The not-so secret diary of a call girl

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A lot of girl’s have this glamorous perception of what being an escort is like, thanks to TV programmes like “Secret Diary of a Call Girl”. But in reality, being an escort is not as glitzy as it seems as we found out when Sheffield based Sophie* discussed her turbulent ride in the escort industry.

I WAS CERTAIN he was going to kill me. He tried to insert his fist in me. I screamed with pain and was in absolute terror. That was the worst experience I’ve had as an escort. In just over two years now I’ve not once been taken to dinner. Never escorted a rich, charming entrepreneur to a glamorous cocktail event. Never been provided with a £5,000 ball gown. Never whisked off to the other side of the world.

That night when I thought I was dead was more typical. He’d driven us to this dark and deserted wood. Tied my hands so the rough rope burned my wrists. “Take your clothes off and walk forward” he’d said. Hesitantly, I agreed. He got me to lay on his dingy green parka that was dumped on the woodland ground, and made me get on all fours. He then proceeded to fumble with me down below, a little more aggressively than I was used to. That’s when he tried to insert his fist in me. I pictured my face on the news with the journalist reading off of the autocue: “She was such a nice girl”. But I did as I was told and followed his instructions. It was what I was getting paid for after all. At least, I thought I was…He didn’t even pay me.

An idealised world of escorts and the glamorous perception surrounding them, from my experience, couldn’t be further from the truth. Certainly nothing like “The Secret Diary of a Call Girl”.  It’s dark and dangerous. Physically strenuous and mentally, too. A land I ventured into out of pure desperation. I needed money.

I have been an escort for just over two years now ever since my mum kicked me out of home when I was 20.  She has borderline personality disorder and can fly off the handle at any given point. You can be her best friend one minute and worst enemy the next. I used to split my time between working as a mental health support worker and visiting my boyfriend James* in Sheffield and then whatever time I spent at home was practically spent sleeping. My mum would barely see me, she felt neglected so kicked me out and shouted “Fuck you fuck off. Get out my fucking house”. We didn’t speak for 6 months.

With nowhere else to go I moved in with James but struggled to find a job up north.

That was until I met a woman involved with escort agency Adultwork through a friend and she suggested escorting to me. With praise for the escorting industry and a lot of flattery of how good looking, and polite I am, said that I’d go far. The thought of £150 for an hours meet to me with no money, seemed like the best thing in the world. It was quick money, I could claim to have popped out to Meadowhall shopping centre and I’d get £150.

Generally, my experiences as an escort have been varied. You do get some quite well off men, the majority of which are very nice and courteous. And that’s the nicer end of the spectrum. But mostly I meet men who I don’t know a thing about. They won’t talk about themselves and who literally want to do whatever they feel to your body. There is no small talk or polite conversation, they just make you feel worthless. You’re just there for them to do whatever they want to. I’ve been called “whore” and “slut” an unbelievable amount of times. And every time I hear the words they still sting as much as the first time hearing them.

I’ve been put in positions that made me physically ill. I’ve suffered from severe chaffing down below. And after the incident in the wood, I had to convince the doctor to give me an enema.

But it is the money that has kept me going all this time. I have earned £15,000 over the past two years, a large amount which has helped me so much in my life like paying for rent. I was constantly told from the beginning how great and easy the money would be. And to that extent, it was true. Without having to do any physical intercourse with a client, I earned £180 a month by posting photos online in a private album for clients to access. Although I still had to meet up with men on the side, but less often with the money from the photos.

However, one thing I was never warned about was the psychological implications of the job. 10 months into my escort venture, just before I found out I was pregnant, I hit rock bottom. Having sex with strangers had worn me down. I felt disgusting and went into a really bad state of depression. I even attempted overdosing. I just hated myself all in all. The realisation of what I had been doing for the past few months had sunk in and I was appalled at the dark hole I fell down just to keep myself financially independent.

Keeping my escorting a secret from James ate away at me that one day I just blurted the truth out to him and yelled “You should know your worth. I’m not good enough for you.” I had to end things with him and fled back home to Reading.

However, we couldn’t bear to be apart and soon reunited. And shortly after found out that I was pregnant. We were both delighted and our baby daughter, now six months old, is honestly the best thing that has ever happened to us.

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