Darla Glasgow Escort

Darla is watching you...through her stats.....

2012-01-28T21:39:00.000Z

As most of my regular followers will be aware, there are a bunch of lovely, gorgeous, considerate, and not to mention thin ladies who are all sitting around on a private forum talking about how great Darla is. And because they are looking out for my interests, they won't let me in on the conversation, because they fear that I would be so enraptured with all of the fantastic things that are being said about me that I will die from sheer happiness.

But I suspect that this sisterhood has found out that I know what they're up to. And so to keep poor Darla's ego from exploding from their excessive cyber-stroking, they've started putting links to my fantastic blog of awesomness into their private messages. Or at least that's what my loyal friend the Statcounter tells me.

What I want to know is why I'm getting so many hits from Bristol from the same IP over the past three days. Some of them are from the Forbidden Forum of Mystery, and others are from a Private message from within the delicious cyber fruitbasket that I just can't seem to reach no matter how hard I try. I've had another hit from London from a different IP address acessing another Private message. I'm strictly a North of the Border kind of gal, so why on earth would two girls in two English cities be fellating my grandness via a Scottish forum? Special Darla is special, and not in the new retarded sense of the word.

The Real McCoy

2012-01-28T12:38:00.001Z

You may or may not be familiar with George McCoy. He is the author of the aptly-named McCoy's guide which gives a list of escorts with his reviews. He also has a member's only website filled with reviews and escort ads. As you may know, he has sold loads of copies of his printed guide, and has come to the attention of the police, because he's "repellent."After all, it's not as though there are rapes, murders and riots to deal with. No, what the police are really interested in are the sexual exploits and subsequent bragging of a dirty old man.

I'm not even sure what they'd hope to charge him with. The best I can possibly come up with is some sort of public indecency violation, based on the fear that the guide might fall into the hands of horny teenagers, but the same could be said of any adult publication. People unfamiliar with how George McCoy operates could argue that he is violating escorts' privacy by publishing information that will be around long after they left the profession.

I would refute the latter thusly. About six months ago I got a call from none other than the dirty old man himself. He was very nice, and asked me if I would be willing to have an ad listed on his member's only site. I agreed to this, and he sent me a link, so that I would have access to what was being said about me. He also advised me to get in touch if I wanted the ad removed and it would be done accordingly.

Professionalism on the part of escort advertisers is not something I take for granted. Every so often I find that my details have been stolen by an escort site, and I spend days arguing with them via email to remove my information. This is usually met with the bewilderment of the site owner, who can't quite understand why I wouldn't want all that free extra advertising. Some sites that I have legitimately listed with fail to inform me of the multitude of other sites that they own, and I find myself advertised in places I really hadn't planned on. And these sites aren't even restricted as to who can look at them, so I end up with an internet presence that I didn't even know about until it's too late.

Whatever you think of Mr. McCoy's approach to the sex industry, he is more ethical than most. But a lot of people will still find his reviews of escorts to be distasteful. My response is thus. Most review sites are completely anonymous. Anyone can say anything they like about any escort they have seen and there's nothing to prevent them from fabricating reports, in spite of the security measures that many review sites claim to have in place. In fact, many of these sites have a disclaimer that reviews are to be regarded as little more than erotic fiction. But my pal George has the testicular fortitude to put his name and face to everything he writes. Whatever you might think of him personally, you have to admire the complete lack of hypocrisy that it takes to plaster your face all over your website and magazines and tell the whole world that you are a habitual user of prostitutes.

Furthermore, George McCoy doesn't claim to speak for "the Punter." He claims only to speak for himself. As such you can take his opinions or you can leave them. Granted, you can do this with any review site. However, it is much easier to form opinions about a named individual than an amorphous, anonymous collection of sexual pun-based usernames.

You don't have to like George McCoy. But he's no hypocrite and no coward and his publications seem to go ahead with the approval of the girls in question, if my own experience is anything to go by. And if the authorites really do have evidence that he's broken the law, then he'll be an easy man to find, which is more than I can say for other industry reviewers.

Statistics

2012-01-27T12:52:00.000Z

I love Statcounter. When I set up my account to watch how people were accessing my three sites, it was with an aim of finding out whether or not my more expensive advertising was paying. I was also interested in whether or not some sites led to timewasters and other undesirable people visiting my various Darla sites. I managed to catch a smelly Greek ho stealing my pics.

Then there came the specific Google searches that people used. I kept a close eye on people finding me under "erotic wrestling glasgow" and tweaked my blog content so that anyone after unusual fetishes would find me and only me. Then the comedy element came in, with search terms such as "granny escorts glasgow" and "where to find drug dealer escorts in glasgow."

Although I scaled back on my escort forum activity in 2010, I still managed to get the occasional hit. For example, one site had a thread on erotic wrestling, and some nice poster recommended me. I made sure to join the forum and thank him. One reason I cut down on forums is that there was a major split on one of the regional forums in 2010, resulting from a strange confluence of confrontations that probably date back to a time when I thought that an escort was an overpriced car. I never figured out what happened, but there was a lot of she-said/she/said (yes, you did read that correctly) nonsense about bitchiness going on in private, members only forums. I had no idea of whether or not these private forums existed, and frankly was rather glad of it. I left my last civilian job and my last agency due to my unwillingness to deal with crazy bitches, and I wasn't about to let the crazy bitches get me down yet again.

But now new evidence has come to light. My last post was a rant about an unnamed site that proposes to help escorts, and my feelings on whether this unnamed site and the unnamed individuals running it are helping or harming girls. A couple of days ago, I began getting a number of hits from a thread on a forum which seemed to link directly to that post. I use the word "seemed" because when I clicked on the link, I was told that I did not have the required permissions to enter this particular area of the forum in question, even though I was a member of its public boards.

I have no idea what is/was being said about me on this thread. Maybe everyone is saying wonderful things about how Darla is a beautiful tulip. Or maybe the forum is closed for a reason. If members of this sorority were saying nicey nice things, you'd think they would have invited me to join in on their reindeer games by now. And yes, it is women who run this forum. I have fucked enough guys in my day so I have more than a passing knowledge of how they think, and running secret forums is just not within the capacity of the average heterosexual man.

I really don't give a shit what people say about me. But I do find the idea of a secret witches' coven having a good old time talking about me behind my back to be, in the words of the South Park goths, so lame. And although I probably wouldn't agree with anything these crones are saying, I defend their legal right to say it. As such I also am aware of my right to look after myself under the Protection from Harassment Act if the activities on the forum go beyond an exercise in free speech.

Halp

2012-01-23T22:57:00.001Z

I am, by nature, suspicious of anyone who proposes to "help" sex workers. There's just something unbearably patronising about these seemingly good-hearted people who think that the best thing they can do with their time is to help the hapless hookers because goddess love us, we need it. No, there isn't anything even remotely suspicious about someone who would seek to work with women who are in society's oldest, but still horribly stigmatised profession. Surely no one so socially conscious could possibly have an ulterior motive? Or could they?

I am not the only person to have these suspicions. In Alexander McCall Smith's book, The Full Cupboard of Life, which incidentally, is part of the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series, our heroine, Mma Ramotswe acquires a wealthy client. Said client is an attractive hairdresser with several suitors who can't decide between them. So, like any rational person, she hires everyone's favourite lady detective to find out if any of them are up to no good, or simply after her money. One of her suitors has expressed interest in setting up a Home for Bad Girls, a safe haven for former prostitutes where they can be cured of their wicked, wicked ways. Naturally suspicions arise as to whether or not this man is seeking to receive services for free, or to exploit these girls in some other way. I have to admit, I was a little disappointed that Mma Ramotswe finds nothing particularly evil about this man. I know I would have made it my business to do so, which probably means I wouldn't be a very good lady detective.

But I do not need to look to the world of fiction to find do-gooders who don't do good. There is a well-known site that aims to help escorts with everything from safety to health to how to invest earnings wisely. For the sake of ease, I'll call it Help for Hookers. Their advice section on their main site is OK, if a little outdated, but it is in their forum that the ticks swarm, ready to suck the life out of anyone who is stupid enough to ask for their support and advice.

One of the biggest problems that I have always had with this site is the number of threads asking for advice on how to get started in the industry, that are often so poorly spelled as to be unintelligible. But never fear, for as soon as one of these threads is posted, dozens of mother hens appear, ready to help with setting up websites and advertising. Interestingly enough one of the Help for Hookers moderators is the owner of a business that sells escort websites to girls, assuring them all the while that free sites such as Moonfruit and Blogger are for total losers like Darla. If the site were only a propaganda method for a wily webmistress to make money, I'd go so far as to admire the greed and business acumen. But when you consider that buying one of these sites involves sending your real name, address, credit card details and nekkid pictures to someone you don't know, it all become a bit more sinister. My take is that if you can't make your own website, you have no business in this industry.

Once the newbie's website is set up, she then plays the waiting game. During that time she will invariably post a thread asking how to handle that first client. The cyber chickens begin to cluck, offering a multitude of opinions on how to suck a dick. Then it happens. Newbie gets a client. And all of the hens begin to clamour to congratulate the girl on becoming "one of us." I worry that this virtual high-fiving might pressure future newbies to join. But Darla, you might ask, who would care what a bunch of cyber-whores think of them? My answer? Exactly the kind of person who should never enter this potentially dangerous industry. I'm no legal expert, but I'd suspect very strongly that what goes on here meets the legal definition of incitement to prostitution. If one could prove that Madame Webmistress were doing anything to intimidate girls, control for gain could be a real possibility.

Like many escort forums, Help for Hookers has a warnings section, where girls can post partial phone numbers, Adultwork aliases and descriptions of clients to avoid. This has its problems in and of itself, as it really only gives specific people to avoid, and not a general sense of how to avoid the baddies. I check this list from time to time, and today I found a thread of interest about a nasty little bugger in Edinburgh. Apparently he emails girls asking them if he can take Class A drugs during the booking and whether or not they'd be willing to get high with him. One of the moderators removed his Adultwork alias from this thread, so now no escort in Scotland can find out who he is without joining the forum and emailing the Original Poster. We'll all have to hope that he doesn't get any smarter and for example, skip the obnoxious emails and just book a girl and then proceed to show up coked out and dangerous.

But for what reason did the moderator delete this potentially dangerous client's information? As she says, it is up to the girl whether or not she takes a client who uses drugs, and up to the girl as to whether or not she agres to take them with her client. Wow. Just WOW! The last time I checked, illegal drugs were illegal. Help for Hookers is effectively promoting drug use amongst girls and clients, or at least failing to condemn it. Indeed, one wonders if the site is seeking out drug-addicted prostitutes, because these are exactly the kinds of people who would be incapable of writing their own website material, and for example, might have to pay someone.

Help for Hookers has other miscellaneous threads that are of dubious legality. One of the Mods loves to dispense legal and tax advice, and it's pretty obvious that she isn't qualified to advise on either. Indeed on one of their many, many threads on tax, one regular poster has the charming habit of threatening to shop girls to the Tax Man, which is specifically illegal. Ads abound for girls advertising for flatmates, which is, unfortunately, not legal, and indeed one worries that the abundance of these ads might encourage ladies to think otherwise. In short, even a cursory glance at Help for Hookers would reveal dozens of possible violations of the law.

This is why I fear all advice-givers. They make me feel icky. And when things make you feel icky, chances are someone's breaking the law.

With Darla, it's laid out like that...

2012-01-22T16:59:00.000Z

Firstly, many aoplogies for going AWOL. January has been busy for many reasons and I've sadly neglected my blog.

There's this timewaster doing the rounds who has called just about everybody in my industry. He claims to work for Delta airlines, and wants services in exchange for duty free perfume, tickets, cigarrettes, or anything but cash. He's not bothered me yet, but there's still time.

The word "Delta" made me think on was this hilarious video that has got me through some touch times since it was released ten and a bit years ago. Enjoy!

Sluts and slags take my job...although maybe not anymore

2012-01-01T20:13:00.002Z

I hate sluts. I really do. They do all the same stuff I do, but less safely and they do it for free. They threaten my very livelihood. Pisses me off.

This is why I am very happy to hear that Russel Brand is single again. For the past two years, he's been playing it all serious like. But deep down he is nothing but a great big cooze hound, and he doesn't even have to pay. Which brings me back to the topic of sluts. Given that Mr. Brand is back on the market, and given that in his heyday he fiddled with several slags a day, he will reduce my slut competitors by a rather large margin. This can only be good for Darla's business. Supply and demand, baby!

Despite the doom and gloom as predicted by Le Chimp and Frau Cakeneater, I think 2012 will be a great year.

Bye-bye 2011!

2011-12-31T16:31:00.000Z

What a strange year this has been. I've had great times with clients and have warded off wasters with cunning and humour. Like with many other businesses I have faced considerable economic challenges, but have nevertheless persevered in providing my many excellent clients with the services they deserve.

Speaking of getting what is deserved, if you are considering a career as a tyrant, your job prospects are not looking good. I don't know whether its karma or proof that Team America really does exist, but all I can say is that Mugabe needs to watch out. Even the sex industry is not immune from the tiny slivers of justice that we have seen this year; Scotland had finally put human traffickers in jail. And it is with no little delight that I can report that the prune-faced hag who was my last civlian boss no longer occupies her former position, or in fact, any position. Some unemployment statistics really can be positive.

Yes, 2011 has really been an "out with the bad" kind of year. I hope that 2012 will be a bit more "in with the good." We have needed good news for a long time and I am hopeful that this is the year.

The most unthinkably outrageous request ever

2011-12-30T20:08:00.000Z

Hans, a middle-aged German tourist on his first visit to Orlando, Florida, finds the red light district and enters a large brothel. The madam asks him to be seated and sends over a young lady to entertain him.

They sit and talk, frolic a little, giggle a bit, drink a bit, and she sits on his lap. He whispers in her ear and she gasps and runs away! Seeing this, the madam sends over a more experienced lady to entertain the gentleman.

They sit and talk, frolic a little, giggle a bit, drink a bit, and she sits on his lap. He whispers in her ear, and she too screams, "No!" and walks quickly away.

The madam is surprised that this ordinary looking man has asked for something so outrageous that her two girls will have nothing to do with him. She decides that only her most experienced lady, Lola, will do. Lola has never said no, and it's not likely anything would surprise her. So the madam sends her over to Hans. They sit and talk, frolic a little, giggle a bit, drink a bit, and she sits on his lap. He whispers in her ear and she screams, "NO WAY, BUDDY!" and smacks him as hard as she can and leaves.

Madam is by now absolutely intrigued, having seen nothing like this in all her years of operating a brothel. She hasn't done the bedroom work herself for a long time, but she's sure she has said yes to everything a man could possibly ask for. She just has to find out what this man wants that has made her girls so angry. Besides she sees a chance to teach her employees a lesson.

So she goes over to Hans and says that she's the best in the house and is available. She sits and talks with him. They frolic, giggle, drink and then she sits in his lap.

Hans leans forwards and whispers in her ear, "Can I pay in Euros?"

Ladies and Gentlemen, this one's gone the full retard!

2011-12-29T21:21:00.000Z

Today I got a call. This is not an unusual occurence, because unlike the members of a certain punting forum would have you believe, my phone is not dusty. But this was from one of Darla's regular wasters, who at least has the decency and self-respect to use a different SIM card every time he calls. We wouldn't want to make it too easy on Darla, now would we?

Except this guy really does. Every time he calls he puts on this fake Hannibal Lecter voice that slips in and out from his normal voice even more regularly than McNulty does on the Wire. As such I refer to this guy by the nickname Han, because believe you me, any sex act he had ever participated in has been solo. He usually wants things of a domination-y nature and tonight was no different. Here is a transcript of the call.

Darla: Hello?
Han: Mmmmmmm....yes, is that Darla?
Darla: Why yes! How can I help you?
Han: (taking a sip of Chianti..OK, OK. It was Buckfast.) Hello, I'm new to Glasgow and have been reading your website. I want a new regular mistress to replace the one I left behind down South. I'm English, you see (in a Glaswegian accent)
Darla: (smelling bullshit) Righty-ho?
Han: (munching his fava beans and rubbing his nipples) I want you to dominate me...financially. I'm a solicitor and have lots of disposable income.
Darla (fully aware of the imminent shite attack) OK, how does this work?
Han: I am going to text you my credit card number, and you have two hours to go and buy anything you want online.
Darla: OK, you've just asked me to commit credit card fraud. What kind of a retard do you think I am?
Han: (sucking his teeth)
Darla: And you're obviously too retarded to read my website because if you could, you see I only deal in CASH!

I really miss the corded landline phones that you can just slam down. Seriously.

There are so many fucking problems with this I don't even know where to begin. Here's all the things I wish I had said:

While I commend the multiple SIM cards, Han, the least you could do is change your accent. And if you're going to use a different accent, take some acting classes. And when you tell me that you want a regular arrangement without ever having met me, my bullshit barometer is sky high. The fact is, two perfectly lovely people can be absolutely fine but just not click. Book once and see.

Darla knows the law. It kind of goes with the profession. It makes me a little bit suspicious when you tell me that you're a solicitor from England who has just moved to Scotland. I know there are ways and means to transfer your skills from one legal system to the next, but you'll never convince me with a Hannibal Lecter clown voice.

As far as the credit card thing goes, all I can say is dude, seriously? I buy a lot of stuff online. All sites will require my delivery address AND the credit card's registered address. If I were to purchase something with your card, you would be able to call the credit card company, report fraudulent use, right down to a specific time frame, and get my civilian name and address.

One thing that the News of the World scandal has taught us is that journalists can't do all the evil shit they used to do. I can think of no better way to out an escort than getting her to do illegal shit for you. Darla isn't stupid, and she will not fall for your games.

In short, if you're going to try to trick Darla, do it right.

Merry Christmas and fetsitve opening hours

2011-12-25T15:23:00.001Z

I am taking a day of rest for Christmas Day in order to energise myself for what I like to call the Annual Post-Family Togetherness Ball Dumping Extravaganza.

You've probably spent today in a haze of flying wrapping paper, screaming kids, and foul-smelling old people who remember the good old days when they were lucky to get some beans for Christmas. To top it off, there's been at least one culinary disaster involving food that no one would eat in a million years except for the fact that it's a holiday innit.

Never fear, for Darla has come to the rescue! She will ease your pain and make the insanity of Christmas a distant memory.

I am nothing if not a multicultural Darla. I am especially sympathetic to those of you who have had to endure not one day but eight days of relative driven madness.

Indeed, the post festive time is often very busy for Darla, but I will make every effort to see anyone who books this time of year. I'll try to be available at shorter notice than usual, but transport is not always on my side. In short, I'll be flexible if you'll be flexible.

Merry Christmas and Happy Hannukah!

Don't be ronery tonight!

2011-12-19T17:20:00.000Z

Book Darra!

Darla the ditzy dominatrix

2011-12-17T22:59:00.000Z

Throughout this blog I have often sought to emphasise the human side of fetish as it pertains to my present and future clients. What I haven't done so much is portray my own humanity including faults, foibles, and outright faux pas. I'm always professional, but sometimes even the best dommes get things hilariously wrong.

I once had a client who was into spanking and flogging, often for great lengths of time. Figuring out clever things to say during his hour-long spankathons was always a challenge. I was actually quite tired at one of his sessions, as I'd had a late night booking the night before, and had not consumed nearly enough Diet Coke before the booking. As I gripped my whip in my hand, I blurted out, "This will not be over quickly. You will not enjoy it."

For those of you who don't know, this line is taken from the film 300, which is an action packed adventure based on the battle of Thermopylae, which took place between Greeks and Persians. Its one of the campest, most unintentionally funny films of all time, as it features the totally heterosexual Greeks wearing tight leather shorts, and righteously manly Persians wearing loads of makeup and body piercings. There are a bunch of computer generated rhinos in there too, and loads of boobs that bounce in slow motion, so it's definitely worth seeing.

Inadvertantly quoting this line from what is really a totally cheesy movie was bad enough, but this is not nearly the limit of Darla's derpiness. No, what really put the icing on the cake wreck of Darla's blunder was that the client in question just so happened to come from the Islamic Republic of Iran, which just so happens to be the modern name for Persia.

I was completely mortified at my stupidity, but the luckily the client had a sense of humour. He thought the 300 and its South Park parody were even funnier than I did, and after a few minutes of laughing ourselves silly we managed to get back to the serious business of pain and domination.

This is why I've never been one of those "serious" mistresses who answers the door in leather and addresses her clients as slaves. I'm not a mistress, I'm a person. Neither are my clients slaves. We are all human and make mistakes and the best thing we can do is have as much fun with these imperfections as possible.

Have yourselves a merry little Christmas!

2011-12-16T20:38:00.000Z

We're getting into the Christmas spirit over here in Darla Towers.

Mini-Darla has done herself up with tinsel!

And she's enjoying her new job as the angel on top of the tree!

Have a merry Christmas, prosperous Hannukah, delightsome Diwali, or fantabulous Kwanzaa!

Goldmember?

2011-12-14T09:00:00.002Z

Today I received a Google hit from the Netherlands for "shit in mouth escorts glasgow." I can only quote Austin Powers, "How 'bout noooooooooooooooooooooo you crazy Dutch bastard!"

What Darla thinks of the EU treaty

2011-12-13T15:47:00.000Z

Here is my opinion of the EU: I'm five FEET and eleven INCHES tall. Take that, Sarkozy.

It's been a crazy night for Google searches..

2011-12-12T09:00:00.001Z

As I'm sure you're all aware, from time to time, I share with you the strange and exciting ways in which people find my site. I woke up this morning to find that it had been a busy night indeed.

Around 1am I got a hit from a very fancy Glasgow hotel for "I want an escort and coke in glasgow." Now I happen to have a fridge full of Diet Cola and I happen to be a Glasgow escort, but somehow I don't think I was what he was looking for. To make matters worse, I know how to use Google, too. Wuth a flick of my nimble wrist I found out that his internet service provider was one that operates solely for businesses doing conferences in hotels. Said ISP allows for a private wireless network to be set up within a specific area accessed by only specific people, so it's not even like one of these public WiFi setups. In these days of austerity businesses are reducing the number of people travelling for work purposes. So to sum up, his boss will know that he, and possibly only he, is looking for hookers and blow in Glasgow.

But the retardation doesn't end here. I got a hit from Scouseville at 130am for "glasgow ass hole hooker telephone." Why on earth would someone want a Glasgow hooker's telephone in his "ass hole"? Oh, yeah, because he's a Scouser.

We move on to 330am, when someone in Glasgow found me under "glasgow escorts for £50 or less good one." This guy is apparently not satisfied to be a beggar, he has to be a chooser as well. It's not enough that the ho is cheap, she gotta take care of his willy real good and that man. Innit. But seriously, you might get a streetwalker for that price, but even then, you'll get 10 minutes with her before Keyshawn the pimp comes and beats your ass.

About an hour later, I get a hit from London for "escorts who take anal fisting." Um, no. Just no. Like Straight Dave says, my asshole is made for shitting.

Yes, Google searches are a funny thing.

Sex education Part 1

2011-12-11T11:51:00.000Z

Every few weeks there is a new news story about the idiotic state of sex education in this country. I have a feeling this will not be the last post I make on this topic, hence the "Part 1" thing. Today's story covers a new BAFTA winning video game out designed to teach teenagers the importance of strapping their shit up. In it, gun toting soldiers with condoms for hats fire at sperm and STD's. It is designed for teenagers who already know the facts of life to reinforce their use of condoms and to teach them the value of safe sex.

I think that this is the most retarded concept in the whole world ever. The reason I think this is because I was once fourteen. Had I been presented this by a well-meaning Sex and Relationships and Ideology Teacher all those years ago, I and my classmates would have died of embarrassment. When you are a teenager, there is nothing quite so lame and groan-inducing as when grown-ups try to be cool. Presenting teenagers with a video game to try to be down with the kids and totally at their level is never going to work.

Once the Sexuality and Liberal Indoctrination class is over, the only reaction that any fourteen year old girl is going to have is to call her friends and proceed to shriek and giggle. I imagine boys will laugh just as much at these things, but perhaps without the shrill cackling. This is a perfectly reasonable reaction because if you don't see the funny side to this game then you are completely and utterly humourless and have clearly never been a teenager.

But then there's the sinister side. Teenagers, like it or not, will eventually have sex. One can only hope that when it does happen, that condoms are used with great care. But this game makes condoms seem so silly, that I cannot help but wonder if teenagers will regard condom use as an option. I know that if I or any of my friends had played this game as teenagers the mere mention of condoms would have sent us into fits of giggles many years after the event. I would hate to think that when condom use comes up in a more serious context that it would not be taken seriously.

I would never dream of having sex without a condom. But I do think that the overall message in this game and in much of sex education is problematic, to wit "Use condoms and you won't get STI's or unwanted pregnancy because everybody is hoaching with disease and all women are permanently fertile."

One fact about sex is that you are statistically very unlikely to get pregnant as a result, and that not nearly everybody has STI's. My sex education class at school consisted of dire warnings about the dangers of STI's and pregnancy, and yet one of my friends still managed to get herself pregnant when we were 15. When I asked her why on earth she hadn't used protection, she told me that she'd been sexually active for two years and that nothing had happened as a result, and so she'd dismissed condom use entirely. Completely dismayed, I asked around and found that many of my friends had shockingly similar attitudes. Clearly, the scaremongering tactics of sex education don't work, and only result in teenagers dutifully ignoring them.

