Perhaps 7 or so years ago, I booked a prossie, name currently unretrievable* She advertised on AW as a mid-to-late 30's woman about town - good company, elegant and an accomplished whore: which was exactly what my GP had ordered for me. Her phone manner had been confidence-inspiring; a very attractive voice projecting convincing savoir faire - able to say long words properly and everything. After a fairly in-depth mutual screening process, I felt sure enough to warrant a full evening's booking of 4 or 5 hours with an option to extend at an agreed rate if later required. I asked her to dress discreetly so that we could go out to supper somewhere fancy. She said "I know exactly what to wear"
She turned up late, wearing a long, bleached white, tatty Afghan coat that wouldn't have looked out of place on a pimp in Shaft. Underneath lay a half sheer black top and tight, textured leather pants, possibly with some leopardskin stripes (though I may be making that bit up). It's hard to convey quite what a poor combination it all was and how very effing loud too. Her hair was amok; her eyes were painted way too dark and she also surprised me with what I would inexpertly say was the sheer amount of cut-price and ineffective plastic surgery a woman supposedly under 40 could sport.
She proceeded to talk knowledgably, and at great length, about her Asperger's; all the latest happenings in the Aspie community, and why she tended to have a lot of customers from military backgrounds. We got on tolerably well enough that I thought, 'we'll see where this ones goes', but there are huge gaps in the evening where either I must've blanked out, or wished I could've done. I next remember finding myself in my hotel room, watching her from behind as she undressed and revealed a too-bony derriere. It then became brutally apparent that not only was I not attracted to her, but that I was actively appalled at the prospect. She then said something, but I can't now recall what, which just drove the final nail in the coffin of my libido. I hoist the white flag, capitulated and said as much, with some half-hearted effort to gallantly blame too much wine.
She acknowledged that things had gone awry and as I walked her through the lobby and to somewhere she could safely get a cab home, she became more and more distressed that she had messed up. She kept repeating that something similar had happened before and that she was a good escort but a bad prostitute. She asked if I would like my money back (I think maybe at £400-£500). Becoming increasingly insistent, contrite and abject, she several times held it out to it to me. I can't deny that I wasn't seriously tempted.
So to answer the question - it wasn't a freebie, but the offer of one.
*If anyone wants to chip in and help me bring back memories that probably ought to be left undisturbed; she had dyed black hair, was pale skinned, tall, rake thin, likely mid-to-late 40s or older. She lived and did incalls somewhere around the Hornsey, Stroud Green or Crouch End area; and was a gamer, computer repairer & all round nerd. Her AW name was something to do with winter, or snow or something.
