Sunday, 12 July 2015


This year I’ve managed to add another string to my bow, and place another iron in the fire; I’m now employed once a week to take care of design and gardening in a London restaurant, two actually.

Being a creative type, I’m like a child in a candy store to be told, ‘Just make it happen, I know you will.’ So, I pitch my idea and what materials I’ll need, if they like it (they do so far), they’ll order it and off I go, up and down a ladder weaving my magic.

However, this does means I can’t start my work before the restaurant’s guests have left (waiter, there's a Frances in my soup), which often means me going in at 10pm-11pm in the evening, often until 4am. Time was, I wouldn’t start getting ready to go out on the town much before 10pm, but that was 20 years ago.

The pace of life has slowed a little, am I reaching that state of contentment where less is more? Queuing at a loud noisy bar for a drink, the loo, or trying to engage in conversation over the noise...hmmm...a plentiful stocked fridge and no cab to catch home at 3am, now that does sound attractive. 

After 20 odd years carousing around Soho and Mayfair 3-4 nights a week, I now find myself down to barely that in a month, this still does feel odd. Of course I still love going out, no, I've not become a hermit or a recluse, I just do it less but better.

And whilst I don’t hold to the old adage, 'An hour in bed before midnight is worth two after,' one does feel rather virtuous switching off the bedside lamp before the witching hour; it's all quite novel.

What I'm reading in bed...Nothing, I'm going straight to sleep, goodnight.

Friday, 5 June 2015


The times they are a changing, and so too must my personal website; the picture here is a mock up of what it may look like.

The poor thing is now looking rather tired and dated (no, not me silly!) and now that we've several other formats for web viewing; phones, tablets, browsers, so it's time to get with the plan and move with the times.

There was a time when came up on the first-page of various search engines after typing in, ‘London transsexual escort,’ much to the consternation of SEO companies who'd regularly calling me to say, ‘Hey Fransexual (‘Ehhh no…that’s the name of the site, my name's Frances’), we can put you on the first page of Google,’ ’Oh really, but I already am.’

Alack, as Google constantly changes its algorithms for search criteria, I now pop up on something like page three…boo hiss; so, I’ve been doing my research.

Stand still too long, and one’s web presence will slide slowly down until it sinks to the bottom of the www/ratings bin, along with sprites (dreadfully annoying animations), Myspace, paying to watch porn and that funny noise you’d have to sit through for what seemed like forever, whilst your computer connected through dial-up…then dropped out again.

The little research I’ve done so far puzzles me, in that a lot of Escorts and Transsexual’s, seem to have moved away from personal websites and onto web agencies, this seems like a reversal.

Having asked for and listened to my clients feedback, as to how they managed to search me out, from the multitude of other Transsexual girls offering their services in London, the key points often mentioned were; being English, mature, and having a tasteful website, that didn’t come over as pushy or threatening. 

Armed with this, I'll be mindful when building the new site; give me a few months before popping along to see the changes.

My New Year’s resolution will be to get to grips with WordPress (website building), and so stay ahead of the constantly caning Internet curve; oh well, I guess it's back to night school for me then. 

Hmmm...Now where did I put that jolly hockey stick?

Friday, 15 May 2015


Monday was D-day, I had three visitors to the Office each named David, surely that’s bigger odds than winning the Lottery?

My first visit of the day was from ‘D The Dress,’ who has bought me several gowns to wear for his pleasure over the years. It's a vicarious indulgence really, he tells me had he been younger it’s something he'd have loved to wear himself, that blousy and crinoline look.

And so I pull out the biggest, billowy frock from my wardrobe (with difficulty) that I have, applied siren red lipstick, matched with crimson red nail varnish and sparkling jewels; if you haven't guessed already, he loves the fashion of the 50's.

Now ‘D The Fur,’ asks nothing more than ‘fur coat no knickers,’ not even stockings, just me naked beneath either my full-length mink or white arctic fox fur. And whilst this might be my easiest dressing-up request, it can be a bit challenging at the height of summer, so it doesn't stay on a minute longer than it needs to…whoosh it goes as it flies across the room.

He also enjoys a bit of mild Tie & Tease; lying there on the bed, me straddled over him in furs, I'll place an eye mask on him and begin playing with his nipples. D's nipples are so sensitive, that one has to but touch them as delicately as a butterfly alighting a flower, otherwise he'll hit the roof.

As I shuffle up toward his mouth, he waits in blind expectation of my erect cock; firstly resting upon his loosely parted lips, before gently poking its way toward the back of his throat, whilst I hold his hands high above his head, sometimes bound with a pair of stockings.

Wiggling back down along his smooth tanned chest, one hand gently teases his right nipple, the other takes his cock in hand and primes the pump until he pleads, ‘Oh Frances please stop, please stop, or I'm going to come,’ but do I ever listen…D is a proper squealer upon orgasm.