What we do need are sex education programmes that encourage positive reasons for condom use. As a heavy user of condoms, I feel I have some authoritah on this matter. I do not actually believe that any of my clients have STI's, but believe you me, safe sex is an absolute must. What condoms do provide is peace of mind. I know that every time I have sex using a condom, I'm doing my best to keep myself and my clients safe. While it is true that condoms have done an admirable job of protecting my physical wellbeing, I find that my mental and emotional wellbeing are a much more important aspect of safe sex.

However, the disease control element of condoms cannot be ignored. As a society, if everyone used condoms every time they had sex in a non-monogamous context, STI's would cease to exist. The reason I flip out when some retard calls up wanting bareback is not because he's asking for bareback from me, but because he's probably doing it to everybody. And the reason he's asking me for bareback is because he's asked someone else at some point at the answer has been yes. In my book the bareback requester has no regard for his own health and that of others. Using condoms is a way to show respect for yourself and others.

One of the best ways to convince young people to use condoms is the emphasise the fact that it is no longer the 1970's. People did all manner of retardation with sex back then, most of it unsafe, often with dire consequences. We can still continue in the liberated spirit of the sexual revolution, but with condoms, we no longer need to suffer as a result. Condoms have become an essentail part of non-monogamous sexual behaviour for three decades now and that is one trend that should never die out.

Teenagers may be immature, but they aren't stupid, and the main fault of sex education programmes is that for a very long time now they have treated young people like idiots. This game is perhaps the most idiotic thing I have seen to date, and I personally feel as though I have lost brain cells just by looking at it. Disease control is an important element in all sex education, but scare tactics seldom get taken seriously. Trying to make sex education "cool" with video games is far worse because it treats young people as much younger than they are. This game is intended to "sell" safe sex to teenagers without any regard for sexual practices they might engage in when they grow up. After all, the decision to have sex is an adult one, and condom use should be treated as a lifelong practice that is beneficial to individuals and society.

Photos and personality

2011-12-10T12:23:00.000Z

There was a recent discussion thread on Punternet on whether or not an escort's personality can show in her photos. I would say that the answer is most certainly yes, and this has always been my intention. I do feel strongly that an escort's personality can and should show through her photos. This is one reason I have always worked with amateur but talented photographers, since the last thing I would ever want to do is have some prima donna photographer trying to put his or her stamp on what are my pictures that I use to sell my services. One particular concern I had at the beginning was the fear that certain types of glamour photographers would see my physical attributes such as height, pallor and dark hair as flaws to be fixed rather than assets to be flaunted. I've said it before, I'll say it again, Darla does not do generic and the last thing I wanted was to have someone attempt to de-personalise my image. My looks and personality are a complete package and can't be separated, and I think that my pictures illustrate this quite nicely.

But I think that the best answer to this question of whether or not photos can show personality lies not with me but with the clients, because they are the ones who make the decision of whether or not to book.

Consider the above picture. A few months ago I had a client who wanted what actually turned out to be a very vanilla, but no less tasty, booking. He left the decision on what to wear to me, so I wore my usual dress with lingerie and stockings underneath, given that is was a hotel booking. Once I arrived he complimented me, and told me that he had hired because of the above photoset alone. I immediately felt bad, and advised him that I do in fact own all the items in the photos and would have been more than happy to bring everything with me. He stopped me before I could finish and said, no, that it was more the idea of hiring someone who could invent such an outfit that had interested him, rather than the outfit itself.

Indeed, PVC and fetishwear are somewhat overrepresented in my pictures, especially considering that very few people ever actually want me to wear it. I'd never wear it as a matter of course because it isn't to everyone's tastes. But while all of my photos present an accurate depiction of things I actually own, I think that the client was right, that it is the idea behind the photos that matters more than what is literally pictured.

The most amazing box ever!

2011-12-09T21:32:00.000Z

No, I'm not talking about my pussy. There is pussy involved, just not mine. Enjoy!

A very strange request indeed...

2011-12-07T20:29:00.000Z

I had a very peculiar conversation today.

Phone goes
Me: Hello?
Gentleman Caller: Is this Darla?
Me: Why yes! How can I help you?
Gentleman Caller: fapping Do you do anal fisting?
Me: (shocked) Why yes, I would love to fist your anus! When do you think you'd like to book?
Gentleman Caller: Ugggggggh! Aw yeah! Next week sometime.
Me: OK, that's fine. Bye!

I have no illusions about this call. It will never go ahead. Sometimes my Darla sense just tingles that way. But I did mean what I said. If anyone genuinely wants for me to stick my fist in their pooper (and NOT, I repeat, NOT the other way round), that is fine with me.

But hold on. Mini Darla has appeared and she is not happy.

Mini Darla reminds me that her name is Mini Darla, not Lemmiwinks. She is still pissed off about having stared in Borat as "The Fist" and never having received proper compensation. Mini Darla has decreed that she will set up a tent in my incall flat and not use deodorant for a whole week if her working conditions deteriorate to the level this client wants. As long as Mini Darla is kept manicured and moisturised, she is happy to give massages, tweak nipples and even play with willies, but she is not willing to go digging for mud monkeys nor is she willing to embark on quests to slay fudge dragons. .

Since I do not control my duo partner for gain, and since I do not want to have to deal with civil disobedience in my incall flat, I have agreed to Mini Darla's terms and will not send her boldly where no man has gone before. Fair's fair.

Extra half-hours

2011-12-01T14:14:00.000Z

Most advertising sites only allow escorts to list their prices for full hours, so I feel it is necessary to let all my customers know that they can book extra half-hours. The fee is £50 beyond the normal rate, the minimum being an hour. A 1.5 hour booking is paricularly appealing for those of you who want to avoid any potential rush that may occur with a one hour booking, but who feel that two hours is a little too much.

It is also perfectly acceptable to ask how much time you can get for X amount of money, provided X is more than an hour. I will pro-rate your booking time on the basis of your suggested budget. This is unorthodox within the escort industry, but due to overwhelmingly positive experiences I am happy to accept this method of booking.

Famous and fictional fetishists

2011-11-29T22:10:00.001Z

If you've got a fetish and think you're wierd, don't fret; there are many famous and fictional people just like you.

Foot fetish is possibly the most well accounted for amongst literary and popular culture. Pushkin's Eugene Onegin is rife with references to feet, so much so that I've never been able to tell if the novel's protagonists is the fetishist or the author himself. Watch any Quentin Tarantino movie and there are close-up shots of feet at every opportunity. I'm thinking on the opening credits to Jackie Brown, and also the scene in Kill Bill where the Uma Thurman character goes to steal the Pussy Wagon.

My own corset fetish is well-represented in books and movies; reading the Little House on the Prairie series first got me interested, but seeing corsets in action on Gone with the Wind was what sealed my fate. Boardwalk Empire is a more recent example of corset fetish, and what splendid corsets indeed!

More traditional sadomasochism is found most famously in the Marquis de Sade, but is hinted at nearly 2000 years earlier in Ovid's Ars Amatoria, not that I'd recommend reading either. Erotic writers seem to have a unique talent for making sex seem ever so dull. This is one reason I've never sought to turn this blog into porn, because I fear that I too would be boring, but I digress. Whether we are talking about Hitler or Mel Gibson, and I'm sure the latter is creaming his knickers at being mentioned in the same phrase as the former, much speculation is made about the S&M proclivities of angry or outright evil people. This is even shown on Family Guy when Stewie develops a thing for being spanked by a leather clad-Lois. It is perhaps a shame that we associate S&M with such extemely cruel and unusual people; most of the ones I meet are downright boring in real life, and it's no bad thing.

Those of you who like the fair complected among us will be delighted to hear that your fetish is attested nearly 3000 years ago in Homer, who makes constant references to "white-armed Hera." Skin-bleaching, often to disastrous effect, is common in the Far East. Vampires have been treated as erotic creatures in everything from Dracula to Twilight (shuddering Darla) and they are nothing if not pale.

Since I get a lot of clients who want erotic wrestling, I've been trying to come up with famous wrestling fetishes with little success. I think that the solution may be found in Dad's Army, where we are told repeatedly that Frazer likes women with strong thighs. I'm not sure whether or not my wrestlers will be comforted or horrified that they have something in common with the demented but lovable Frazer. However, perhaps the fact that their fetish is alluded to in popular culture is enough to feel at peace.

As I read over this post, I do wonder whether it will comfort my lovely fetish clients or whether it will make them feel even stranger. I think it is important to look at the big picture; fetish is all around us in books, film, TV and real life. We may not all have fetishes, and those of us who do may be extreme or mild, but in the grand scheme of things fetish has always been with us and always will.

Don't tell 'em, Darla!

2011-11-28T13:00:00.021Z

For those of you who don't know, bait and switch is another name for the use of fake pictures in an escort ad to lure in the client while often providing a less-than-awesome girl. This is a bit of a long winded post, but do bear with me, since I actually have a point. I was watching one of my favourite programmes of all time last night, Dad's Army, the episode being The Big Parade. This episode has made it very clear that I have been an escort for way too long. In the beginning the platoon determine that they need to acquire a mascot for their upcoming parade and decide that a ram is the best possible solution. Through a series of inept hijinks they find that they are unable to catch said ram. Walker promises to get them a rather spectacular goat, and even has a picture to prove it. As you will see about a minute into the below clip, the creature that shows up fails to impress.

Being Darla, all I could think on was that this was a bait and switch goat, and rather typical of Walker's antics. This made the scene all the funnier, but at the same time I was a bit disturbed to think that I can relate something as innocent as Dad's Army to the world of escorting.

And yet this isn't the first time I have been able to do this. When I worked at an agency I got a booking one night and was warned that the client was one of their regulars and a bit of a character, eccentric verging on demented, and extremely, extremely, Scottish. At the end of a surreal but fun booking, the agent asked me how I'd got on. My reply? "He's exactly like Frazer from Dad's Army."

I am sure that most escorts who have been in the business for any length of time have had a suave and charming client like Wilson, or one like the adorable bumbling Godfrey. We've all met a client like Mainwaring who is pompous but suffers at the hands of his shrewish wife. Every time I have a nervous older client I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying "Don't panic!" and "Unlike people in the Sudan, I DO like it up me!" And whenever I get a haggling spiv on the phone, my instinct is to say, "You're not private Walker and you never will be."

As for the repulsive ARP Warden Hodges? He's exactly the type of person I never take.

Every time I watch an episode of Dad's Army, I see something I've never seen before, and it never stops being funny. Despite being made in the 60's and 70's, and set in the 1940's, the show and its characters remain relevant, universal and never seem to date. They are much realer than other comedic characters, and as such, no matter what walk of life we choose, we always meet people like them. Or at least that's what I tell myself so I don't feel quite so bad about comparing the characters to my clients.

Blog administration

2011-11-27T13:08:00.000Z

Over the past few days I have been adding new features to this blog and generally making it easier for my many readers to follow. With 235 posts and counting, this blog has grown to a point where it needs proper categorisation.

I've added a number of galleries so that you can find all your favourite Darla pictures at the click of a button. I've arranged these by theme for your ease and convenience. I've also added an FAQ's section so that you can find out everything you need to know about prices, booking, etc so that you don't have to flip between this and my main site.

I've also added some new Labels to reflect the development of this blog, and to reflect my clients' requests and desires. Specifically, I've placed my ever-popular "Svetlana" stories into one category, as well as Darla's Txting Hall of Shame. To account for the tumultuous legal environment in which we live, I've also added a section called "Legal Stuff."

As always, if anyone has any ideas about how to make this blog easier to follow, I welcome your suggestions.

Fake pictures: why do they do it?

2011-11-26T21:18:00.000Z

Those of you who like statistics will be interested to know that I get far more hits for my fake picture posts than any others. Today someone found me under the search term "why do escors use fake pics" which got me to thinking, and which inspired this post. As always, I can only rely on my own personal experience.

I admit it, I worked for an agent who used fake pics. I'm not proud of this, but economics were what they were. The agent's original excuse was something to do with the privacy of the girls, which sounded fine as far as it went, but as time went on, things got ever more sinister.

I would say that one of the reasons agencies use fake pics is that they think their clients are complete and total morons, capable of only thinking with their wieners, and will take whatever they're given. What I found while working for the Fake Ladies Agency is that this is not the case, it's just that most men are far too nice to say anything. Unlike women, men do not like drama, and when greeted by a pretty girl are just going to hand over the money because they're just going to have a good time anyway. Given that most clients at the Agency of Deception were such nice men, accurate pictures would have been a nice gesture if only out of respect.

Another reason for fakes is the mistaken idea that if you fool the clients once, you can fool them again. This was not the case at Stolen Pic R Us. I had exactly one regular client in my entire eight month tenure. The agent sent me a fair few abusive texts to this effect, not realising that a nice client will be nice once, before moving on to more honest escort services. After all, if you can't be honest with your pictures, how can you be honest with other things such as discretion?

Indeed, some agents can't get over the fact that this is no longer the year 1977. They are unable to cope with the fact that you can't just put a picture of a girl in a bikini in a contact magazine and hope for the best. Agents like this don't realise that they work for the girls, and not the other way around.

As time went on at the Deceitful Bitch Agent of Mean began to show her true colours. One benefit of fake pics is that they are all fake, and you can have one girl covering several profiles and make it look like your agency is a place that girls might actually want to work.

One night I got a text saying that I had an urgent client, but that for this booking I was to be known as Lacey and that furthermore I was Canadian. I could just about tolerate the nauseatingly cutesy name, and practiced saying "abooooot" and "eh" a lot, and began trying to recall Terrance and Philip jokes even though I usually switch off South Park the second those two come on screen. Seroiusly, I don't know why a show that is capable of such brilliance has to put on those two gobshites. Getting back to the point, when I got to the client's door, he loaded up the agency's website and showed me Lacey's pictures, which revealed that she was not even the same race as me, and sent me away acccordingly. I was caught out before I could even tragicomically attempt to fake a Canadian accent.

When I called Queen Cunt about this, she said I should have done a better job. I asked her why she bothered with the fake pics, given that most of their client had been perfectly happy with me. Her answer? "If you're over a size 10, no one will want you." I was way too good to get offended at this comment, but realised that agents who use fake pictures have no faith in the product they are meant to be selling, and as such do not deserve their commission.

The above picture shows my ass, which I fully invite this Saggy-Titted Herpesaurus Regina to kiss. Loads of men want me, just as I am, and I can guarantee you that if men like what they see they really don't care about your measurements. The moniker I have given the agent in this paragraph provides not only a physical description but an allusion to the fact that she's about to go extinct. Fake pictures and controlling agents have no place in the modern world, and I am happy to be their personal meteor.

Degrading sexist adverts are degrading

2011-11-24T11:49:00.000Z

I'm sure you've all heard that the above advert has been banned due to being sexist. The below advert has been banned as well for its political incorrectness.

I, for one, agree that these ads should be banned because they are totally degrading...to MEN! What these ads say is that when men take even so much as a peek at a semi-attractive woman they get all flustered and unable to reason. And when men get flustered, they stink. But wait! Lynx deodorant will stop your stench in its tracks and enable you to get laid, because you're a man and that's all you care about.

These ads also say that all men are retarded. It's doesn't matter if you're fat, ugly or poor; if you spritz yourself with Lynx, a hot chick will totally give you turkey.

I can guarantee you that the lady in the adverts had probably been paid a fortune for only a day's work, and has been paid many, many, MANY times what a male model would have made for the equivalent. Don't believe me? Let me retort. Can you name me one male supermodel? Didn't think so.

To conclude, these Lynx adverts portray men as being smelly and incapable of controlling their urges for sex and also turkey. A wider problem highlighted by these ads is that gender equality rules do not apply to male models. Such sexism should never be tolerated and a society that can produce such ads is truly beyond saving.

Girl on girl action!

2011-11-23T16:56:00.000Z

I recently had a client who booked me and another escort for fun and frolics. This was surprisingly successful and I'd be happy to do it again. Here is my guide to how to get the best out of a girl/girl booking.

1. Email is your friend.
I don't normally work with other girls, and if someone calls wanting this, I am obliged to give you my initial reaction. With email I can give it a think, and so can the other girl.

2. I have be happy to work with the other girl...
...and she has to be happy to work with me. If for any reason I'm not OK to work with the other girl you suggest, I will say so, but will not go into details unless I have evidence she's an axe murderer. This may sound overly negative, but rest assured that if I say I'm happy to work with the other girl, then I'm happy. Simples!

3. Things are going to be a little awkward.
I don't have a set duo partner and have no plans for this in the future. So booking Darla with another escort involves three people who don't know each other engaging in sexual activity. Expect some awkwardness but do enjoy it. This is a bit of a surreal experience but if you choose to see this as a good thing, then everyone will have fun.

4. Condom switching is a necessity.
This may well fall under the category of awkward, but is such an issue that I feel it needs particular attention. If you want sex with one of us, then the other, we have to change the condom. Having a sense of humour about this solves any potential problems.

5. You may want to have a plan.
The "I've hired an escort, now what?" problem is doubled when you hire two girls. You may be fine with this, or you may want to make a plan. Some things to consider: Do you want the girls to interact? Do you want a massage first, with four hands instead to the usual two? Do you have any positions/activities in mind? The possibilities are endless here. Listing them may sound clinical, but it may make your booking more enjoyable.

6. I know you've got this idea from watching porn...
...and it's OK! If you want to send me a video clip of what you'd like that's fine, but PLEASE ask me if it is OK to send this first.

7. Putting the payment in separate envelopes is a really good idea.
Women are fucking crazy. If another escort charges less than you, she'll be jealous, if she charges more than you, she'll think you're a skank. Escorts charge different prices, and compounding this by paying in the open is a bad idea. This may seem superfluous in a day and age where girls can check each other's prices but if you put in in an envelope, neither escort really knows what the other one got.

8. Book a hotel.
I'm not OK with any other escort knowing my incall location, and am pretty sure that other escorts feel the same way. I suppose you could consider having us come to yours, but it's a lot easier to explain to your neighbours one lady coming to your house than two. But seriously, you're already shelling out for two girls, so go the whole hog and get a hotel.

9. And here's one for the ladies...
...and potentially for guys, too. I have learned through my real world job the dangers of making friends with people you work with. Escorting allows no wiggle room on issues of professionalism unless you want a world of trouble. I prefer to keep professional distance so while I promise to be nice and friendly, I am not going to become your BFF. Make friends elsewhere.

10. Have fun.
This sounds facile, but it's the entire reason you hired both of us. Remember that two girls equals four boobs. Epic win.

Another poorly thought out NHS policy

2011-11-22T21:03:00.000Z

I was at the chemists the other day stocking up on all the things that make me pretty. I saw a poster detailing the NHS's "C-card" scheme, which, for those of you who aren't aware, allows people to get free condoms from their GP, chemist, or other similar institution. I thought this was a very good idea and would surely benefit the health of this struggling nation.

But then Darla read the fine print. The fine print excitedly informed me that one could get as many condoms as one wanted, in whatever size one wanted, and that there was a number to call in case one should get confused. I challenge you, gentle readers to find me any red-blooded Glaswegian male who WOULDN'T call up and ask for 5 million condoms in Double-Super Extra Large? I truly pity anyone working the helpline for this service, I really do.

Darla's Txting Hall of Shame Part 5

2011-11-18T12:55:00.000Z

This is a real cracker. This is probably the best text I have received all day.

Hi Im Emma 16 can I call u? Im straight but want to try sex with a woman. witout my bf finding out or my mum so I cant trust to do it wiff any of my friends.

Here is how I would like to respond. First of all, no, your name is George and you're 45 and a loser. The part about you wanting to try sex with a woman is perfectly believable, since it is obvious that your only sexual partners thus far have been your hand and possibly a sock because you're a loser. We can skip that part about your BF finding out because that would be an example of a lie, but the bit about you not wanting your mum to find out makes perfect sense since you still live with herlike a loser. You need not be worried about your friends finding out what you're up to, because you don't have any. Loser.

But seriously, just how stupid do people think I am? I think the person may be trying to get me to admit to be willing to engage in an illegal sex act, but the fact is, it is legal to purchase sex at the age of 16, however distasteful one might find this. This text came at 12pm, a time when a genuine 16 year old should be in school. If said 16-year-old has left school with no qualifications, then I can't imagine she'd have the kind of money it takes to hire Darla, especially since she implies that she lives at home with either her boyfriend, or her mum, or both. And why would any girl be worried about her boyfriend finding out she's done it with another girl? Any straight man would be thrilled about this, and proceed to do a happy dance. Furthermore, why would she be worried about her mum finding out if she does it with one of her friends? What exactly does she think is going to happen, that one of her gal pals will call her mum and say, "Hello Mrs Miggins, I just rubbed my pussy all over your daughter's pussy and then we played with each other's boobs?"

If you're going to trick Darla, please do a better job.

From Russia with Scousers: Adventures with Svetlana Part 7

2011-11-15T11:03:00.000Z

When money at the Cheap and Cheerful Escort Agency began to dwindle, I went and got a second job at the Snooty Fancy Escort Agency. The agent was a total bitch, but the money was better and sometimes the clients were nicer. This occasion was an exception. I got called out to the airport at 2am and after a bit of hassle getting a taxi, got to the room.

The first problem is that there were two guys in the room instead of one. Both were incredibly scrawny and outright ill-looking, so I went in figuring that my wrestling skills would make short work of both of them. Plus, they looked as though the police would have no trouble whatsoever finding them if they caused any trouble because they were absolutely covered in tattoos. I normally admire body art in others, but this was serious; both of them had bizzare symbols all over their necks and close to their ears. In my experience people who are that inked are either tattoo enthusiasts, and tend to be quite nice, or drug dealers. These two fitted into the latter category.

They both had the unmistakable jumpiness that betrayed that they were getting high off their own supply. There was an absolute fuckload of cash on the table, and I'm betting that a lot of it was consecutive. And to top it all off they were Scousers.

I have nothing against people from the greater Liverpool area, and can generally tolerate the denizens of Merseyside. But I really hate Scousers. I'm sorry if this offends any nice Scousers out there, but oh wait, no I'm not because there AREN'T ANY!

One of them spoke up. "You aren't the girl in the picture so you have to leave."

I was in no mood for this shit. Thus spake Darla, "You have to pay double since there's two of you. And if you don't, I'm going to call my bodyguard who is waiting in the parking lot. His name is Leroy and he's seven feet tall, and he's going to kick both your asses if you don't pay up now."

I couldn't believe I had just said that. I got the bizzarre sensation that I was watching myself say this. And I didn't have a security guard. I just made him up.

Luckily, these two were Scousers and therefore retarded, and so they naturally believed every word of it. They actually looked scared. And they paid. This made my vagina tickle, although I did question the ethics of tricking the mentally challenged.

The plot thickened when there was a knock at the door. Judging by the terrified expressions on their Scouse faces, I think they may have been expecting Leroy.

I went to open the door to discover it was Svetlana. She gave me a hug and asked me if the Cheap and Cheerful Agent knew that I had safely arrived. I winked and informed her that there was no such agency, and that we both worked for the Snooty Fancy Agency.

These idiots actually tried to send Svetlana away, at which point I got out my phone and pretended like I was calling Leroy to deliver the critical beatdown. Svetlana may still have worked for the Cheap Agency, but tonight I saw to it that she got Fancy prices. These pathetic excuses for human beings hadn't earned their money, and I didn't feel the least bit bad about taking it.

They were both so coked that their wieners were broken, so we ended up leaving quite shortly. We got to the parking lot and Svetlana gave me a high five and said, "That was fucking awesome! Their boss will beat the shit out of them when he finds they spent his money." I was glad my theories about these gentleman's occupations had been confirmed.

"Something's bothering me," I said. Svetlana looked concerned. "Suppose you are a criminal." Svetlana nodded. "Why the hell would you go and get tattoos? On your neck?" Svetlana thought for a minute and said "Only in Britain. In Russia such idiot would be killed a long time ago." We both laughed. It had been a full and exciting evening, and much was accomplished, if you consider outsmarting a Scouser to be an accompishment.

Bunga bunga bunga!

2011-11-10T13:57:00.001Z

I have had the good fortune to provide services to more than a few clients from Italy, and no, the soon-to-be ousted prime minister is NOT one of them. I'm waaaaaaaaaay too old for him, and have been for 14 years if the allegations are true.

National stereotypes are a taboo subject, and one that even I in my infinite irreverance am a little tetchy about discussing. But nevertheless I feel some need to dispel the notion of Mediterranean men as being particularly sexy and virile, if only to put at ease my readers who come from nations to which such flattering racial profiling is not applied. The fact is, Italy is a geographical expression, and I have personally found the size, talent and potency of my Italian clients are varied as those of any other nation. Bt regardless of nationality, I never see anyone who isn't polite, and I've found that the idea that Southern Europeans retain bizzarre and outdated ideas to women is most certainly untrue.

One thing that virtually all of my Italian clients tell me is that I have a bella figura. I don't speak Italian, but it's not too hard to guess that it means "beautiful figure." However after being told this on a number of occasions, I got the sense that this meant something more than just the words themselves. After many fruitless internet searches on the topic, I decided to ask my next Italian client what was meant.

