So, I did another booking tonight. Was a strange one. He lives in an enormous house in Maida Vale and is a retired city gent. We started with a (par for the course with the older johns) massage, then a blow job. Simple. Oral is what I’m renowned for apparently, so it’s a regular thing that they only want a blow job. He couldn’t stay hard – he was pushing 60 so that’s understandable. The strange thing was, suddenly he sat up, and said goodnight. No money shot, no orgasm, nothing!
After I left (a bit richer…) I got a phone call as I was getting on the tube from the policeman. He was supposed to meet me today but because my phone has decided to play games, I ended up sat waiting for almost 2 hours. He stood me up basically. The phone call was a surprise, but he begged forgiveness and asked me to come meet him. I did.
Off I trotted to Tottenham Court Road, wandered down the street to meet him in Soho and half a bottle of wine later, and a fair few kisses later we parted ways with the promise of a phone call about a date tomorrow night. He rang me when I got home. We’re watching horror films at his place in Chelsea. I may have found a good one this time. I have butterflies. I wonder if I’ll have to quit the business properly….
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