A London John Pt. 01

A LONDON JOHN

-1-

"Emma" he muttered quietly, leaning forward to squint at the blurred profile image in the hope it might gain clarity. The image was of a young woman, perhaps in her late twenties, wearing a simple black skirt and white blouse posed seductively in the kitchen doorway taking a selfie.

It was always 'normal' sounding names that captured his attention over the more 'pornstar wannabe' monikers with their crass-headlines and sordid intros. To him Emma seemed very real. The type of girl you might see on a commute across town or working in a shop.

The adult-work website had become an unhealthy obsession of late. Night after night he'd ferret himself away in his office, actually the spareroom upstairs, trawling the profiles of seemingly 'everyday women' leading secret double lives as independent escorts. It was more fascination at first. Fascination at just how many women there seemed to be doing this in areas he often visited. For the past few weeks he found himself passing strangers and wondering if they too offered 'services' here on this very website. He imagined them heading to a hotel or discrete location for sordid dalliances for money. The transactional nature of the whole thing somehow stirring his curiosity further like an itch on the roof of your mouth.

Originally it was camsites that lured him in. Early retirement had left him in the enviable position of having both time and money on his hands; the proverbial Devil's Workshop! He'd been tempted too but for the fact that a) he never had the privacy to indulge and b) the former accountant in him was cautious of having dubious transactions showing on his statements.

Somewhere along the line he must have clicked a link to the escort site and from there he found himself coming back again and again.

"Emma", he muttered once more as the hovering mouse arrow clicked above the 'read more' tab. A wry grin pinched the corner of his lips and with bated breath he checked back over his shoulder at the ajar door before reading the introduction and scanning the extensive list of ticked services.

She must have been relative new. She had just a couple of ratings, all positive. This reflected in the tariff too. Suddenly the urge to contact her sent a flurry of anxious excitement that flushed hotly on his face. Trembling fingers prepared to send a brief site-mail and test the waters.

[NEW MESSAGE 17/11/2021 20:35 GMT:: LondonJohn "Hello Emma, I've noticed your profile and wondered if you might have availability for an in-call one morning this week. Say Friday 11AM? John x"]

***

The phone shimmied to life on the kitchentop as she finished unpacking groceries. She didn't check straight away but when she eventually did her heart raced and a mixed emotion of dread and hope resonated in her gut. It was a notification from the 'site'. She'd started her profile just two weeks ago and already had had three confirmed bookings. The money was helping but it didn't feel great. It didn't feel bad either though. That was the hook that kept her from deleting it straight away.

She must have received almost two dozen 'requests' since going live. The first one came within an hour of being 'verified' and for the briefest moment it kindled a sense of hope that this was going to be easy money. But despite an exchange of messages it fizzled to nothing. New requests trickled in but even for her inexperienced eyes they were obviously time wasters. The success rate seemed to be about a little under a third of the traffic coming in.

She couldn't deny those three bookings had thrown her a lifeline though. Going through with them swirled dread, excitement and sobriety in near equal measure and although she didn't think of it just now, the products she'd just unpacked to the fridge were of the better brands she'd allowed herself to buy for a while. Eating well felt good. Clearing her bills felt good. Already having half of this months rent felt good.

She stood at the breakfast bar and logged into the app to read the message with a hand lightly pressed to her belly. 'John' sounded nice enough. The tone courteous and relaxed, with no demands. She mused and shrugged to herself, tapping out a reply. "Hi John, thanks for messaging. I could see you Friday, what would you have in mind? Em x" She pursed her lips and exhaled with a sort of 'nothing ventured nothing gained' attitude before trying to put it to the back of her mind as finished packing the shopping away.

By nine she had settled on her sofa with a welcomed glass of white and a plate of shop bought sushi and humous with celery sticks.

Escorting, 'sexwork', she reasoned was a pantomime world of deceptions, flirting and keeping control. She'd researched into it extensively before even signing up to the site. This itself was no easy feat and presented a series of hurdles that felt like dancing on a blade's edge of anonymity in terms of verifying ID, adding a phone number and uploading a profile picture. Rationally the methods seemed tried and tested as there were thousands already working from the site and it had a robust feedback and review aspect which made sifting time wasters from real prospects a little easier. She'd jotted notes in a pad made from reading other's experiences on blogs and in forums.

