Mid-fuck I thought to myself, 'You really do need to get away from it all for a few days.'
Quite a bit of canoodling goes on in and around this area, it being within striking distance of the Houses of Parliament means, folk can quickly dash back to their chambers, be it the Commons or the House of Lords, should they be needed to vote on a particular bill or amendment.
There are several bars around Westminster, in which they'll actually ring a bell to alert boozing Lord's and MP's of such matters, I've no such devices at The Office, nor have I any intention of installing one...yet.
Laura, a Brunhilde figure of a woman, charming and totally professional (hard to come by), had invited me to join her; we've entertained together on several occasions. She'd first called at 3am, they’d been going at it since midnight and were in need of a new angle; sleepily, I reached over and hit the 'please go-away' button, sending her call to voicemail.
I arose at 5am for one of my nocturnal wee’s; before slipping back betwixt crackling, crisp Egyptian cotton sheets, I checked my messages. Returning Laura’s call she answered, ‘Yes Frances we’re still here, please come over, you've met R before he'd love to see you ( see Blog 140).'
Between them, they’d sniffed several grams of coke before I'd even arrived, the excitement was all up in R’s head and between his ears, it most certainly wasn't between his legs, the lights in that department were out, nobody was at home; not surprising given how much he'd snorted
Laura opened up a fresh wrap and offered me to partake, I thanked her but polity declined, this genuinely surprises folk; most people are more than happy to hoover up free coke. However, each to their own, I personally don't care for it, despite this seemingly Rock 'n' Roll lifestyle of mine.
Only last week I took a call from a prospective client, asking if I'd also supply, 'Ehhh...I'm sorry but I'm an Escort, not a drug dealer.' Not surprisingly, he quickly lost all enthusiasm regarding an appointment; ho hum.
After nearly four hours of mutual nipple tweaking, difference being that whilst this turned him on, mine were painfully close to dropping off, we called it a morning. It was now 10am, R had a plane to catch to Switzerland at 2pm; actually he should have been on that plane at 9am, but was so carried away with the fun, he called his private secretary to re-book his flight.
It was all Laura and I could do not to giggle out aloud, as R stood upright and naked tweaking his nipples and winking at us, whilst soberly talking with his secretary on the other end of the line.
I bid adieu and stepped out into a harsh late morning sun, donning sunglasses and a silk Hermes scarf about my head, I blended in with the locals, nothing to distinguish me but an evening make-up face at 10am.
Time for one quick call before heading home. Skipping along the Embankment and past those House's of Parliament, a smiling Bobby dabbed his tall hat; 'Morning Madam,' does he suspect?
I popped into Soho to the Algerian Coffee Stores for fresh supplies of tea, it goes well with the sympathy ('Frances, tell me, am I really weird for liking Transsexuals...lovely tea by the way'); 'Cor, you're up early aren't you Frances', said the voice behind me, it was the proprietors of a marvellous Spanish restaurant I frequent called Salt Yard, 'We've not seen you in lately,' 'Sorry, I promise I'll be in soon,' I replied.
Turning into Dean Street with my stash, I pass the open windows of The French House pub, one of the bar staff calls out, 'Hey, Frances what are you doing up this early...or is it late?' Oh my, do they suspect too?
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