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| Sunday, April 9th 2023 |
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| The Royal Cad |
Oh dear! This is nothing to brag about, but I feel compelled to spill the beans anyway. What’s sauce for the goose, is sauce for the gander after all…
I’ve always been a fan of Princess Diana so anyone who pays someone else to write a best selling book about their affair with her is going to irritate me.
Long after they *murdered Princess Diana, a posh sounding man calling himself Jack arranged a booking with me. I gave him the address which was PRINCESShay Court in Exeter funnily enough. He arrived on time, speaking just above a whisper throughout. He was polite and respectful – and – I took an immediate dislike to him.
The reason my brow furrowed slightly on seeing this guy was because he had gone to the trouble of dressing exactly like that Twat of the Decade: The Royal Cad.
He was wearing the same long beige coat I’d seen him wearing in the media and had even dyed his hair the same distinctive colour. As my eyes rested on his face, I could see there really was a striking resemblance between the pair.
I thought to myself, Hmm, why would someone get off on looking and dressing like Mr Treason?
It was having the wrong effect on me considering we were about to shag, so he really shouldn’t have bothered.
Our following exchange makes me cringe now when I look back but this is how it went:
Me: Ohhh, you know who you look like don’t you? (Playing along.)
Mr T: (Smiling shyly.) No, who’s that then?
Me: You look just like ***** ******.
Mr T: (Still smiling shyly and looking down at his wallet, counting out my fee.) What do you think of that situation?
Me: I think he’s a wanker! (Cringe.)
Mr T: Well there’s always two sides to every story isn’t there. (Still very softly spoken.)
As I took my money, I tried not to give him a dirty look but half glared in his direction anyway.
He needn’t think I was impressed that he was this guy’s doppelganger. (Not sure how to do the two dots above the A on this interface.)
We did the business and he was Mr Vanilla. Very soft, stroking my skin, his voice never rising above that whisper. I do remember he never went down on me, which most men do (well, about 80 + percent). Poor Diana. Did he only do that to her on special occasions or as a favour I wonder?
He came back to see me again two weeks later and, wow, he had gone to all that effort again. Some fantasist I had here!
I must admit I was a little off-hand with him this time. I just didn’t get it and thought someone dressing up to look like someone (in)famous was just weird. I mean, imagine you go to a customer’s house and they open the door dressed, looking and sounding like Nicolas Cage or Prince Charles! Creepy, no?
Around this time, the owner of a country house brothel called me to ask if I’d seen this man. I’d never spoken to Mr Brothel Owner before but he was obviously doing the rounds and asking everyone the same question: Do you want to join us and sell a story to the national papers about His Lordshit.
I declined and stated it wasn’t who he thought it was – he was just a strange look-alike character.
Anyway, later that year the Royal Cad’s face was all over the media: He had been visiting escorts in Exeter where he lived.
I remember Princess Diana was reported in the paper as saying she often popped into the shops and no one thought it was her because, well, she wouldn’t be so blatant surely. Maybe Mr T had the same thoughts, but obviously it didn’t pan out as expected for him.
Oh and the rumour that he has a large wotsit? Not true. Strictly average as I remember.
* This is a tongue-in-cheek comment but I do wonder if she was bumped off.
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| Sunday, April 9th 2023 |
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| The Doctor Will See You No More... |
It’s always a worry isn’t it?! Imagine bumping into a sex worker you have visited while you're weighing your plums in Tesco's.....with your wife.
I’ve bumped into a few punters in my civvie life: Once while walking down Oxford Street in London, one of my regulars tip-toed past me with his wife. I’ve bumped into regulars in supermarkets, and once in a pub.
Another time, I was in a club with a female friend who was about to explode with anticipation due to the fact a guy she had fancied for ages was there too. She sought him out and introduced me. Another regular.
The rule of thumb is, ignore, ignore, ignore. Or if you can’t ignore – don’t let on, and disappear as soon as you can.
But the most cringy bumping-into-a-punter moment for me, was when I went to see my doctor for the continuing nasal problems I have. (Yes, don’t retch, it wasn’t an embarrassing itch.)
My surgery was one of those where you call on the day and see who you’re given, so I’d visited around 4 different doctors over the space of a couple of years.
You know what’s coming. I was to see a different doctor this day, and, as I walked into his surgery and met his eyes, the poor man’s face turned ice white. I sat gently on the chair – I thought any fast movements might result in Doc having a heart attack – and whispered: Just treat me like a normal patient.
Doctor: Are you ok?
Me: Yes, it’s ok, please don’t worry.
Now give me everything I want! (Joke.)
A few months later, I was laying on the surgery table having a cervical smear. The nurse was busy doing her thing, when The Doc breezed in as if he owned the place (he did) to pick up some papers. Thankfully he didn’t look over.
I left shortly after that, and as lovely a regular as he was, I’m pleased to say I never did see him again in a working girl/punter capacity. That would be wrong and he could be struck off.
And I will never tell.
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