When it came to evaluating the likelihood of a positive booking she reasoned that a lot could be gained from the overall tone of the first message. She could check for member feedback, if they had none it didn't necessarily exclude them but it meant there was that chance it could all fall through. If they were suggesting times and dates a few days to a week ahead it meant they were making 'plans' to schedule it and more likely to be serious. Although it also meant there was more time for them to cancel. Requests for same day meets she felt carried greater risk so politely declined them. Sometimes the snidely responses confirmed her suspicions, but there's always exceptions to the rule as one of her better bookings had been a 'next day' meeting and the experience did not leave a sour taste. Just a salty one.

That was perhaps the hardest thing for her to commit to. How do you put a price on what you would do with a complete stranger paying for sex? Had the conversation been discussed with girlfriends in her twenties, which it had been once or twice, the figures were in the thousands but the basic rule of economics is that the price is whatever the market will pay. So the reality is that the humble bj is worth a lot less. It was better to follow convention and charge by the hour and set minimum booking periods. Besides, back then the girls were putting a price on their 'dignity', but for the vast majority entering sexwork 'dignity' isn't a commodity punters put a lot value in. Punters. That's what the 'clients of prostitutes are called'. They're also called Johns. Is John his real name? It's not like Emma was really hers.

***

'What do I have in mind?' He must have read and reread her response thrice over. There were lots of 'things' he'd like to do but is that what she was really asking? Should he just reply with a short list of things he'd enjoy doing from her listed 'services'? It seemed a little cold and functional but maybe that's what a dalliance with a prostitute is like?

In his imagination this was a sexual adventure warranting preparation and a little ritual to make it a 'special experience', but maybe to Emma it would just work? The fact she only had a couple of reviews made him think that this probably was just work but that she'd surely be pleased for it. In any case it was getting late by the time he settled on a reply.

[LONDONJOHN 17/11/2021 22:47 GMT: "Hi Em, thanks for replying. I'm thinking a couple of hours, in-call? Just a little private time.DFK, OWO, A-level?"]

He wasn't sure if using punter slang was really the appropriate protocol for such a communiqué or not, but he figured she'd asked him, and they were on her 'likes' list. He was about to press send when his face burned hotly and he glanced over his shoulder. Just then his long suffering wife passed by on her way to the bathroom. His heart was racing. He switched tabs and waited until she went back downstairs to her soaps. False alarm. He swallowed dryly and hurriedly hit SEND.

That night he laid awake in bed staring up at the ceiling with thoughts replaying in his mind of all the things he hoped to do with 'Emma'. He mouthed her name in the darkness and grinned with excitement at the prospect being with a beautiful woman. With each re-run in his mind he added new details. Things she'd say, responses he'd give. Likely none of it would go anything like it at all. Eventually he reasoned that the ease and convenience of it all made it all was appealing in itself and he wondered why he'd never done it before.

The following day he was eager to get online and check for responses but to his disappointment there was nothing. He could see she'd read his response not long after he'd sent it. Had he disgusted her with the requests he'd made? He kicked himself and logged off dejectecdly.

He must have reached out to half a dozen or so 'models' in the past three weeks. Only three had replied. No mutually convenient time could be found, the second cancelled the same day she confirmed. Now the third, looked ready to be consigned to the 'no luck' list too. His professional brain calculated the odds of these numbers and he reasoned that paying for sex perhaps wasn't as fruitful as he had thought the night before.

Like a child anticipating Christmas he found himself optimistically coming back to check emails through the day. Doing so disrupted his other plans to work in the garden and cut the lawn. For the past thirty minutes the humming vacuum droned downstairs and he wanted to get out but it was raining and so he took to filing finances.

It wasn't until after dinner when he next logged on that his hopes was stirred anew. There in his inbox was a response and his eyes widened with glee.

[LONDONJOHN 18/11/2021 15:55 GMT: "Hi John! Sure, we can do that. Is there anything special you'd like me to wear? I'd like to call you briefly before we fully confirm. Just a simple "hi!" to know you're real :) please text me a time that's good I've unlocked my number on the profile page. Em xx]

His heart was racing and he covered his mouth with a trembling hand. Wide-eyed looking at the little clock it was now 20:10. "Shit!" he cursed, noting that the message had arrived just minutes after he last checked and had given up on the idea. Now the booking was already being slated for the following morning and she wanted a call? He couldn't exactly call her now from the house. He cursed again under a shaking breath and started gathering his thoughts. It all felt fragile and rushed.