Said client was just learning English, so perhaps I did not have the best luck. To be fair, his English was better than my Italian. He explained, "You know woman who has fake hair and fake brown (tan) and fake everything?" I nodded. "We call this a lady who needs a soap and wash. But you have bella figura," he said, gesturing to me wildly.

It took me a while to recover laughing about the "lady who needs a soap and wash." But on a more serious note, I got the impression that he was more than a little offended about the image of Italians that show up on the Sopranos, Goodfellas, and worst of all, Jersey Shore. Bella figura seemed to imply a degree of taste as well as just being attractive. I always knew the term was meant as a compliment, and I was glad to know it meant more than just looks. And of course if any of my readers have any additional things they can tell me about the idea of a bella figura, I'd love to hear them!

Courtesan? Floozy? Or just plain Darla?

2011-11-09T14:40:00.000Z

When I started out in this business I had a very clear idea of what I wasn't. Without any hint of arrogance I had decided that I was too good to offer the cheap and mass-produced service that my old agency had offered. But at the same time I hated the cocky courtesans, who seemed to be so up themselves that I didn't see how there would be any room for anyone else and wondered how on earth they would manage to have any kind of sex. But I had more trouble figuring out what Darla actually was. Now I think I may have found at least a partial answer.

I was watching one of my favourite programmes the other night, Treme. It covers the trials and tribulations of the people of New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina with an equal mixture of sadness, hilarity and just plain awesomeness. It tends to star a lot of real life people as themselves, including a chef called David Chang. I became very intrigued by his model of running his restaurant, which consists of a simple, diner-style establishment that also specialises in serving exquisitely crafted food that is worthy of being called fine dining. There is not a pretentious thing about the place, and yet its quality remains superb and respected throughout the restaurant community. It is also a friendly place that treats its staff and its customers well, without tolerating any nonsense from anyone.

This is the way I like doing business. I have respect for myself as well as my clients. I'm always well-dressed and well-spoken, but am more than happy to work from a relatively humble setting, and travel to similar places. My prices are a little expensive, but I like to think that I am worth saving for. An escort booking after all is not a luxury if you can afford to avail yourself of it every day. I consider a polite but incomprehensible hard-working Glaswegian (or non-Glaswegian) to be the "discerning gentleman" that courtesans seek: but if you act like a prick, I'm going to think you're a prick no matter how posh you are. In short I reconginse that it is nice to be important, but that it's more important to be nice.

From Russia with fingers: Adventures with Svetlana part 6

2011-11-07T16:57:00.001Z

By popular demand, here is another Svetlana story.

It had been a while since I'd last seen Svetlana, so much that I was wondering if she had left the agency. But then I got a call from the agent, saying that there was a double booking request, and that he had Svetlana on the phone with something very important to tell me.

"Hi Darla! I have good news," said Svetlana, over the cracking line. "I quit smoking for two months and bought a car with the saved money. I will come pick up you."

I thanked her and was quite grateful for the lift. It was snowing and taxis had a habit of jacking up their prices. But I had to admit, I was a little scared of getting into a car with someone who smoked weed and always gave the impression of being a little unhinged.

She arrived in an old car with one door painted a different colour than the rest of the car. I got in.

"Is piece of shit, but it gets me places. I fix it up very nice though," she said, gesturing to the zebra print throw she had artfully arranged over the back seat.

We drove along to the booking and she hit a pothole, the first of many. After about the third one she said, "Roads in UK are shit, but in Russia they are double shit and cars are total shit."

I couldn't resist. "Would you say that in Soviet Russia, the car drives you?"

She looked a little annoyed, thought for a minute and said, "More or less!" We both laughed.

We got to the booking, which was so uneventful that I truthfully can't remember anything that happened, at least to me. Svetlana had fared slightly worse.

We got into the car. She took a cigarette out of the glove compartment which she had artfully wrapped in a scarf. "Is for emergencies. I quit for two month now. But this guy was all fingers, fingers, fingers!"

I giggled like a schoolgirl.

Svetlana replied "Seriously. This guy nearly put me in hospital. Having my kid hurt less."

I couldn't quit laughing. Fingering has the potential to be quite erotic. But apparently Svetlana's client had been less than a gentleman.

"Next time a guy does that I'm going to stick my finger in his asshole and see how he likes it," she said, brandishing a glittering three-inch digit at me. I pitied the fool who ever laid a finger on Svetlana.

We got on the road and Svetlana was still seething with rage. As we were driving along, a very large lorry cut us off. I would love to tell you that Svetlana did the magnanimous thing and ignored this, thankful to be safe and on her way home. She did things the Svetlana way. She speeded up until we were in the lane next to the lorry, rolled down the window, and proceeded to wave one-fifth of her hand, shouting a mixture of Russian sweary words and something like, "Right here, buddy," before closing the window and hitting the gas.

I was feeling a mixture of horror and shock and Svetlana sensed this. She turned to me and said, "What, I was just saying hello to the guy."

"By flipping him off?"

"You mean you cannot use middle finger to say 'hello'?"

"Um, no."

"But in Russia everyone goes around waving middle finger and saying "hiiiiiiii""

I sensed that the piss was being taken only for Svetlana to say. "I'm just fucking with you, Darla. I know is naughty. But guy was total asshole."

I agreed. Though I was seriously wondering why I had ever got into the car with Borat's sister. But one thing had been bothering me for quite some time. "How old is your child?" I asked.

"My baby? She's 21. I do this until she leaves university. I never want her to do what I do."

She dropped me off at my place. It had been one of the most fucked up adventures to date, but I had seen quite a human side to Svetlana that I don't think many other people had ever seen.

The trouble with the Greeks...

2011-11-01T12:03:00.000Z

...is that they don't have a word for "economy." Seriously though, it's time to kick them out of the EU. It's not fair that one tiny country can fuck up the entire world economy just because they don't like working. Ever since this crisis started, I have developed a new hobby of watching the 300 and rooting for the Persians. Even without the current fiasco, I've had exactly one Greek client in all my time escorting, but lots of Persians, and they are way more fun.

In these dire economic times, I think we could all do with a joke. One of my clients told me this a few years ago and I swear I didn't laugh at it at all because it is blantantly racist.

A Greek taverna is located behind a Chinese takeaway. Every night when they go out do dispense the rubbish the Greek pulls back his eyelids in a most racially insensitive manner and starts shouting "Flied lice! Flied lice," in a most obnoxious manner befitting his Greek self.

The industrious Chinese gentleman decides to do something about this and hires and English language teacher, instructing her to coach him until he can pronounce "fried rice" correctly. He's not too bothered about learning anything else. After a few lessons, and after a few more encounters with the arrogant Greek, the Chinese takeaway owner is ready to exact his revenge.

He goes out to the rubbish bins, waiting for the Greek. The Greek comes out, rubbish in hand and the Chinese guy shouts at him, "FRIED RRRRRICE! You Gleek plick!"

Darla's Txting Hall of Shame Part 4

2011-10-31T11:31:00.000Z

I've decided to break with tradition and write about a text that I didn't receive, but instead to post a cautionary tale about why I am very hesitant to answer texts.

I was on a crowded train coming in from Edinburgh one night last week. There was a group of lads heading out for a night on the tiles. Eavesdropping on their conversation, it soon transpired that one of them was tuning 21 that day. They all looked like they'd had too much to drink, so much so that Birthday Boy had to head to the loo. He made one fatal mistake: he left behind his phone.

It was at this point that his "friends" began flipping through his contacts. They found the number labelled "Mum." After much laughter-filled deliberation amongst themselves, they decided to send her a text. The text went a little something like this: "It's been 21 years since I've been in you. Maybe we can remedy that tonight." They all became curiously quiet when he returned, and got off the train before I could see any results. Sad :(

But seriously, I hate to think what could have happened as a result of this prank. I sincerely hope that the mother saw the text for what it was, but I suspect there may have been much screaming and gnashing of teeth. Indeed many people do not understand that text messages are the ultimate in anonymous communication. Mobile phones are easily lost, stolen, or borrowed, and can be just as easily returned to their original owner once the prank has been pulled. Hacking one takes no work; it's not even as though you need a password or account name like you would with email. To make matters worse, texting more than a few words gives me and everyone I know terrible hand cramps, and so it is difficult to identify a writing style, like you might with an email. They call it txtspk for a reason. And yet because it is easy to save numbers and make contacts, allowing you to see who the text is from, people take texts from a familiar number very seriously.

The moral of the story is to keep track of your phone, because you never know who is going to use it to make trouble. In light of the various celebrity sexting scandals, I have always been hesitant to respond to texts with much more than "please call." I had always wondered if some of my texts had been the result of alcohol-fuelled pranks. Now I can say with a degree of confidence that I probably have. So if you are a genuine client sending a text, please remember that Darla's terse responses are her way of looking out for you.

No one likes a hippycrite, especially Darla

2011-10-26T12:30:00.000+01:00

The worldwide anti-capitalist protests are really pissing me off. As a prostitute, I am the ultimate capitalist, and as such have no time for communist scum. But if you aren't offended by the unbelievable stupidity of the so-called protesters in the above video then there's something seriously wrong with you. The economy sucks hard enough without these damn hippies pouring fuel on the flames. What really grinds my gears is how stupid and ignorant these idiots are. They are all from wealthy backgrounds and have time to worry about things like fairness and equality while the rest of us work.

I dealt with a fair few hippies when I did agency work. They all lived in very plush surroundings and yet every penny was a prisoner when it came to paying poor Darla. The agency charged £130 per hour, which, even back then, was not much money, and to top it all off £50 went to the agent. This did not bother these hippies at all, these selfsame hippies who had cupboards full of fair trade coffe and tea, and who all wore really itchy Guatemalan sweaters in various shades of brown because wearing them somehow helped starving children in Africa.

The rankest one I ever encountered only had £50 notes with which to pay me. This was at 4am in one of the swankiest houses I had ever seen, out in the middle of nowhere, so I felt no compunction about telling him that I didn't have any change. He only wanted to give me £100 and after much harping he agreed to give me the entire £150, even though at that time of night taxis from the suburbs to the city cost more than £30. Doing the maths, I would have walked away with exactly £20 out of this booking if I had agreed to his terms and conditions. I wondered very much how long he had planned this little venture of his. It's not as if ATM's dispense £50 notes. Banks won't even do this over the counter unless you ask very specifically. This manchild whose anus would go into a tizzy at the mention of non-organic vegetables carefully planned to rip off an agency escort, whom he knew would not get even two-thirds of the fee. He was the very definition of the capitalist oppressors that he's probably protesting as I write this.

To top it all off he was smoking marijuana, marijuana whose seeds had been germinated by the tears of a Vietnamese 12-year-old. I'm not exaggerating in the least here; many marijuana farms in the UK are staffed by trafficked children on the grounds that children will not serve prison time. Their often non-existent English is all part of the plan, since this means that they will not be able to rat on anyone who trafficked them. When we think on human trafficking, we tend to think on prostitution, but it has far wider applications. In short, if you smoke weed, you may be facillitating human trafficking. As I have said on many occasions, I am not a fan of drug use, but I can accept and tolerate this amongst people who don't know any better, and can maintain a bloody-minded respect for those who just don't care. But when every wall of your house is plastered with the pictures of the destitute Bangladeshi children you are meant to be sponsoring, then you really should know a thing or two about child labour and fair trade.

Hippies are annoying enough with their filth and their drum circles. They are one of the many trends of the 1960's and 1970's that really should have just stayed there along with bellbottoms, shag haircuts, and anything polyester. But the thing that I really can't stand is their rank hypocrisy, which smells even worse than they do like that could happen.

Girls of the world ain't nothin' but trouble!

2011-10-23T19:27:00.000+01:00

Working at an agency ultimately proved to be unsatisfactory, but it wasn't all bad. The agent was incompetent but he never put his moves on me and sometimes it was nice to have someone in the same industry to talk to after the booking had ended. The clients, when they could be bothered remaining sober and drug-free were often a lot of fun. I've told you a few stories about my friend Svetlana, who was actually a very funny person. I've got a few more wacky stories about her, so be waiting. But most of the girls of the agency were nothing but trouble.

I got called out to one of my regulars and this time was a little different. His friend was with him and wanted a girl for himself. I got there first, and there was a stack of money on the living room table. I counted out my share of the fee and left the rest, not bothering with it on the grounds that it wasn't mine. The other girl got there soon and slipped the money into her handbag without so much as bothering to check whether or not it was Monopoly money. We each went off with our respective clients and all was uneventful.

A couple of days later I got called to a similar booking with the same girl. We got there about the same time and went into a well-lit living room. It was then that I noticed just how fat, ugly and sour-faced this girl was. She was wearing a bra that was waaaaaaay to small for her so she got quadraboob both on her front and back, so really it was an octoboob. Her old, tattered jeans, yes jeans, were so tight that her stretchmarked mummy tummy hung over them. I marveled at this, given that this profession involves the copious use of birth control, and instantly felt superior. I am a woman, and I am fully aware that as such I am naturally given to thinking really bitchy and horrible things about other women for no real reason. With this in mind I decided get in touch with my inner Vulcan because otherwise I would not have been able to resist the urge to bitch slap and de-weave her. This was a mistake.

We quickly sat down but before I could introduce us to the clients, who generally seemed very nice, she turned to me and said, "You stole my money." The poor clients began to shift uncomfortably. They sensed the imminent psychosis that was about to occur. If they had been cats, they would have puffed up their tails to make themselves look bigger and scarier.

All I could say is, "I don't know what you're talking about." "You stole £20 from me at our last booking," she huffed, giving me a look that said, "I want it back." The clients began to wish that they were cats, so that they could slink along the ground and find a sofa to hide under. This time I got defensive. "Did you count the money?" "No," came the whiny reply. "Count your money in front of your clients every time, no matter what." The quaking clients began to calm down.

She shifted angrily, disappointed that I didn't just reach into my bag and whip out £20 just because she'd kicked up a stink. I stood up as she sat down. It was a little like that scene in the 300 where Xerxes towers over Leonidas only not so gay. "Do I look like someone who would steal £20?" I asked, my booming voice echoing. "Dude, seriously, what kind of person steals that amount of money?" She was unable to answer.

"I think we better settle the business side of things so we can move on to the pleasure," I suggested. The money was swiftly produced and I took great pleasure in counting it really loudly while the fat, wheezing Huffermoose cowered. I try to be reasonable in all things but sometimes its really fun to be a girl.

There are a few lessons one can learn from this. First of all, I always count my money in full view of my clients. This happens in every business transaction. Paper money gets stuck together and apart from anything else, I'd hate to think that a client might unintentionally overpay me and end up thinking I'd ripped him off. The most important thing I learned is that men hire escorts in order to AVOID the estrogen-fuelled insanity that accompanies civilian women. As such I am always sure to switch off my inner bitchiness when I am with a client. And I learned that no matter what, never trust any of the other girls in the industry. They will do absolutely anything to wreck your life.

Darla's txting Hall of Shame: Part 3

2011-10-22T20:56:00.000+01:00

I've said it before, I'll say it again, I am a reasonable motherfucker. But the following txt I received could make a Vulcan go batshit.

Hi wub u b available 4 a 3sum wiff me n ma hubby@ our hotel central glasgow on sat nite n wat r ur prices 4 1 hour?

With a genuine threesome request the guy usually calls and puts his girlfriend/wife/equal partner on the phone and a booking is swiftly arranged. This is a rare occurrence, but does happen enough that I am happy to keep offering this service.

Most of the calls I get requesting couples are actually single men just fapping, and they promise that I will be able to talk to their other half as soon as she returns from her long, long holiday many months from now. It is always very difficult for me to refrain from asking whether or not their girlfriend is inflatable, or if in fact they have six girlfriends named Rosie Palm and her Five Sisters. In my commitment to professionalism, I tend to urge them off the phone and go about my business.

But a text, and a badly spelled one at that takes things to a new low. I provide services to adults, since this is after all, the adult entertainment industry. In my sick and twisted view of the world adults know how to read a website and see that my price for a threesome is really just a two hour minimum, so £280 for an incall. Additionally, grown-ups will be able to read that I'm not a big fan of texts. If texting proves itself to be necessary, adults also know how to spell.

But what I really want to know is why this person is capable of texting out the word "available" but insists on abbreviating "threesome" to "3sum" and "for" to "4." Some things will always remain a mystery.

Google am our friends LOL!!1!!

2011-10-20T14:23:00.000+01:00

Apparently, Darla's previous post on human trafficking has poured the entire salt content of all the salt mines of Siberia, the Dead Sea, the Great Salt Lake, and a single Subway sandwich into the wounds of a very sad individual. Today I got the following gem of an email.

Subject:
Trafficking - Your blog 17 October

Message:
Darla,

Buying a train ticket Glasgow - Manchester and giving it to a WG, really does not qualify as "trafficking" as defined by the Council of Europe Convention - "the Warsaw Convention" of 2005 - "Trafficking in human beings" shall mean the recruitment, transportation, transfer,
harbouring or receipt of persons, by means of the threat or use of force or other forms
of coercion, of abduction, of fraud, of deception, of the abuse of power or of a position
of vulnerability or of the giving or receiving of payments or benefits to achieve the
consent of a person having control over another person, for the purpose of exploitation.
Exploitation shall include, at a minimum, the exploitation of the prostitution of others or
other forms of sexual exploitation, forced labour or services, slavery or practices similar
to slavery, servitude or the removal of organs;.

The UK, when required to incorporate EU or treaty law into domestic law has a long history of "gold plating", or extendi!
ng the original far beyond its original intent.

I don't know the truth of the Glasgow case, but on the "facts" as given to the Sheriff for sentencing, this really was an artificial trafficking case. Compare the (agricultural) slavery case reported in England recently!

with happy memories,

A Retard.

I'm going to have to take this apart piece by piece.

1. Apparently all aspects of the Scottish judicial system, including the procurators fiscal, judges, defence lawyers, juries are all totally wrong and an Internet Tough Guy is right. Not to mention the fact that both parties pled guilty. No, it's all wrong because you say it's wrong. You refer to the members of my profession as WG's. This means you are a frequent user of client-centred forums. You are the one-eyed man in the Kingdom of the Blind. You probably think that ECHR is an STI, and you probably have dozens of virtual friends rushing to agree with you.

2. I'm not a lawyer, but I do know how to use Google. Treaties are not laws. The Warsaw Convention of 2005 just provides a basic definition of human trafficking between countries. Individual countries interpret these however they like, or as you put in, in your pathetic attempt at speaking eloquently, "goldplate." I am also a fan of those big papery things that are filled with words. I found this same information in Alina Kaczorowska's European Union Law: Second Edition.

3. It is too illegal under UK law to move individuals between cities. In your fucking face, fuckwad! The internet is not just a series of tubes filled with porn and hilarious pictures of cats. You can read the Sexual Offences Act on the Information Superhighway:

Trafficking within the UK for sexual exploitation - section 58 Sexual Offences Act 2003

This offence came into force on 1 May 2004.
Under section 58(1) a person commits an offence if he intentionally arranges or facilitates travel within the United Kingdom by another person (B) and either:

a) he intends to do anything to or in respect of B, during or after the journey and in any part of the world, which if done will involve the commission of a relevant offence, (see above), or b) he believes that another person is likely to do something to or in respect of B, during or after the journey and in any part of the world, which if done will involve the commission of a relevant offence.

In the UK, we operate on the premise of Parliamentary Soverignty. You might remember this from primary school. If the UK, passes a law that states that trafficking within the UK is legal, then it is. You can debate on whether this is a good law, but you can't debate its existence.

4. The most important point I have to make is this. Why are you so butthurt about a pimp going to jail? Gentle readers, pictures, if you will, a pimp. Whatever he's doing right now is illegal. Most aspects of running an escort agency are illegal, from renting out flats, to controlling the girls, to taking their money, to moving them from city to city.

One type of person who is going to be upset about this case is someone who makes frequent use of miserable trafficked girls. An independent escort is not desperate enough to service your needs, and switches her phone off after silly o'clock. And besides, the tears of a 15 year old ladyboy are the only thing that gets you off, and now you'll have to go elsewhere.

The other type who gets rectally traumatised by a case like this is someone who is, or who desperately wants to be, a pimp. You want access to all the money and bitches you can get and you're way too good to pay.

A third possibility is that the jailed pimp is your very special friend and now he's getting pumped by someone better endowed that you. Life is sad.

5. This is a more general point. Just because you don't like the law doesn't mean you don't have to follow it, and it doesn't mean that every case you don't like is "artificial." It's called the law for a reason, and is not referred to as a "guideline" of an "option." The best you can do is vote for a party that allows pimping, or form a party with that as its platform and run for Parliament yourself. Otherwise, you just have to accept the fact that there are always going to be laws you don't like. I would personally have loved to have murdered all of the individuals at my last place of civilian employment, but I am not willing to do the jail time, so they remain, regrettably alive.

Nice guys finish last? Part 2

2011-10-19T08:47:00.000+01:00

A few months ago, I did a post on the eternal issue of nice guys, and whether or not they finish last. I came to the comclusion that no, there are ways to survive in this world if you are in fact nice, and that perhaps it is best to be nice rather than talk about it.

I have been owned, outsmarted, and blown out of the water, my carefully thought-out Darla logic destroyed. By penguins, no less. At least in the world of penguins, being a theiving, backstabbing bastard is apparently the best way to get ahead. Enjoy.

Human trafficking: an inconvenient truth

2011-10-17T11:24:00.001+01:00

As many of you are aware, last week marked the first sucessful prosecution for human trafficking in Scotland. I for one, am thrilled, and hope that this is the first of many. But it appears that I am alone. Indeed, it is standard practice in the sex industry forums and on many blogs to deny the existence of human trafficking.

With this case in particular, one of the objections that the all-knowing punters have is that the victims were already prostitutes and therefore knew what they were getting into, ergo, no trafficking. This logic is completely and utterly retarded, and if one were to say that, for example, date rape isn't really rape because the victim initially agreed to spend time with the perpetrator, then one would be rightfully lynched. By the same logic, if a kidnapped child "willingly" takes candy from the stranger in the big van, does he cease to be kidnapped?

I am willing to accept that there are degrees of human trafficking, and that kidnapping underage foreign sex slaves is far worse than moving British women well into their 20's around the UK. But the latter example, which indeed happened in the above-mentioned case, still meets the legal definition of human trafficking and still remains illegal. The fact that a few internet know-it-alls disagree is neither here nor there.

Don't get me wrong; I think that a degree of sceptcism about this case is called for. The first problem is that most of the people involved in the case were native English speakers. The second is that most people involved resided in the UK. A trafficking case like this is much easier to make than a case where no one speaks English, and when most of the girls return to their countries of origin until the heat dies down. I do wonder if we're not dealing with something bigger and nastier about this case, and that the last minute guilty pleas were not intended to shut off any further investigation. I would love to have seen these sickos shoot themselves in the foot with a not-guilty plea and spend more years in prison, but their guilty plea is within the limits of the law, and there has to be a first time for everything. These bastards sent girls upon threat of violence to potentially dangerous people to essentially get fucked. I'm glad that they will see for themselves what it's like, even if it's not for as long as I'd like.

I do think that there is a moral panic about human trafficking on both sides of the fence. Feminists deny the existence of willing prostitutes, and the majority of the online punting community continue to believe that an 18 year old Chinese girl who speaks no English and whose parents earn less than a pound a year isn't trafficked because she knows what a prostitute is, and that the £30,000 debt that she has to work off or risk getting her fingers cut off is something she knew about from the get-go and therefore it is all OK. What this case does show is that human trafficking is a really good weapon to use against people who are commiting other crimes. Busting someone for drugs, pimping, threats, and assault can all be a bit he-said/she-said, but it's pretty difficult to hide travel tickets, prepay credit cards and leasing agreements. Busting up gangs for human trafficking is a bit like how Al Capone got done for tax evasion. In an ideal world they'd go down for much worse, but catching them for something provable is sometimes the only option in an imperfect world.

One of the most inconveneint truths about human trafficking, and indeed the reason that so many punters and escorts are so keen to deny its existence is that so many are or have been associated with it. From the view of the punters, and I do use that word decidedly, most of them have gone to flats filled with terrified Thai "girls." When your goal as a punter is to get the cheapest girl humanly possible, you aren't thinking too much about her circumstances. From the escorts' perspective, I think that many of them may have worked at one time or another in establishments where trafficikng was the norm. If they were the establishments' bottom bitch, they may have been directly involved. Indeed, this seems to have been what happened in the above legal case. All in all, those who seek to deny that trafficking exists doth protest too much.

But where does this leave Darla? Having worked the agency route, it fills me with dread to think that I may have worked with an agency that was trafficking girls. I've been racking my brain trying to think of any incidences that should have alerted me that there was skullduggery afoot. In the first instance I have to put these feelings behind me and get on with my work as an independent escort. But the fact that the police seem to be doing a good job at putting traffickers in jail is the thing that helps me sleep at night. May there be many more cases like this to come.

Foot fetish Photos

2011-10-11T17:44:00.000+01:00

I really like foot fetish clients. I didn't use to like my feet, but my first foot fetish client changed all that. Having someone pay for access to your feet will do that to you! I have quite a few pictures of my shoed feet, so I decided to get some stockinged and bare ones done as well. Enjoy!

