SamanthaEvans

The competition isn't evenly spread across all brackets, from what I can see. There's a lot of competition amongst those who offer FS at $180/hr. or less; this is the bracket that's full of Asian bait-and-switch setups and it affects other providers whose services run up to about $250/hr. These ladies often have a higher volume of clients, if that's what they want. At the higher end, $250 or $300+/hr., it looks like it depends on what the man is looking for. We have some lovely women of all ethnic backgrounds who charge between $500 and $3,000 an hour or more. From what I hear, they serve mostly actors and other entertainers, professional athletes and some of the Olympic organizing folks. These ladies are gorgeous, smart, savvy and young, as in they rarely admit to being over 30. Then there are courtesan-types (like me), who generally see only one or two clients a day, if that, for meetings that are often several hours long and combine public, social time with private activities. Most charge $250-400/hr. There are very few Asians in this category. I'm not sure why this is, frankly. However, the clients are interested in companions with whom they can share social and cultural experiences, fine dining, etc. and so they care about things like education, command of English, life experience and so on. The clients may live in Vancouver or may be out of town businessmen. One thing that I find interesting is that the vast majority of companions in Vancouver are under 35, and most of them are under 30. There's a considerable demand for companions over 40, 45 or 50 in Vancouver but there's also a limited number of us. The clients range in age from 45-70 or so and are mostly in their late 50s and 60s. I do well here. My hunch is that I would do well in Ottawa, too, among the politicians and civil servants. However, I'm not moving to Ottawa!

Hi, Cara. Welcome to the friendliest board you'll find anywhere!

So do I! :grin: Were we in grad school together? Because I have had some lovely times in the stacks, long ago... for free! LOL I'm shocked, Esoterica. Scandalized! :wink: I think that's a TERRIFIC idea! Really, it is. There are a lot of great stories to tell and there's a market for this stuff, too.... Do any of you gentlemen happen to have publishing connections? PM me if so! (And yes, I do know about new media, Internet options, e-books and the like. But I need to spend much of my time working on creating content <ahem!>. Besides, tt's a lot more fun!)

Oh, he's loads of fun! Really a great guy. I've had those fantasies, too, Erin. I spent a lot of time in grad school. Libraries are very interesting places to me!

It looks like a scam to me, too. Some escorts ask for deposits to book an appointment (I do), but that's after exchanging e-mail with the prospective client AND I do it through PayPal, which will not reveal your name or credit card number to me, so your privacy remains protected.

Oh..... god. There are very discrete, totally silent remote-control vibrators.....

The morning began like most other weekday mornings. But at 11:00 a.m. I am standing on top of a library step-ladder. I have four or five books in the crook of my left arm as I move the fingertips of my right hand along the spines of the books on the high shelf as I try to read the number printed on each one in the dim light of the crowded stacks. I?m wearing a conservative skirt with a matching blouse in a dark green print and a loose dark jacket over that. I?m wearing my glasses, too, and subtle makeup. None of the librarians here seems to wear 4? heels, but I?m wearing black ones. He walks down the row of shelves, his eyes darting between the numbers on the books and a piece of paper he holds in one hand. I look him over quickly, then go back to reading the shelf. He?s about 55, tall, with a neatly-trimmed grey beard and longish hair that curls against the collar of his tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. He?s wearing jeans, an Oxford cloth shirt, open at the neck, and soft, dark shoes?HushPuppies, maybe. When I take a book from the shelf, he says, ?Oh,? very softly. I look at him. ?Something you need?? I ask. ?Looks like you beat me to it,? he says, giving a resigned nod at the book in my hand. I smile quickly. ?There are others. I just need this particular edition,? I start to explain as I back down the step-ladder. I hold onto the bookshelf with one hand, but even so my balance isn?t great and I rock a bit to the side. ?Oh,? I gasp. ?Oh, yes,? he murmurs, having stepped very close to me, steadying me as I sway. He?s put his arm around me. Around my thighs. Just to be helpful is all it is. Or so I might have thought if his hand hadn?t somehow ended up underneath my long skirt, pressed against my stocking, his thumb hooked into the top, near the garter. ?Here, let me take those for you,? he says with academic detachment, indicating the books in my left arm. I nod slowly and let him have them. Without moving his hand away from underneath my skirt, he puts the books in an open place on the shelf in front of him. Then he lifts me off the ladder and I?m in his arms and he?s kissing me hard and his hand moves to the front of my thigh, then a little farther. ?Oh,? I whisper. ?Oh, yes,? he replies. Not long after that, we leave the library. Fortunately, his apartment is very nearby?. Two hours later, I?m on my way home. Three hours after that, I?m lying naked, face-down on my bed while the client I?d met for lunch two days earlier, also naked, straddles my thighs as he rubs a lightly scented lavender massage cream over my back. I moan. I stretch deliciously. He gives my bottom a hard slap. I yelp, feeling the print of his hand redden where it had landed. ?Don?t move. I mean it, Sam. I warned you.? His voice is soft, teasing and warm. ?Okay,? I whimper. ?I won?t,? I say, so compliant. I yelp and my body jerks again when another slap lands on the other side. ?Okay, Sir,? he says firmly. ?Yes, Sir,? I repeat obediently.