'D No: 3,’ called late afternoon and from the tone of his voice, I wasn't sure this would happen, he sounded cautious, reserved, and a little aloof. Despite my doubts, within ten minutes of his arrival the ice was broken (with a G & T) and conversation was flowing freely and unabashed, by the end of the hour I'd gained another regular client, as upon leaving the Office he'd promised to be back before very long.

Friday, 10 April 2015


Damn it…Becky has retired. Well she did say she would this year and good for her, off to pastures new; however, where does this leave me now?

There goes my ‘Go To’ Transsexual playmate, the one I'd call upon for assistance in a threesome boudoir liaison. And to whom do I now refer my clients when I'm not available, or if they'd simply like to have some fun with another English gal?

Becky was a unique Escort, by which I mean she was polite, educated, mindful, genuine, delivered the goods, loved champagne as much as I and…was English.

I fondly remember one evening together, no one else involved just ourselves. We retired to her boudoir, the lighting and music was just so and we were on to our third or was it fourth bottle of champagne. Lying there I looked at her, she looked at me, in a 'Well you start,' we were both so sloshed, that we fell asleep.

We spent many a wonderful afternoon/evening entertaining, be it her client or mine and would often jump the Eurostar to Paris for a weekend shopping trip, to top up on our lingerie and stocking collection, or pop over to the annual lingerie trade show weekend, to which we were invited each year.

How many girls pop up in Google search these days when you type in ‘London Transsexual Escort,’ hundreds I imagine? But I doubt there's one of Becky's calibre, one whom I wouldn't hesitate referring one of my own client to and who's English…if you do know then please let me know too.

Sometimes, the feedback I hear from clients begins to sound like a broken record, ‘it wasn't them in the picture;’ ‘unsympathetic and impatient;’ ‘couldn't speak the language;’ ‘upon arrival reeled off a list of prices for various services.’

Now don't for a moment think all Escorts are like that, oh no, it's only about 40% of them, at least from what I'm told; it's a jungle out there.

So, good luck and bon voyage on your new adventures Becky, we certainly had a ball and what a pleasure it was too; thank you.

Thursday, 12 March 2015


M had just arrived in from NYC; ‘Hi Frances, I'm staying at the Corinthian hotel (Espa toiletries) but I have to pop out awhile first, can I see you at 10pm?’

The Corinthian is one of London’s newest hotels, it boasts itself as 5-star and indeed it is very nice, however, it’s the hotel equivalent of a ‘Euro car,’ smooth, conformist modern lines, built for practicality rather than quirky originality. It’s insipid, indistinguishable and lacks identity, no different from a hundred other high-end boutique hotels.

And those interiors they're always the same, muted grey or brown, with lots of chrome and glass, not at all cozy, or the kind of place you'd like to squirrel yourself away in for a long weekend; the toiletries are nice though and I love the ridiculously large fluffy towels they call bath sheets.

M must be in his late thirties, a tall handsome man, he ‘works-out,’ I know this because he told me so several times, just in case I’d forgotten the first three, or was it four times? ‘What do you think of my body, you like it,’ he asked, ‘Well, it looks like you workout,’ I said flatteringly, it was the polite thing to say. 

‘So, why don't you go lay down on your tummy, and I'll give you a nice back massage after that long flight.' I slipped out of my dress and down to stocking and suspenders (as requested), before popping into the bathroom for a towel, tissues and body lotion.

Flipping him over I straddled his thighs, grasping both erect cocks in one hand whilst squeezing body lotion over them with the other, like as when they pour you an ice-cream. 'Aha, two cocks divided by a common language,' well that went straight over his head. 

‘And can you fuck me in the mouth too,’ ‘Sure,’ I replied. It appeared we had about the same size cock, but he being American his was circumcised; it didn't escape my attention that no mention was made about his cock, mine being a tad bigger.

‘Might I suggest a 69,’ ‘Sure thing Frances, whatever suits you.’ I enjoyed that, as my mouth bobbed up and down the length of his shaft, having my cock in his mouth kept him somewhat quiet. 

‘Do you wanna see how far I can shoot my come,’ he asked, in for a penny I thought, ‘Yes OK.’

M stood on the thick deep-pile carpet at the foot of the bed, where he could get the best view of himself in the mirror and proceeded to wank himself off. I thought I'd spice the proceedings up a bit, so stood behind him wrapping my hand firmly around his cock, and wanked him off hard.

‘When I come I want you to keep jerking me off, I want to see it shoot over the carpet,’ oh well, it wasn't my bedroom carpet.

And yes, it was an impressive spurt, four long one’s all over the deeply piled 5-star grey carpet, the first spurt reaching furthest. M collapsed onto the bed whilst I went off to fetch a towel to clean up any sticky evidence, I'm practical like that; don't want the chambermaid getting stuck to the spot.

‘So hey, can I see you again tomorrow evening, and can you wear black suspenders and stocking this time,’ ‘Sure M, I can do that, I’ll talk to you then, oh and do you mind if I take an apple, I haven’t ate since breakfast.’

What I'm reading in bed...

Bevis: Richard Jefferies