Biting the bullet....

2011-10-10T09:00:00.002+01:00

In case you haven't figured it out, I have a great liking for all things vintage. And I know I'm not alone. I defy any woman to put on a six-strap, metal clipped suspender belt with seamed stockings and NOT feel sexy. Every time I put on a corset, I wonder why they ever went out of style. I'm warming up to girdles, provided they are not made of stinking rubber, and appreciate the kind that hook at the front. But there is one vintage item I hadn't tried yet until very recently, the bullet bra, the cone bra, or as all normal people call it, the pointy Madonna bra.

The shape of the bullet bra looks rather silly to us today, but back in the 1950's owning a bullet bra was a serious business. They were very much a form of conspicuous consumption because the end of World War II meant that fabric was no longer rationed. I have often thought that bullet bras were a fashion that should have remained in the past, along with poodle skirts and crinolines. But there are a few companies that still make these things, and people must still buy them, so I my curiosity got the better of me and I got one, and can say that my reaction was mixed, but overall good.

I decided to go the whole hog and get one that was made to the original design, with absolutely no stretch in the band at all. This meant that I had to order one several band sizes more than I would normally wear, but hey, I'm the only one who sees the size label. On the plus side, this bra was very supportive. The downside? It has absolutely no give. Bending over in this thing is harder than bending over in a corset. Next time, I will attempt to get one with Lycra, on the grounds that if designers in the 1950's had Lycra, they would have used it.

Despite its rigid look, the cups themselves have no padding, unlike most modern bras, and the intention is that your breasts will fill the shape of the cups. This didn't quite work. Boobs are just not shaped like traffic cones. The bra's nipple wasn't where my nipple was. Yes, I had to stuff it. With tissue no less. Since this is no longer the 1950's, next time I will seek out a padded bullet bra.

The verdict? I definitely wouldn't wear this bullet bra every day. Like a lot of items, it is one that I would bring to a booking rather than wear underneath my clothes. I love the torpedo shape that the bra gives; it is both comedic and severe. I feel that bullet bras do have a place in the modern world, but I do think that there is a need to make them with modern design techniques. Some vintage enthusiasts will disagree, but I think without applying modern technology to reproduction vintage clothing old styles will be lost, perhaps not without good reason.

Face pics!

2011-10-09T09:00:00.001+01:00

I still receive face pic requests from time to time, and requests for more graphic content than a lady really should consider. But I am an accomodating Darla, a Darla who is always mindful of the mantra of a certain client-only forum which I in no way have infiltrated while pretending to be a dude, to wit, "putting the punter first." So here we go. Here is my face:

Here is my face in a slightly different light, and with a different camera setting, which is way too complicated for simple Darla to understand, for all she cares about is how to please her johns.

I will geeeeeve you Darla-flavoured kisses!

But what do we have here? Why, it's another soon-to-be-satisfied customer!

There you have it! Face pics and porny pics all in a oner!

*In case you are totally mentally challenged, that's a dildo in the final picture. And it's not mine. I borrowed it, and no, I'm not going to tell you the story of how this happened. Some things do remain sacred after all. I don't actually like toys. I'm no prude, it's just you can't beat the feel of real.

**Should your brains be completely made of cabbage, the above photos are of mini-Darla, or as I like to call her, my hand. We can be booked as a threesome at no extra charge. We can do girl-girl and everything!

Pictures of my awesome new flat...with added Darla!

2011-10-08T22:53:00.000+01:00

At long last, I have obtained some pictures of me, in various outfits and poses, in my newly redecorated incall flat. I have a different photographer for this set, and she's absolutely fabulous, and I think we'll be doing lots more photos as time goes on. We did have a few challenges; the room is relatively small, and lighting did occasionally prove to be difficult, but I think we managed to overcome these issues to a very sexy effect!

So far, my clients have been thrilled with the remodelling. Some say it has a real boudoir, film noir feel, and other say it is like unto an oasis in a city with occasionally brutal architecture. But I do recommend coming to see it for yourself! And me.

Darla's Txting Hall of Shame Part 2

2011-10-07T09:00:00.001+01:00

There have been a number of occasions when I have wondered whether or not my profession should be outlawed, not least when I am dealing with clients from countries where prostitution is illegal. I have always found them to be polite and friendly, and that they have a tendency to NOT engage in dirty talk on the phone. This is particularly the case when dealing with clients from the Middle East, especially given the rather harsh attitude that many governments in that part of the world have towards anyone ever having any fun at all. I've become familiar with many of the calling codes from the Middle East, and have noticed a slightly greater tendency to text before calling, just to confirm that I am Darla and that I am available. Because I am a multicultural Darla I text back and the booking is shortly arranged.

So a few months back, I was quite pleased to receive a text from one of these exotic numbers. The contents of the text, however, did not please.

my name imran iam your hony waht you demand ilove.you. for all life

Wow. I try to keep up on ways that people circumvent anti-prostitution laws in other countries. I find it particularly interesting that one way to evade the authorities in some Islamic countries is to get married for a very short period of time, sometimes a matter of hours, and then divorce once a good time is had by all, with the payment of the lady's fee being a sort of divorce settlement. If someone suggested such an arrangement, I would naturally be more than a little bit freaked out. But to suggest that I should be someone's "Hony" and "for all life" at that is completely and totally fucked up. Declarations of love are also particularly unwelcome. The only thing that I could possibly demand from this hapless Imran character is that he leave me alone for all life.

And if you happen to be from a country where my profession is illegal, there are plenty of customs that I am willing to welcome. Avoiding sexy chitchat is perfectly acceptable, putting the money in an envelope marked "donation" or "gift" is also fine. I've even had a few transatlantic clients ask me if I'm a cop, and while I find this strange, I get where they're coming from. But marriage proposals? Professing of love? Those are a sure fire way of ensuring I don't text back.

Profitless Darla conversations

2011-10-06T13:01:00.000+01:00

I was encouraged when my phone rang about 5 minutes ago. Then I saw the ID of the caller. It was that of one of the many, many people who call up asking for half hour bookings. As I remember, the last time he called, I told him that my incall flat was located across from Celtic Park, and that he didn't even need to call me when he reached my callpoint, but to be sure to show up dressed all in blue, singing "We are the Billy Boys" at the threshold of pain, and that I would surely go out and find him. But some people will never be deterred, no matter what curiously specific and totally implausible thing you ask them to do.

Out of sheer curiosity of why he was calling, I answered.

Waster: How much do you charge by the way and that man. Quality.
Darla: I charge £180 for your first hour and £100 for additional hours. You can find all of this information on my website.
Waster: Do you charge money for half an hooooooooooooor? Innit.
Darla: No, genius. I give away half hours for free.

This was one instance in which I wish I took calls from a landline phone, because slamming the phone down is so much more satisfying than pushing a button.

Darla's guide to independent escorts (for agency clients)

2011-10-04T15:17:00.000+01:00

I have been getting a lot of calls from people who assume that I am an agency, or work for an agency. This isn't entirely unheard of, but the volume has definitely increased. I decided to do some digging about Scotland's escort agencies, and found that the largest and oldest one, and indeed one I used to work for, seems to have bitten the dust. I got my investigating feet on, and found that a very large UK-wide agency, possibly my old agency, possibly another one, has been shut down in a massive human trafficking case. The case was largely dependent upon the 2009 laws, which state that it is illegal for a client to hire a trafficked or controlled prostitute. The case had over 200 witnesses, and logically we can assume that some of these witnesses were clients (more on this later). You can read more about the case here.

In any case, Scotland's escort agencies have become the target for the long arm of the law, and it seems that there has been a rise in agencies either shutting down voluntarily, or in agencies being forcibly shut down. Agencies are not illegal as such, but "controlling prostitution for gain" is. I suspect that any lawyer worth his or her salts would be able to convict any escort agent of these charges. From a business perspective, I have long suspected that the day of the agency is done but now I can see that the powers that be are getting increasingly interested in putting escort agency bosses and their associates behind bars.

But how does this affect clients? As always I can only speak from my own experiences. I have noticed that many of my clients in the past few weeks seem to expect a more assembly line type service that one might expect from an agency or parlour. Taken together with the increased number of confused callers, I have come to the conclusion that many clients who are used to agency services do not know what to expect with myself, or any independent. So without further delay, here is Darla's guide to independent escorts versus agency girls. Obviously I am a biased towards my own interests, but this can be applied to other girls as well.

In the first instance, hiring an independent escort is 100% legal. An independent escort is well, independent. She doesn't work for anyone but herself. Most of my agents treated me pretty well. But they did take a huge chunk of my money and I often felt financially pressured into taking clients I really didn't want. This raises some important questions about whether I was the victim of control for gain, and whether my clients, by extension were commiting the crime of hiring an escort who was the victim of control for gain. When you book an independent escort, you run no risks, and no drama.

There are a plethora of other benefits to hiring an independent escort. You will get to talk to the girl herself on the phone before you decide firmly on a booking. Having talked to her, you can back out of hiring her for any reason. Likewise she can back out of seeing you if she doesn't think you're compatible. This may sound unpleasant, but you are better off hiring an enthusiastic girl who actually likes you, for a given value of like. With an agency, you will talk to the agent. You have no idea whether or not you will click with the girl they send you.

An independent will have a website with plenty of information and loads of pictures. With an agency site, you will get one or two pictures, plus two or three sentences that she probably hasn't even written. Speaking of pictures, an independent who uses fake ones will not last long. An agency site will have so many pictures of so many girls you will probably forget which one you hired. The agent will have so many girls they won't remember which one they sent. And all this assumes that they haven't just stolen pictures from a porn site.

When it comes to services, agencies rarely know who does what. An independent who doesn't do what she says she does will go out of business. Independents need to see fewer clients because they keep 100% of their fee. Agency girls keep maybe 60%. Even when I worked at an agency. I always tried my hardest to give the best services possible, but in the end this got a bit soul-destroying, knowing that much of my money was going elsewhere. This did impact my work, so I quit. Not all girls have this much sense.

There are downsides to independent escorts. First, you have to find one. There are tons of directories and sites with hundreds of profiles. But there again, most of these have pictures and you're bound to find something that catches your eye. Keep in mind that there are many directories and some are better laid out than others, and if you're confused by one directory, you can always find another one.

Independents can rarely see you as quickly as an agency girl can. You don't always know when you're going to get the urge. I personally aim to see every serious client within two hours or less. I know this isn't perfect, but you'd wait a lot longer to see your girlfriend and sex isn't always a guarantee.

I recognise that speaking to the girl herself can be intimidating. Many agency clients like the idea of talking to a male agent about guy stuff before taking the plunge to hire an escort. Doubtlessly a bit of male bonding can make hiring an escort seem more normal. I try to be as polite and patient with serious enquiries as possible. If I'm not in the mood to work, I turn off my phone. If I answer the phone, I'm willing to talk. I also have everything you need to know on the website so our phone conversation may be very short indeed.

Websites themselves can be intimidating, especially for client who would normally pull a phone number out of a newspaper. To solve this, I have added a "Just the Basics" section to my site and have consolidated my galleries. I would also make the polite suggestion that this is the year 2011, and that reading a website is becoming an ever-increasing part of doing business, and of life in general.

But I do think that aside from all of the downsides the most important thing to keep in mind is that if you hire an idependent escort you will never find yourself on the inside of a courtroom. With an agency girl, it is looking increasingly likely that you will.

Darla's Txting Hall of Shame Part 1

2011-09-22T15:00:00.002+01:00

I am basically a reasonable person. While I would never accept bookings by text, I appreciate that there may be times when texting is something you just have to do, for example, if you are stuck on a train and late for your booking. If you are at work and want to see me at 6, and yet cannot get to a phone before 5, it is fine to text me in the afternoon to ask if I am OK to meet you for 6, rather than risk leaving it to the last minute. I am willing to tolerate the occasional "Are you OK to talk" text. But the following texter is, in the words of Supernanny, "unasseptable."

A couple of days ago, I receive the following text:

I adore your PVC gallery especially with the riding crop.

I responded like the polite and reasonable person I am:

Thank you. Please call me if you would like to make an appointment.

His response did not encourage me.

As much as I would like to i disabled paralysed but feel my back and a self spanker using belts rubber tastled whip and flexible footwear etc.

Wow, I thought to myself. This guy is the magic kind of paralysed where he can only feel his back but can still manage to write a lengthy and involved text. Go him. I then mused that maybe he meant that he was paralysed from the waist down. Texting is a vague and imperfect means of communication. I then imagined myself as paralysed from the waist down. The last thing I would do is hit myself in the back with a self spanker, which could very possibly lead to an injury that would paralyse me even further.

I sat mulling this over for a while, and nothing seemed quite right. I then received the following text:

Please would you spare me the time and speak to me.

"That's it!" I thought. "He IS paralysed. In his brain." But seriously, I've received better attempts at emotional manipulation from 20-year-old street hobos trying to convince me that they are Vietnam veterans. I didn't respond to this idiot either. After an hour he proceeced to lay it on thick.

Thankyou i take that as a no sorry to waist your time.

"What a crock!" I scoffed. "This guy couldn't convince a self-righteous hippie to buy the Big Issue." I know, I know, calling a hippie self-righteous is like saying that Irn Bru is a spooky shade of orange. I won't comment on his spelling errors. That's just cheap.

But this was not the end. Around 5pm I got the following:

I hope you had a good day and left alot of red marks

Stalking experts would call this kind of thing "forced coupling", to wit, any act that implies that you have a relationship when you don't, in this case wishing me well at the end of my busy, busy day. This was meant to make me feel creeped out, but instead it just made me laugh.

As far as the "red mark" thing goes, I am and will always be Glasgow's tamest domme. The law is a little unclear on the extent to which one can consent to receive bodily harm, and I really don't want to end up in court. I suppose if you want me to draw on you with red lipstick or something, then I can certainly leave you with a red mark.

As funny as this all was, I'm really glad he didn't text back. I'll be continuing this series as and when I'm able, because there will always be people who fall afoul of the "no text rule."

The Rat Strikes Back!

2011-09-19T14:57:00.001+01:00

Those of you who regularly follow my blog know that I am plagued by a waster whom I have dubbed the Rat Queen, the Rat Tranny, or just plain Rat. The long and the short of it is that he calls up talking in a squeaky lady voice and asks ever more demented questions about what I would like him to wear for a booking that never happens. He has many phone numbers. Rather than call in the Pied Piper, mostly because he doesn't exist, I have decided that the best way to deal with this idiot is to make fun of him/her/it. This Saturday was possibly my finest work. Please note that I am not nearly as cool as the following approximate transcript implies. I was LOLing, ROFLing, LMAOing and PMSLing pretty unashamedly throughout and actually had to sit down from laughing at one point.

On Saturday night I got a call from a Birmingham landline. Before I could say hello....

Rat: Hello, I'm a lady!
Darla: Aw fuck. Hello, Mr Lady Man.
Rat: I would like to make an appointment to see you!
Darla: Fine. When?
Rat: Tomorrow Morning!
Darla: So, I take it you'll be on an early flight to Glasgow from Birmingham or wherever, since you have disguised your number on Skype yet again. Seriously, how many numbers have you used on me so far?
Rat: (Ignoring Darla) Where are you based?
Darla: In Glasgow. Just call me when you get to the airport. And I'll know if you're lying.
Rat: What would you like me to w-
Darla: RUBBER KNICKERS!
Rat: How long do you want me to wear them?
Darla: Three days minimum.
Rat: Oooooooh! but they'll smell!
Darla: (imitating Eric Cartman) I want your balls to be extra vinegary. Oh. wait. What a stupid Darla I am! You don't have balls, you're a lady!
Rat: (oblivious to Darla) What else would you like me to wear?
Darla: A pickle suit.
Rat: A what?
Darla: Go to a costume shop and purchase a costume that is like unto a giant pickle. Have fun going through the airport in that. And if you aren't dressed in it when you're outside my flat, I'm going to be very cross.
Rat: (Not reacting to Darla) My knickers will really smell.....
Darla: Your stinky rubber knickers are my personal crack-cocaine.
Rat: (At this point, the Rat begins to get flustered, because he is unprepared for wily Darla) What will you be wearing?
Darla: A burqa.
Rat: A what?
Darla: A burqa. As in, burqa, burqa, Mohammed jihad. (For those of you who take offence at my "political incorrectness", fuck you if you can't take a joke. I don't want your business anyway)
Rat: (really flustered and discombobulated) Do you want my knickers to pong?
Darla: I think we covered that when I said that smelly knickers were my crack cocaine, but fine, yes.
Rat: But they will be really fishy!
Darla: OOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Fishy, fishy, fishy! I loves me a fish!
Rat: Hangs up.

And so it ends. And a good time was had by Darla.

Holidays from Hell: Are there any other kind?

2011-09-18T13:15:00.001+01:00

I was watching one of my favourite movies of all time last night, Mr Hobbs Takes a Vacation. Without spoiling it, a very large, extended family goes on holiday with the pretence of having a wonderful bonding experience. Everything that can go wrong, goes horribly, hilariously wrong. The holiday home is in an appalling state of disrepair, and all the children are very, very unhappy.

One of the reasons I find this film so funny is that it reminds me of every family holiday I have ever been on ever. I always hated going on holiday when I was a kid. Planes were always late, someone always got sick, and a good time was had by none. To make matter worse, I was the oldest of my generation by a long shot, and holidays consisted of being surrounded by dozens of squalling rugrats, while never being fully accepted by the "grown-ups". Traveling by car was particularly torturous, because it consisted in a never ending chorus of "I'm hungry," "I'm thirsty," and "I have to peeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

The so-called adults were no better, because their attitude was "Hey, we're on holiday, so there's no rules!" This meant that instead of feeding the swarming brood anything that could be called food, that the children were indulged with every technicolour sweet that could be had. Mass chaos ensued. When we did go out for a proper meal, pandemonium ensued. There was one instance where we were in a crowded restaurant and some particularly bratty cousin let out a wail that sounded like a porcupine giving birth to a particularly large and spiky baby through her urethra. And why? Because there were onions on his cheeseburger. It was at this time that I began to consider purchasing a cat costume, putting it on, and humping everything in sight in the vain hope that someone would spay me. Everyone got too much sun, all the adults had too much drink, I didn't get enough drink, and all the children consumed way, way, way too much sugar. I couldn't wait to get home and well, get away from it all.

As you might imagine, I have never understood the entire concept of the family holiday, but I'm sure glad they exist, because they are the best thing possible for my business. September is traditionally quite a busy month, I think, in no small part, due to men being fed up with the hysteria of the summer holidays and needing a release accordingly. I get a small rush of clients in late December to early January for precisely the same reasons. I can honestly say that I feel their pain. I'm just glad that I can be of help in relieving said pain.

Financial domination and why Darla'a head doesn't button up the back

2011-09-15T12:39:00.000+01:00

I have been getting a disturbing number of calls requesting financial domination. Invariably the numbers are foreign, and invariably the client wants me to blackmail him into sending me money and gifts through remote means.

There are a number of reasons I don't do this, the first of which is that I am not, I repeat NOT, retarded. There is no way I would ever put myself into a position where someone might get access to my personal bank accounts, address and real identity.

It is nearly impossible for a sex worker to take money using any remote means such as Paypal due to the company's decision not to allow their company to be used for anything even remotely sexy. Even adult-only charging methods present serious problems because most escort advertising venues will not allow you to advertise if your site has these. This is due to the fact that escort directories tend not to want to advertise anyone who is also selling pictures or videos on a membership basis, their attitude being that you can either be an escort or a porn star but not both. Wanting to avoid the headaches that juggling two businesses involves, Darla remains a cash for time operation only.

There is also the issue that blackmail is illegal, and carries heavy prison sentences at that. When I stated on my website that I do not cater to any fantasy that involved anything illegal, I was thinking on the occasional sick bastard who wants to act out fantasies or rape or incest. But now I have added blackmail to that list.

There is one context in which I will provide financial domination, to wit, if you would like to come to my flat, hand me an envelope full of money, and then fuck off, that is absolutely fine with me. I do not expect to get many takers on this, but the offer is there.

Darla's new language pet peeve: Disinterested vs. uninterested

2011-09-14T16:40:00.000+01:00

Like all human beings, I have language pet peeves. I hate the term "WG" to describe an escort, "punter" to describe a client, and generally don't like the term "blowjob." In civilian life, I just plain don't like the words "wholesome" or "proactive." These language dislikes are unapologetically petty and have no basis in anything other than personal taste.

At the risk of setting myself up as the Language Police, there are a number of malapropisms that also really, really grind my gears. The inability to differentiate between "there" and "their" is a real bugbear, as is the ridiculous use of "could of" when the correct form is "could have." When I see these, my berzerk button is officially pushed.

Reading through negative Punternet Field Reports, as I am wont to do, I have come across another thing to add to the long list of language errors that really piss me off. This is the tendency to use the word "disinterested" when what is really meant is "uninterested." An example of this would be something along the lines of "The girl was disinterested. She made no eye contact or conversation and tried to shove me out the door as soon as possible." What is actually meant is that the girl is uninterested in whether or the client enjoys himself, and is really, really interested in getting him to fuck off.

"Disinterested" simply means "objective," "unbiased" or even "unselfish." Within a civilian setting a "disinterested" mediator is often called in to handle a dispute from a neutral perspective. The term "disinterested" has a few applications to the world of escorting, and they are generally positive. A couple might hire an escort on the grounds that she is a "disinterested" third party rather than a friend whom they would have face the next day. Single clients may hire for much the same reasons, especially when there is a fetish involved, or even when the client seeks "disinterested" companionship without the tangled web that is a relationship.

However "disinterested" Darla may be, you better believe that I am anything but "uninterested." In fact, the whole reason I read the negative field reports is to learn from the mistakes that other people make with an aim to improving my services. And I have to admit, I do enjoy acquiring new words and phrases to hate; pet peeves are one of the best things about being human and are a reason to get up in the morning. And for the record, I also love hearing about other people's pet hates. I find them.....interesting.

A cock pics! I has one!

2011-09-13T23:41:00.000+01:00

Many of the ladies in my industry complain of constantly getting pictures sent to their mobiles of men's wieners, penises, willies, love sausages, boabies, tadgers, rhythm sticks, wallopers, and of course, cocks. And so, when I decided to become an independent, I determined to get the better of would-be dick-pic senders by buying the cheapest, crappiest mobile possible that wouldn't accept pictures to begin with. This also ensured that I wouldn't have a phone that was worth stealing.

But today I received a cock pic by email. I was unimpressed. I am an escort, and as such, I see a lot of cocks. The sender also sent me a pic of "his" body, equally unimpressive. I am also unconvinced that the cock belonged to the body. It's not quite as though the two were of different races, but it was close enough.

This made me ask all kinds of questions about what kind of individual would have multiple pictures of naked and semi-naked men on their computer, ready to send to escorts. Initially, I had wondered if this kind of person was of the gay persuasion, but if I were gay, I'd have a more impressive collection of erotica in my porny folder. Maybe this is just someone who collects pictures of really unimpressive men for the express purpose of sending these to escorts. It's not even as though the email was addressed diectly to me. Any way you cut it, we're dealing with one sick son of a bitch.

However unremarkable my hapless sender's anatomy may have been, the stupidity of it all really did make me marvel. I already know that this guy is an absolute timewaster never intending on making a booking. The text of the email gave extensive details of the would-be clients age, height, and a list of preferences, much, much MUCH longer than his dick, which wasn't very long at all. So I now know that any call I get in the next few days consistent with any of the info in this email is a load of pish, and I can happily ignore the caller, and proceed to spend the day doing sweet fuck all while waiting for an actual booking.

This all assumes that the sender of the email was in fact a man. This industry produces some crazy bitches, and if what every lady talks about is true, then they would have a plethora of cock pics to send me.

Trim your bushes!

2011-09-12T21:19:00.000+01:00

Apparently, some provincial town in England has decided that the best way to deal with the ever-increasing problem of street hookers not by busting up drug kingpins, not by cracking down on illegal immigration, and not by imposing any sort of curfew. No, the thing that is going to stop skeezers from selling they bootays is to get rid of trees, shrubbery, and yes, BUSHES. And by bushes, I mean the green and leafy plant, not the American political dynasty.

It turns out that whores are sneaky little tricksters. Apparently coochie-mama's go out on the streets wearing full camouflage gear complete with twigs and leaves stuck to them so that when some one call dat police, they can run and hide, never to be found again, only to resume strutting when the fuzz have gone.

Speaking of which, not every cop can be as awesome as Nick Angel. Few cops are willing or able to valiantly throw themselves into the wild and wolly world of dense botanicals to catch them a naughty prosta. No, most cops do not have such extensive training, and, upon seeing anything leafy, will get up on a chair, hold up their trouser legs, dance as though they really have to pee, and start shrieking, "EEEEEEEEEKKKK! a plant!"

The moral of the story is that we were all wrong on this "Green" nonsense and "Save our Planet" malarkey. Plants are really fucking scary and everything bad that has ever happened is down to plants. I know this because I have seen Lord of the Rings and learned that trees will fuck your shit up, and now the police service have figured this out too. Plants have teamed up with prostitutes to make our lives hell. The people of Britain don't deserve this. So if you see any sort of plant life about, be sure to slash and burn it. You will be fighting crime.

