I was brought up by my grandparents in a sleepy village and didn’t have much experience when it came to the ways of the world. Men were a mystery to me, my religious grandmother keeping a close eye on me. As an only child I didn’t have a sibling to confide in or to use as a sounding board for my feelings or inquisitiveness and the village school taught a strict Catholic curriculum with more focus on the avoidance of sin than on the pursuit of pleasure. With the meagre income of my grandfather who worked the fields until his hands bled there were few luxuries and I was acutely aware of my threadbare appearance once I made my way on to the subway and then to the North of the city.
I had arranged to stay at a boarding house in Finchley. It was run by a Madame Lafontaine, a French émigré who specialised in housing girls from the continent. I had spoken to her only once, on the phone, but even in those few short minutes I had a real sense of her kindness, her warmth. In my soaking wet clothes I hoped that the warmth would extend to an open fire!
An evening with a beautiful blonde escort is something to be desired but imagine just how sensual and romantic it would be to lie before an open fire, a glass of chilled wine to hand and sexy music playing in the background.