I have a client who likes the cold; he dresses up as if I were cold. I’m waiting for a call today. I had to wake up reasonably early to take phone calls (my phone switches on at 8 a.m. unless I’m meeting someone for breakfast), but I like pottering about in my dressing gown, listening to the breakfast news.
So what am I waiting in – a fur coat? It’s white and dark grey, hooded, with a belt and perfect for keeping me warm for my unique client who loves me to wear fur coats. And they look so chic. The Chinese girls in the catalogue make everything look like it belongs on the catwalks of Milan. I have been to both countries, and I always come away feeling like I want to buy everything on offer to me. At least, the gentleman I’ve accompanied tends to want to flash his cash and spoil me. The kimono I will be wearing now is made of peacock-blue silk after a rather passionate week in Hong Kong.
Now, the fur coat I’m waiting for was bought for me. I donate to PETA monthly and’m very interested in acrylic imitations. That said, I own an Afula full-lengthly bought for me in Paris by a fervent admirer and lover of English company. He shipped it to me in London in a cream box with a velvet ribbon. And despite my ethics and morals, I tried it on. My God, have you ever felt real fur? Every way I stroked it kept the sheen and softness, and I thought I would salivatdrooltry and remain educated about the whole fur trade, but to have something so luxurious under my hands was almost surreal. My client arranged for me to wear it the next time he saw me – thankfully, he sees me very late in the evening when a coat is needed; otherwise, I may look a bit out of place in the summer months, but I am very thankful that it is now December. I obliged by donning very little else underneath. It has been hanging in a protective sheath in my wardrobe ever since. I could sell it on, I suppose, because I don’t see him anymore, but stroking it often changes my mind.
Looking around my apartment, I can see my evident admiration for soft furnishings. I have faux-fur throws in wolf-grey across one sofa and a sheepskin rug on the floor. I like my scatter cushions to be in velvets and furs – so I can dig my fingers into them – and the boudoir in the other room has many sumptuous drapes, throws and fabrics. Sensuality is of utmost importance to me as a proud British escort. No one sees fit to complain if it feels good against bare skin.
Hopefully, this new jacket of mine (thigh-skimming, in case you were wondering) will arrive by midday, so if my favourite fur coat client does happen to book me, I can be sure I have a new coat to wear.
