the USA they like to do their forward planning before their annual visit, I must have known them for some six years now, perhaps longer?

Anway, B has a thing about knitwear, mohair in particular. I was looking forward to meeting him, he had an interesting voice, calming, metered and precise, like that of a radio continuity announcer...

'And now here on Radio 4, it's forty-eight minutes to one and time for The Shipping Forecast, read by Charlotte Green.'

Alack, it wasn't until he confirmed at 8am on the Saturday morning (big yawn), that he enquired, 'Oh and by the way Frances, do you have any knitwear?' Well actually I do, but I'd put my cashmere dress in to be dry-cleaned only the day before, there was no way it would be ready to pick up in the morning.

And so I got creative, 'Necessity is the mother of invention,' nude coloured stockings, beige patent heels, yellow knickers and long sleeved fawn brown cashmere jumper which I pulled down over my thighs, the lace stocking tops peeked out from just below. In fact, I thought it was such a nice look, I'll use it more often.

B arrived in a long flowing woollen coat, with fur trimmed collar and lapels, beneath he wore a black angora turtle-neck jumper and fine woollen trousers, or rather, pants as our American friends might call them. We agreed that we didn't much care for very warm weather, one can dress up so much more in cooler climes.

Retiring to the boudoir, he insisted in taking the initiative, 'Oh OK then.' I was to lie on my back, still wearing my knitwear (he in his mohair jumper), whilst he massaged the spot just below the base of my cock; it stimulates the blood flow to the penis, it felt quite pleasant and relaxing.

And yes, my cock did get erect, but then it does anyway, it's fully functional, or as I'll often reassure my prospective clients, 'Yes, it still goes up and down, just like Tower Bridge.'

My next new experience was for B to wrap a white mohair jumper around my cock and slowly wank me, he'd brought it along especially for the occasion. Again, I was to simply lay back, 'Well OK if you insist,' I replied. Later on I too got inventive, popping each cock into a sleeve and wanked us both off to completion; his dry cleaning bill not mine, not that he minded a bit; I do hope he returns for a rematch.

And now boys and girls, it’s time to close the Office of fun for another year. May I wish you all a very Merry Christmas from HQ, and hope to see you all again next year, till then...

What I'm reading in bed…

New Selected Poems: Carol Ann Duffy





Sunday, 14 September 2014

206.

I recently received a mail asking for some advice regarding becoming an Escort, here follows my reply…

Hello M, I trust this finds you well and thank you for your kind mail, I'm delighted to hear you're enjoying the Blogs.

I've enjoyed my time as an Escort immensely and continue to do so, how much longer I'll stay with it, I don't know? I guess my desire will eventually wane with other distractions in my life, however this presently isn't the case.

Done correctly, one can make a very good living, and let’s not forget that in this country (UK) it is legal, if you work on your own that is.

Advice: Don't try to be all things to all men, nor offer that you specialising in everything, which itself is a contradiction, find what you are most comfortable with offering, enjoy doing and delight in that.

The most successful girls I know, are those who identify and carve out their own niche, recognise yours; this is what potential clients are looking for, not some ‘Jack of all trades master of none.’

Personally, I don’t much care for S & M, I don’t mind a bit of ‘Slap & Tickle/Tie & Tease,’ but I’m no Dominatrix and it’s not a service I offer, simply to broaden my appeal in some scatter-gun fashion. I happily accept others enjoy it (some of my best friends do), but it doesn't do much for me; shame I know.

Therefore, there’s no suggestion I offer this service on my site, nor photographs of me in bondage gear or whipping someone with a 'Cat O' Nine Tails', therefore I rarely get asked to provide this service.

Don't market yourself in an aggressive manner, or use a hard selling techniques, it's a big turn-off, ‘Listen up you people, I'm the biggest, best etc etc etc,’ most clients are intelligent people, they can make their own minds up; they don't need someone they've never met telling them otherwise.

Always be polite and courteous to those who are enquiring. Yes, you'll received a lot of crank calls, it comes with the business and as your contact details are out there on the www for all to see, well quite frankly, it’s impossible to avoid.

You’ll be asked some of the dumbest questions on earth; accept it, some people are simply dumb. Even after having visited your site, they’ll still ask stupid questions. Again, ensure that your website clearly reflects who and what you are offering, it may help cut down your dumb phone to genuine call ratio.

Occasionally people will call and be extremely rude to you, just suck it in and be polite, don't let some stranger get you angry or in a bad mood, it’s just an idiot at the end of a phone line; be civil (whilst rolling your eyes and making funny faces) and chances are, they'll feel stupid and not bother you again.

If their opening line starts, ‘How big are your tits/arse/cock and how much,’ it’s a pretty safe bet that this is going nowhere. You’ll come across your share of big egos, they're usually the one's who feel inadequate in the pants department.

I get the occasional call from some 'Mr Super Stud,' he's the one who sees himself as God’s gift, informing me of the good time he can show me, the best sex I’ll ever have, and therefore sees no reason why he'd ever need to pay me; these calls I find amusing, well you've got to laugh.

Perhaps you'll entertain a client with a physical or learning difficulty, the butcher, baker, candlestick maker, maybe the chap who's recently had a stroke, or perhaps bereaved and looking for some affection; people are people, treat all equally. 

The place where you entertain should be clean, somewhere you'd be happy to go see someone yourself, not some knocking shop with a shot out mattress, cheap cotton/polyester bed linen, thread bear towels and unsanitary.

70% of my client base is what you’d call ‘Regulars,’ these are your bread and butter. They're built up over time by your being consistent in the service you offer, having a positive and generous attitude, and genuinely enjoying the time spent with your client. If you can't offer this, you'd best find yourself another career, because they won't be back.

Not so long ago, one of my longest serving clients arrived on a Friday evening, only to discover he'd lost his wallet. I suggested as he was here, we sort out my gift next time we meet. As all his cards were in the wallet, he was now without money for the weekend, so I suggested I give him an advance. OK, now that’s an extreme example, but this is the kind of trust that one can build up with a regular.

So there you go, just a few suggestions which you may find helpful, if you’d like more then let me know, good luck on the adventure and remember, have fun.

Frances


Friday, 15 August 2014

205.

Free slippers; it’s one of life's simple pleasures and a perk of the job, you may think it silly but a new pair of hotel slippers every month is a delightful treat.

The best I've come across to date are from The Dorchester hotel (Floris toiletries), thick padding, generously cut and embroidered with a little fancy gold coat of arms.

Of course I'd never take them without first asking, and there's usually two pair, sometimes four if it's a very posh hotel.

Mini bars seems to have fallen out of favour with a lot of  business clients, either the hotel no longer stocks it unless specifically requested, or, a guest will request to have it emptied upon arrive. At the prices they change for their drinks, it’s hardly surprising.

Sewing-kits, well I've got more of those things than God himself, certainly enough to see me through a lifetime, perhaps two; flannels; come on, how many hundred flannels does one person need; toiletries, oh yes always, but again not without asking first.

I arrived at a hotel on Park Lane recently, having forgot to bring along some lube, so I thought I'd make use of the hotels divinely scented Peppermint & Lemon body moisturiser (the clue was in the wording but blondie here missed it), to help our motion. 

Having applied it to the nether regions, whilst I didn't quite dance about the room like I'd been waking on hot coals, I certainly skipped out of that room pretty sharpish after the event…wow! Silly me.