A lesson well learnt

I want to clarify one thing - I am not a stereotype. Please don't compartmentalise me into a box labelled "Bimbo". One of the things I pride myself on is my ability to talk knowledgeably about current affairs and wax lyrical on Economics. I have a 2:1 degree from City University, and I want to say I am a middle-class businessman. A big chest can mean a significant IQ, and don't forget it. Consider this a lesson well learnt if you have anything else in mind.

So what makes a clever, educated agency escort like me want to turn into a complete airhead? The simple answer is role-play. This afternoon, I am heading over to Belgravia for an in-call at the elegant home of George. George is a professor of English at Cambridge and is gentlemanly and reserved. But outward appearances can be deceptive. Close to Knightsbridge, Belgravia is home to some of the most expensive properties in London. Behind the Victorian oak front door, with its stained glass, lays a man who is not afraid to show me some discipline in the classroom.

George phoned the agency and asked for an open-minded London escort who was unafraid to accept new challenges. When I spoke to him, he told me he wanted to book three separate dates where he could lecture me on his favourite subject and then I was to take an exam at the end of it. Coursework makes up 50% of my final grade, but should I misbehave in class, there will be detention (I charge him an hourly rate for any time over!) and corporal punishment.

I arrive with a school satchel, books clasped to my chest, and wire-rimmed glasses on my nose. George, slightly greying, late forties and distinguished, ushers me inside and down the front hall to his classroom. A chalkboard is set up at one end with a desk and chair set back. I wear a pleated skirt and blouse, stockings just visible above my hemline and sit quietly down. George, resplendent in a black gown, picks up a wooden pointer and starts tapping it against his palm. I feel that should I misbehave; I will be Disciplined right across my backside—a little erotic humiliation for the curriculum.

George appreciates my empty-headed charm and spends our three dates enjoying educating me on verbs and tenses. I travel back to Mayfair with a rather red bottom and amuse the taxi driver no end by wincing every time we go over a speed bump. 

So, how do I feel about returning to school for extra tuition? A lesson well learnt, I say. It's undoubtedly harder these days than when I was a pupil, but I tell you what, misbehaving in class was never so much fun!