I’m a Very Happy Boy

Watching CNN on the telly. Looking at the bottle of expensive Italian red wine sitting on the room service tray. Thinking about how bloody comfortable this bed is and how stunning the antique furniture is in this suite. Thinking it’s wasted on just me. Thinking I need some company. Thinking I’m a single guy (newly..divorce came through last month). Thinking it’s time for me to get over myself. Thinking I can’t be arsed to go down to the bar in the hope I’ll be able to pull. Thinking I don’t want complications. Thinking it’s time to find an escort.

No, I’ve never booked an escort before. No, I’ve never thought I would. Yes, I’ve judged my friends and colleagues who have. Yes, I’ve laughed with my mates at conference banquets when one of the guys turns up with a stunning young lady, who is definitely not his wife or girlfriend. No, I don’t really care anymore. I just think it would be fun to hang out with someone, share this wine, share this swanky all expenses paid hotel and share some good times.

I hit the gym earlier and had a shower, so I’m feeling rather fresh and ready for company. I wonder if I can get a date with someone soonish. I wonder where I’ll even find a date. I’ve never done anything like this before. I call my concierge. One of the benefits of a client paying for my weekend accommodation in London. Concierge appears at door. I ask him bluntly if he can recommend an escort service and without a second of hesitation, he pulls a card and pen out of his jacket pocket and writes down the name of a website. Cleopatra. Sounds interesting.

I browse the page, surprised at the high calibre of women looking for dates. I find one that is the exact opposite of my ex-wife. I don’t need anything to remind me of that nightmare. She was hot. Now she’s hot and she has my house and she has my dog. I have no idea if the curvy, dark skinned beauty I’ve got my eye on is available but there is no harm in trying. Bingo! I get a response and she can be with me in an hour. Now, that’s what I call service.

I throw on some clothes so I don’t seem like a slob answering the door in my boxers. I dab on a bit of aftershave, just to show that I’m making an effort. I start to get nervous. My swagger is leaving the building. No! Come back swagger. This was all going so well. Breathe. OK. I’m good. OK. I’m not completely good. My palms are sweating, but I can hold it together. It’s just a date. I keep reminding myself.

Front desk rings. Asks if I’m waiting for someone. I tell them to send her up. I stand in the doorway so I can see her as she walks down the hall. I hear the lift open. She comes around the corner and…well…Damn! Photos didn’t do her justice. Come right in lovely lady. She smiles the sort of smile that could drown a thousand sailors and kisses me on the cheek. She’s wearing a dress that leaves nothing…not…a…thing…to the imagination. She takes my hand, leads me to the bed and…wait….what about the wine. Never mind. We’ll drink that later.

Never get round to the wine. Practice some old moves. Learn some new ones. Forget about my divorce. Forget about my client. Forget about even being on the planet for a few minutes. Oh. My. God. What just happened? Umm…yes. Thank you. Is that even the right thing to say? That was lovely. You’re gorgeous. Do we have time to do it again? I think I’ve just died and gone to heaven. I’m a very happy boy. Hope to see you again. Here’s a little something to buy yourself a present from me. Lights off. Good night. Big smile.