Won't someone think of the children? Part 33.29

2011-09-07T21:52:00.001+01:00

I know I am supposed to be outraged at the latest edition of Toddlers and Tiaras, which presents a three year old girl dressed up like Hoolia Roberts in Pretty Woman. I know I am meant to despair that these little girls are having their childhood stolen, their innocent minds corrupted and just generally run around screaming that the sky is falling. In case you don't know what I'm talking about, the show follows the bizarre adventures of parents who put their very little girls into beauty contexts, complete with huge quantities of hair and makeup. If you need a clearer idea of what I'm talking about, you can read the full article here. It's pretty shocking if you haven't seen it before, so you've been warned.

But I am neither outraged nor offended. Instead, I feel a Zen-like sense of serenity, not unlike Manny in Black Books when he swallows the Little Book of Calm. I feel that all of a sudden, everything is right in this world, despite the impending collapse of civilisation. But why do I feel this way? I am sure to get lynched for this blasphemy, this unconscionable dismissal at what is obviously a a new low in the depths of depravity.

In a word, honesty. The honesty of dressing a child "beauty queen" like a prostitute is something quite refreshing. When parents enter their little JonBenets of the future into these beauty contests their message to their preadolescent sprogs is clear: You are a Whore. Your purpose is to dress up in ridiculous clothes, thick makeup, and ever expanding weaves. You have no dreams of your own, no talents, no interests, you are nothing but a living doll capable of capering for everyone's amusement. Who needs brains when you've got "beauty"? At least with this girl the fact that her parents clearly view her as little more than a prostitute is put in plain sight and not shrouded under layers of pink chiffon, taffeta, and maybe a little silk for good measure.

Indeed, the pretence is gone. At least now we can finally see the hideous, horrible truth about these child beauty contests and what they represent. And this had given me a tiny glimmer of hope, not unlike the light that reflects off the tiny gemstones on these pampered princesses' tiaras. I hope that maybe, just maybe, that the world will finally come to its sense in the face of the truth in all its ugliness and question the sanity of their actions. That is all.

Darla's condom-buying adventure

2011-09-02T18:02:00.001+01:00

I have never felt particularly embarrassed or ashamed of buying condoms. I know, I know, I could get them for free from my GP or GUM clinic, or I could take a handful from most major buildings at any one of Glasgow's colleges and universities, but with the money I make, I feel it's best to leave free condoms to people who really need them. But this is hardly the point of this entry.

The procurement of condoms is no big deal. People have sex. It's just what they do. It's fuckin' Darwinian. And you can either have sex like a clever person and use a condom, or not use one and be a loser. As I am of the sucessful, non-mongoloidic persuasion, today I went out to buy me some condoms.

It was a good day to buy condoms today, because they were on sale, two boxes of 12 for a tenner. So I grabbed two boxes and nonchalantly sauntered over to the counter to pay for them. And then the fun began. It became apparent that I had mistakenly grabbed one box of 12 and a box of 18 and the special deal would not apply. The cashier was about 16 years old and sooooooooooooooo embarrassed, but, as was required by his job, he had to point out that if I wanted the deal, I would have to go back and get another box of twelve. He went beetroot red and I thought he was going to die of shame. I meanwhile, sashayed confidently over to pick up the box of twelve in order to get my deal, leaving the mortified cashier.

But the drama didn't stop here. The poor, traumatised cashier had accidentally rung up the box of 18 and needed to remove this from my total purchases. He had to take it out of the bag and re-ring everything. He was so flustered that it took him twice as long as the same task would take any other human being.

But the drama still did not end. I have no real issue with the bright blue of a condom box showing through my shopping bag. I have no issue if people see that I'm buying condoms; it's almost like I'm a walking public service message. Even if I were embarrassed about buying condoms, there is a popular brand of hair dye with precisely the same coloured box. But in reality most people are so wrapped up in their own lives that they won't notice one way or another, which is just fine by me. But the cashier didn't share my overall chillaxed attitude, and proceeded to double the bag, getting the plastic stuck to his increasingly sweaty hands all the while. I was desperately trying not to laugh all the while, because this was clearly such a big thing for the mortified cashier.

Since I am in a profession that requires the use of condoms, I have never really seen an issue with purchasing them. If I did, I'd find another line of work. Likewise I do think that if you are in a profession that involves selling condoms, it's best to lose your inhibitions. And while I'm not one to use my escort blog to push a particular socio-political view, I think that society would be much better off if we got over our collective squeamishness over an item that saves lives.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOO! No more zombies!

2011-09-01T21:15:00.000+01:00

It's official. The zombies have left Glasgow. At least the variety that have been invading George's Square. As for the tracksuit-wearing, Buckfast-swilling type, well.......

From Russia with Americans: Adventures with Svetlana Part 5

2011-09-01T21:14:00.004+01:00

As promised, here is another wild and wacky story. One evening I got a surprisingly early call, about 11pm. The agent said it was for two American guys looking for me and Svetlana. I was happy. Not only was it insanely early by the standards of the agency, but Americans made very good clients, and not just because of their tendency to tip, but because they tended to be very polite almost to a fault due to the illegality of the industry in most US states.

I made my way out to the serviced apartment in the west end of the city, and saw Svetlana waiting outside, smoking away. We went in together to what was a really nice suite. One of the clients was a really tall blonde with a delightful Southern accent. He was a Cajun from Louisiana, where I had visited once as a child. The other had a thick Spanish accent and was Puerto Rican. Both were on leave from duty with the Marines. Within the first few seconds, I already liked them both, and really dreaded to think where their job was going to take them next.

After a bit of small talk, the Cajun looked a little nervous. "Umm...is this legal?" he asked. I responded "Yes" at the exact time Svetlana answered "No." Svetlana looked shocked and said, "But agent said it was illegal to be prostitute." This did not sit comfortably with me for obvious reasons, but I explained, "It's illegal to pimp, illegal to work on the street, and illegal to run a brothel, but as long as you don't piss anyone off, the cops really have better things to do than harass a couple of soldiers who probably haven't seen a woman in months." They both laughed.

The Puerto Rican piped up, "That's good because we really don't have any idea how to count the money over here. In America you can't even talk about that stuff, but we don't want you to think we're cheating."

"That's OK," I said, "We get foreign clients all the time who can't count UK money. As long as you don't give us a £10 sandwich we're all good." They both seemed to think this was really funny. Even Svetlana managed a smile. "You mean people actually try that," asked the Cajun incredulously. "I had a guy who was such a dick his cats hated him." I replied. Everybody laughed. After a pause, Svetlana said, "Wait a minute, was he somewhere outside Glasgow?" I nodded. "I met guy there who talked all this crap about fucking lobster. So boring I fall asleep." We all laughed. I recounted the Lobster Thermidor story to everyone's amusement.

The money was handed over, which Svetlana counted. "You give me too much," she said, trying to hand back what looked like a sizeable sum. The two clients seemed to think this was immensely funny. I tried to reassure her, "No, it's OK. Americans tip. Just take whatever they give you." At this point, the Puerto Rican said, "Dude, you guys are so funny, and it's AWESOME!" Svetlana looked uncomfortable, but put the money away.

We went to the separate areas of the suite. I overheard the Puerto Rican say something like, "Be nice to me, I'm a virgin." My client and I burst out laughing as Svetlana said, "Now you make me feel bad!" To which he replied, "I mean, I'm like, a virgin in Scotland!" Again, my client and I couldn't quit laughing.

As for what happened with my client, he didn't last long. From the sound of it, Svetlana's client didn't last much longer. Mine was a little embarrassed, so I reminded him that the payment was for time, not content. He decided to get some more content in the time he had left. I thought I heard the door shut in the next room. When the time had ended, with as much content as possible, my client and I walked into the main area of the suite.

The Puerto Rican was looking very satisfied. Out of curiosity, I asked him how long ago Svetlana had left. "It's no big thing, but she fucked off more than half an hour ago. I guess I just hadn't seen a woman in so long," he laughed. The two of them high-fived. I thanked them both for the fantastic evening, which got me an additional tip.

As I was making my way home I was more than a little unhappy with Svetlana, and a little sad for her as well. A lot of our clients were just no damn good. A drunk or drug taking client never deserved my time. Svetlana was very good to have around when this was the case, because she had a unique talent for making her excuses and leaving. But these two tonight were some of the nicest people I'd ever encountered. I felt bad for her client, but also a bit bad for her. She was clearly so jaded from the profession that she treated every client the same, good or bad. I also saw for the first time that the language barrier was really preventing her from communicating with her clients, and that she was the one who was most hurt by this. All in all, however, it had been a fun and profitable evening.

Emotional rescue?

2011-08-31T16:02:00.001+01:00

Whether religious fundamentalists or know-it-all feminists, critics of this industry often say that an encounter with an escort is a clinical and emotionless encounter, devoid of any personal fulfilment. While I am sure that many of your more assembly line type services can be like this, I like to think that my own services are a bit more personal. Let me be clear: if you are looking for love with a sex worker, then you are both delusional and retarded, but this doesn't mean that I cannot serve to meet your emotional needs, albeit in a limited way.

The term Girlfriend Experience is a very unhelpful one. It should mean at the very least that there are more intimate services such as cuddling and kissing involved, which, incidentally, you will get with me, but that doesn't describe the bigger picture. Truth be told, hiring an escort is a bit more like having a one night stand, but with a lot less alcohol and a lot more condoms, and with someone that you have carefully selected, again, while sober. This is in no way meant to be cynical; there is also an element of respect in hiring an escort because there are no ridiculous lies about calling the next day. The honesty element in booking an escort should provide a degree of peace of mind, which is, in its own way, an emotional need.

In terms of your actual booking, one basic service is that I hope to entertain you. My goal has been for this to be a funny blog, and I try to carry my sense of humour into my bookings. A laugh is a good thing, and can generally improve your outlook on life.

If you are not very experienced with all things erotic, I can offer a non-judgemental encounter. You won't have to worry about pleasing me; and you can just sit back and enjoy yourself. This can give you a degree of confidence when you do try to pursue a civilian relationship.

One emotional need that I can satisfy is what I broadly term the restoration of your mojo. If you have had bad luck with the opposite gender for whatever reason, a paid encounter can clear your head and bring things into focus. You get all the benefits of having a girlfriend, but none of the risks. With me, you know exactly what you're getting into.

One thing I can't do is solve problems. Don't get me wrong; plenty of clients tell me their personal problems, things that they might not even be comfortable telling a friend. If you feel that telling me your problems helps you in some way, then go ahead. But I never give advice; I'm a lot more like Jerry Springer and a lot less like Jeeves.

In a general sense, the extent to which I satisfy your more emotional needs and desires is very much up to you. I do draw the line at having any sort of unpaid relationship with clients, which is right and proper. But professional distance does not equal a cold and clinical encounter. By way of a real world example, you might well be very friendly with the proprietor of your local pub, but you wouldn't spend time with that person outside a business context.

So far I have talked about my clients' emotional needs. But what of my own? There is the eternal issue of the independence and control over my life that the profession provides. I take steps to ensure that I enjoy my clients' company, which is rewarding in and of itself. But most importantly, even after all this time, I still find meeting someone for an erotic tryst quite exciting.

Do Escorts hate their clients? Part 2: Pleasure

2011-08-24T15:41:00.001+01:00

A long time ago, in an agency far, far away, I would get the occasional mongoloid so mentally deficient that he thought that hiring an escort would result in a relationship based on true love, and would surely come to my emotional rescue. I am sure that there are girls who are also retarded enough to think that this is not real life, but the set of Pretty Woman. I will of course put in a disclaimer here that it is of course theoretically possible for an escort and her client to form a bond of true love, but that this does not seem very likely.

While it is safe to say that few escorts would seek relationships with their clients and vice versa, there are nevertheless mistakes that either party can make when using this profession to meet their emotional needs. This can, in turn create misunderstandings that can create the impression, true or false, that escorts do not like their clients very much.

Validation is an emotional need that this industry is really good at fulfilling. Sometimes. Personally, I love the idea that I am so desirable that people will pay money for my exquisite time and companionship. But sometimes this doesn't work out. I can sometimes go client free for a week or more, especially at slow times of the year. It is natural to feel a bit dejected during a drought, but it is important not to take it too personally. Business is just business, and the clients do come trickling in.

Speaking of which, when I started out in this business I had expected the client to enter the room, say something along the lines of "Hooooooeeee! You're the best lookin' gal I've had all day," and then proceed to climb on top and fill his condom full of goo and then leave. What I didn't expect was how much I actually liked most of my clients at a personal level. They were and are often very funny eccentric, and generally very nice people. I think that some girls never get beyond the expectation that their clients are detached and uninterested and treat them all accordingly. If you read my hilarious "Svetlana" stories, you will see what I mean. I'm going to add a new one very soon, so don't worry. Some of my real wankbucket clients didn't deserve or get my full attention, but they are extreme exceptions. This is also why I don't run an assembly line type of service, which was quickly what agency work turned into.

Indeed, seeing a client is not the emotionless experience that the industry's critics say it is. Whether in terms of being physically attracted to a client or just enjoying his company, there is usually some connection, however superficial. Believe it or not, some girls are uncomfortable even with the limited emotional ties that they may have with their clients, perhaps because they feel it is too close to having a relationship. Treating the clients like doodoo is one way that they handle this discomfort. Not good stuff. I've decided to embrace this connection for what it is, and have fun accordingly. After all, in spite of professional distance, I would expect to have at least some degree of friendship with people I worked with in a civilian job.

One mistake many escorts make is attempting to live out specific sexual fantasies through the job. Whether with clients or in real life, sex can sometimes be disappointing, and I think that this disappointment can lead to a degree of resentment, however unfair. Even good sex can be awkward; I still have trouble getting all the parts to line up! When I started out in this business, it was great fun and super exciting to see half a dozen clients in a weekend. Having had a very straightlaced youth, this was the ultimate fantasy. But after a while it wasn't as much fun as it had been. Rather than decide that this was all the fault of the clients, I decided to change the way I worked. Regrettably not all escorts do this.

I will probably return to this topic at various points, but suffice to say that escorts are only human, and there will be times when some of us do not like our clients very much. I am and continue to be inspired by the immortal mantra of Beavis and Butthead when they encountered an unsatisfying TV programme, to wit, "This sucks, change it!"

Zombie Hooker Nightmare!

2011-08-20T14:14:00.000+01:00

As you have probably figured out, some mongoloid decided that it would be a handsome idea to make a zombie movie set in Philadelphia not in the city of brothers on drugs, but right in the heart of Glasgow. As annoyed as I am with the traffic, I feel as vindicated as ever that I am not in the city centre. I am open for business as usual, but would ask that all clients either give a little more notice than usual when booking me, or be prepared to be more flexible. I promise I will do the same for you. If you're caught up in traffic, just let Darla know.

The title of this post comes from the most fun game in the world ever. It's as addictive as crack, so don't say I didn't warn you.

Do escorts hate their clients? Part 1: Business

2011-08-19T16:03:00.002+01:00

There is a certain forum on the World Wide Series of Tubes whose members are convinced that all escorts, or WG's as they are annoyingly referred to, have a thin or not-so-thin veil of contempt for their clients. Escorts are continually painted up as being misandristic creatures who see men as only a source of money, and have very little respect for the male of our species. There is, I am ashamed to admit, some truth in this; I have personally witnessed girls bash their clients for everything from bad hygiene to shyness to not being very good in bed. But is it fair to tar us all with the same brush? As always, I can only speak from personal experience.

The phenomenon of client bashing on escort forums is something that I personally don't engage in. I think that biting the hand that feeds you is totally retarded. And yet it is something that many escorts will do, often in full view of the very men whose business they are trying to solicit. Personally, I've never taken client bashing very seriously for the simple reason that I think that men and women are basically the same. What do I mean? Think about it: if you saw a group of guys in a pub all talking about the hot chicks with great big tits that they all totally did it with, you'd think they were talking shite. I think rather the same of the escorts who see fit to moan about their impolite, socially awkward penguins/clients with dickcheese fit into much the same category. If all clients were that bad, the girls would leave the business. To put it another way, if any one of the above pub braggarts had access to women even half as attractive as the ones they claim to be boning, they'd be off getting shagged, and not out at the pub with a bunch of guys.

One mistake I have seen escorts make is using what I call the "Hey cutie, welcome to Raisin's" error. This is a reference to an episode of South Park where the boys frequent a restaurant called Raisin's staffed by pretty girls who say things such as, "All my other customers are such losers, but you guys are awesome!" Butters becomes impressed with one of the waitresses and thinks they have a relationship until it transpires that she says things like this to every customer with an eye to making money. I have seen girls do this with clients at many of my two girl/two guy appointments in my agency days. I know that this is intended to make the present client feel special but a) most guys see through it and b) most guys will be put off by the idea that the girl apparently hates her clients. Either way, cussing up your other customers sends the message that you don't have a very high opinion of men. I'd recommend that clients who encounter this technique should either ignore it or go elsewhere.

That said, hiring an escort is a business transaction. Like any business, there will always be some degree of talking shit. It is up to you as the client to decide how much of this you can stand. To use a real world example, suppose you are buying chocolate. Chocolate bar #1 claimes to be "Tasty and sure to be good for you because it has antioxidants n' stuff." Chocolate bar #2 claims to be "Organic and fair trade and if you don't buy it you'll get cancer of the puppy." Both adverts are trying to get you to spend money and both present an optimistic view of their product. Personally, I find the emotional bullshit in chocolate bar #2's advert far too insulting and wouldn't buy it as a result. You are free to feel differently, and to apply this analogy as you see fit when choosing an escort.

But let's get back to the original question, "Do escorts hate their clients. If I am being truthful, there have been times in my escorting career when my answer has been yes. Towards the end of my agency tenure I really did get to the point where I hated my clients. But when I took a closer look at why I hated them, what I found out was that I really hated the long hours, the late nights, and the clients who thought that shoving white powder up their noses was a brilliant idea, not to mention giving away 40% of my fee to the agent. So when I went independent, I decided to make some major changes to the way I worked. I raised prices, cut my hours, and point blank refused to deal with anyone under the influence of a controlled substance. Suddenly I liked my clients a whole lot more. If I ever get to any point where I don't like my clients again, then I will reassess my marketing strategies and get myself to the point where I do start liking them.

Independence also gave me a good deal of control over the callers I saw and those I didn't. When I get a client who becomes very nervous upon arriving at my incall location, I reassure him that there are people who call me that I just do not see. The power to hang up the phone was the best thing that ever happened to me. When I get a caller whom I do not think is acceptable, I politely but firmly tell him to move on to another girl. I suspect that there are escorts who will hem and haw with such clients in a vain effort to spare their feelings, and then end up seeing them and having an unpleasant time. I further suspect that this is a hangover from real world dating, where this type of indecisiveness is equally, if not more destructive. My take is that in either situation it is far better to risk wounding someone's inner child in the short term than it is to lead him on and prolong everyone's misery. In other words, ensuring that I only see clients I like keeps me happy, and sending caller I don't like elsewhere keeps everybody happy, including the girl who might actually want the undesirable caller's business.

So far I have discussed the business side of the job satisfaction of escorts. The next post will cover more personal issues when it comes to answering the age-old question of whether or not sex workers hate their clients.

SHOCK! HORROR! Woman buys discount shoes...and likes it!

2011-08-13T22:35:00.000+01:00

Having been a loyal customer of TJ Hughes for many years now, I was greatly saddened to learn that they had gone into administration. I have always held that the only intelligent thing businesses can do in a recession is to up their prices and services, and for once in my life, I didn't like being right, I just felt bad. Mind you, I wasn't so sad that I didn't go in and try to snag me a bargain.

In case you aren't aware, TJ Hughes has never exactly been at the expensive end of the market, It's a great place to get a discount, and a one stop shop for clothing and household items such as much of the bedding and towels in my incall flat. It's also a great place to buy shoes. Inexpensive shoes. Shoes of many colours. Shoes with just the right heel height for a statuesque Darla. More on these in a minute.

Like many forms of discount shopping, there is a non-monetary cost to shopping there. There aren't very many staff, the stock is not well-organised, and the queues are double super long. Naturally there are screaming ned children everywhere, accompanied by five generations of their families. And there are old people. Lots of old people. Obnoxious old people. Stinking of pish old people.

But, given that you can get a cheesecake tin for £3.99 or new sheets for a fiver, putting up with the sparse staff, squawking tornado bait, and geriatrics with a mysterious yellow trail following them is a price I am willing to pay. When there was a 70% off sale I knew that my shopping experience was going to cost me more in the non-financial sense that I was used to, but hey, there were shoes involved. What I wasn't prepared for was just how appalling people would become in the event of said sale.

I went in and selected two pairs of fantastic shoes. They didn't have a price tag, but there was a sign saying that they were 70% off. There were other areas where the shoes were 60% off. Normally a pair of TJ Hughes shoes costs around £12, so I figured a bargain was in store, and even if they cost the full amount, I was still willing to pay. So I joined the abnormally large queue and watched the most disgusting display of human avarice I had ever seen in my life.

I saw a mummy senga, a granny senga and a 32 year old great-granny senga going up to buy some pink baby shoes for the latest welfare cheque generator in their family. Except there was a problem. You see gentle readers, "them shoes" was in the 80% off bin. How was it even possible that the cashier was "gonnae get wide" and try to sell them for 70% off the original price. I was mulling over the mathematical genius of trailer trash when the price of the item was revealed to be £1. All I could think was "Dude. It's a frickin' pound." But the shoes were quickly placed behind the counter and the urchins went huffing away, cackling and braying and adjusting their sky-high ponytails.

Then an old lady waddled up to the till, her adult nappies squeaking like a sad rubber duck. She whipped an item out of her bag. It was a pair of tights. Worn tights. Tights that had the pungent odour of old and great big bunion holes. "I want to return these," she demanded. The cashier said that was fine, and politely asked for a receipt. As one might expect, there was no receipt produced. The reply came, "There were no good. I want my 79p back. You were the one that served me." The cashier pointed out that she was unable to open the till without a receipt and the old lady persisted. A manager had to be called. All for the sake of an amount of cash you could find dropped outside any pub in Glasgow on a Sunday morning.

I got closer to the till. It was one of those long tills with several people working behind it. Except that one of the ladies working behind the till was not handling purchases, but sorting all of the massive piles of merchandise that greedy bastard customers had decided they were too good to purchase because they weren't sufficiently discounted. There were people moaning about how they couldn't get cash back when they spent a small percentage of their vouchers, despite store policy being to the contrary. Everyone carefully examined their receipts to ensure that they hadn't been "ripped off" only to return half of their purchases on the spot. Finally my turn came.

The poor cashier had to go and check the prices on my lovely shoes. One pair was £2.99 and the other £3.99. She timidly asked me if this was OK. I said, "Ma'am, I could just use this shoe as a spittoon or a flowerpot for that price." She looked really relieved. I felt bad that she was about to lose her job, so I asked when the store was going to be closing. She told me that it wouldn't be, but was getting taken over by new owners and would have much the same merchandise, and that she would get to keep her livelihood after all. I was also happy that I could still get new sheets and towels whenever I needed them at a location nice and close to my incall flat. And I was happy that my regular shoe supplier was not going out of business, because shoes are really important.

Like any good episode of South Park, I learned something that day. Nothing will make people greedier than the prospect of a bargain. And while I was happy to see that one of my favourite shops had been spared the worst horrors of the administrators, I saw firsthand just how horrible it can be to do business at the cheaper end of the market. This is why I remain expensive and studiously avoid offering discounts or special offers.

What what?

2011-08-07T12:54:00.000+01:00

I have received a disturbing number of calls lately, almost certainly all from the same person, asking me to participate in sodomy, A-levels, butt sex, riding the Hershey highway, pushing in stools, pounding chocolate dragons, Greek sex, fudge packing, taking it up the Gary, and any of the many, many terms for anal sex. This is just not something I do. I have no reason, its just my hot body, I do what I want. Or not. To quote Straight Dave, "My asshole is made for shitting."

But just because Darla doesn't participate in bum love, doesn't mean you can't get it anywhere. Here is someone who can surely satisfy your needs.

From Russia with Female Bonding: Adventures with Svetlana Part 4

2011-07-29T18:24:00.001+01:00

Ok, I think we could all do with a laugh now. One very late night I was sent out to a rather nice Glasgow hotel. When I got in, the client ushered me in. I asked how he was and his only answer was "High." This was not a good start. He then said to me, "You do know there's another girl coming, right?" I didn't know this. No one had bothered to tell me. He paid me and said, "Yeah, your agent told me you're going to do a girl on girl thing with some Russian chick." The only thing that occurred to me was "Aw. Shit. I like Svetlana but I don't like like her. Not by a long long shot." I liked couples well enough, but never did two-girl things because the chemistry was all fucked up since no one really know each other.

Moments later Svetlana came to the door. "Sorry I late," she said, "I had stupid grandpa taxi driver who could not see over steering wheel. Idiot." She then proceeded to do a pretty good impression of an elderly person incapable of accepting the fact that they are no longer fit to drive.

