Kinky La Rue

Never text or call an escort you’ve never met before when you’re horny, particulary late at night when you’re watching a porno movie. It’s a good thing I’m of the decent sort.

This past weekend on Saturday morning, I woke up to a missed call, a voicemail and quite a few texts, all sent by one person. It was a chappie in Essex who had seen my site and was also watching a porno movie, so it seems he was quite in the mood. He phoned at midnight wanting a booking, but as I was unavailable (try asleep) could he make a booking for later on this week.

He then proceeded to send me quite a few texts, telling me he’d never had a voluptuous lady before, how he’s got a couple of fantastic hours planned and was very descriptive when texting what he’d like to do with/to me.

He had also texted me that, to prove he wasn’t a timewaster, here was his full name and address in Essex, complete with postcode and could I please get back to him the next day to find out my availability.

I figured it was the horn talking and I really didn’t take much notice of the call, the texts and the voicemail. But I did send him a text the next morning asking him if he’d enjoyed the night before. Guess what? I haven’t heard from him since.

He must now be cacking his pants that he’s disclosed his full name and address to an escort he’s never had the pleasure of meeting.

What is it they say about some men thinking with the wrong ‘head’?

The past couple of days phone calls has made me reminiscent about this song, sung by Karyn White sometime back in the 90s.

On Friday night at around 7.30 I received a phone call asking for an outcall to Ilford in Essex. For those unfamiliar with London and its geography, it’s a fair distance. I live in South London and Essex is all the way across town, past East London. It’s basically on the border of Essex county. Not Central London anymore.

Last night at approx. the same time, I received another request for an outcall to come to Hertfordshire. Hertfordshire?!  This is even further than Essex, just going in another direction. It’s what we townies consider the countryside.

Now I know because of this freezing weather we’re suffering it seems like a great idea to have some rumpy pumpy in the warmth of your own surroundings. But calling me last minute, without any regard as to how I’d get to yours in freezing temperature, ice and snow, really is a tad thoughtless. Then imagine me trying to get back home in the wee hours of the night. It doesn’t even bear thinking about.

I have had to chuckle at these phone calls. I’m thinking to myself, how do these gents expect me to get to their houses, in this weather, at such short notice?? I know, I’ll do that twirly thing that Wonderwoman (yes I know, a different superhero to Superwoman but you get the picture) does. She goes from Diana Prince to Wonderwoman in a blink of an eye. I could go from homebody to Kinky Brandy in the blink of an eye too; thongs, sussies and basque just like that. And what for travel? Pfft, forget the icy roads my car would skid about in. Forget the long train journey hampered by the snow and ice. I know! I’ll use my Invisible Jet. I’ll be there in two shakes of my truth lasso.

Gentlemen, c’mon! If you’ve been experiencing difficulties in getting in to work this week, do you think I’d fare much better? And at such short notice? I know it’s not exactly a romantic picture, but believe me, with this weather, I’m curled up either on the sofa or in my bed in my warmest pee-jays wearing double socks which can just about feel the warmth from the hot water bottle my feet are resting on. In other words, I’m just as human as you.

That’s not to say that if I had an advanced booking I’d have done my damndest to get there. I would’ve and have done. I can feel my toes wincing now at the memories of some of the outcalls I’ve made to the Greater London area, standing on freezing cold train platforms. But c’mon gents, as gorgeous and as wonderful as I am, I’m not Superwoman, or indeed Wonderwoman. Even if I have performed some amazing feats in the bedroom.