I want to clarify one thing – I am not a stereotype. Please don’t compartmentalise me into a box labelled “Bimbo” because one of the things I pride myself on is my ability to talk knowledgeably about current affairs and wax lyrical on Economics. I have a 2:1 degree from City University, and I’d like to say I am a middle-class businesswoman. A big chest can mean a big IQ.
So what makes a clever, educated woman want to become a complete airhead? The simple answer is role-play. This afternoon, I am heading over to St John’s Wood for an in-call at the elegant home of Lucas. Lucas is a professor of English at Cambridge and is gentlemanly and reserved. But outward appearances can be deceptive. Close to Regents Park and Westminster, St John’s Wood is home to some of the most expensive properties in London. Behind the Victorian oak front door, with its stained glass, lays a man who is not afraid to show me some discipline in the classroom.
Lucas phoned Park Lane and Mayfair and asked for an open-minded British escort who was unafraid to accept new challenges. When I spoke to him, he told me he wanted to book three separate dates where he could lecture me on his favourite subject and then I was to take an exam at the end of it. Coursework makes up 50% of my final grade, but should I misbehave in class, there will be detention (I charge him an hourly rate for any time over!) and corporal punishment.
I arrive with a school satchel, books clasped to my chest,t and wire-rimmed glasses on my nose. Lucas, slightly greying, in his late forties and distinguished, ushers me inside and down the front hall to his classroom. A chalkboard is set up at one end with a desk and chair set back. I wear a pleated skirt and blouse, stockings just visible above my hemline and sit quietly down. “Lucas”, resplendent in a black gown, picks up a wooden pointer and starts tapping it against his palm. I have a feeling that should I misbehave; I will be disciplined right across my backside—It is a bit of erotic humiliation for the curriculum.
Lucas appreciates my empty-headed charm and spends our three dates enjoying educating me on verbs and tenses. I travel back to Mayfair with a rather red bottom and amuse the taxi driver no end by wincing every time we go over a speed bump.
So, how do I feel about returning to school for extra tuition? It’s undoubtedly harder these days than when I was a pupil, but I tell you what, misbehaving in class was never so much fun!