As soon as the client paid Svetlana her share, she whipped off her coat to reveal a pink and glittering g-string and lumpy, over the knee boots. I was wearing a dress that zipped at the back, as I had gone there hoping to slowly seduce the client and allow him to erotically unzip me. This kind of thing can't happen at these porny type bookings, but I wasn't to know. The client was too busy gawking at Svetlana to bother to help me, but one thing became abundantly clear, namely, that Svetlana was really, really REALLY not bisexual. I managed to disrobe as gracefully as possible, revealing my stockings and suspenders, only for Svetlana to recoil from her lack of lady love.

She more keen than usual to get the fuck out of there, and it wasn't because she wanted curry. She announced to the client, "I GEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEve you BLOWJOB," and proceeded to undo his trousers, while the only thing I could do was stare hopelessly. There then arose a serious problem. You see gentle readers, cocaine, in addition to being a hell of a drug, has devastating effects on male anatomy. The client responded thus, "My dick is so fucking huge and hard. You will not believe how big and hard my dick is." He then disappeared into the bathroom, amid much snorting. Svetlana and I looked at each other in disbelief.

He came back, holding a trendy douchebag phone. He had a picture to show us. It was a small black and white cat. "You will not believe how great my fucking cat is. My cat is so fucking great!" Svetlana and I looked at each other in yet more disbelief. He grabbed my shoulder, "You don't understand. My cat has like 27 meows. 27! I bet your cat doesn't have 27 meows." I never mentioned having a cat, but was a little insulted because my cat has at least 37 meows, but I wasn't about to argue with a cokehead. Svetlana suddenly became very interested in her sparkling bangle. She pointed to it, pretending it was a watch. The client fell for it. "Is time to go. Was lovely to meet you. You very sexy man," she said, with a relieved tone to her voice.

We quickly got dressed and, as Svetlana would say, got the fuck out of there. We decided to head to the nearest taxi rank. Svetlana lit up a cigarette and said, "His dick was like poison mushroom from Ukraine." I replied, "I think you left something out. His dick was like a LITTLE poison mushroom from the Ukraine." Svetlana proceeded to put her index finger and thumb very close together to indicate the minuscule size of the client's anatomy. I held up my index finger and then bent it to indicate the "man's" inability to maintain himself. She compared his cock to a wet leaf, I compared it to a sock that has been pulled halfway off someone's foot and left to dangle indefinitely. She said his dick was as soft as the brain of the Ukranian peasant, I said it was as soft as mouldy courgettes. We carried on shrieking and cackling about the infinitesimal magnitude of this man's tackle until the taxi showed up.

Indeed, insulting men's wieners is an international language.This is often unfair, but I think in this instance it was well deserved. He did, after all, insult my cat.

Sex, drugs and death

2011-07-25T12:28:00.003+01:00

Due to popular demand, I have several more installments of my "Svetlana" series typed up and ready to publish. But I will not be publishing one today, because it feels inappropriate to put up stories that present drunken and drugged behaviour as funny. The truth be told, I have nothing but contempt for drug use and excessive consumption of alcohol. The very reason I feel comfortable putting up my various agency misadventures is that the clients in question were almost always under the influence of drugs, and feel that as such, they lose the right to my respect. I quit the agency despite a good relationship with the managers almost solely because the clients were so drugged and drunk. But drug use in others has damaged other areas of my life as well. One of the reasons I left my last civilian job is that one of my colleagues saw fit to use huge amounts of cocaine and leave me to essentially do her job as well as mine. In case you haven't figured it out, I really, really hate drugs.

But even so I still cannot help but feel very, very sad about the death of Amy Winehouse. Like many people, I knew it was only a matter of time, and fully expected to feel self-righteous and contempt filled due to my own personal feelings about drugs, and so was surprised to find that the only thing I could feel was overwhelming sadness. While I do hold Ms Winehouse personally responsible for her untimely demise, one thing that no one seems willing to talk about is the role of her parents in this sordid tragedy. Lest we forget, Amy Winehouse was a child star, and child stardom can only be achieved at the hands of the parents, and for their benefit. At the height of her troubles, neither parent was ever away from the press, whether in terms of endless interviews or nauseatingly schmatzly open letters begging their daughter to stop taking drugs. And her father seems to have done pretty well for himself in his own musical career by riding on the coattails, or more properly, beehive tails of his daughter. You better believe that there will be constant interviews, documentaries, tribute albums, book deals and anything that can ensure that their precious cash cow can be milked well after her death. Yes, having a dead, drug-addicted rockstar daughter is a great way to ensure your financial stability.

In the first statement after her daughter's death, the only thing Mama Winehouse can say is that it was a long time coming. What kind of person says something like that? This smells to me like one of those self-fulfilling prophecies. When you go around telling your child, and in fact anyone who will listen, that you expect her to die of drugs, unless she's got balls of steel, she probably will. Let me reiterate that I am not a fan of the idea that shoving stuff up your nose makes you a victim; ultimately that is all down to the choices the addict makes. But I am a big fan of the idea that a significant portion of the blame for Amy Winehouse's demise lies with dear old Mum and Dad. So my condolences do not go out to the family, but to Amy alone.

I am fully aware that there is more than a hint of hypocrisy in posting my feelings about the death and exploitation of Amy Winehouse in a blog that is designed with the sole purpose of increasing my business. But the sad fact is that the death of a celebrity often results in a surge of clients, whether I post about it or not. In fact, any death has this effect. I've lost count of the number of clients who book and nearly the second the booking starts, tell me that they have recently lost someone. I've had cancellations due to death in the family, only for the client to reappear the next day. At first I had thought the clients in question were simply trying to cheer themselves or seek comfort, but I think that there is something deeper. Perhaps in the face of death people want to feel alive, and sex is one way to achieve this. As one might expect, many of my clients who hire me after a recent death have expressed guilt, confusion or just a general feeling of "weirdness," a sense that booking an escort so soon after a death is innately wrong. I always assure them that they are far from alone, and that I have personally witnessed the connection between sex and death from the beginning of my escort career.

In conclusion, I really hope that the next time a celebrity dies and inevitably increases my business that it is some useless cunt that no one really likes, someone whose "fame" leaves us all baffled, and not someone who is actually talented.

From Russia with a surprising act of kindness: Adventures with Svetlana Part 3

2011-07-23T16:58:00.000+01:00

Another night, another insanely late call. It seemed that the agent decided that Svetlana and I made a good team. I blinked, made a tragicomic attempt at putting on my makeup, and headed out. I got to the address and saw Svetlana walkng out. She shouted at me "Agent says you have to leave immediately and you'll be in beeeeeeg trouble if you don't." I liked Svetlana, but didn't quite trust her so tried calling the agent while walking towards the flat, intending to go through with the booking. I heard a loud crash and looked in a window. There were several drunk guys capering around and one of them spotted me and shouted, "Hey, you're that escort! Where's the other one?" I left, without bothering to make excuses. I was a little embarrassed that I'd let my greed get in the way of my safety, and more than a little grateful for Svetlana for trying to help me out.

Svetlana had gone to the end of the block and was waiting outside a small shop and you guessed it, smoking a cigarette. Still feeling like a right tit, I said, "Thanks for that back there. I didn't realise you were trying to help me." She blew some smoke into the air and said, "Awww..is nothing. Is what friends are for. You smoke?" she asked, drawing out a cigarette. I politely declined. She gave me an agressive pat on the shoulder and said, "Gooooooood geeeeeeeerl! Don't end up like me." I tried to be helpful "You could quit," I suggested. "Just buy yourself something nice with the money you save from buying cigarettes." "That is smart plan," she said, smoking away.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, came an almighty roar. "God, I haaaaaate young guys. Facking useless!" she exclaimed, spitting at the ground. I was too taken aback to even laugh. "No, is true. They worse than stupid Ukrainians or eeeeeeeediots from Moscow. I from SanctpeeeeterBORG," she said, relishing the Russian pronunciation of her birth city. By this point I was desperately trying not to laugh so that I didn't miss anything she said. "OK, Darla," she said indignantly, but no more than usual because her accent always sounded indignant, "Which client you prefer, young guys or grandpas?" She took a quick, deep drag on her cirarette and hastily added, "CLEEEEEEEAN grandpas, not gross grandpas!" I had to agree, she had a point. I did sometimes find that some older clients could be quite demanding and full of stamina, but then I figured that these clients fell into the category of "gross grandpas."

After a long wait, the taxi finally arrived. I had lost a lot of money and had wasted a lot of time, but I made one of the few friends that I have ever had in this business.

Escorts are not for losers..

2011-07-22T21:54:00.001+01:00

...was a recent google search term someone used to find my site. And it is a sentiment with which I agree. If you book Darla, she will surely not think that you are a loser, because Darla likes money. If you can afford my services, you must have done something right in life, and are therefore not a loser. If you have the wherewithal to look at the huge number of escort websites, choose mine, make the call, show up and pay your money, then you are clearly a decision maker and by extension not a loser. Hiring an escort is legal, and I simply do not see how exercising your legal rights makes you a loser.

However, the idea that everyone who books escorts is somehow a failure is sadly nonetheless a prevalent one that needs refutation. In the first instance, there is this idea that anyone who books an escort is incapable of getting a civilian woman. There are a number of reasons that men may choose to book an escort that have nothing to do with social ineptitude.

Relationships are complicated and messy. Some of my clients are recently divorced, some have just ended a relationship, and while they want female company, they do not want the difficulties that a relationship implies. Others have watched their friends go through bad romance after bad romance and don't want to go through the same thing themselves. It's not that they can't get a real woman, it's that they can't be arsed. And who can blame them? The only thing you stand to lose is money if you book Darla, and you will be adequately compensated.

A few of my clients are widowers. Some of them tell me this up front, others wait for several bookings, some never tell me at all. I have a great deal of sympathy for these poor men, not just because of the personal tragedy that they have faced, but because civilian women can spot a widower a million miles away and have the unfortunate tendency to sweep upon them like anorexic vultures after a juicy hamburger. The intelligent widower knows this, and is aware of his emotional vulnerability and therefore steers clear of anyone who might take advantage of this. As before, money is the only thing I cost.

Yes, the world is a cruel place. This brings us to our next demographic of clients. These men want a woman that they could not get in real life. Now I'm not contradicting myself here, these men would have no problem getting a real woman, with the caveat that said real woman would need to be of a similar age, weight, or general level of attractiveness. Getting a woman beyond this unfortunately tends to involve an exchange of money. But does paying for the services of a more attractive woman make you a pathetic loser?

In some instances this is actually quite sad. From personal experience older, unattractive men can be very kind and appreciative, not to mention passionate. However, when it comes to issues like an age gap, I would have to say that your average 65+ man is definitely better off hiring an escort than trying to make a relationship happen in real life. By way of example, consider Hugh Hefner. He wouldn't be such a figure of derision and mockery if he went and got himself a nice GILF. Paying for the services of a woman who is out of your league involves not only a degree of self-awareness, but also the ability to admit that mindlessly pursuing said woman in real life is going to be a profitless venture. Sometimes the most macho, non-loserly thing anyone can do is to know their limits, and to separate fantasy from reality. As the movie the Wedding Singer says, "Nobody wants to see a 40 year old Fonz."

I do not actually see very many married clients. Nevertheless this is a sticky issue that brings up all kinds of unpleasant questions. I am not willing to go into the rights and wrongs of a married man hiring an escort, since it really is none of my business. But if a client is married but unhappy and comes to a DISCREET escort (Wayne Rooney are you listening?!) then in relative terms it is surely better than having an affair with the secretary. I have to admit I do feel sorry for fetishists who find it impractical to discuss the issue with a partner, but then again, other women's hangups are my bread and butter, so I'm not complaining. As before, recognising one's limitations and handling them in a responsible way is a pretty good way to rid yourself of loserdust.

I've covered the issue of virgins in another lengthy post. But suffice to say that if you have made the conscious decision to hire a professional to deflower you then you are doing pretty well for yourself.

Egomaniac that I am, I am more than a little offended at the idea that I exist to provide sexual services to losers. While I am always business minded, there are clients that I refuse to deal with. I would never tolerate a rude, smelly, stingy, or drug taking client. In my book those are the things that make you a loser, and Darla is not for losers.

From Russia with hungry: Adventures with Svetlana Part 2

2011-07-17T21:57:00.000+01:00

It was about 2am when my agent called and told me that he had a booking for me. There was a catch. There were two guys and they wanted a girl each. I hated these kinds of bookings. There was often one who chickened out and sent one girl away without pay. Sometimes both of them pussied out. Other times, there were more than two guys present. I was naturally hesitant. However, the agency had already sent Svetlana out, and apparently, she had begged him to send me along as well. "I don't know what went on between you and Svetlana, but she really seems to like you. None of our other girls can understand her," pleaded the agent. I suspected there was some serious flattery going on here in the hope of getting his considerable portion of the fee, but I had to admit that I didn't like the idea of sending Svetlana into the lion's den alone. Plus she had been pretty funny the last time.

So without further delay, I made my way out to the location. I got there in record time and there was Svetlana, sitting there in all her zebra print glory, with one horny looking guy and one really scared looking guy. She was smoking a cigarette. But it wasn't any ordinary cigarette. It was one of those funny kind you roll yourself. Before I could properly introduce myself, she announced "I am so FUCKING hungry!" She shifted around a bit and asked, "Have you got any crisps?" Horny started laughing and Scared continued to quake. There were no crisps. So Svetlana did the only sensible thing one could do and said, matter of factly, "Pay us. Then I can go out and get a curry while the shops are still open."

The money was swiftly produced and divided. Scared piped up, "It was my idea to hire escorts in the first place, so I get first pick. I'll take Darla." Knowing that this wasn't true I held back laughter in manner that should have won me an Oscar. Scared and I headed off to a bedroom.

"Look, I've got to admit something," he confessed, in a hushed whisper. "I really didn't want to hire any girls at all. It's just not my thing. But take the money anyway." I thanked him for this, and told him that this was sometimes the case with these two-guy bookings, and that this was the reason I usually didn't take them. I asked him if he wanted me to just keep quiet about what had happened, or if he wanted me to tell his friend we'd had sex. I was happy either way.

Before he could answer, we heard an almighty roar. The bed next door was hitting the wall with such force that I thought the big bad wolf had come to blow the house down. Next came the shouts of encouragement, "GEEEEEEEEEEEVE IT TO ME BEEEEEEEG BOY! FUCK ME WITH YOUR HUGE DICK!" This lasted for about three minutes. Five seconds later, I heard the unmistakable click of stiletto heels as Svetlana showed herself into the corridor.

Before I could get done marveling at how quickly she'd got dressed, I heard another almighty roar, "YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! DARRRRRRRLA! Let's get the fuck out of here! I need a curry!" I looked at Scared and he nodded. I called taxis for both of us and I went home and back to bed, and Svetlana presumably satisfied her munchies. Scared breathed a sigh of relief that we had left. And Horny? I'm not sure he still warranted the name after having "given it" to Svetlana with his "huge dick." It had been a profitable time for all.

Ding dong the news is dead..

2011-07-10T14:25:00.000+01:00

...the News of the World that is, or more properly that was. What can I say? I am thrillled that this escort-outing rag is dead and gone. NOTW has terrorised escorts and their clients alike for years, all in the name of selling a paper that isn't even soft and absorbent. Lives of both escorts and clients have been ruined, even though their business is legal, all so that some Sideshow Bob lookalike can line her slimy pockets. I don't even feel bad for the "innocent" workers who lost their jobs. They knew what they were getting into when they signed up to work for a tabloid. I say good riddance.

It would be naive to say that this is the end for these muckraking pieces of shit that we laughingly called journalists. Of course they will find other work and of course they will continue to poke their noses where they don't belong. But I do have to say that I am glad for a victory for people's right to privacy, however short-lived this may be.

So at least for now, celebrities and politicians alike can go about their legally sanctioned business of hiring escorts without having to fear that their names and faces will be plastered all over the newspaper. It's a good day for my industry.

From Russia with surreal: Adventures with Svetlana Part 1

2011-06-28T13:13:00.000+01:00

Not everything at my old agency was bad. While it became personally and economically untenable after a time, there were some good times. So far I have entertained you with funny things that their drunken/doped clients got up to, but in so doing, I realise that I have neglected to tell you some of the funny things that happened with other girls. Most of the girls were backstabbing bitches, but there was this one girl whom I will call Svetlana who was actually one of the closest thing I've ever had to a friend in this business. Names and details have obviously been changed.

One night very late I got a call from my agent asking me to go to a major Glasgow hotel. He told me that the client was already with another girl, but that she would be leaving just as I got in. I was relieved at this, since other girls usually caused trouble, everything from insulting me outright, to telling the agent that I'd run off with his money, to threatening to tattle to the taxman even though they didn't know my real name, location, bank account details, personal spending habits, or anything about me at all.

Anyway, I got to the hotel room and found out what my agent hadn't told me. Lolling about on the bed was a forty-something peroxide blonde with about six inches of black roots. She was wearing gold lame hotpants with fishnet tights underneath. She had on the obligatory over the knee boots that didn't quite fit her rather thin legs. She had on a T-shirt that said something like "porn star" and her mascara had been applied around her eyelashes rather than on them. She was smoking a cigarette and blowing smoke and flicking ashes absolutely everywhere. And I'm afraid she was very, very drunk.

She staggered over to me and gave me a huge hooker-hug. What's a hooker-hug? Think on the enormous man hugs that the characters on Sons of Anarchy give each other and you're not far off.

"My name Svetlana," she slurred in her heavy Russian accent. "And you're Darla," she told me, as if I didn't know, pointing a glittery nail at me. "Do you work for Number One Escort Agency for Bad Girls?" I saw the mortified client and blurted out, "No, I work for some other agency," and turned to see his relief. I too was relieved that my curiously specific denial had worked. The client frantically mouthed "I've been trying to get her out of here for an hour and she just won't leave!"

Sensing that I'd been sent to the hotel to get this girl out of here, I tried to manoeuvre things. "It's was nice to meet you, Svetlana," I said. "I like you," she said, offering me a drink from a flask which she pulled out of her huge, buckle-covered leopard print handbag. Naturally as she fumbled about an eighteen inch pink dildo fell out and started buzzing and lighting up. Even the long-suffering client had to laugh at this one. I gingerly picked it up, and handed it to her, and told her that her agent, NOT mine, had called me and told me to tell her that she had another client. You have never seen a happier Russian. She smiled, jumped up and down, gave me another hooker-hug and I helped her to the door.

As one would expect, she went in the opposite direction to the lift. I whispered, "Um, no, it's that way," and pointed her in the right direction. She yelled, "BYE DARLA! You're my best friend!" and staggered over to the lift. I crossed my fingers and prayed to every god I could think of that she'd get out OK and not call any more attention to me or herself.

I was so mortified I don't know how I managed to handle the client. He told me that he was very happy with my services, and even gave me a rather large tip at the end of our meeting. I never ask why about these things, but he told me that although he had lucked out with me, that he was never going to go for the cheaper option next time. I began to hatch my business plan for going independent, but this wasn't for a while yet. Besides, I was too busy laughing at the night's events. Although I was really embarrassed, I had to admit that it's not every night that you get to help a crazed Russian prostitute get to a lift.

D is for Darla, D is for discreet

2011-06-24T22:00:00.000+01:00

When I started out escorting, I browsed through as many industry forums as I could to find out the best way to manage my business. As with so many other things in life, I learned a lot more about what NOT to do. One thing I learned was NOT to overinvest in your incall flat, to wit, to avoid the massive city centre build. I shall relate the things that I learned in a story format both in the interests of keeping people's identities safe, and in terms of keeping things entertaining.

Once upon a time there was a client called Billybob. Billybob had a good job that paid well, so well that his wife did not have to work. But what thanks did Billybob get? Well, not a Billyblowjob, to put it that way. This is why he sought out the services of Skankysue.

Every Friday afternoon Billybob went to see Skankysue in her massive city centre luxury flat, right smack in the middle of Glasgow city centre. This might be a good time to mention that he went to her in his highly disctinctive car, which he had bought with the money he earned at his excellent job. This might also be a good time to mention that he told his wife that his job required him to travel to Edinburgh every Friday.

On one ordinary Friday, Billybob paid his visit to Skankysue. This was nothing unusual, except that this was the day the Billybob's wife decided to go shopping in the many fine emporia in Glasgow city centre. As she was walking along, she spotted Billybob's highly distinctive car, and instantly knew something wasn't right. So she waited. And waited. And waited. And sure enough, a very guilty looking Billybob came out of the luxury high rise flats. She screamed all manner of obscenities at him, causing a scene. Naturally, there were security cameras everywhere, so the whole thing was captured for posterity. Naturally everything was witnessed by Beavis, the security guard and concierge.

Beavis was a less than ethical security guard, so naturally the security tapes ended up on the internets for the whole world to laugh at. Sound far-fetched? Well, think about the last time you saw something similar on the internet. Have you ever wondered about the backstory to the numerous fight videos on the internet? Now you know.

Poor Billybob ended up getting divorced, with his wife getting a healthy sum of his money. He ended up having to transfer his job to someplace horrible like Lancaster or Nigeria because he was the laughingstock of all his workmates. Life pretty much sucked for him there on out. The moral of this story is that city centre flats are central, and all kinds of people will see you and it you will end up starring in a reality TV show called I Booked a Skank and Got Caught.

Skankysue's life was also about to get eventful, even more than it was already. She struggled to pay the outrageous rent on her flat, which was furnished with cheap Swedish furniture that might have been cool eleven years ago. Since it was a rental property, there was little opportunity for her to personalise the decor, making it her own. Council tax was also monstrous, even though her garbage was only collected once a month, and she regularly spotted rats on the street below. She had to take whatever clients called, even if she didn't like the sound of them, offering lower and lower rates in the hope of making ends meet. She desperately reverted to showing her face on her website. Her dream of being a high class escort was really starting to go wrong. But still she managed.

However, the incident with Billybob was the straw that broke the camel's back. Beavis the wily security guard looked through the CCTV tapes over the past six months, and saw to his delight that half a dozen suspicious looking men went in and out of Skankysue's flat every day. He'd heard of the possibility of escorts working from large city centre builds, and so had a look at websites to this effect, and, you guessed it, found our heroine.

He knew that he could never afford a piece of that action, so decided to do what people do when they have very little power; he went and did jobsworth stuff. He told her landlord what was happening. Her landlord investigated, and as required by law, evicted her. She could no longer rent from any of the big agencies because she'd been blacklisted by the one, so had to live somewhere a bit off the beaten path. This turned out to be a mixed blessing for Skankysue, since she now had a more discreet and secure place, with no one paying the least bit of attention to her.

So to conclude, Billybob's life was ruined, Skankysue went through a whole lot of hassle but it all turned out OK, and Beavis got to experience a tingly feeling in his tummy for exercising his authoritah. The end.

This is why I am willing to sacrifice the outer appearance of my incall flat. There are no cameras, no people around and no security guards. Even the car park is secluded. If you're really paranoid, there's a shopping centre nearby and you can park there. Because I don't have to focus on seeing clients at all costs, I can constantly strive to improve my services for you, whether in terms of awesome photos or hilarious blog entries. An uglyass 1960's building seems an awfully small price to pay for my investments.

Decisions, decisions....

2011-06-22T16:34:00.000+01:00

I'd like to take a minute or two to show my appreciation for what my clients go through to book me. A lot of escorts don't necessarily respect the amount of work that clients have to do in order to enjoy their time and companionship. Darla is well aware of the sometimes arduous process of booking her and all the steps involved.

1. First, you have to make the decision to hire an escort at all. Only about 10% of the British male population has ever hired an escort ever, so to take the plunge and book takes effort and willingness to do something that 90% of the population never do. This takes courage; while my profession remains legal, your friends and family might well frown if they found out you were hiring me. For some clients from other countries, you may be part of a larger minority, but still a minority, so the principle remains. For other foreign clients, hiring me in your own country may be illegal. Deciding to hire an escort involves overcoming religious and cultural taboos that the laws of your native country has imposed. Whether it is social stigma or draconian laws that you fear, deciding to hire an escort is a very big decision indeed.

2. You have to find an escort. This involves looking through hundreds of profiles on many different websites. You will see tons of glossy, suspicious pictures with their accompanying badly spelled blurbs. You will see realer polaroid photos accompanied by even more gibberish. You will see pink websites, you will see purple websites. Maybe some of them have even contained flowers or unicorns. Maybe you've looked at field reports for your area and some have seemed just a little too effusive. If I were a guy, I'd be tempted to get some socks and use my imagination.

3. You have to pick Darla. I am one of the most expensive escorts in Glasgow. Granted, I work hard for the money, with pictures, blog posts, websites, flat beautification, lingerie, makeup, marketing, and generally trying to improve my services in every way possible, but I recognise that there is STILL a risk that in hiring me everything will go wrong. I am myself a risk taker. I charge more than most girls in my area and have a unique appearance and attitude to life. My risks have paid off, and I endeavour to make sure that your decision to hire works out well for you.

4. You decide to book. For real. This involves deciding when you want to see me, how you want to see me, for how long, and what services you're after. That's a lot of work.

5. You have to contact Darla. Once you've decided to book me, you have to contact me. Some of you prefer to email me first, others just pick up the phone and chance it. This takes courage, effort, and ye olde bollocks.

