A stream of questions are running through my mind: What does he look like? What will he talk about? Will he be sporting a fake tan and an equally fake Rolex? And, most importantly, what sort of women hire him? On the phone, Mark not his real name described himself as 32, about 5ft 11, with dark brown hair and brown eyes.
That narrowed it down to every third man who hangs out in the bars of Portsmouth. Badge How would I recognize him? A badge? Like one of those big hand-written stickers that announces your name and your position when you go on a company training course? But sometimes it can be a flower β although no carnations, that would be a cliche. The woman and I agree on a code beforehand. I spin round to see a very slim man who looks β to me, anyway β younger than He introduces himself and I offer him a drink.
His manner is self-assured but not arrogant. He is charming but not slimy. And he has an engaging smile. He shakes my hand and politely waits for me to sit down before he does.
Charm He reminds me a little of a young Sebastian Coe with a nod to the Hugh Grant school of foppish charm. First impressions are all very promising. My upbringing was fairly normal. I genuinely love older women.
Even at university. In fact it was a former older girlfriend who suggested I would make a good escort. What women want when they hire me is somebody to talk to. I let the women do most of the talking. I never rabbit on about myself.
