| Please note- escorting and prostitution between consenting adults is legal in the UK- I am not breaking forum rules.
A couple of weeks ago I was in a very bad place due to an extended dry spell- having been without sex for 6 months.
The last girl I was with ended badly, jealousy, lies, being dumped for a guy with more money and cocaine than me- along with a Facebook humiliation hate campaign that wasn't any wrong doing on my part.
Basically I called out the girl I was dating for her multiple lovers, drug use and going after guys who had money. She lied and lied and lied on all these counts before saying I was coming onto her despite us having sex once.
I felt depressed because of this dry spell and a guy in the pub suggested I hit London and hire an escort for the first time. He explained that paid for sex in the UK is NOT illegal nor is prostitution, unless there is proof of some other illegal activity involved such as coercion, trafficking etc. With open immigration and EU borders London has seen an influx of gorgeous eastern european women working as independent escorts.
On the flip-side a friend of mine wanted to tag along but had booked a well known pick up company for a bootcamp for $3000 to head up London's most exclusive clubs.
He asked if I wanted to join but at an exchange rate of £1937 I politely declined as the company provided little evidence of approach videos- unlike youtube bloggers who post tons of infield evidence of success.
Whist he took his bootcamp I slipped off for my first paid for experience which was £60 for 30 minutes of full sex- less than a VIP lapdance lasting only 15 minutes at £70 and no sex.
I called and got the female workers address in an upmarket apartment in a trendy cosmopolitan area of London- texted to me. My heart was in my mouth as I took the elevator to her room. I knocked on the door and heard the click, clunk of high heels on a wooden floor, the latch opened and the door slowly opened- I walked through.........
On the other side I spotted this Polish born angel in a red dress, hair flowing like a black waterfall, sexy fringe haircut and shiny black stockings.
She smiled and I have never smelt such a fresh woman, body lotion, perfume and female oestrogen pheromones.
I placed the £60 on the bed and arranged for 30 minutes. She left the room and then returned. You know what comes next so I'll leave it to your imagination.
The following day I got a mobile call from my male friend asking to see how "my family was getting on". Obviously I was "ecstatic" and had to hold in my excitement at what had happened the previous day (although the sound, images, physical sensations and smells of a sexually aggressive polish woman bouncing up and down in my lap using both her head and hip area were racing through my mind).
I asked how his Bootcamp had progressed to which he said "I'm in Leicester Square speaking to foreign french tourists showing friendly indifference to my approaches"
I said "Cool. Sounds like your game skills you had acquired back home. Keep plowing".
My friend said "No. It is no different to what I've had back home. The women last night were.......not interested. Sure they humoured me- but there was as about as much passion and spark as a pensioners flat in winter. This bootcamp. Was a mistake".
Me "Keep it up. You've paid for the bootcamp so be sure to complete it" (mobile message tone vibrates- flat 2, address line, nearest underground station Earl's Court- see you babe)
Me "Listen I've got to meet one of my family members we've got tickets for a film. Hold in there buddy we'll talk on the train on the way back"
I meet a 6 foot tall Romanian woman, in a black silk push up bra, g-string and stockings for another 30 minute booking. Craziness ensues............
I meet my friend at Pret-a-Manger for a debrief. He says he didn't learn anything that he didn't know before from reading blogs whilst out practising in our local Malls, Bars, Nightclubs and Parks. "I just can't put my finger on why I didn't pull. Sure I get numbers but they lead to nothing but flakes. On the bootcamp they said I was doing well, but couldn't explain why the girls weren't texting back".
I did some maths and divided the £1937 / £60 escort. I gasped at my sum. 32 Escorts! Or 16 hours of sex.
Now I know escorts won't help me find a meaningful relationship, nor will they turn up to my Birthday party nor (to be morbid) my funeral.
But as far as dating and bar sluts go those figures were hard to ignore.
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