6. Having contacted Darla, you have to decide to go through with the booking. Once you've called to arrange a booking, you still have to determine whether or not you think we're going to be a good match, however temporary. I never give out my address, but I do give an idea of the area. You have to decide that this is acceptable to you.

7. You have to show up for your booking. This is easier if this is an outcall, since you have to get cash, have your monthly shower, and wait. And be there when I show up. For an incall, you have to get cash, and make your way to Darla's palace. You may well be traveling a long way. Any way you cut it, work is involved.

One very important point is that at any stage, you can decide that I am not for you. I would prefer that if this is the case you make that decision sometime between stages 6 and 7 and give me at least an hour's notice. This is the adult entertainment industry and I recognise that sometimes the most adult thing anyone can do is admit it when they don't want to go through with a decision. Let me reiterate that I do appreciate everything my clients go through to hire me. I will do everything I can to make it worth your while.

My pimpin' flat!

2011-06-21T19:01:00.001+01:00

Those of you who have met me will be pleased to know that I have recently had my boudoir redecorated and it is absoloutely gorgeous! It is no longer a scary shade of seafoam green, and the carpet is soft and sensual, and I love squishing my toes in it. The bed has been replaced, as has much of the furniture. The lighting and curtains have been redone, and it has a seductive, almost film noir feel. It isn't quite as pretty as a Mardi Gras Indian, but it's still pretty damn pretty. You would never believe it was the same place. I'm still pinching myself! I'll have some sexy new pics done there so you can all get a look, but until then, you'll have to take my word for it.

The location is the same as before and has all the same free and discreet residential parking. It's a small building with no smarmy conceirge scoping you as you go in. I have no nosy bastard neighbours, and in fact, very few neighbours at all given that my close has only four flats. Personally, I've never seen any neds, chavs, trailer trash or tornado bait wandering about, although your experience may vary. However, I've had a few very early calls that have given me the impression that most people in the area actually work. The bottom line is that I've worked from this place for a good while now and nothing untoward has ever happened to me or to a client in that time.

The only downside? Glasgow has some lovely architecture, and unfortunately, from the outside, my flat is still NOT a good example of this. But I can assure you that it is a different world on the inside!

Why Darla avoids the drink.....

2011-06-19T18:53:00.000+01:00

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm not much of a drinker. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the very occasional glass of wine or a pretty cocktail with cool decorations. But excess drinking does not fit into my line of work, both in terms of my safety, and in terms of my ability to provide an attentive and excellent service to you. Indeed, most of my clients who have told me of bad experiences with escorts have said that it was all down to her being under the influence of Mr. Booze. However, from the video below I have learned that if you are a sex worker who consumes too much happy juice you will be magically transported to America and will end up passed out in a shopping cart, while some redneck puts groceries on you. This is not something I would ever want to happen to me, so as always, moderate Darla is moderate.

Hooker jokes

2011-06-18T21:03:00.001+01:00

I'm a great fan of jokes of all kinds, but for obvious reasons, industry related ones are a personal favourite.
Here's one I heard today:

A guy is walking along the strip in Las Vegas and a knockout-looking Vegas hooker catches his eye. He strikes up a conversation and eventually asks the hooker, "how much do you charge?"
The hooker replies, "it starts at $500 for a hand-job."
The guy says, "$500 dollars! For a hand-job! Holy crap! No hand-job is worth that kind of money!"
The hooker says, "Do you see that Denny's on the corner?"
"Yes."
"Do you see the Denny's about a block further down?"
"Yes."
"And beyond that, do you see that third Denny's?"
"Yes."
"Well," says the hooker, smiling invitingly, "I own those. And, I own them because I give a hand-job that's worth $500."
The guy says, "what the hell? You only live once. I'll give it a try."

They retire to a nearby motel. A short time later, the guy is sitting on the bed realizing he just experienced the hand-job of a lifetime, worth every bit of $500. He is so amazed, he says, "I suppose a blow-job is $1,000?"
The hooker replies, "$1,500."
"I wouldn't pay that for a blow-job!"
The hooker replies, "step over here to the window, big boy. Do you see that casino just across the street? I own that casino outright. And I own it because I give a blow-job that's worth every cent of $1,500."
The guy, basking in the afterglow of that terrific hand-job, decides to put off the new car for another year or so, and says, "Sign me up."
Ten minutes later, he is sitting on the bed more amazed than before. He can scarcely believe it, but he feels he truly got his money's worth. He decides to dip into the retirement savings for one glorious and unforgettable experience. He asks the hooker, "How much for some pussy?"
The hooker says, "come over here to the window, I want to show you something. Do you see how the whole city of Las Vegas is laid out before us, all those beautiful lights, gambling palaces, and show places?"
"Damn!" the guy says, in awe, "you own the whole city?"
"No," the hooker replies, "but I would if I had a pussy!"

Availability next week

2011-06-16T08:46:00.000+01:00

This is just a quick announcement. I will NOT be available at all on Monday 20th June, So, you can either book now, or book later. Oh behave!

Slutwalks and why I learned to stop working and love the cock

2011-06-13T14:42:00.001+01:00

Every day I am forced to add more stuff to the list of things that piss me off about about Slutwalks. Here's today's items, in no particular order.

Putting on clubwear and wandering around in broad daylight does very little more than provide living, breathing wank material for anyone who happens to see you. If I were a heterosexual male, I would find out where all the slutwalks were in the hopes of seeing some boobage, because that's how heterosexual men roll. There are already websites being made showcasing the best of slutwalks. Congratulations, bitches. You've shown off your hot bodies and no one even paid you for it. You have naked pictures of yourselves on the internet with your face showing, for your parents and your soon-to-be-former employers to see. What you laughingly call feminism is clearly the preserve of the independently wealthy. For the rest of us mere mortals, we have to earn a living and consider our reputations.

Depending on where your Slutwalk takes place, you may well be violating the public decency laws in your area, all because of some stupid remark an idiot cop made. You might spend the night in a jail cell with some Big Bertha eyeing you up the whole time, waiting to take advantage of you. Is this really worth it? For you, it probably is, since you don't have to worry about things that normal people have to worry about.

What is particularly offensive is the idea that these Slutwalks are reclaiming the word "slut," making it into "our word" that no man can use. No, dumbasses, "slut" is and always has been "our word" that we use against each other if only you weren't so blind, retarded and overpriveleged. Men only refer to women as sluts (as a bad thing) in certain limited contexts. For men, a slut is someone who isn't fucking you. Simples. It may be because she's run off with your best friend, or out of your league, but for men a slut is one thing. For women, "slut" is far more wide ranging. Sometimes it may be deserved, like if someone stole your honey like she stole your bike, but this is unlikely. For a woman, a "slut" is anyone better than she is in any context, and is often intended to make the victim's life so miserable that she will sacrifice anything to get away.

For example, I used to have a decent normal job and was really going places. Then some mean-spirited stupid old cow of an "administrator" decided to spread all sorts of untrue rumours about poor, virtuous Darla, namely, that I was a "slut". All of this was just because I was younger, cleverer, and had a much better set of cans than this menopausal ogre. I don't actually know if this hag was going through the change of life, but I do know that men had paused from looking at her a long time ago. The vicious sexual rumours did not actually hurt my feelings, but did make it awfully hard for me to do my job, since they seriously undermined my ability to gain the respect of colleagues. But although legally entitled it was not practical for me to file the lawsuit necessary because face it: who would ever believe that a woman would set out to harm another woman? We're all sisters, right? Wrong. The word "slut" is the preserve of women to use against other women, often with devastating effects.

Unlike some people, for whom work is just a game, I actually had to work to earn money to pay rent, bills, and really important lingerie. I decided to become an escort because at least in this job, I get far less sexual harassment than I did in my civilian employment. Because these protesters can actually use the word "slut" and not understand how harmful it can be is yet another indication that they are spoiled, sheltered and have no understanding of what it means to make your way in the world.

And for the record I have nothing against rich people. They pay my bills, after all, and are mostly very nice to me. But what I do have a problem with is entitlement, and for me that is what these slutwalks represent.

Slutwalks? Hmmmmmmmmm.......

2011-06-09T17:40:00.000+01:00

Darla does not do slutwalks. Darla is not a slut. Sluts do not get paid for "it." Darla does. Simples.

But in all seriousness, I have a bit of a problem with the concept of the slutwalk. For those of you who don't know, some mongoloid cop in Canadiastan told a group of college girls that if they wanted to avoid rape, they shouldn't dress like sluts. Rather than ignore this fuckwit and tell him to stop licking windows, the solution that the ladies at this seminar came up with is to arrange marches where women dress up like "sluts", wave sex-positive placards, and shout "grrrrrrrr" a lot.

Participants in these walks look like even bigger morons than the cop who made the remark. As I have said repeatedly in this blog, it is a basic of human psychology to ignore someone who's pissing you off. Very few people actually believe that a woman who gets raped deserves it if she dresses a certain way. The people who do are even dumber than people who watch Twilight or eat German beansprouts. Dignifying this nonsense with a response makes Darla facepalm. In fact, I think that slutwalks could potentially do a lot of harm to the cause of womyns. How does a college girl wearing a bikini top and shorts waving a poster saying "Sex is great LOL, and totally a choice," make women look anything other than stupid?

It is very hard to see what slutwalks actually do to help sexual assault victims. If the organisers of these so-called slutwalks actually wanted to help women, they would organise self-defence classes and advertise these through every means possible. This would send any potential attacker the clear message that women are strong and responsible. Setting up an organisation to make sure that women are educated on their legal rights should the worst happen would also help to ensure that more rapists go to jail. Campaigning for better street lighting and more police partols would also reduce sexual assault.

The problem of course, is that all of this would involve work, and work is no fun. It's a lot more fun to go out in broad daylight wearing a glittery boob tube and yell about how you're slutty and proud. To hell with women's safety, to hell with acting like adults; girls just wanna have fun, and slutwalks provide this.

Darla's Do's and Don't's

2011-06-07T22:31:00.000+01:00

This is quite possibly the most hysterical thing I have ever seen. It's well worth a watch, even though it's a full twelve minutes. It's been all over the papers today, and perhaps unsurprisingly, much comment has been made to the effect that the 1950's were a more innocent time, a time when children were not sexualised and boobies had not yet been invented. Here are Darla's thoughts.

First and foremost, the idea that the approach to dating and relationships is either the repressed 1950's model or today's Find it, Fuck it, Forget It mode is so ridiculous it hardly bears mentioning. Switch on your brains, people!

The mere idea that what teens need is an instructional video on how to date is comment-worthy in and of itself. I feel that if you are not ready to ask someone out without being excessively nervous or socially awkward, then it's a sign that you aren't ready, or that your gut is telling you that there's something not right about the object of your affection. These feelings can strike at any age and experience level and should always be taken seriously and as a sign to wait. No instructional video will save you.

The most striking thing is that the video presents the selection of a girl for a date as though it is a logical process of elimination. Avoid the pretty girl, for she will surely treat you like doodoo, for that is the way of the pretty girl. Avoid the quiet, studious girl; while she may be nice, she will surely be no fun and will certainly never have any hidden depths or interesting tricks up her sleeve. No, what you want is someone with a round, rubbery face, eyes that look in different directions, and an inability to keep from widdling her drawers in the presence of candy floss. Naturally the venue for the date will not be something even so banal as dinner and a movie, but a funfair aimed at people even more mentally challenged than the carnie folk. Hotdogs are an obvious food of choice, because it's not as though anyone over the age of 7 will refuse resolutely to eat hotdogs because a)They're gross b)they're full of chemicals c)they're gross and d) they're shaped like cocks and also gross.

Of course, in real life people of both genders date someone that they are attracted to, which, even if no sex ever takes place, really means that is someone who gives them a tickly feeling in their pants. It's a bit silly to pretend otherwise at the best of times, but this video presents not just a desexualised date, but one that is completely infantilised. We would laugh at the retro charm of a video that presented the hapless teens going to the diner and then dancing to the jukebox, but this pushes things to a new depth. The ideal date is of course, not to act like adults, and not to act even like teens, but to act like children with a chromosome surplus.

I find something particularly obscene about the need to desexualise. Sexuality is part of life. It's Darwinian. And yet instead of trying to handle sexuality responsibly, we try to pretend it isn't there, much to our detriment. It's not even as though we want to teach young people to delay sex, but to pretend it doesn't exist. I see parallels between this video and the modern desire to ban bras for teen girls even though they may develop quite young. We still insist on denying the most basic biological facts even though we are well into the 21st century. We do not live in an age where children are sexualised, but in an age where adults are infantilised. And I only thought the Dad's moustache in the video was creepy.

We're your boobs! We're gonna kill you!

2011-06-06T23:14:00.000+01:00

I've been thinking a bit more about the moral panic that's been going on as of late about sex on TV, and the bewailing about the loss of those good old-fashioned values on which we used to rely. I have come to the conclusion that people go batshit about sex, but violence is of no concern, and is even welcomed.

I have a passing interest in history, and a keen interest in 1940's fashions, and so it should surprise no one that I was watching the show Pacific the other night. I've been more than a little disappointed in the series, due to the lack of character development and the failure for the show to contain anything resembling a plot, but I digress. There was something trying to pass as a sex scene in the beginning of Saturday's episode, and oh boy, was it disappointing. The camera panned down, and just as I got my hopes up that I was going to get to see some boobage, the camera quickly jerked away. There followed an out-of-focus six second shot of a side boob, so I suppose that's something. But then the programme cut to a battle scene. At least 50 people get killed, each in more brutal and interesting ways than the last. Thanks to the miracles of CGI, we get to see a man's leg getting blown off, complete with flying CGI tendons. Several arms with creatively exploding blood bags get shot off, and at the end, the hero of the piece gets shot in the chest, and takes even longer to die than that homosexual elf in Lord of the Rings. But that's not all folks, He gasps and splutters for more than 10 minutes, before a trail of blood flows out of his mouth, and he finally dies. His body is then stomped on by fellow soldiers as they try to escape, wrenching off his arm in the process. It goes without saying that they are riddled with bullets and soon fall to the ground in agony. Thus ends the episode.

The moral of the story is of course that boobies and sex are bad, but violence is all OK. The show is all about the good guys, right? It's meant to educate the public about the horrors of war; after all, we have Tom Hanks' soothing commentary at the beginning of each show to tell us how to think. I don't know if this and other war programmes present an accurate depiction of the brutality of war. I've never been in one. And the thing is, neither have the producers of the show, or the people who draw computer generated flying bloody body parts for a living. The overwhelming majority of people have no idea whether or not the violence as depicted on TV is as it would be in real life, and so the only thing we can ask ourselves is whether or not we are entertained. Given that extreme violence, often computer generated, is broadcast without any thought as to whether it is real, generally bears no objection from the public, I think that the answer is yes. The fact that we get six seconds of real boob versus twenty minutes of make-believe carnage shows us exactly where the viewing public's priorities lie.

Pacific is only the latest in a long line of pop-cultural phenomena in which sex is presented as bad, but violence is good. A few years ago, one of the Grand Theft Auto games had a sex scene in it which was later cut by the producers for a variety of reasons, amongst them the potential for public blowback. And yet there was no outcry that this is one of the most violent video games ever made, a game that allows players to mug old ladies and beat up prostitutes. In the first few seasons of the Sopranos, we are regularly treated to the sight of strippers' boobies, but by the last season the strippers have vanished and we are left with gory, closeup shots of Tony's CGI open chest wound, which still manages to be less disgusting than ending the series with fucking screen of black.

So far I have stuck to fictional presentations of violence. But even in reality violence is still less objectionable than sex. We bask in the glory of the nation's sweetheart, Cheryl Cole, erstwhile presenter on the X-Factor, blindly admiring her so-called talent, and swooning at the rags-to-riches tale of her meteoric rise to fame. We choose to forget that she is a convicted criminal for a violent assault of a woman who happened to be from a non-white backgroud. We don't consider that anyone other than a celebrity would still be in prison, possibly for a racially motivated crime, and would have few career prospects upon release. We ignore the example that Cheryl Cole's violent history could set, or what lessons our children will take away from the fact that she is a violent criminal who essentially got away with it. No, there are far worse things on the X-Factor corrupting our children. As Cartman says, "Look out! There's some killer titties on the loose!"

Breaking the Law!

2011-06-04T22:09:00.000+01:00

Today I received an email via my site provider that there had been a complaint about my fetish site. The email was as follows:

This woman is running an illegal service using moonfruit to host her site

That's it, nothing more.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what is going on here. Some woman has caught her man checking out dear old Darla and boy is she angry. I had a look-see at my statistics, as I am wont to do, since they provide valuable information about who has accessed my site and whence. Most of my hits come via directories, and a few from wacky google searches. Others only state "no referring link," which means that someone has either bookmarked me in which case, thank you, or found me via their, or someone else's web history. I've had a bizzare number of these as of late, especially considering that the site only gets about two dozen hits a day, and many of these are from the United States, where they don't look too kindly on my profession, which could explain why my tormentor thinks I'm a no good crim.

I've made my professional response to this showing admirable restraint. Now for my unprofessional response, the email I wish I could write.

Dear Overweight Bucket-Cunt,

First and foremost, you are a cowardly, chicken-shit RETARD! I used to worry about getting angry calls, emails or text messages from irate WAGs telling me to stay away from their men. But instead of starting a virtual catfight, thus allowing Darla to test her claws, you go behind my soft and sensuous back and tattle to my web host. You are the definition of a bitch move. You can dish it out, but you can't take it. You knew you couldn't stand up to me so you sought out your own personal Crabbe and Goyle. You are truly pathetic.

So far I have established that you are a pussy. Now to establish that you have too many chromosomes. First of all, my profession is legal in in the area in which I practice. Secondly, my profession is legal in the jurisdiction in which my host's server is located. Thirdly, dozens of adult service providers use moonfruit for their sites. If moonfruit were to shut me down, they'd have to shut down everyone. Finally, since you believe that my profession is illegal, it stands to reason that you are located in a jurisdiction in which my profession is illegal. This means that it is illegal for you even to look at my site, you criminal scumbucket.

But what is this really about? Maybe if you pleased your man once in a while he wouldn't have to look elsewhere. Sure you'll never be as hot as Darla, but maybe if you lost ten stone and wore jeans that only had eleven days worth of food stains on them as opposed to two million, maybe your man wouldn't have to look at what are actually pretty tame pictures to get his rocks off. Clean the smegma out of your stretch marks. It's unbecoming. Also, kegel exercise are your friend. Men like friction. Men like friction a lot. They do not like to feel as though they are throwing a hotdog down a hall. Just sayin'.

As contemptable as you are, your man is not blameless. He's made a promise of fidelity to you and he has no right to reneg on this, no matter how fat and slack you get. True, I put the site up, and true my host provides the server space, but he's the one that went looking for me. Solution: take it up with him, and leave Darla alone.

Here are some fun facts about Darla. I run three websites, and their combined hits run to about 150-200 per day, with about 100 coming from individual computers. If even half of these guys booked me every day, my vajayjay would be as cavernous as yours. It's not. See above about the hoo-hoo excercises. Given your views on the law, I'm guessing that you are in the US of A. Rest assured that I don't see that many American clients, much to my great regret, as their tradition of tipping is much appreciated, but I digress.

What I am trying to say is that statistically, it is highly unlikely that your man has come to see me. He's just jerking off to my pictures. He may even be reading the site content because he's intellectual like that. OK, he's fapping. Get a fucking grip. Men masturbate, wank, choke their chickens, have a ham shank and crack out knuckle children, and they do this while thinking about women who aren't you. You don't have to like it, but dudette, get over it.

As always, escorting has always been legal in the UK. Harassment has never been legal. Take the hint.

Finally, fuck off. You must really have no life if you have the time to search through your man's browser history, find out who my host is, find their contact details, email them, and arrange for you email to be forwarded to me. Get a hobby.

Sincerely yours,

Darla

Scary boobies! Won't someone think of the children?

2011-06-04T12:56:00.000+01:00

Virtually all the newspapers are up in arms because of dirty, filthy, sexy performances on shows such as X-Factor and Britain's Got Talent. "Oh noeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!", they all cry. "What will this do to our poor, innocent children?" Here is Darla's take on the matter.

Above all else, I'd be concerned with a child watching these programmes in the first instance because they're freakin' retarded. Let me introduce you all to the innovative thing on your TV known as the "Off" button. This is really useful if there is a load of crap on the TV. In all seriousness, I do have a problem with the idea that what these programmes present is "talent." Singing and dancing are talents, but few of us are going to have careers in pop music. There are loads of other talents that are more likely to get you a job. Virtually all of the acts on these programmes have some sort of sad back story. What these programmes teach is that if bad stuff happens to you, then you can be a pop star. This idea is far more dangerous than boobies.

Back to the issue of boobies, there is no way to really prevent your child from seeing sexually charged pop-cultural images unless you lock them up in a padded room with no access to the outside world, which is not a realistic solution. As I have said in a previous post, lingerie does not sexualise children. In the same light, TV does not sexualise children. Puberty does. Nothing is going to stop this from happening, so the best solution is to just accept it and teach your child responsible ways to handle their sexuality, however difficult this may be.

The sexy outfits and questionable dance moves seen by pop stars today are not really any more scandalous than those of the past. The only difference between Christina Aguilera's capering and Madonna's gyrations is that Madonna thought of it first. If anything, today's stars lack originality. I'd be more worried about children thinking that this kind of thing is innovative, rather than the cliche it is. I'd venture that the reason that so many parents are so upset by the sexy images on TV today is that it reminds them of how young they were when they first started watching music videos themselves. This in turn, makes them feel old, which makes them want to infantilise their children so that they don't have to face up to how old they are.

As far as sexy outfits go, every generation produces these. Girls in the 1970's (rightly) horrified their mothers with their lack of bras. Flappers outraged their mothers with their tiny dresses, which are actually much shorter than many styles today. Cave teenagers probably scandalised their mothers by stitching ever-smaller animal parts together to make sexy cave getups. It is the purpose of the younger generation to upset the older generation using the poweful weapon of fashion. You'd think by now that old people would have figured this out and ignored their children's attempts to offend, but no.

Anyone who claims to be concerned about child welfare should cringe in horror at the number of children on such shows, paraded on national TV by their parents in the hopes that the child's "talent" will ensure that they themselves never have to work or, for example, NOT claim benefits even though their immigration status does not allow them to do so. Few of these children will ever go on to become successful performers, and if they do, fame will come at an incredible price. They will have spent their entire childhoods striving for a dream that will never come true, if for no other reason than that it isn't their dream. They will be left with no other skills, abilities, and no opportunities to explore any genuine talents they may have. Indeed, won't someone think of the children?

R U free?

2011-05-28T14:23:00.000+01:00

It really annoys me when I get texts like this. I'm always tempted to text back, "No, I'm expensive." I heard this joke today, and thought it was pertinent.

I walked into a brothel and asked if there were any women available.

The bloke behind the desk pointed to a huge fat girl and replied, "Vanessa's free."

I looked at her and said, "No offence love, I'd rather pay and shag someone fit."

Long bookings are long...

2011-05-28T14:05:00.000+01:00

I've been getting a few requests lately for long bookings, so feel the need to comment on the subject.

My minimum booking time is an hour and remains as such. This is because I don't think I could manage much more than a wham, bam, thank you ma'am with any less. I have no objection to the girls that offer this kind of service, but it's just not how I do things. Two hours is quickly becoming my most popular service, and allows us time to get to know each other while still providing that essential feature of GFE, making it up as we go along. I have also acquired enough tricks up my sleeve to keep you entertained for two hours.

Longer bookings, say three hours, are imminetly do-able, but require a bit more forward thinking, unless we've met before. If we haven't met, I do appreciate a plan from you. Dinner/social date bookings are one example of this, but if you have a specific fantasy or role play that you feel requires three hours, then this is perfectly welcome. If you don't have a specific plan, that's fine, but I may ask you to book for two hours to see how we get on. This is to avoid both of us getting embarrassed if three or more hours turns out to be too much. I do not exactly expect to get paid to talk; however, conversation is part and parcel of a longer booking, unless you have the stamina of a bull, and a really horny one at that. Do think about things you'd like to talk about and what limits you may have.

Overnights are another matter entirely. While I do not expect to get paid to sleep, and while definitely not a virgin, I am not capable of having wild monkey sex for eight hours straight. I have had exactly one overnight booking in my entire escorting career and it was a long time ago, so I cannot claim I have any experience in how these things "work". Given the sums of money involved, it is definitely in your interest to have a clear idea of how you'd like to spend your time.

There is among some escorts and clients the belief that longer booking are the "right" way to do business, and somehow "classier" than shorter appointments. My take on this is that as long as you respect my minimum standards (price, booking times, respect) you are doing business correctly. As far as classiness goes, see above picture.

Nice guys finish last?

2011-05-15T15:05:00.002+01:00

I have never intended to set myself up as an expert on gender politics, but merely to offer comment on this issue as I see fit, using the unique insight that my profession provides with a goodly dose of humour. Attempting to understand the male psyche is also a means of securing business, and is a skill that I will develop over time. And so, without further delay, I will attempt to answer the age-old question, "Why don't women go for nice guys?"