This is a big feature of my day, too, Emma, though usually it happens at the breakfast table!

I think so, too. "Amateur sex" (a great term, btw!) tends to be based on trust, which can be influenced by alcohol, romance, chemistry, all sorts of unreliable things. And there's an odd idea that a "good girl" won't know much about STDs and safe sex. A girl who does know a lot is presumed to have had reasons to learn that stuff, which must mean that she's not such a good girl after all. <sigh> We should take steps to stay safe, protect ourselves and look out for each other--absolutely. Let's just avoid promoting fear.

No, it can't be! Okay, boys.... time to 'fess up! If there's a network, or a board, or a mailing list that determines what the flavour of the month is, it's only fair to share that info with your favourite ladies, isn't it? Because, seriously, I need to make sure I've got a couple of pairs of those cushy gardeners' knee pads when it's time to spend another month on my knees!

A bit stereotypical, I'll admit, and he's nearly 80, but I do sort of specialize in older men! So.... Sean Connery, that accent, the eyes.... Oh, yes!

Erin, thanks for writing! I'd really like folks to describe what a day is like. We do similar things, in different ways, and it's all really interesting, I think. Tigerclaw, thanks. I'm glad you liked it.

laughs... Me, too! I wasn't really complaining, just noticing!

Is it kinky season, or am I getting a lot of requests by accident? Things seem to go in cycles, sometimes. For about a month after Valentine's Day it seemed like everyone wanted long, elaborate, blowjobs. Then I had about five weeks where every single client I saw wanted greek. BJ's seemed to have gone out of fashion or something. May seems to be the month for light bondage and a lot of spanking. Of me, that is. Possibly because I'm less effective on the operating end of the flogger.... YMMV, but I'm curious!

Like this? :-P

It depends. Agencies often aim to have girls who are a particular type, are into particular things or who don't have particular restrictions. The way to find out what's possible is to call around and ask, I'd say. You might also put a query on the Toronto board, here, and invite SPs to contact you if they offer what you're looking for. Good luck and have fun!

Thanks. The thing is, while I do get paid to have sex, I'm not in this profession in order to have sex. I've never had a problem finding a partner when I want one. This is a business, for me. It's how I make a living, support my children and provide for my future. I love my work, I enjoy my clients thoroughly and I feel very lucky to have such a fulfilling career. I get to spend my time giving pleasures of many kinds on many different levels. Companions who forget that this is what we're doing get burned out, feel jaded and quit, or should!

The economy IS getting better, it's true. Slowly, but measurably, it gets better. I think I should take a trip to Ottawa this fall. If anyone would be interested in celebrating the slow but steady improvement in the economy.... ;-)

I think it's valid only to a point. How we set our prices is a whole other discussion, and there are lots of threads about it. I don't think that my returning clients come back because of the amenities. They want to be with me. I work hard to attract a particular demographic: men who are 50-75 years old and who want a mature companion of comparable life experience and education. There are very few women my age in this profession in the Vancouver area. My clients feel that I understand them and that we have things in common. They can also afford me. I'd like to get past the continual focus on bad dates, danger and nasty, evil, violent clients. I think it's w-a-y overplayed when the escorts are independent and working indoors. That's the key factor. Women who work outside, on the street, face very different challenges and higher risks. They're more likely to be preyed upon, robbed, beaten, raped, abducted and killed because the kinds of men who do such things can find them easily and they think they can get away with what they do to those women. I screen clients. That alone makes me different from women who work outside. I can take the time to screen and choose from among the men who contact me. I turn down over half of those who contact me for all kinds of reasons. It could be that they've tried to haggle over my fee, that they ask questions I don't feel are appropriate, that they argue with my restrictions, or that they clearly haven't read my website at all. It could also be that they're looking for things I don't do and am not interested in doing. Not everyone that I see returns. I don't expect that they will. But I've never had to ask anyone to leave nor have I felt that I needed to go, myself, because the client has done something threatening or dangerous. The simple fact is that the men who want the experiences I and most others here provide are basically good guys who want some personal care and attention. They don't want to cause any trouble for anyone and they don't want to find themselves in the midst of trouble, either. No one who crosses my doorstep would imagine that he could hurt me and get away with it. The men I entertain are teachers, doctors, lawyers, social workers, police officers, construction workers, engineers, computer technicians and programmers, clergy, accountants, stock brokers, salesmen, writers, artists. They're only as dangerous as you are.

