The Real Escort Diaries

My name is Maggie Smith. Very boring isn't it? I mean, if you look in the phone book you are going to find hundreds and thousands of Margaret's and hundreds and thousands of Smith's. Clearly when my parents chose to name me, they thought as they already had the most common surname in the western world, they might as well give me the most common first name to match. 1

Like my name, my life has also been extremely boring and reads like a book. I was born, I grew up in a household with 2.4 children, and we had a summer break each year in France and an October break in Blackpool. My parents stayed together, there was no drama's of divorce in my family; we children worked hard and eventually I left school with a reasonable amount of qualifications. Next was university; which again I passed with flying colours. By the time I reached 24 years of age I was used to everything in my life running smoothly, there had never been any great trials for me. 2

Then, just three days before my wedding, I discovered my fiancé had cheated on me. He ran off with my best friend. Cliché I know, but true. It broke my little heart. 3

Maybe the attraction was her name: Scarlett Andrea Shipton-Howell. Scar or Sash to her friends. Her name was grand as was her family; they owned a chain of leisure complexes throughout Europe. But Scarlett wanted to live the 'real university experience' and chose to move into halls of residence for first year. She had the room next door to me and we quickly became firm friends. For second through to fourth year the pair of us shared a rental flat in town; so as one can imagine, it was the biggest shock of my life to find my fiancé was sleeping with her.4

For several weeks after finding this out I moped around the house. There seemed little point in eating or bathing; there was no point to opening the curtains or getting dressed. I just wanted to hibernate until everything seemed OK again. But weeks turned into months and five of them later I received the letter I had been dreading. My employment had been terminated due to my long and unexplained absence; with immediate effect.5

Soon after came the letters of rent arrears, credit card arrears, debt building up everywhere. After six long months of living in solitary confinement it was time to start living again. I decided I wanted to be desirable again; I wanted men to look at me in awe and admiration. It was time to make changes to myself and my life and the first one was to banish Maggie Smith. She just had too many bad memories for that moment in time. 6

And just like that, out went Maggie Smith and in came: Ritzy Balfour, high class escort girl. 7


SUNDAY 21:38 HOURS 8

The phone rings and a charming sounding man speaks from the other end. He has a soft, well spoken voice and tells me he is in a central hotel. He would like me to arrive wearing a business suit so I do not look suspicious; but under my clothes he expects the sexiest lingerie I own. The booking is made for 11 p.m. and will be for two hours. I tell him I will call once I am in the hotel lobby. 9

22:15 HOURS 10

I have shaved my legs, underarms and lady garden. My legs are coated in silky soft black stockings with lace top. I have a tiny thong on and a beautiful figure hugging corset; black lace with tiny pink flowers embroidered into it. My hair has been up in rollers all day and is now let down into loose shiny curls down my back. My makeup is expertly applied and by the time I leave at 10.45 p.m. I am looking suitably gorgeous. 11

22:58 HOURS 12

I have arrived at the hotel and call Mr A to let him know. He tells me he is in room 451 on the fourth floor. He will meet me at the elevator as you need a key card to access the corridor. As the elevator makes its way up I apply another quick coat of lip-gloss and double check my appearance. Yes, I look good; he is going to love me. The voice in the elevator says 'fourth floor' and the doors slide open. I step out and see an extremely large man standing in front of me. This guy must be about thirty stone and I can barely make out his facial features as his eyes look like two minuscule yolks on an extremely large fried egg. 13

Mr A smiles at me, saying "you must be Ritzy" and leads me to his boudoir. He wants to get right into the action and all the while I am still staring at him thinking, ‘yeah right, there is NO way you are getting on top of me, you would make Dawn French look anorexic by the time your finished!’14

He lays himself down on the bed looking for a little oral relief and I can’t help but gasp when I see the amount of chaffing this man has between his super sized thighs. There is only one thing for it: close my eyes and think of Antonio Banderas. 15

When the time comes for me to give my rodeo performance it’s like riding on a water bed. My knees are balancing on his flab, and I’m rocking all over the place. I can’t help but think of that little boat my parents used to drag us on to cross the Mersey when we were kids. Beads of perspiration would be far too polite; this great lump was sweating profusely like he was in the midst of a tuberculosis attack. Cheeky sod, I thought, all he had done was walk to the elevator door and back. 16

Oh God, oh God, he is leaning towards me. Please don’t pull me down on top of your slippery gut. The sweat makes your gut look like the surface of an eel, please no! Oh, phew, you are reaching down to lasso your gut with your arms, yes good idea, move it out the way. Good boy. 17

01:24 HOURS18

I am home. It’s time for bed now. I am £300 richer but gosh do I feel sick. Never mind, at least I can look back and laugh.19