A fumbling finger stored her number under a false name, Dave-AW. That was sure to not arouse suspicion should it ever start ringing at an awkward moment. He text hurriedly "Hi Em, just seen your message. I'll call you in a few minutes." He needed an excuse to get out the house. He never went out at this time! Maybe he should just say he's going to get something from the car? But that's no good. He'd have to have something he was looking for! He'd probably be seen on a call anyway and that would just raise more suspicion. In the end he got himself together, went downstairs and started putting his coat on.

"Just popping out for a bit of fresh air" he announced into lounge.

"What? At this hour? It's wet out!"

His jaw clenched and he glanced out of the little arched window above the front door. It was too dark to really tell but he shrugged it off. "No, it's not. Anyway I've got my coat."

"What do you want to go out now for? You never go out!"

"I just want to get some air, I've got a bit of a headache."

"Well walking in the rain's not going to do it any good. We've got some pills in the bathroom."

Exasperated he found his eyes widening in frustration. "I don't want to take a pill, just... I'm going to take a walk around the block... I want to." This was met with affronted aversion as she turned back to the TV. "Don't expect me to be running around after you if you catch a cold."

His eyes rolled up as he was already heading out the door. "I wont catch a cold!"

But it was drizzling. He pulled his collar up, sunk his hands into his pockets to set off with a stride.

At the end of the road was an alley leading along the rail line. It was a sheltered from the elements but smelt of foxes and damp leaves. A chilled breeze made his shoulders rise as he took out his phone and nervously hesitated about calling.

"Hey!"

"Emma?"

"Uh.huh. ... Hi John..."

For a moment his brow creased and it all felt both awkward and very real. He imagined her picture and the voice fitted well. She continued first. "so tomorrow at eleven is good. Would you like me to be wearing anything special?"

His own voice sounded a bit shaky. "No nothing... I mean! Not nothing but..." She smirked and imagined him as older and a little new to this. It was feeling a safe bet and she found herself teasing him "well it's your choice.. it can be nothing if you want."

"ahh... well, I like a lady in a skirt... maybe you could wear what you have on in your. profile picture?" His cheeks burned and he glanced about conspiratorially beneath the yellow glow of a street lamp above. She smiled to herself and thought how that blouse was in the laundry but responded "sure, I can do that... So listen, John, I'd like you to text me you're still coming in the morning. Then I'll send you the address ok?"

"okay.. it's near Pimlico though right?"

"yes, just a five minute walk to the station... Tomorrow at eleven then ok?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"Bye for now then."

"Bye."

He glanced down at his phone as the screen faded black. A smug grin lifting his face.

***

Legs tucked up on her little throw covered sofa she thumbed re-read the message with a knot of dread in her belly. ''Deep French Kissing', 'Oral without', 'anal'. She felt repulsed with herself that she'd even selected those things into the list of services she was prepared to offer. The truth is that the list of options on signup were both extensive and comprehensive but her original selections made her seem she wasn't serious about this at all.

Ordered alphabetically anal was pretty much one of the first up there and in her mind almost set the tone for what followed. A few years back sharing an intimate kiss with a stranger at the end of a night of partying might have been sexy, but doing so with someone sober and paying for it felt different. Still, she wasn't exactly without experience so knew she could fake it well enough to be pleasing. Could she carry this over to giving head? Sex?

On a second sweep of the list she ticked more things: receiving oral, mutual masturbation, cum on body, but not on the face or in the mouth. What if those stipulations made the difference between someone booking or not though? In the end they all gained little ticks and yet still the services she offered seemed a little tame compared to other girl's profiles. Before the end she was back at the top of the list and more liberally ticked boxes.

She'd never done anal before. Not even for a longterm partner who frequently dropped hints for it. Now she was saying she'd do it for money. An extra #50 to be precise.

The act itself didn't necessarily disgust her. A number of friends in the past had confessed they'd done it and some even liked it. But having never done it before it was something she was going to have to research and even practise a little to not be totally green on a paid date.

Her first three clients had all gone for the standard 'Girlfriend Experience' with no added extras but John was asking for it upfront. Not only this but he was asking for an in-call so she'd be getting fucked in the arse in her own home. At least her other dates had put out for hotels! This all felt wrong and she set her phone aside and tried to take her mind off of things with netflix.

It was late afternoon when she eventually responded and then later that evening took his call. In a little over twelve hours she'd be opening her door to him.

***