Ryans-Story: Part 7 Researching the Scene

In this installment I leave behind the story of why I got into this scene and start to move on to my first experiences. This part could be of interest to clients and escorts new to the scene or just thinking about getting started.

Of course I knew about commercial sex long before I got involved in seeing escorts. I had made the obligatory lads weekend trip to Amsterdam and had been impressed by the way the girls turned away the clients they didn't like the look of. But I didn't want to risk trying out those girls. What went on behind those red velvet curtains? Did you just get a baseball bat at the back of your head and a missing wallet? No way of knowing. I had visited the Eros center in Frankfurt and followed the long queue of sex-tourists climbing each floor peeking in at the rooms of the girls - riddled with injected drugs reaching out their bony arms "Come to me baby" - yeah sure, so you can spend the rest of my life in my nighmares. I had seen the streetgirls - some drug raddled, some sweet innocent young girls just out of school afraid of the dark streets they were forced to work.

I had visited a brothel with two single friends - a brothel with a dwarf on reception where you walked maybe 50 feet down a flight of stairs to a basement room decorated in red with three girls dancing on a stage. My friends made a pick of the girls they were interested in while I watched the zombies on stage until a girl came over to me and started pawing at my wallet while I paid for one more beer. That last beer pushed me over the top. Suddenly the surreal imagery - the dwarf, the red room, the zombie girls - all started swirling around in my head. I thought I was sinking into Hell - I ran out of the place and didn't stop running till I got back to my hotel.

Not for me, any of that stuff. Upmarket escorts - if they existed in the UK, had to be the answer. It was then I discovered they did exist - on the internet at least.

This was something like 5 years ago and the internet commercial sex industry was still in its infancy, but already there were escort review sites. Here was the key. Here I could learn about what actually went on behind the curtain.

One of the first things I discovered was that escorts, in some cases, actually French kissed. I had always been led to believe that didn't happen - that this was an unspoken rule of the industry. But some do. In fact, using the review sites, I could enter words like "Snog", "French-kiss", "Deep-kiss" and get a list of the reports where these actions were mentioned, then eliminate those reports where the comment was "Does not French-kiss" etc. This was key to me - I can't imagine having sex without first having a good snog. I could, in a very few cases, check what the girl looked like by linking to her web-site, albeit with pictures obscured so as to protect the girl's identity. Escorts employed baseball bats only if that was to your taste, not to steal your wallet.

I realised that I didn't want my first escort date to be with a 6ft tall porn-star Amazon woman that was going to give me prostate massage with the aid of a 12 inch strap-on. Something more "regular" was required for the nervous first-time "punter". I needed "Girl-friend experience" (GFE to the unitiated). Although I normally go for girls just below my own height, on this occassion I would prefer someone more petite. Someone that French kissed. In those early days this would be hard to find (and even today girls that genuinely French kiss are quite rare). I didn't want anyone else involved in the deal - no agency, no maid (maids were common in those days), no (obvious) security. It would be almost a year before I found the right girl in the right place.


Next installment: Being Discrete.

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