The woman looked up and quickly glanced at me before looking away, her face an illustration of anxiety and worry as the man continued chastising her for her reluctance.
‘If you really loved me, you would at least consider it,’ the hobosexual continued arrogantly. ‘I told you how I’m trying to save up so I can invest in my Twitch streaming content. Why can’t you be supportive? If I ever go viral and the cash starts coming in, we both benefit, don’t we? I’m doing this for us!’
I almost threw up in my mouth. I’d heard enough. The bar for men was deep under the Mariana Trench’s crust and it made me sick. If this was the best us women could hope for, then bring on the male escorts at this point.
I gave the woman a reassuring smile and nod as we briefly locked eyes again, internally praying that she didn’t fall for this man’s schemes and gaslighting. I was disgusted, and at that point, my mind had been made up.
I scrolled back onto Google’s homepage and typed in ‘Male escorts based in London’, and clicked on the first non-sponsored website that popped up; it was calledOuiMeet.The website was simplistic in its design, having looked like it was made in 2003, with a hyperlink button directing users towards its ‘brand-new app’ instead.
I felt some way about having this on my browser history,so I downloaded the app instead and hastily made an account. Again, for research purposes; just in case.
I arrived at the profile section and hesitated. What if someone recognised me here? What were the chances that I would bump into someone I knew though? My Ghanaian family were way too conservative to be into these shenanigans, and if Kofi or any of my other friends showed up, I’d just mention that I had signed up as part of an investigative article I was writing for my made-up Substack site. Yeah, that sounded believable, right? Right.
Even though I knew I was signing up mostly as a joke, I still felt the need to remind myself not to take it seriously. Women using escort services to find male companionship was something I’d rarely heard of, and when I did, it was always the same stereotype: an elderly, wealthy heiress to a multimillion-pound fortune, recently widowed and seeking someone to share her final days with.
You never saw young, Black, somewhat hip women like me on these sites. Or so I thought. I guess I was about to find out. With one final push of self-persuasion, I decided to add my photo. I opted for my main photo to be a headshot; it was a selfie that I’d taken of myself at Bianca’s baby shower. I was looking particularly hot that day with my long, auburn Senegalese twists wrapped into a high bun, a sharp winged liner and red lip convo for the make-up, and a V-neck silk blouse that I had picked up on sale at Marks & Spencer that hugged me in all the right places. Alongside that photo, I went for two full-length photos, wanting to be clear from the onset that I was plus sized. I didn’t need for there to be any repeat situations of my previous dates. The first photo was me at the hospital Christmas party last year where I’d gone all out in a floor-length sequin fish-tail dress with a slit down one side, high enough for me to show off my legs (in a ‘So Kate’Louboutin shoe, might I add – courtesy of the 30 per cent sale at Bicester Village). The second photo was one taken of me by my mum and was of me sitting down on my sofa with Toby stretched along the entirety of my stomach and ribs. I had my head thrown back in fits of laughter, and it was always a photo that made me smile and brought back warm memories; it was wholesome. After adding the photos, I scrolled through the rest of the editing page until I approached the space where I had to write a little ‘About Me’ and what I was looking for. I wasn’t planning on being on this app for long, so why not have a little fun? Again, clearly for research purposes of course. I wrote the following:
Hey! The name’s CeeCee, and I’m an administrative professional based in South London looking for the perfect date. I’m looking for a gentleman who will wine and dine me, take me out dancing, and provide great conversation. My interests and hobbies include listening to podcasts, working out on occasion, playing video games (mostly The Sims), taking care of my gorgeous cat Toby and watching movies.
I read the profile back in disgust. I sounded like an eighty-year-old homebody with no life. Where was the fun in that? It low-key worried me that even on an app where I had the opportunity to be whoever I wanted to be, my first inclination was to talk about the real me, who sounded boring as fuck. I deleted the text and started again:
South London’s finest; ready to be swept off my feet.
I’m a medical professional by day and a thrill-seeker by night. When I’m not busy helping to save lives or making rounds, you’ll find me painting my imagination onto canvas, breaking a sweat in the gym, or feeling the rush of adrenaline on a go-kart track. I believe life is best lived boldly – and I’m ready for someonewho shares that fire, if only for the evening. I’m here to meet someone who can reignite my faith in dating and romance. Show me that chivalry isn’t dead and sweep me off my feet with your wit, charm, and love of life. If you can make my heart race faster than a go-kart and keep me smiling long after the night is over, then we might just have something special.
I took a mouthful of food as I assessed the paragraph; this sounded so much better. I actually sounded like a decent catch. Impressed with how my profile was shaping up, I saved the page and scrolled into the members’ section to check out the talent. I set the ‘looking for’ options to ‘Male, between 34-40 years old, 6ft or taller, London’ and hit ‘search’. The search results returned a meagre forty-three men, which surprised me; for some reason I assumed there would be a plethora of male escorts in the Big Smoke keen to make their fortunes by any means necessary, but maybe that spoke more to my stereotypes and assumptions of London men – heh.
