Going, Going, Gone…

Wow, I'm tired. I've been pricing my items for the auction all night. You may think this is easy, but let me tell you, it's not. 

Deciding what is going to be sold has been difficult. Imagine going back to your ten-year-old self and having to choose your favourite toys and being told that the others will go to charity. Yes, the principle behind the motion is all for the great and good, but it is still hard, and the attachments to the items run deep. Now imagine, please, that you are my ahem-year-old self and knowing how much I love my overflowing wardrobe, you can think of how hard it will be to part with my fabulous possessions. 

Looking back on my ever-expanding collection of fabrics, gems, and jewels, I realise this reflects my success as a top Londonse; my hectic year planner and gorgeous Mayfair apartment have been the most prominent tell-tale signs of my fortunes. Still, my Prada, Gucci, and Dior (amongst many others) bags, shoes, and garments are all, in some way, escort. Of course, it is part of my elite escort journey. 

Scouring London's finest shopping establishments alone and with clients has been challenging and lightening. Jimmy and Colin from Fulham may now live in the same postal area and go to the same bars and restaurants, but they could be the same. Using these fine gentlemen as examples of night and day in my planner reflects the difference between night and day in my wardrobe. I remember vividly, as I priced up the black Gucci dress that Colin bought me in a fabulous Chelsea boutique, I accompanied him to a formal function dressed in that and a killer pair of Louboutins. We danced the night away, and though my dress seemed demure on the outside, I was going commando, and Colin could not conceal his excitement, so we consummated our night together in a cloakroom.
On the other hand, Jimmy took me to the same boutique and chose a very revealing Dior shift but did not want any public display of affection in the more casual surroundings of a new Club opening in Kensington. He was particular about his look for me: tousled, sexy hair, a very tiny dress and smokey eyes, but then he didn't want me to attract any more attention to myself or flirt with him all night. He wanted the thrill of the chase and for us to control ourselves until we got back to the privacy of his expensive hotel suite.

All of my items are personal to me and remind me of something, but I know I have to be ruthless with my choices. Just because I got my first pair of Manolo shoes in New York does not mean I have to keep them, does it?! Somebody praise the gorgeous gold strappy out of my hands.