The main reason for this is experience. We have all met men who have talked a good game about how frickin' nice they are, only to find that this isn't quite the case. They need not be axe murderers or people who talk in theatres, but setting yourself up as the resident Nice Guy will be a sure fire way to get yourself branded as a hypocrite once the tiniest flaw is revealed. And no one likes a hypocrite. We all have flaws and they all come out sooner or later. I don't sell myself as a sophisticated courtesan because there will always be forks whose purpose evades me. Creating a too-perfect self-image will always end in catastrophe.

I am hardly the only person to comment on the Nice Guy myth. A lot of commentators on the subject will say that Nice Guys are doormats, whereas women want someone who is a bit more of a MAN, and that she will therefore seek out the Asshole at every turn. This isn't the Nice Guy's fault per se, but just evolution; after all, women are genetically pre-programmed to go after muscly, mannerless, meatheads for the good of the species. I think that this is a load of crap. Firstly, the world isn't divided up into neat piles of Nice Guys and Assholes, but this is so obvious I feel it is an insult to your intelligence to say so. The problem with Nice Guys isn't that they are nice, but the tendency to talk the talk without walking the walk. But this isn't even the start of it.

All women at some point or another come across the Nice Guy who has had very bad luck with women. He has no idea why this is the case. Why on earth would women not be congregating in his jock strap, given that he is such a Nice Guy? Victimhood is not attractive. Neither is entitlement. We all have bad luck with the opposite gender unless we're gay, in which case we have bad luck with the same gender.

Indeed, from what many of the Nice Guys I have met have told me about their past relationships, I have come to one conclusion: Nice Guys do not go for Nice Girls. Every ex-girlfiriend of every Nice Guy seems, from what I have been told, to be double super evil, and will do things like talk really loudly on her mobile on a crowded train or take the last pink donut from the Marks And Spencer bakery aisle, even though poor Darla has been waiting her turn patiently in the queue, and the donut is rightfully hers. But the Nasty Ex-Girlfirends of Really Nice Guys always seem to have super big titties or were really willing to put out on the first date. And why, oh why, oh why would they take advantage of the poor Nice Guys? Nice Guys are nice, don't you know? And we're back to victimhood. There is also the issue of hypocrisy here; there is nothing morally wrong with liking to look at boobies or getting tang on the first date, but this is hardly consistent with the wholesome image that Nice Guys like to project.

One mistake a lot of Nice Guys make is to behave as a friend towards a lady, encourage or allow her to believe that he is just a Friend-Boy, only, after weeks and months of friendship, to announce that he wants to be her Boyfriend. The woman will naturally see this as a betrayal of the friendship, and run away screaming. I do not actually blame Nice Guys for this behaviour. I will put the blame on Relationship Advice, whether it comes from a friend, family member, agony aunt, or a professional who really should know better. There is a common myth that all sucessful marriages/long term relationships start out as pure and innocent friendships. From personal experience a lot of this myth originates with the parents of young teeneagers, who do not want to admit to their precious darlings that relationships start out with physical attraction, to wit SEX! Denying the existence of sexuality in a relationship is a dangerous thing, and yet a common practice.

So what can one conclude from all of this? Firstly, women really do like nice guys, but talking about this has an air of protesting too much. There is a flipside to all of this: I have personally encountered many Nice Girls who do not live up to the title, but that's a novel, not a blog post. Which brings me to my next point: relationships are complicated, but an escort will only cost you money. I know a really hot one in Glasgow....

Ejumucashum are make you SMART! LOL!

2011-05-13T22:33:00.000+01:00

My stat obsession continues. Today I received a hit from the search term "how to ask an escort for bareback." In an of itself this is bad enough, but it came from what is meant to be a bastion of academic excellence (or something) to wit, Purdue University. Purdue? More like Purdon't.

Injunctions? You won't need them

2011-05-11T15:09:00.000+01:00

I've said it before, I'll say it again, discreet Darla is discreet. There is no situation in which I would ever talk to the press, no matter how famous the client is. As I have said before, this is not because I am nice, but because I am greedy and just a little bit lazy.

Let's look at things logically. I enjoy having a trouble free life. A famous client would therefore be in my interest. The famous client does not want anyone to know what he's up to and therefore will cause no trouble for me. He will be prompt with payment and go out of his way to be polite. Once the celebrity client forms a bond of trust, he is highly unlikely to book another escort, therefore providing financial security in a business where this is difficult to achieve. Further to this, celebrities have very little free time, and this tends to come at predictable times, allowing for stability in an unstable business. There is the small matter that famous people have money in a turbulent economic environment, and I do love me some money.

Laying out these arguments in favour of celebrity clients, why, why, WHY would anyone want to betray their confidence? One could argue that newspapers will pay for stories, but this is incredibly short-sighted. Killing the goose that laid the golden egg comes to mind.

Then there is the issue of my reputation if I were to go to the press. I have a few more years of escorting left in me, for sure. But there will come a time when I would like to move on. This would be nearly impossible if I were to have the rep for being a loudmouthed, gossipy attention seeker. What employer would ever hire a former escort who has blabbed her story to the newspapers? No one good. There is also the small matter that I wouldn't want to find myself at the wrong end of a slander or libel case, no matter how unlikely prosecution is. Further to this, journalists aren't always the nicest people, particularly at the low end. They can turn on you just like anyone else.

So far I have made it clear that I am in touch with my inner objectivist. But that doesn't mean that I am devoid of a conscience. Many of my clients come from countries where prostitution is illegal. I am not willing to send anyone to prison, or worse, for the hiring of my services. Even if the client is from a more liberal country, does he really deserve to have his reputation and family life ruined for the legal business of hiring an escort?

In short, you will not need to take out any injunctions against me because I am motivated by capitalism above all things. I enjoy having a quiet life, and look forward to moving on to other ventures when the time comes. And sometimes, just sometimes, I get the urge to do the right thing.

What goes on at bookings?

2011-05-07T14:11:00.000+01:00

This is a question that a few people ask, but nearly everyone thinks. The intricate workings of an escort bookings and how things progress are a funny thing when you stop to think about it. Exactly how does one go from meeting someone for the first time to more passionate things altogether? For my part, I'm still not too sure. In the past, I have answered the question "What happens?" with "Whatever you like (within reason), it's your booking." But thinking this over I'm not sure that's completely helpful, especially for the confused newcomer. Nor is giving a list of services. This doesn't give any idea as to what my general approach is to handling a booking. So without further delay, here are some of my approaches. They are neither right nor wrong, just what I do.

Obviously discreet attire is a must for an outcall. But for incalls,the rule remains. I never answer the door in my underwear/stripper clothes/PVC. My neighbours would catch a free glimpse and Darla does not work for free. Nor would I want there to be any sexual contact before the money is handed over. Capitalism is the very air I breathe. The next is an issue of fairness. My clients arrive fully clothed, and I do the same. Men are visual creatures and opening the door in any state of undress before the action begins creates an uncomfortable atmosphere. Thirdly, not all of my clients want sex. Most do, but not all. It's a lot easier to take clothes off than put them on. Lastly, men and women are pretty similar. Apart from El Guapo, most men know what foreplay is, and actually enjoy it, and a good deal of teasing and unwrapping is the order of the day.

Along the same lines, I will not pounce on you the second the cash is handed over. While I won't talk up your time unless specifically asked, I do like to spend at least a few minutes getting to know you and finding out your preferences. I like to make sure that my customers walk away pleased, as before, for purely economic reasons. Also as before, not all clients want sex, and not all clients want all kinds of sex. On a more personal note, I am not a particularly sexually aggressive person, nor am I a character from Sex and the City. The Porn Star Experience is fine for some, but not for me. Besides, I don't know how I'd keep from laughing!

Like most escorts, I provide condoms. I store these within reach but always discreetly. You will not find condoms tucked into my stockings or knickers or between my boobs. I mean, come on. I only ever use branded ones and absolutely nothing coloured or flavoured. You will not walk away with a green dick that smells of apples.

Nor do I keep toys or BDSM paraphernalia hanging about. I'd be in the wrong business if I were a prude, but there's a time and place for these things, and I do think that leaving them about is pretty much the same as answering the door naked.

As I think about it, I am more or less describing the so-called "Girlfriend Experience" as I see it. I think that it is very important to present myself to my clients as human first, sex professional later. Likewise my clients are human first, and clients later. I tend towards a more subdued, relaxed approach rather than something more in-your-face and raunchy. For me, GFE is about an overall atitude rather than a list of services, and more than being a sex worker who "does kissing."

Curse you slanderous trolls! Or not.

2011-05-01T15:08:00.000+01:00

Escorting is very much a people-centred business, so much so, that sometimes I think I should be given an honourary degree in psychology. But it does not take a genius to figure out that when someone is trying to annoy you, the worst thing to do is get angry, and an even worse thing to do is to let them know you are angry. Think back to your time at school. Did you ever notice that the shoutiest, screamiest teachers always had the worst behaviour problems in class? This is because angry people are absolutely hilarious. The inability to control emotions leaves you open to exploitation and puts you into the control of others. Letting someone know they're pissing you off is like telling them they own you, and have the ability to make you rage for their own amusement. The above clip is a near perfect demonstration of this phenomenon. If only the screeching Jersey lady had never screeched, then we would not have this example of comedy. I'm not sure whether it's a good thing or a bad thing! Likewise if Chris Chan had the social skills to realise that people pick on him because he reacts, he would not be plagued with so many slanderous trolls.

But where does this leave Darla? As an escort, I am fully aware that prank calls are part and parcel of the business. There's very little I can do when people decide to call up and act like wee fannies. But what I can do is control my reaction, and therefore ensure that there is not much point in calling and attempting to annoy me. I am also fully aware that some of my would-be pranksters are of the type who get off on being humiliated, and try to provoke a reaction from me in order to get my services for free. As a BDSM practitioner, I am fully aware that this is called bottoming from the top, and yet some people do not seem to think that I am aware of the most basic features of the industry. More fools them.

There is also the issue that one never knows whether a call is being recorded. Although this would be highly illegal, once something is out, it's out. Therefore I do not engage with trolls, especially on the phone. This is because I am motivated by making money, and am not particularly interested in drama. I also have no desire to be internet famous. Cyber fame is difficult to live down and the last I heard, it doesn't pay well. People who fall for the tricks of trolls are hilarious, and I have no problem laughing aloud with gusto. I suppose I should feel bad about laughing at people who are being bullied, but by the age of five, we've all seen how funny and inept angry people can be. Trolls, bullies and pranksters only exist if we allow them to exist.

Man problems Part II: Body image

2011-04-21T14:44:00.000+01:00

Like all women, I have a million things I don't like about my body, or at least I did, until I started escorting. What I have discovered through escorting is that I only thought I had body image problems. From my personal experience I can say for certain that men have them much, much worse.

Take for instance body hair. Body hair has been the bane of my existence for most of my life, and I fight a near daily battle to rid myself of it. But this is not meant to evoke pity, since a man who hates his body hair actually is in a much bigger predicament than I am. It is perfectly socially acceptable for a woman to seek hair removal. Go into any chemist and you'll find millions of products in all manner of lady-friendly pink pretty packaging. Personally I do not use salons but the option is there. Men have far fewer options when it comes to over-the counter methods of hair removal. The now thankfully defunct Queer Eye for the Straight Guy introduced us all to the concept of "manscaping" but all this did was to open up a whole new can of nervous, insecure worms; namely that insecurities over one's body hair were somehow gay, and that wanting do do something about them was even gayer. From personal experience I can tell you that if every man who was insecure about his body hair was gay, then it would be the end of the human race.

Scars are a major source of male insecurity. The number of clients who have asked me if I'm OK with their barely visible scars is quite shocking. Women however, often expect to have either a hysterectomy or a Caesarean at some point. Most of my female clients have had these things and generally carry on as though it is no big deal. Men however, do not expect surgery, and in my experience are quite distraught about this.

Skin troubles are another source of agony for men. Women can cover anything up with makeup, while men do not generally have this option. Weight troubles are a misery for men in ways that women can only imagine. When I've eaten too much lunch I can put on a corset and give my boobies a lift into the bargain. While male corsetry has a fascinating history, today it is the preserve of transsexuals and fetishists.

We now return to our old friend, or more likely enemy, of performance anxiety. Women expect to spend at least one week out of the month unable to function sexually. Men expect to have all erections all the time, and when this doesn't work out it's a source of misery and embarrassment.

To top all of this off, there is the issue that is it not generally socially acceptable for men to talk about their insecurities. With women, it is almost an expectation. To compound things, women think that body insecurity is the preserve of their gender, and it doesn't occur to most women that men feel the same way about themselves. I didn't even know about this problem until I became an escort. The long and the short of it is that men generally will suffer alone and in silence with their insecurites and will not be able to seek any solutions, however simple.

So far I have outlined the problem. But what's the solution? I would advise all insecure men to lower their expectations. We all have flaws and it's part of being human. Seeking a solution to your flaws doesn't make you gay. I'd be out of business if this were the case. No matter how hairy you think you are, I've seen someone hairier. Hire an escort. Money makes you attractive!

Glamourising prostitution

2011-04-11T15:21:00.001+01:00

Many accusations have been hurled at the recently finished series Secret Diary of a Call Girl; chief amongst them is that the programme glamourises prostitution. I have only ever watched the first 10 minutes of the first show, turning it off for no other reason than its sheer stupidity. Porn channels are more high brow. But that painful 10 minutes was quite enough for me to form some opinions.

I do not feel that the show glamourises prostitution. The fact that escorting is glamourous glamourises the profession. I would defy anyone to argue that walking into a five star hotel dressed to the nines with perfect hair and makeup isn't glamourous. Some clients are wealthy and high achieving; others have saved up for one big night; still others have slinked away from the office for a nooner. Any way you cut it, when someone pays you hundreds of pounds for your time and companionship, often going out of his way to do so, it makes you feel like you're the centre of the universe. Add fetish to the mix, and you've learned the dark and dirty secrets of the pillars of your community. Being discreet, you'd never whip and tell, but that doesn't make the gossip any less juicy.

So far so good. While I do not believe that the show glamourises prostitution in an absolute sense, there are many aspects of the show that do overblow things. From one of the many online episode recaps, I learned that we are told that Belle makes just over £100,000 a year. Evn after taxes she'd still make a lot of money. This is well above the national average, and definitely a good sum relative to the work done. But Belle lives in a penthouse flat that is worth millions. Renting, or goddess help us mortgaging, a place like that is not going to happen for someone who makes even the very tidy sum she makes, especially considering that she is self-employed. Nor is someone who grosses that amount going to be able to afford Louboutin heels, or any of the designer clothes that Belle so frequently wears. In short, inconsisteny bugs me.

Of course, I do not make nearly as much as Belle du Jour makes. Few escorts do, and outside of London, I'd venture to guess that it's impossible to make that amount. To put it another way, in order to get £100,000 a year, and therefore £2000 a week, I'd have to see over 10 clients a week, assuming they each book an hour. That's 40+ clients a month, and 480+ per year. My vagine is starting to hang like a wizard's sleeve just thinking about that. Joking aside, I do not think that seeing that number of clients is sustainable in the long run.

Escorting is far preferable to the last real job I had, but it isn't going to be forever. It has proved to be a good short to medium-term way to earn a good sum of money and reassess other aspects of life, and to plan for the future. I've definitely got a few more years of escorting left in me. But I do feel that the recognition that this wonderful profession is not necessarily a lifetime one is notably absent from the TV series. The money and free time that escorting provides is an opportunity to move on to bigger and better things.

In short, I do not think that Secret Diary of a Call Girl encourages or glamourises my profession. But it does leave a lot of questions unanswered.

Show me your nipples!

2011-04-08T17:30:00.000+01:00

Well, well, well. The joker has returned. Except this time, he, or for that matter she, or maybe even a tranny, has found me under the search term "darla glasgow show me your nipples." Fine. You win. Not only do you feature in my blog, as I think has been your goal, but I am in fact showing not just you, but everyone, my nipples. Aren't they lovely? You're welcome.

It's my hot body...I do what I want!

2011-04-06T13:09:00.000+01:00

It is a golden rule of escorting that anything you say you don't do, dozens of people will call up wanting. Some of these people are just retarded, which is fair enough, since stupidity isn't exactly something one can help. But if you aren't enough of an adult to read my website, allowing you to pay me for my time and companionship is just child abuse.

Others think that by asking annoying questions that I will get angry, which will provide endless hours of LOL's. These people think that I'm retarded. Having been a human for 31 years, and therefore understanding human nature, I have learned that it is never a good idea to let someone know they're pissing you off. People say and do hilarious things when they are angry and tormentors know this. It's all in the game. If you call and ask for a service I don't provide, I will refer you to the "Search by Service" device on Adultwork, and politely hang up the phone. I'll even smile while doing so. You'll hear it in the tone of my voice.

Still others think that they are special, and that they deserve an exception. They are special all right, but not in the way they think. This type will often call several times just to prove how dedicated he is. "If I call her enough times, then she will do what I want," he retardedly thinks. Having failed at this, as in so much else, he may purchase enough SIM cards to make Stringer Bell look normal. But Darla will prevail. And he will have fuckloads of SIM cards. Epic win for Darla!

This brings us to the negotiators. For example, I had a guy ask for filming on the promise that he wouldn't film my face. The most hilarious ones want anal because they aren't very big. While I have no problem believing the last bit, the fact remains, there is one reason and one reason only that I don't do what I don't do: Because I Don't Want To.

It's true. The only reason I don't do what I don't do is because I don't want to. There are no complicated reasons like safety, disease control or discretion, but only the Will of Darla. You can argue with reasons, you can't argue with a made up mind. In the immortal words of Cartman, "Whateva, whateva..........I do what I want!"

Escort advertising through the ages

2011-04-03T14:14:00.001+01:00

Hello again! I know I haven't blogged in a while, but spring is most definitely springing, and this is often a very busy time of year, not that I'm complaining. I do recommend that wherever possible that my clients either book in advance or prepare to be flexible on times and dates. I still can take more impulsive calls; after all, you miss all the chances you don't take!

But enough touting. This week is significant in the history of the escort industry since it marks the fall of the Daily Sport, which has apparently been in decline for quite some time. This got me to thinking about escort advertising and its history.

I recently finished a most delightful book called A Shapely Ankle Preferr'd: A History of the Lonely Hearts Ad 1695-2010. Since teenagehood I have always loved to have a good laugh at personal ads, and was thrilled to find a collection dating so far back, the majority of which are absolutely hilarious. While this book mostly concerns adverts for more long-term relationships, one of the things I learned was the extent to which courtesans used lonely hearts ads in order to get clients. In fact, the ability to write and pay for an ad was a considerable status symbol, and was the thing that separated high-class courtesans from the street and brothel prostitutes.

Similar divisions exist today, but are not quite as stark, and tend to change rapidly. Speaking from my own experiences, escort advertising has changed drastically since I started out three years ago. While my agencies all had websites, they were very much secondary to Daily Sport ads. Few of my clients even owned computers, and many did not know, or in fact care what they were getting. I fondly remember an agency interview which lasted several hours because the agent had to answer the phone at least a dozen times and give a lengthy description of all available girls. Few of these calls ever seemed to amount to anything. The agent then explained that the reason he took 40% of my earnings was that he had to spend many hours a day on the phone, and it should be clear to me that his commission was earned. There was also the issue that the agency spent £1500 a month on advertising, so it was clear where my money was going. Another unspoken issue was that the agent, being male, would not attract clients wanting to call and talk dirty. If I as a single female were to do the unthinkable and set up on my own, I would essentially be starting up my own free phone sex line and we wouldn't want that to happen, now would we?

That said, this method seemed to work for the agent in question, and for a time it worked for me. But as credit suddenly became crunchier and money became scarcer, clients became increasingly picky, and the agent's phone descriptions no longer worked as a means of getting business. Clients wanted lots of recent pictures and detailed descriptions. The internet had killed the agency star. It was time to go independent.

It never even occurred to me to use printed advertising. As far as I was concerned, newspapers were a 1970's institution used by people with a 1970's approach. It was not that I was "too good" for the humble Daily Sport, but I was a 21st century Darla. There was also a more selfish element. I still get retarded phone calls asking me what I look like. Every time this has happened I've counted my blessings that I wasn't in the Daily Sport, getting dozens of these calls a day.

I carefully researched my options for websites and internet advertising, and found that internet escort advertising was filled with tragicomic attempts at separating the courtesans from the common prostas. Clients would refuse to see a girl who had the cheek to use a free server like Moonfruit, as the the failure to pay out megabucks to a male webdesigner, who would gladly take payment in kind, showed a patented disregard to the good and honest working men who payed hundreds of pounds for their services. Adultwork was not an option for a classy lady because it was also free. Having your site covered in backlinks was another no-no; what you really needed was to pay an SEO specialist who probably couldn't spell SEO.

I disregarded all of this. Webmasters and SEO idiots were little more than pimps by different names. There were some sites I paid for advertising, but only as and when it suited me. There was no point in going independent if I spent the same amount on advertising that I paid to the agent. What this week has taught me and should teach everyone is that depending on a single means of advertising can have disastrous consequences. We live in a modern world and there is little sense in using outdated and inefficient means of getting business. This also applies to the internet. For my part, I'm already identifying websites that are expensive and outdated.

I do feel bad for anyone who has paid in advance for an ad that will never be shown. We have truly reached the end of an era. One can never underestimate just how suddenly an era can end.

Darla don't care.....

2011-03-18T16:54:00.000Z

.....and neither does the honey badger. Enjoy!

Darla does not have sausage fingers! Or man toes!

2011-03-17T16:15:00.001Z

One of my favourite things is to go through my search statistic counter and find the hilarious search terms that people use to get to my sites. I am also fascinated to find where my clients come from and what search engines and ISP's they use. If you are using a home computer, this information is fairly anonymous, but if you access me from work, the company name is often given.

I've had some doozies over the past few months, but yesterday someone at a MAJOR world bank found me using the search term, "darla glasgow sausage fingers." I have flaws, chief among them that I'm just too fucking sexy, but sausage fingers? That's just horrid. How are you gonna say Darla has sausage fingers? My fingers are lovely and long, perfect for stroking your warm, hard MONEY as you pay me for my exquisite time and companionship.

But today I recieved a search terms from the same corporation which left me in no doubt that the proper collective word for bankers is a "wunch." (This is of course, excepting bankers who book me. You guys are awesome!) That's right folks, the same demented individual found me under the search term "darla glasgow man toes." Please feel free to correct me, but I'm fairly certain none of my pictures even show my toes, which is a shame because they are very pretty and always painted. It would be a very strange man indeed who has toes like mine.

What baffles me is how anyone can come up with such odd search terms. What kind of person can even think of that? I can't decide whether I'm offended at such nasty terms used to find me or whether I actually want to meet the person who is capable of coming up with such things. I can't wait to see what they come up with tomorrow.

P.S Happy St. Patrick's Day! I have chosen a photo that is suitable green for the occassion. And yes, I will wear it for anyone who books today. Pinching is just not my thing. Nor is green beer. Just sayin'.

Evil bras! Won't someone think of the children!?

2011-03-14T23:10:00.000Z

Every so often there is a new story about a retail outlet selling fashionable bras aimed at little girls. The knee jerk response of oh, everybody, is to wail and moan about the horrific sexualisation of children, and how little girls should just be alowed to be little girls, free from the evil of the BRA. The BRA!

My response is slightly more sane, and will be relayed here in no particular order. While I will not pretend to speak for everybody, I will speak for myself.

If my eight year old self had seen some of the lingerie that my thirty year old self wears, her reaction would have been highly logical and calculated, to wit, "Ooooh! Pretty!" Eight year old Darla would not have understood the sexual connotations that adults apply to the bra, but would only have seen the lace and satin. Thus a bra would not have destroyed my fragile innocence, but would rather have been a manifestation of it.

Breast pain can strike at a very young age, before puberty is even thought of. This happened to me, and personally I would have killed for a soft padded bra even at the age of eight. I would not go so far as to say that a lack of a bra deprvied me of my childhood, my precious, precious childhood. However one of these bras would have made things a lot more comfortable. As much as bras are sexualised, and indeed I am guilty of this, they do have a definite utilitarian purpose, and I would never want to be without one.

Small and training bras have always been available, but no one really gets upset until they are fashionable or pretty. Indeed, the first bra that I was sentenced to wear at the age of twelve, after years of pain, was a white monstrosity that snapped at the front. This was literally the most disgusting thing I have ever seen, and I still feel sick thinking about it. Its horrible itchy fabric and poor fit taught me exactly one thing, namely that my sexuality was a source of shame, designed to be hidden in a soon-to-be-grey cotton prison.

Bras do not sexualise children. Puberty does. My first bra was designed with one purpose in mind; to pretend that sexuality wasn't happening, but with the ostensible purpose of extending my already bygone childhood. It did not deprive me of my childhood, but it did deprive me of any joy at what it a very difficult time in life.

The problem with attractive or fashionable bras for young girls is that they do the unthinkable; they make puberty tolerable. Bras are very much a fact of life, so why not have fun with them?

Happy Mardi Gras!

2011-03-08T17:37:00.000Z

Today is Mardi Gras, otherwise known as Beads and Boobies Day. Or at least it should be. And no, Darla is not giving up anything for Lent. As far as Darla is concerned, Lent is that fuzzy annoying stuff that clings to her black lacy lingerie. That is all.