Hear, hear! I agree whole-heartedly, Mandalay. If a man can't afford what I charge, he should either wait until he can afford me or he should find someone else. In terms of cash-flow, to him this may be a luxury; to me, it's how I make a living. I'd also like to add a few things to the list of "Do Nots." Please don't ask me how many men I've seen today, or this week, or this month, and don't ask me how much I earn every month or year. It's none of your business. I do make a good living. I work damn hard for it, too. I don't object to working hard--not at all--but anyone who thinks that most escorts spend their time just lying back in bed has no idea of the time, energy and planning that goes into this profession every day. Plenty of beautiful, desirable women quit because they don't want to work so hard to be successful. Please enjoy your time with me. But don't assume that if you're with me for a couple of hours, I will or won't see anyone else today, tomorrow, or even this week for as long or longer. Remarkable as it may seem, I make choices not only on the basis of my income but also on the basis of my mental and emotional energy. And please don't offer to give me financial advice or to help me plan my retirement. I do have help with these things. None of my advisers are clients and I don't trade services in such matters. That would be a significant conflict of interest, not to mention that it would introduce a serious inequity into our relationship. After all, are you ready to make your financial life and plans transparent to me? 'Nuff said!

I'm much the same, myself. I wouldn't be a companion if I didn't like people. The stories folks tell about their lives and their interests always fascinate me. I try to find ways to engage with them. It often improves the connection between us. Since I usually entertain at home, I'm already sharing a lot of things about myself and my life. I agree, Anna. (Welcome to the board, by the way!) Engage the senses while keeping everything fresh, clean and comfortable is a terrific recipe for a great time.

Thanks, friends. I'll keep going. Probably not one a day, but if you like this stuff I'll write it. With hugs for each of you,

I want to know what's on Emma's album! Please?