Scanning my watch to make sure that I had enough time to browse before I had to make my way back to the office, I did a quick scroll of the talent on offer and was slightly disappointed; at least three of the men on this list were clearly lying about their age. There were two men who had bald patches – nothing against balding men, but a bald patch just wasn’t an aesthetic I could embrace in my life at the moment. A couple of the other guys seemed sleazy from their profile photos alone – there is no reason why a thirty-eight-year-old man should be wearing a matching tight-fitting smedium denim suit with bedazzled pockets and a black satin shirt with the buttons open down to the navel. Also, the nerve of him to charge £300 for the night was abysmal, to say the very least. I laughed my way through the rest of the offerings; the app was looking pretty ghetto so far. As I gathered my things to leave and walk backto work, I came across one profile that piqued my interest.
His name was ‘Jericho’, he was based in Hackney and he was thirty-four, although to me, he looked significantly younger. He was six foot four, with small, almond-shaped dark eyes that almost disappeared under the weight of his luminescent megawatt smile. Faint wrinkles gently lined the sides of his eyes, and he had a short, neatly trimmed faded haircut, showing no potential bald patches or receding hairlines. A win! Jericho had medium-brown skin that glowed against his sharp, black well-fitted suit. In the photo he was sitting with some other men at what looked like a wedding or a birthday ball. He was gorgeous. What the hell was he doing here?
I scrolled through a couple of his other photos, which were a lot more delectable; mostly of him topless in a professional studio, shot in black and white, no doubt in order to make him appear more demure. He had abs and muscles for days, yet still had a softness to his torso that made him look quite huggable and playful. I snapped out of the quick daydream of me licking cream off his abs to peruse his profile; which was the most important thing:
The name’s Jericho and I’m a six-foot-four, clean-shaven, somewhat handsome lad from London with a passion for fast cars, intelligent conversations, good food, and beautiful women. I love the finer things in life, and being able to share my passions with the ladies who share my interests. One evening with me and I can guarantee that you won’t be leaving disappointed. :) Oh, I’m also a huge cat person. My menu is as follows:
FaceTime/Video Call (20 minutes) – £40 // FaceTime/Video Call (1 hour) – £95 // My company during the day (up to four hours) – £200 // My company during the evening (up to four hours) – £350 // One-off special event (weddings,school reunions etc) – £500 + expenses // Overnight stay – £600 // ‘Group activities’ – Please enquire // Vacation getaway for two nights – £1500 // Vacation getaway for more than two nights – Please enquire for tailored fee, plus expenses // Other kinks – Please enquire. All arrangements will be provided with up-to-date sexual health screening tests, as well as a CRB check confirmation for your security and safety.
Well, damn. Here I was, thinking I’d only need to set aside about £50 for the night. Turns out the cost of living has hit every industry hard. But, to be clear – AGAIN – this was purely for research purposes – I had no intention of actually going through with hiring an escort for the evening. I mean, I’m a Black woman in my thirties. That’s just not something we do … right?
As I walked back to work, I decided to text my best friend, Sade, for advice. I needed someone to confirm that what I was doing was absolutely insane, and there was no one more level-headed than her. We’d met back at university while studying the same course and living in the same halls of residence. From the start, we became fast friends, with Sade often acting as the voice of reason to counterbalance my chaotic, impulsive decisions. The only annoying thing about our friendship was the fact that she currently lived on the outskirts of West London, meaning we always had to schedule our hangings-out way in advance instead of being more spontaneous.
Babes! A quick one; I joined this site called ‘OuiMeet’ a few mins ago (it’s a sex worker app lololol) and I feel like I’m this close to renting an escort to go on a date with, ’cause all these dates I’m going on are fried and I just wanna feel nice for once. Questions? Thoughts? Concerns? PS The one I found also likes cats. Cats!! Toby could make a new friend! xx
I knew Sade would waste no time questioning my sanity and talking me out of it. What I was doing was, without a doubt, ridiculous. And let’s not even get started on the social implications – if word ever got out that I’d rented an escort, I’d be done for. If my family ever found out? Game over. I’d have no choice but to pack up my things, move to a nunnery in the Vatican, and live out the rest of my days in shameful silence, reflecting on my poor life choices while a six-foot-four nun with a cowbell screamed ‘SHAME!’ at me every seven seconds.
OK, maybe I was exaggerating a little, but the absolute last thing you’d want is for your West African parents to find out you were paying for companionship – and, by implication, sex. Of course, all of this was irrelevant, because Sade was bound to knock some sense into me and remind me just how ridiculous this whole idea was anyway.
As I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for my floor, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A message from Sade. Ah, good old Sade – my wise, level-headed friend. She’d set me straight, no doubt, and remind me that there were far better things ahead for me than stooping to this level of desperation … probably.
Call me xxxxxx
I looked at my watch. I had a few minutes before stepping back into the office. Would I have time for a full best-friend verbal flogging right now? I chanced it, and dialled her number. Sade picked up on the second ring.
‘OK, talk to me,’ Sade demanded, slightly breathless, as if she were sitting out in the cold. ‘What’s this about renting someone online?’
I talked her through everything I had done thus far – filling out my profile and attaching a photo, and finding a couple of profiles that had tickled my fancy. At the end, I waited forSade to speak; to tell me off for even contemplating such a ridiculous idea.
After about a minute, she spoke.
