Dating London chics and escorts
I tapped my fingers against the rim of the glass. The London embankment bar was busy, I didn’t want to be like most escorts so I attempted not to make eye contact with the many men who seemed to gravitate around my periphery no doubt attracted to my shapely figure.
I don’t like to be kept waiting, but here I was, with a half-full wine glass, thinking about whether or not to go home. I was looking forward to this, especially after having sat with Josh and his friends in his local the previous week. We’d chatted and flirted and when he’d asked me to meet him, I was secretly thrilled.
This was my first date in over eighteen months, and I’d been stood up.
I checked my phone again, but there was no message. Instead of texting him, even though the thought crossed my mind, I rang Anna instead.
Anna could not believe I’d waited for forty minutes. She thought I should leave immediately and meet her for a drink in London Bridge. That struck such a chord of disappointment in my hardened escorts heart, that I threw my phone into my bag. I’d give him five more minutes and then I’d leave. I would not go into that pub he frequented either.
Men just don’t stand me up. Then another thought went through my head. That’s because you don’t do dating!
The seconds ticked by and I was ticked off. I drained the wine and it tasted bitter and cheap; a bit like the bar I was waiting in. I grabbed my bag and jacket and headed out.
The cool, autumn air hit me and I threw my jacket around my shoulders. I could either take a long lonely walk past the Royal Albert Hall, or catch a quick taxi over to Ann.
I stood there waiting for a cab to go by, and decided to walk. It would only take me twenty minutes.
I just could not understand why he’d not met me, so I took my phone out of my bag and texted him.
Thanks for standing me up! 45 minutes I waited for you in that hellish bar! Please delete this number.
Of course, I was using my non-contracted mobile I use for escorting assignments, so I could throw the card away f needed. I picked up speed and was soon turning into the road where I lived, when I heard the mobile beep.
We’re meeting tomorrow! Where are you now? X
I stopped for a few seconds. I wasn’t going to reply immediately, so after hurrying upstairs, I checked his previous voicemail confirming the date. I was right; we were meeting on Tuesday 8th.
My reply was clear. No we’re not! Tuesday you stated.
That will serve him right! I was stood in front of the calendar and realised, today was actually the 7th. He’d got the date wrong! Was this a genuine mistake?
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