The next day was different.. The day began as usual with the alarm at 7:20. I saw my son off to school and then got dressed. At 9:00, the client who was to see me at 10:00 called. He sounded terrible on the phone. He?d awakened with a raging sore throat, likely caught from one of his children, and was waiting to see his doctor. Could we postpone our meeting for a week or so? We agree on a new date, ten days away. I turn on the computer and begin to make my way through the morning?s e-mail. As I?m reading and writing quick replies, a new message arrives via my website?s contact form. Am I available at noon today, for two hours? I don?t often do last-minute appointments, but with the cancellation earlier, this is no problem. I agree to the meeting and give him my cell number. He calls, I give directions. Less than an hour later, I open the front door and do a double-take. I say his name, inquiring, not sure if he?s who I was expecting. The name he?d given me was a northern European name, but the man standing on my doorstep looks Japanese. New clients often give assumed names. ?Jewish father, Japanese mother,? R. says with self-deprecating but warm laughter. ?You?re beautiful, Sam,? he says, placing an envelope on the table nearby. ?That red hair?? he reaches out, winding his hand into my hair as he pulls me into his arms. Most new clients are a bit nervous or even shy, but R. is relaxed and self-assured, slightly deferential yet easily able to take control. I like his confidence. R. is younger than I?d imagined: he might be 12-15 years younger than me. He declines my offer of tea, coffee or a glass of wine, saying, as he undoes one button on my blouse, that we can get to know each other without any of that. The next two hours unnerve me. Eerily, he feels like a long-time lover who knows me and my body as well or better than I do myself. From start to finish, he touches me exactly right, every time. Not too fast, not too hard, not too little. When I try to take over, to be the active one, he murmurs no, gently soothing me to lie calm. I become clay moulded by his hands, a cello singing in his arms, molten light that flows at his direction and like pure crystal shatters, scattering brilliant rainbows around the room. Then he does it all again. More, again, until I am half-mad, bewildered and overwhelmed as climaxes chain together and roll through my body until I?m in tears, almost clinging to him. I?m relieved when it?s time for him to get up. He goes to take a shower. I put on a robe and start to run a brush through my tangled hair, looking at my mouth, swollen from so many kisses, and the dazed expression on my face in the mirror. He comes back into the room and dresses while we talk about nothing in particular. At the door, he tucks something into my pocket and gives me a long kiss. Then he?s gone. I doubt everything for about three minutes. I don?t know what just happened, and it?s rattled me. I don?t like how I feel: empty, slightly bereft. Too close, too fast, too deep, too soon. Who knows why bodies sometimes react that way? I call a friend, leave a message on her system to say that I?m coming to take her dog to the beach. I take a shower. When I hang up my robe to get dressed, I feel the pocket. Two fifty-dollar bills are folded together inside it. I stare at the money, then go find the envelope on the dining room table. Five hundred-dollar bills are tucked inside it, fifty dollars more than my fee for two hours. I add the two fifties to the envelope and then try to put the whole encounter resolutely out of my mind. Twenty minutes later, my friend?s apricot-coloured standard poodle bounds along beside me as we walk along Jericho beach toward Spanish Banks. The tides are at their lowest this time of year. Wet sand seems to stretch for miles and miles. The dog rambles around happily, wagging his stubby tail, sniffing at random things. At one point, he digs up a starfish, sniffs at it, sneezes mightily and then turns away in apparent disdain. I laugh and find a stick to throw for him to chase. Soon, we?re both running along the beach. He barks happily, play-bows to me and dashes like a wild animal in the fresh air and sunlight. After well over an hour, we make our way back to the car. He gets into the back seat, panting. I fasten the seatbelt and turn on the engine. The dog leans forward and licks my cheek. I tell him what a good fellow he is and turn the car around to take him home. If my new client calls and wants to meet again, I won?t be available. When I get home, my son has returned from school. He?s full of stories from his day, strange things that happened in his science class, the spring concert is coming up next week and he needs a black dress shirt. Will I help him with his French homework? We have tea together. We do the French homework. I talk about the dog and the starfish on the beach. Later, I get his dinner ready for him to heat up when he?s hungry. Then I go and take another shower, get dressed and call a cab to take me to the Pan Pacific Hotel for my date. I see K. about once a month when he?s in town on business. He called last night to say that he?d arrived and all was well. I?m looking forward to seeing him. We?ve been together so often, now, that it?s like seeing an old friend. Better still, I know what to expect, by and large. This is important: I do not want to replay the consternation I felt earlier today. That kind of thing doesn?t happen very often, thank heaven, but it leaves me feeling a little wary for a day or two afterward. Tonight, K. and I have a good time. We order dinner from room service, then drink wine and watch the sun go down while we wait for the meal to be delivered. He lays me down on the bed and puts a plate with a piece of cake on my stomach, warning me not to laugh while he has his dessert: a little cake, a kiss, a nibble along my neck, some more cake, one of my nipples? you get the picture. I do my best to remain sombre and not laugh. I fail gloriously. He flips me over, spanks me hard, and then takes me. It?s fun. It?s explosive and very good. The world does not fly apart and I do not shatter into small fragments. The mid-day meeting fades from my consciousness, as it should. Not for the first time, K. says that he loves me. I love you, too, I say. You help me keep my feet on the ground. I dress. We go down to the hotel entrance. K. rides home with me in the cab, kisses me good night, and then goes back to the hotel. I take yet another shower, pour myself a glass of wine and go to bed to read for awhile before I go to sleep.

