Failing as a prostitute...

This is actually a true story about me, many, many years ago haha!

It was possibly 1990 and Aunty Gwen had come to stay for the weekend. A very large lady with an equally large personality. We all sat round the kitchen table with a pot of tea and custard cream biscuits, mainly eaten by Aunty Gwen. She then proceeded to tell us about her daughter who was now living in London City. Oh she was living a wonderful lifestyle and had got herself a job as an 'escort'. This involved going to the likes of opera, theatre, ballet and fine dining restaurants with rather wealthy welltodo gentlemen. She was paid large amounts of money and gave nothing in return other than her company. 

Well this all sounded rather interesting to me and my sister Pip. We were currently working as cabin crew out of Edinburgh airport. We both operated routes that afforded us a lot of time off and had been contemplating supplementing our income. So that evening we sat down and decided we too could do what Aunty Gwen's daughter was doing. Days off spent at the theatre eating fine food with interesting gentlemen and the bonus of being paid for that! We reached for the Yellow Pages and as luck would have it the first page produced 'Angels Escort Services'. We rang immediately to request an interview. Surprisingly they answered the phone even though it was rather late in the evening... After a few initial enquiries we had achieved ourselves an interview for the very next day with a lady named Marcia, no surname provided.

The rest of our evening was spent updating our CV's and deciding what to wear. I settled on a smart grey trouser suit with a satin striped shirt including rather fashionable shoulder pads. Pip went for black trousers matched with her very expensive tartan blazer. 

The next morning as we were unsure of directions, we decided to drive to Ingleston station and park the car there, where we would then take a taxi to said address. On arrival we approached the rank of black cabs and asked the first driver if he could take us to our address. He gave us a rather bemused look and said "hop in ladies".

After a short journey he pulled up outside a row of rather rundown terraced houses. We questioned him on our whereabouts and he just smiled and pointed to the end terrace.  There was no sign or advertisement on the door so we just knocked and waited. After what seemed ages the door slightly opened and a rather large German Shephard dog poked his head out and snarled. Behind him was Marcia, a large bosomed woman wearing very little and adorned with crude tattoos. We introduced ourselves and confirmed our appointment. Marcia took us into a little room towards the back of the house and told us to take a seat. 

This room reminded me of a staff room in a back street garage. The walls were adorned with posters of naked girls. The telephone had what looked like oil stained finger marks all over the hand piece. The chairs were of tatty, ripped and stained fabric. We both cautiously sat down, CV's on laps. The German Shephard decided to sit right in front of me with his head on my knee, slightly slobbering on my CV. 

Marcia then questioned us on why we had applied for this position. We both enthused about how much free time we had available, how we both loved theatre and the likes and what sociable escorts we thought we would make. Part way through this conversation a young girl burst into the room, wearing only a pair of panties and grabbed a bottle of baby oil from the table. Marcia then asked if we had any questions. I decided to bite the bullet and enquired how much money we could potentially earn? Marcia leant back in her chair, stroked her rather hairy chin, and said "it depends how far you're willing to go" to which I replied "oh I have my own car so I'm quite happy to travel as far as Inverness on occasion"...

Marcia never got back to us. Prostitution was to be one of the rare job opportunities at which I did not succeed...