Undercover: The Adventures of a Real Life Gigolo - Luke Bradbury

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      She cocked her head at me. The words hung in the air. She didn’t want to talk about work. This was her break.

      ‘Tell me about yourself, Jenny. Have you always lived in London?’

      That was the cue for her life story. It poured out. How she’d never been quite good enough. The rest of her family were teachers but she’d gone into the clubbing scene. And how when that’d fizzled out she’d ended up cleaning other people’s clubs. She just wanted to talk. Just needed someone to listen.

      Jenny’s time was up. But it was she who made the move to go. She was the one who was racing against the clock. I, on the other hand, had plenty of time to kill until my evening shift at the pub.

      She gripped the table as if ready to stand up. And then slipped back down in her chair like she had just thought of something.

      ‘Luke, I’ve got to go to work. And we haven’t had much time together.’

      ‘It’s flown by, hasn’t it?’

      She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a small roll of notes and gathered them in her hand and scrunched them into my own in the hope that no one would see. I pushed my clenched fist and its contents into the back pocket of my jeans.

      ‘I’d like to see you again, Luke.’

      ‘Would you like me to come to your flat again?’ I fished.

      She looked at me and pursed her lips. ‘When I said I wanted to meet you for tea, I didn’t mean it to be a one-off. I’d like to see you again. To talk, I mean.’

      ‘You mean here again? Like today?’

      She nodded. ‘On a weekly basis. Before work, like today.’

      I let her see me weigh it up in my mind, like I was working out if I could fit her into my busy schedule.

       Like hell I could.

      But at the same time I couldn’t help thinking that Jenny wasn’t what I’d quite bargained for when I’d decided to offer sex for sale. She clearly needed someone to talk to. A listening ear, then, was going to be another vital organ in this game.

       A Bit of Give and Take

      The joy of sex is that it’s not just about your pleasure. Consider the other person in the relationship and the benefits will be felt by both of you. As an ordinary guy, I know what guys tend to want, but having made my living as an escort, I’ve learned what brings the most pleasure to women too. Follow the tips through Undercover and it’ll be win, win for everyone!

      1. Introducing yourself

      So, you see someone you like the look of across a crowded dance floor or bar.

       Smile, go and say ‘hello’, relax and be friendly.

       Focus on them, find something to compliment, flirt with your words, eyes and hands.

       Guys, don’t talk about the latest football scores, mistake joke-telling for a GSOH, or try too hard to impress with magic tricks and the like.

       Girls, retain some mystery. Hold back on the life story and any problems you have. Find a mutual interest but don’t fake it; he’ll see right through it and it’ll sound desperate.

       The sooner either of you gets to talk about sex, the more up for it you’ll sound. You’ll certainly grab his interest!

       And if you get the brush-off? Hold your head up high, put it down to experience—and their loss—take a deep breath and live to love another day.

       Clare

       Mid September

      The phone’s ringing was crashing through my head. I’d only got in from the pub a couple of hours ago, and I had to crawl out of bed to go and answer it. I checked the alarm clock as I stumbled out of the room: 5.20 a.m. And I was due back at the café at ten. My brain hurt just thinking it.

      ‘Hello, my name’s Clare. I saw your advert. I’d like one of your escorts to come over. Now.’

       Please, God, no.

      Of course, I could have told her that it was just not possible, too short notice, and gone straight back beneath my duvet. But Clare was only the second woman to call in three weeks. And if we were going to make a go of things then we needed every client who came our way.

       But please, not at this time of the morning.

      ‘The thing is, Clare, it’s just gone five. I can’t see any of the boys being free to come out to you at this hour. Later today, or this evening, it’d be no problem.’

      I stifled a yawn. I could barely keep my eyes open.

      ‘That’s a shame, because I do really want to see someone now. I guess I’ll just have to call another agency.’

      Why couldn’t you have done that in the first place and then I’d still be asleep?

      But now I’d answered the phone it made good business sense to do everything I could to keep Clare sweet. It was important people came off the phone feeling good about us. I racked my still mashed brains.

      ‘I tell you what. I’ll ring round and see. I’m sure to be able to find one of the guys to come right on over. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know who.’

      Like there were going to be any contenders at this time of the morning. It was going to have to be me or Mark.

      ‘Thanks for your trouble.’

      ‘All part of the service, Clare, all part of the service,’ I grimaced, and put the receiver down. I stumbled out of the living room and back across the hall to our room. I hovered at the doorway. Through the darkness I could see the duvet mound of Mark’s dead-to-the-world carcass. He’d had the good fortune not to have been woken by the phone. I was tempted to give him a good kick just so he could suffer as much as me.

      But I didn’t. I took a deep breath and shut the door with a quiet click and went back to the phone.

      ‘Good news—I’ve got a guy for you. If you can just give me your address, I’ll pass it on to him. He should be with you by seven, is that okay?’

      I hung up, and went and made myself a mug of strong black coffee.

      Clare lived out in the north-west London suburbs, Greenford way. The roads were quiet and the morning sunlight beyond the cab window was pleasantly subdued for my bug eyes. There was a feeling of space, of wide streets and grass verges, and long front gardens. Hardly anyone was about.

      I walked up the path and opened the door to the porch, stepped in and closed it behind me. The doorbell chimed against my hangover. Through the mottled glass I could make out the svelte figure of Clare coming towards me.

      She pulled open the front door.

      ‘Luke, I presume. Do come in,’ she smiled.

      My spirits rallied. That’s more like it. I’d have happily gone home with you last night for free.

      I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but she wasn’t it. Someone more suburban, I suppose, whatever that meant. Clare was in her late twenties, and given the unearthly hour of the morning she had a sexy glossiness about her. She had shoulder-length brown hair and a classic beauty, like Lauren Bacall. She was wearing a scarlet silk dressing gown over a floor-length cream nightdress. I, on the other hand, felt—and suspected I looked—like garbage.

      She didn’t seem to mind though. She looked up at the staircase but it was as if she had second thoughts. She swivelled on her kitten-heel mules.

      ‘Come

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