Every day is different, but some days are good examples. Here?s one of mine. It's a bit long, but it's fairly typical. Share one of yours, please? 7:20 a.m. The alarm goes off. I murmur unprintable things as I turn it off and listen to the traffic and weather reports on the radio. At 7:30, I get up, wishing I could stay in my warm, cocoon a couple of hours longer. I wake up more fully in the shower. 8:00 a.m. Having gotten my last-minute signature on a permission form and a cheque for a school field trip, my son leaves for school. I do the breakfast dishes, which doesn?t take long, and listen to the news on the radio. I vacuum the living room and my bedroom and change the sheets on my bed. 8:30 I do my hair and put on some light makeup for my 9:00 client. I put on a lacy bra and a satin dressing gown that he?s admired on other visits. 8:55 I make a pot of coffee and some freshly-squeezed ruby grapefruit juice. I rinse the organic hothouse strawberries I bought at the market yesterday and put them into a pretty crystal bowl. 9:05 My client, H., arrives with a copy of the morning Globe and Mail, a big bouquet of freesias (my favourite) and some fresh chocolate croissants. I put the flowers in water and set the table with the grapefruit juice, coffee, strawberries and croissants. H and I sit and read the paper together while having our breakfast. We talk about the news, things a couple of columnists have written, and have a playful debate about the (then) upcoming provincial election. H. comes to see me three or four times a month. In his early 70s, he?s a tall, powerfully-built man with an impressive mane of white hair and a permanent tan from years of living in the tropics. His wife died of cancer a few years ago and he continues to mourn the loss, having known her since they were children. He says I remind him of her when she was about my age. What he?s missed most is their morning breakfast ritual, the companionship of reading the paper together as the day begins. I finish my coffee and massage his neck and shoulders until he pulls me into his lap. He unfastens the belt on my dressing gown, admires the pretty lace bra and the lack of anything else to go with it. We retire to my room for a very satisfying time together. A much younger man would be pleased to be as virile and energetic as H. After things have calmed down, we lie there, cuddling happily and talk about going away for a weekend this summer. He has a quick shower and leaves about 11:45. I change the sheets, take a shower and dress while I do a load of laundry. Then I turn on the computer and check my e-mail. I write a few notes, update my calendar and make a grocery list. 1:10 I arrive at a very good restaurant in the neighbourhood in time for my 1:15 meeting. A prospective client, F., has asked to meet me for lunch. He arrives just as I?m being seated at a pleasant table by the window. I stand up and give him a warm hug. When we sit down again, he hands me a book of poems by Rumi. In e-mail last week, he?d asked me what I was reading, and I?d mentioned a different volume of Rumi?s poetry. This little book is a gift; an envelope with my fee for the lunchtime meeting is tucked inside. I thank him warmly, genuinely pleased by this unexpected present. I put the book in my bag, the waiter arrives to take our order, and we have lunch with a glass of wine. 2:45 We?ve had a wonderful conversation, full of bantering word-play followed by some more serious discussion as he tells me a bit about his life and what he?s looking for with me. I talk a little about my personal background, my teenage son and some of the work I do other than being a paid companion. The conversation flows easily between us. The waiter clears the table and brings our coffee. When I touch the back of F?s hand with my fingertips, he turns his hand over, takes my fingers in his and lifts my hand to kiss it. When our hands settle back on the table, he doesn?t let go. Outside the restaurant, F. gives me a warm, close hug and kisses me tenderly. He suggests that we go back to my place, but I remind him that wasn?t part of our arrangement and, unfortunately, my son will be home by about 3:30. He kisses me again and murmurs pleasantly in my ear. Can he see me the day after tomorrow? Yes, he can. I?d like that. Another warm hug and we go our separate ways. 3:00 The market is near the restaurant. I fish the grocery list from my purse and go in to buy a few things for dinner. 3:35 I arrive at home just as my son is unlocking the front door. He helps with the groceries and tells me about his day at school, a project he has to work on and his plans to meet a friend the next day. 4:00 I check my e-mail, respond to a few queries, send an invoice for a deposit for a first meeting with a new client and update my calendar. I write a quick note to F., thanking him for lunch and confirming our meeting the day after tomorrow. 5:30 A friend calls to say that another friend?s mother has had a stroke and is in hospital. She?s expected to recover fully. I know this woman fairly well: her son was my first boyfriend in high school a long time ago. We?ve stayed in touch over the years and continue to have a warm, affectionate relationship. I call his house and talk with his wife for a few minutes, hearing the story of her mother-in-law?s stroke once again. I call the florist and order an arrangement: a china teacup full of wood violets. 6:45 I start to make dinner. It?s ready by 7:30. We eat, talk some more about high school intrigue and science projects, and my son?s plans for the summer. By 9:00, I?ve done the dinner dishes and my son has finished his homework. He?s watching a movie on the laptop computer. I answer e-mail on my desktop machine. I have a client tomorrow at 10:00 for two hours, and I?m meeting another at the Pan Pacific Hotel tomorrow evening for three hours with room service providing dinner. 10:00 My son heads off to bed. I read through the CERB boards for awhile then close up the house for the night. I read a murder mystery in bed until midnight, then turn out the light. 4:10 a.m. I wake up. Middle age insomnia trips me up about three times a week. I make a cup of herbal tea and take it back to bed with me. I read for an hour or so and then feel ready to sleep again until the alarm rings at 7:20.