WEDNESDAY 14:08 HOURS20

Today has been prank call hell. The phone has rung non-stop and I think I’ve rehearsed every phone box number in the West End now. Kids; they think they are so amusing. Every time it has rung they have asked if I’m: Nikki Hymen, Pinky Spreadum, Lucinda Allfours, and so on. 21

Finally, when I was at the point of screaming at the next person who called, I had someone sensible. Could he come to my apartment? He asked. I told him that was fine and he will be here at 3 p.m. Just half an hour he wants, so I get away with a quick baby-wipe wash and wait for him to arrive.22

15:08 HOURS 23

He is late. You better hurry up my friend, twenty two minutes left and counting.24

15:17 HOURS25

He has arrived at long last and gave a lengthy apology about being held up in a meeting. I gave him my best smile and said not to worry. It would appear that Christmas has come early this year, as in front of me I have Santa Claus.26

He is only here for thirty minutes so I get right down to business. He tells me how much he loves to pleasure a lady with his tongue and I have to chew the pillow to keep myself from laughing. After exactly eight minutes (I have been watching the clock intently, using it as a distraction mechanism) I cannot take it any longer and sit bolt upright, spraying his head with saliva as I burst into laughter, and in turn making him topple off the bed onto the floor. 27

“Please stop, stop!” I scream in high pitched giggles. “No more Santa please, your beard is tickling the life out of me!”28

He doesn’t seem to find my facetious remark very amusing and as soon as he is finished he makes a quick exit.29

Oh well, you have to laugh.30


FRIDAY 16:30 HOURS31

An email arrives in my inbox asking if I am free today for a slightly different meet. This man is looking for a lady to dominate him. I chuckle to myself and reply saying yes I am free, please call me. Within minutes he is on the line and asking me to visit him in his home later this evening. He wants to book me for three hours from 8 p.m. until 11 p.m. Excellent, that’s my night sorted!32

FRIDAY 19:20 HOURS33

I am showered and dressed and now am waiting on my taxi. I am looking forward to seeing this client as he sounded pretty young and friendly on the phone. I like the ones who have a sense of humour; it makes this job so much more fun. The client’s house is twenty minutes away so I sipped a glass of chilled wine to keep my insides warm while I travel. 34

20:02 HOURS35

I arrive at the client’s house and am very happy to find a well groomed man in his early thirties greeting me at the door. He pours me a glass of champagne and we make small talk before moving into the bedroom. I notice I am alone in my drinking; and he proceeds to tell me about his somewhat abstemious life.36

After hearing about his various abstinences and rather solitary life; it is even more of a shock when I open the bedroom door and find a pair of yellow marigold gloves sitting on the edge of the bed. 37

“I didn’t want to mention marigolds on the phone,” he explains. “I thought I should just wait until you got here.”38

Well, no explanation is really necessary is it? I laughed, gasped, choked and snorted my way through the next hour. Gosh, I certainly know how those poor farmers feel now when pregnancy testing their cows.39

After another much needed glass of champagne, we returned to the bedroom for a further hour of (thankfully) more textbook domination. At 11 p.m. I was extremely relieved to be going home.40

00:22 HOURS41

As my head hit the pillow I actually had to pick it up and bash my head with it several times. It’s just not the sort of life you can talk about over a Sunday roast with your nearest and dearest, but gosh is it fun!42


SATURDAY 11:17 HOURS43

The phone wakes me from a crazy dream where I was a Blue Peter presenter making a catapult out of my bra straps. 44

Perhaps the dream should have been enough warning for what was coming next. The phone rings and the gentleman on the other end asks me if I’m free today. As soon as the business side of things is out of the way, the remainder of the conversation goes a bit like this:45

Me: Yes I will be free anytime after 1 p.m. - what time were you thinking of?46

Mr B: Probably about 3 if that’s OK?47

Me: Certainly, can I take the address please or would you like to come here?48

Mr B: Do you know the Anchor Hotel? I live near there, if you could come here for an hour that would be great.49

Me: Sure, and yes I know which hotel you mean. So where is it you live then?50

Mr B: Literally right next to it, in the field.51

Me: The field?!52

Mr B: Yes, in the field, in a caravan of course. 53

I start to laugh but manage to compose myself as I have visions of myself attempting to cross this no doubt muddy field in four inch heels.54

Me: Sorry, I don’t do out calls to caravans.55

So there you have it, a little peek into my glamorous life as a high class call girl. As you can see its all champagne breakfasts and penthouse hotel suites; gorgeous young men who are hung like donkeys and earth shattering orgasms every night. Sometimes I have to ask myself why I never thought of this before, after all Ritzy Balfour has a far more entertaining life than poor Maggie Smith. Hell, I am a beautiful exotic woman and that idiot of an ex should see me now. 56

I might not have anyone to love me, but never mind, at least I can laugh at this crazy life.