I thought I’d write some of thoughts on my beginnings in escorting and my approach to it.  As a teenager, I was intrigued by stories of the Mayflower Madam and Heidi Fleiss.  As someone who’s always sought out adventure and sophistication and enjoyed privately flouting convention, their lives seemed like fun to me.

Several years ago, newly single and not inspired by dating in New York City, I decided to find out for myself if the reality of high-end companionship matched the fantasy. I approached a couple of high-end agencies in the city and decided on one.

It was a great way to become initiated.  I was free to set my own limits and schedule and made a point of not being available too often.  I quickly realized that majority of demand was for hourly appointments and playboy-style sexy, something I couldn’t do even if I wanted to.  I did meet some great clients who were actually looking for someone seductive who they could talk to.

Some clients are very concerned about their personal information and go to great lengths to avoid revealing it. One even registered a ficticious person to his hotel room and made a booking with the agency under the psuednym. The agency had screening procedures but were not as rigorous as they claimed to be.

While agencies can provide more opportunities, they don’t necessarily look out for the best interests of their entertainers, they’re mainly interested in how much money you’re making for them.  It wasn’t as though I had a network of like-minded friends as I wasn’t given access to the details of other escorts, except on appointments where we were booked together.  I made it a point to keep to myself anyway as I never wanted this business to take over my life.

I’ve always taken client confidentiality very seriously.  Now that I screen clients myself and require their information for my own safety, I’m aware that they have to trust that I’ll be discreet.  It’s something I think if as a prosfessional and ethical duty.  I’ve considered the fact that writing a public blog could concern those who don’t want their activities to appear in print, no matter how anonymously.  I do respect that.  Mostly I’ve found that people like it, in fact they find it a turn on.  I definitely enjoy writing about my escapades, it gives me the chance to reflect on some great experiences and a few pretty crazy ones too.

Before leaving for my travels, I met someone whose erotic horizons are a little more expansive than my own.  When confronted with someone who knows more about something than I do, my usual reaction is to try to learn as much as I can from them, assuming their area of expertise is of interest.  So, I expressed a desire to take advantage of my new friend’s vast experience and he set me the task of deciding how that might translate on our next encounter.

In everday life, I have a pretty strong desire not to be dominated.  Nor do I have any desire to dominate others.  In a place like New York however, simply avoiding being walked all over means it’s impossible to remain passive.  I find the constant need to be assertive a little tiresome so the occasional chance to safely relinquish control is appealing.  In it’s more conventional form, this could involve being fucked from behind, hands held behind my back, face buried in a pillow.  Given the chance to take things a little further, I’d like to experience some sensory deprivation, the restraining of my limbs, pleasure applied firmly.  I like the idea of involuntary orgasm, of being teased mercilessly and aroused to the point of mental submission.  The feeling of having no choice but to keep coming and the thought that you’ll do whatever your partner wants as long as he doesn’t stop.  No serious pain or humiliation, just a little depravity.

I’ll think a little more about the details before I get back to New York.  I just bought some shoes I think will help with inspiration.  Black, leather, very high, very pointy, lots of straps…

Lying on the most beautiful, sunny beach on New year’s eve, anticipating the night ahead, thoughts of previous New Year’s Eves ran through my mind.

There was the year in the French ski town of Chamonix, eating fondue and watching a running race around the town square at midnight.  It was romantic and typically European, fueled by gluvine and Tattinger.  Reading a recent article about the town, it seems, sadly, to be suffering due to the financial downturn as rich Londoners sell their properties there and much needed upgrades to the resort are cancelled.

Paris the year of September 11 was quite wild.  I was meeting a group of friends near the Eiffel Tower before midnight then heading to Buddha Bar for a party.  Tensions on the streets among the Parisian Arab population were visible and I remember feeling on edge because of it.  Not usually one to feel nervous in public – I often walk my dog at 2am in New York – it seemed as though something could errupt at any minute.  Glass bottles were being thrown about and derogatory comments about Americans shouted in the direction of tourists like us.  We managed to avoid any incidents and had a great night, ending with poker, brie and wine at 6am in my very cosy Montparnasse hotel room.

My Singapore New Year’s Eve was fancy but quite dull.  The crowd was a group of bankers and the venue was the Chijmes Hall, a former convent and restored heritage site of beautiful Gothic architecture.  There were masks, great food and champagne and dress was formal. My date looked fabulous in his tux…hmmm.  I think it was one of those nights where the expectation of fun outweighs the reality.  The fun really began after the party was over, as I remember it.

Then there was the year in the English countryside; a chilly afternoon of croquet preceded a lethal combination of cigars and cocktails containing liqueur and ice cream!  The period from about 9pm till midnight is something of a blur but I recovered in time to wish other party-goers a Happy New Year and dance the do-si-do.

This year in Sydney was particularly festive, watching a fantastic fireworks display on the harbour.  Sydney-siders are a friendly bunch, very open and fond of their alcohol!  The weather is amazing and the city incredibly clean.  There’s a hint of lingering colonialism in this predominantly Christian town.  The front page of the local newspaper yesterday told of a move to ban topless sunbathing on Sydney beaches.  A well-known minister and political activist, Fred Nile said that women’s breasts made people “feel uncomfortable”.  I haven’t experienced that sort of reaction to my own naked torso but I do tend only to reveal it in private and the occasional non-recognizable photograph.