The Old Escort

My name is Julie and I have been a London Escort for 32 years now. I will be 55 tomorrow. I sound like I should be saying this in some sort of self help group, Escorts anonymous, or something equalling depressing. It is depressing though how did I get here? Yes I have a lovely lifestyle created by my years of service to such an unappealing industry but has it all been worth it? To tell you the truth I really don’t know anymore.

I loved my job when I first started out. I was a fresh faced 23 year old high on life and some other not to be mentioned substances. I was having fun. Escorting was a quick way to make a buck little more than a fun part time job. That was until I met Andrew. Andrew was a London businessman. He was 33 years old with a glamorous wife, who regularly appeared in the pages, of a top celebrity magazine. Together they had two delightful little children, cared for by their sweet little nanny, in a large townhouse in Chelsea. Andrews seemingly perfect London lifestyle however was not quite good enough for him he wanted more, like many rich men I presume, and he chose me. Out of all the London Escorts on my agencies books he chose me to be his one and only Escort. The deal was that Andrew would fund my lifestyle entirely and I would promise to only work for him. It meant I was at his complete beck and call but I liked him and it was better than waiting around like all the other Escorts I knew waiting for the phone to ring with news of their next client. To me this was the perfect setup. Andrew bought me a lovely apartment in Knightsbridge right across the road from Harrods and we regularly jetted of on holiday together. It was simply perfect and I quickly fell in love with him, a man that I knew, could never truly be mine.

The years began to pass and I suppose I just accepted that if I couldn’t have Andrew completely I would be the best Escort possible. I threw away my childhood dreams of being a first class flight attendant and told myself that this was the best job in the world. Of course I never told my poor parents what I was doing, batting away all requests, that I should marry and have children. They would have never understood. My London lifestyle was so alien to them, living in a tiny village, in the middle of nowhere. Of course they are long gone now and they will never know. To be frank I suppose I was in denial always hoping that Andrew would choose me and leave his wife.

Around five years ago I began to finally realise that Andrew would never leave his wife and grew more concerned that he would dump me for a younger Escort. I was ageing rapidly. My skin was sagging, despite lots of nip tucks at an expensive private London clinic, courtesy of Andrew, and I had begun the dreaded menopause. I felt so old and no longer could be bothered with the constant upkeep my job depended on. I was no longer having fun. Despite all this Andrew and I continued with our long standing agreement deciding that we were both entering a new era in our friendship. A somewhat more relaxed affair, not at all what you would expect, from an Escort and Client relationship. It was so lovely to know that he felt the same and that we were simply growing and ageing together. Sadly one month ago Andrew passed away from a heart attack. My old Escort agency was the one to tell me. I am not able to go to the funeral. I can only mourn in private. The flat must now be sold along with many of my belongings. I am too old to be an Escort especially in London. I have nothing.