External Link/Members OnlyI can't find her on AW, but please add the link if you know.
I am not a demanding man. I don't ask for perfection, and am constantly delighted at the little courtesies, favours and unrequested extra effort that humans will do for strangers.
What I can't stand if half-arsedness - the sullen, "fuck it that will do" attitude that demonstrates a desire to tick boxes, to do the minimum one can get away will. Let me take you with me as I reminisce about an evening of half-arsedness.
The SetupI was in the hotel bar. I don't spend a great deal of time in bars, as I don't generally enjoy them. There's either doof-doof music, football on in the background, or a group of ladz doing bantz.
But this bar was really nice. It had obviously had a lot of money spent on it recently. The designer had gone for a middle-eastern theme, and had really pulled it off. The furniture was good and well spaced. The decor was attractive. It had one of those fake firepit things with real flames. Hell, it even smelled gorgeous - each table had a frankincense-scented candle. It was classy. There was no doof-doof or bantz. I perused the snacks menu and the cocktail menu on the table and sat back to wait for someone to take my order.
And waited.
It gradually dawned on my that despire being set out for table service, with menus on the table, there were no staff actually taking orders. They had spent god knows how much on refurbishment, but didn't want to pay some poor student 10 quid an hour to take drinks orders.
I wheel myself over to the bar where the barman is standing, endlessly cleaning the same glass. He was tall, well-styled and his uniform was immaculate. He looked at me with that strange mixture of guilt and contempt that hotel staff in England manifest when they know they've been caught idling and may actually have to do some work.
"I'd like a Negroni, please" I say.
He shrugs. He fucking shrugs! "Yeah, 'kay. I'll bring it" he replies.
Back at my table, I realise I have done the place a dis-service. There IS someone taking orders. Sort of. Every 20 minutes or so a member of staff emerges from a back room to clear tables. Then, he appears to select a random subset of tables by some arcane method that is still opaque to me, and walk up to them and grunt "You want drink?", and then disappear for another 20 minutes.
This could be a really nice bar. Physically, it's there. It just needs some trained staff who give the remotest of shits, rather than the half-arsed crew it is currently cursed with.
The ArrivalShe turns up late, but that is forgivable, as I can see that it is raining heavily and the traffic outside is barely moving.
My first impressions are:
- slimmer than her photos
- but a LOT older - mid 40s at least
- she has dressed down. I know some SPs like to be inconspicuous, but this is a dinner date - she could have made an effort.
She leans in for a peck, and I immediately smell it - smoker's breath. FFS. It doesn't matter how many sprays or losenges you use, you can't hide it. It clings to your skin and the tiny hairs on your face. My heart sinks. I order a second Negroni.
She's chatty and pleasant enough. We talk about our jobs, escorting history, holiday plans, the agencies she's with etc. It's perfectly friendly.
The MealWe go through to the restaurant, which is attached to the bar. The hotel website makes it sound like a cross between the Savoy Grill and El Bulli. In reality, it's the same international hotel food that anyone who has ever stayed in these places can probably recite from memory - steak, salmon, chicken breast, sea bass, risotto, caesar salad. She orders steak, well done with peppercorn sauce and extra peppercorn sauce on the side. "Yeah, " I think, "smoking will do that to your tastebuds."
The food takes ages to arrive, despite the fact that we are one of only two tables in the restaurant, and the other table already has their food.
The good news is that it not half-arsed.
The bad news is that it is fucking terrible.
My steak medium-rare is identical to hers well done. The peppercorn sauce tastes of flour. The creamed spinach tastes of nothing (seriously guys - salt! nutmeg!) The chips are cold.
I order another Negroni.
The BedroomAfter dinner, with her still waxing lyrical about how lovely the peppercorn sauce was, we retire to my room.
I point out the bathroom so she can wash and change.
"Nah, " she says "I didn't really bring anything."
I blythly assume she must be wearing some nice lingerie underneath her civvies. I was wrong.
She peels off. She's wearing tights and one of those one-piece things with poppers at the crotch. I discover shortly that there's a plain black bra and thong underneath that. That is it. That is the effort she has made for the money she charges. I literally did not know what to say. I have never seen such a lack of effort on the part of an escort.
"Um, did you bring any toys?" I ask. "Nah, " she says, "I travel light." She produces a tiny bag containing condoms, lube and wipes. That is what she brought.
Services are half-arsed. Her flesh is oddly 'spongy', which suggests to me that she has lost a bumch of weight recently. I start to wonder how old she actually is.
She offers a massage. Her profile says qualified masseuse. I agree.
"Nah, I forgot to bring any oil." she shrugs.
I offer her some powder to use. She literally spends 30 seconds randomly rubbing it into my back before drifting off bored.
We chat. She can do that. Turns out she generally prefers batting for the other team with her mate, who is also an escort.
Eventually I let her leave 30 mins early. I'm tired, have had 3 Negronis and half a bottle of wine, and this is going nowhere. She skips off.
The ConclusionWas anything BAD? No. Like I said - I'm not a demanding person. Was every single thing about the evening unsatisfactory. Damn right. It was even more unsatisfying because the poor service was delivered by a series of people who obviously couldn't care less.
Apparently she's back off to Australia in a few months. I can't advise you to rush.
