Saturday, 7 March 2015
Delle de Jour
The Diary of a London wheeler and dealer.
Nice little earner this call boy lark, Rodders. The manager - madam, if you will - takes 30%. Tips and travel expenses are exempt from her commission. The client usually pays an extra 30-50 pounds on top of the agreed price for travel. About a quarter of 'em tip. Cushty!
I have only seen the madam in person a handful of times. I prefer to pay the spondulicks in to her account, and she knows I am reliable with it. Some of the other lads she meets at restaurants or at home or down the Black Horse, but she ain't comin' back to our grotty little flat in Nelson Mandela Mansions, I'll tell you that for nuffink, my son!
Most other WBs I have met do not work for the same agency and are usually friends-of-friends. I only meet others from my agency if someone hires two of us at a go - Mange tout de Triomphe, Rodders! As we say in the trade. We arrive and leave in seperate transportation, and know nothing of each other beyond professional names, which is just as it should be. Honi soit qui malibu, Rodders.
I have never had an overtly negative review reported to the manager. My clients are not usually drunk and I have not yet run into an abusive one. We are instructed that if they are abusive, we take the money, ring the manager, and leave. They are instructed by her that if we find them objectionable, we leave. Bish bosh! You might say I'm lying, or have been extremely lucky. You might also say that I have some skill in putting people at ease. But I've never had a spot of bother. Apart from when one old bag recognised me down Peckham market and wanted a refund on some dodgy inflatable Korean carp I'd flogged her. Said she'd put 'em straight in her pond and they were all dead. Dozy mare! Still, Cherchez la femme, eh Rodders? Cherchez la femme!
I do get a bit nervous about clients if they've changed the location or time of the liaison more than once. In these instances the agency provides security, or I ask Trigger to drive and guard me. I bung him a pony out of me pocket for this. If you want the bestest but you don't ask questions, brother, he's your man. Nastro azurrio, my son!
Do I kiss clients? Of course I do, you plonker! Pretty Woman is not real. Comprendez? Fiction. Richard Gere is not really a gigolo. You're thinking of David Hemmings in American Gigolo, Rodders.
Refusal to kiss is an affront similar to fake porn lesbians who won't put their tongues anywhere near a pussy, but are perfectly happy to shove a fist up one. Denial is not just a river in Egypt, Rodders. I don't hold back. Kissing is no more intimate than any other act - intimacy is what the mind does, not the body. Outlandos d'amour, Rodders.
Now, where are me low-waisted flesh-coloured lace knickers (La Perla). What do you mean they're in the wash, Rodders? You plonker!
// posted by delle @ 3:21 PM