escort diary® of Asha Grace

It's just your anxiety talking...

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**excerpt from post on my own blog found on my website**


I was really anxious this time.

Sometimes the nerves are not so bad, sometimes they’re not present at all, and at times - like today, I can’t hold my glass steady and I get the arrhythmia that I sometimes get with my heart murmur. I feel uneasy, like catching a breath is a skill I have too long taken for granted. They’re fleeting and shallow and occasionally I forget them all together.

It’s at this point I doubt myself. This is more than nerves, my anxiety is looking for a stronghold, but it can fuck right off today. It’s been a while between big ticket bookings, and this man is investing a lot in me holding it together. So hold it together you bloody idiot! This isn’t impending doom, this is what I do! Day in, day out. But this time it feels different. It’s a little loaded - he has been following me a lot on twitter and has been studying my blog. His complimentary nature and extended booking appear to show he has high expectations of me. But I’m just me. I’m not much, I’m just some hussy from New Zealand, the little ol’ Land of the Long White Cloud - Aotearoa, trying to make a buck…right? There’s nothing extraordinary here. Maybe I’ve been online too much, exposing myself to too much perceived perfection. I never compare myself but after a while you get to learn you have nothing on these glamour models, right?

Shut up Asha. He picked you - it's just your anxiety talking.

I'm drinking too much water, it's a nervous habit. I’m going to need to pee at least twice during this booking, especially if he makes me orgasm. Will he? Or is he going to pick my brain relentlessly and expect a certain level of articulation that my blog has lead him to believe I possess, but can easily disappear into bad puns and Dad jokes when I’m nervous?

Honestly Asha, shut up and realise it's only your anxiety talking.

I’ve eaten way too much lately. I’m a lucky person who only gains weight around the middle when I’ve really been pigging out. There’s a little pocket of fat there right now, reminding me that I have a job that centres around me not letting myself go. I’m going to have to remember to suck that in. I always forget after a couple of wines and orgasms to suck in. I hope he won’t notice. I hope he spends more time looking at my assets (eyes, ass) than my tummy. Hmmm at least I know my strengths I guess.

Alright, I’m not so shabby. Hair is looking lush, I’ve been using some new expensive masque and it’s working. Do guys notice these things? God, I’m still carrying the weight of this expectation and I’m nervous. I know from twitter that he puts a lot of emotional emphasis on his visitation of sex workers. I can’t give him more than what I am. Am I enough?

Stop it, it's your anxiety talking.

Fuck, I should really turn down the volume of the buzzer in my apartment, it always startles me. He’s here.


A quick run to the bathroom, I've got to make sure my hair sits just right. First impressions matter and if it isn’t sitting right I think it makes my face look weird and angular. Yuck. I hide behind the door as I open it with sweaty palms (I’m not wearing much after all and I've got to be discreet with my neighbours). I’m so relieved when he enters. He looks kind, and he smiles, which really puts me at ease. This will be okay, I think.

Regardless of how lovely my clients are, I do have a routine at the start. It’s not about being impersonal but it settles my nerves to have clients following my instructions straight away. If they say 'no' to having an initial shower and paying upfront, I know before they even move beyond my foyer that this will not work and is my opportunity to deal with those red flags. No red flags or refusals here, he hands over the unsealed envelope - he’s well trained - and heads to the bathroom without any prompts. A bottle of Moët is placed on the bench, which I open and pour into two flutes while he showers. The nerves are settling, the heartbeat is back to normal and my shoulders fall back.

I meet my towel-draped new lover in the bedroom. We sip, we smile, we banter and we move into a massage. I always make disclaimers that my skills as a masseuse are only ‘hooker level’, but that's okay. He behaves as if it's the best massage he's ever had - I imagine he just wants to relax, talk some more, and feel my breasts against him and my breath on the back of his neck. It’s at this moment I’m realising he’s wearing my exes cologne. It disturbs me for a moment, but I try to push that to the back of my head. It’s not his fault he smells like bad memories and I have the nose of a terrier.

God I love champagne. I’m easy to seduce and he's done his research. The warm glow shines from my cheeks and my pouty smile imprints itself permanently across my face. The touch is free flowing and the moments are effortless. We hold hands while we fuck like reunited lovers. He knows the boundaries without me having to say them and seems to be able to read cues. He’s seducing me, not the other way around. This is the advantage of a seasoned lover - I am able to step back from my instinctive leadership role in the bedroom and roll with the cravings of the skin. This booking is going very well.

As predicted, a couple of restroom breaks over the few hours. But it’s welcomed and the moment seems to remain unbroken. The hours fly past, I orgasm several times, but they were in the moment and weren’t demanded from me, and he finished a couple of times, with the audial cues that I crave, and we are satiated but not ruined. We enjoy the afterglow with normal conversation and no brain-picking for which I’d feared. He leaves on time with a smile and a promise to return. This was fine, it was good fun and I have the satisfaction of a job well done.

Over the next few appointments, all within my boundaries, he opens up to me. We start to share, and it feels safe and I am comfortable with him. He always treats me well and I begin to regard him as a favourite regular. We laugh, we drink wine, and touch and enjoy each others company. I’m not worried, as he always leaves on time and never asks for my real name or to see me off the clock. He has become one of those wonderful clients that really help me enjoy my work….


***story continued on my blog found on my own website.

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