Thank God for the Number 214
A short story demonstrating the grittier side of what I do - by no means do I offer services of such like but just demonstrating the point of safe, secure environments and the service level that I provide…
Enjoy xx
It was my birthday and I was heading home after an office party that had featured karaoke, bowling and altogether too much Shiraz (although, to be fair, any quantity of Shiraz above one is altogether too much). On my way to the Tube, a friend and I were briefly courted by an opportunistic hooker who offered us the chance to go one at a time or both together before concluding, perhaps not unreasonably, that we were a pair of fucking poofs for disregarding her pitch.
It is always difficult to ignore a hard working street vendor, particularly at night when one is pissed but the milk of human kindness was flowing even more sluggishly through me than the milk of sexual ardour and we both walked on.
I wandered into the station to find that I had missed the last train, and came back out to head to the bus stop neglecting, alas, to plan a route that avoided my new friend and her negotiable vagina. She made a bee line for me as I waited disconsolately for the 214 and boldly theorised that I had left the Tube in order to take her up on her earlier offer.
I lacked the energy to cross the roundabout and find the next stop, so I spent the next ten minutes listening to the world's least entrepreneurial prostitute slowly haggle herself down from 30 pound for a shag (but only if I had condoms) to 25 pound for bareback anal on the basis that I looked fucking kinky and probably liked that sort of thing. My bus turned up just as she suggested that we pop round the corner so I could have a gratis look at the goods and whenever I am pissed off at the 214 I remember that moment with unparalleled gratitude.
the 214 I love you xxx
Kisses Kristina Yorkshire Escort xx
