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For six months I gave myself over to The House, an exclusive gentlemen’s club. Each of the men from Escorts Belgravia contributed a certain amount every month in order to come to The House and have their wishes fulfilled. They would chose whom they wanted from a catalog which outlined what each of the girls was open, willing, interested in, or expert in; which also included reviews from previous partners.The application process was the first interesting and intimating experience. Not only was there an exhaustive list of things that I would or would not be willing to do, including check boxes for ‘open to learning more’; but then there was the physical exam, as the Members required only the cleanest bill of health. Here I was worried, as I have other medical concerns that are non-communicable. I was sure that these would rule me out; but in the end they were considered manageable and the medical staff merely made a note of them all in my file to be sure to keep an eye out for warning signs of a bigger issue.Once the medical and legal fine print was dealt with, I was called back for the first stage of the personal interview. I was shown into a rather sterile looking room, all white walls, with only a chair for me to leave my clothes on. Once I was undressed, I wrapped myself in the towel provided and waited. In only a few minutes two people entered the room, one woman, and one man. The man was holding a camera and the woman was holding a tablet to look at the pictures as they were taken. I was told to stand with my arms by my sides and very slowly turn in a complete circle. [Later I learned that those women who did anything more than they were strictly told to do were immediate disqualified.] After slowly completing my circle, the woman told me to lift my arms, then to turn with my arms out at shoulder height, the list went on and on, the whole process taking about an hour, as they made sure to get an image from every position possible while remaining very aloof and sterile. After we completed the pictures I was told to redress myself and wait for the next interviewer.The next interviewer was another woman, Irene, she escorted me from the white room to a very feminine office, with couches and a small desk in the corner. The kind of office you would think of when visiting a very high priced shrink. And as it was, that’s exactly what she was. The staff therapist. She screened candidates for their mental health and whether or not they would be suited for the sort of work and lifestyle I was applying for. She explained to me that there are all sorts of women who apply for the position and that it’s her job to make sure that they are suited not only to the position, but to living in the house with the other girls, as the primary concern of all the staff was to make sure that when the Members came to The House they had as nearly worry free an experience as possible. I met with the therapist three times in total, the first two appointments were separated by a two week period, and the last two only by a few days.At the end of our last meeting I was deemed a good candidate for the house, and now it was time to move on to a more intimate interview. It is the privilege of each member to bid on the pleasure of being someone’s first in The House. I equated this to something like the Geisha book where men bid to be the first to deflower a woman; but here there was no delusion that the woman might be a virgin, in fact virgins were not allowed to apply. Irene had told me to pack an overnight bag before I came to my last meeting with her. She said I should only pack comfortable clothes that I would like to wear afterwards, but that any specific wardrobe requests were handled by The House itself and that I needn’t worry about looking appealing.After we finished talking, she lead me to a very nice bed room, nothing too fancy, and told me that this was the Interview room, and assured me that if I were offered a position that I would have a much nicer suite of rooms of my own in The House (which by the way was located elsewhere on a private estate). Irene told me that I was to change into the clothes left in the closet, put away my own bag, and then relax and wait for my Interviewer.

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Have you ever noticed, when someone tells you to ‘just relax’ that that is the absolute last thing that you can do? You’re so nervous, waiting for some sort of decision or judgment or action that you simply cannot be nervous. So I changed, stowed my overnight bag, and tried distracting myself. I looked around the room. While it was as impersonal as any hotel room you might ever have stayed in, it also possessed a homier feel. As though this were not actually an impersonal space but more a guest room in a distant relatives house. You’re worried that you might stain the carpet if you drop a glass of wine, but not that you’ll be judged for leaving the bed a little messy and unmade in the morning.After taking in the colors, the wall paper, studiously avoiding looking at the bed, and taking in the windows without going to look out of them, I noticed a small bookshelf in the corner behind the door, with what looked to be a supremely comfortable reading chair beside it. Distraction! I can always loose myself in a book, and it is after all the best way to pass time without worrying.Reading through the titles I didn’t know what I expected. Perhaps a part of me anticipated some kind of elegant series of “how to please your man” or something similar. Instead I found a mix of the classics in Escorts Belgravia, as well as contemporary novels of various genres, as if the books were chosen from some sort of top 50 books to pass the time without inducing much thought. I saw the latest Dan Brown novel and decided that a little thrilling art history would be as benign a distraction as anything else.I don’t know how long I sat there, distracted from the passage of time by Langdon racing around DC to find some artifact and the nefarious plot in which it was being used, but I was startled when I looked up and realized I was no longer alone. I hadn’t even heard the door open, much less whether or not the stranger had knocked first.”Is it a very good book?” The stranger asked. He had a sort of whiskey and honey voice, deep and numbly, yet clearly educated and cultured.”Oh, um, yes, I suppose. Have you read any of his books before?” I didn’t know how I was supposed to act. I knew, and surly this man knew, that we were here to have sex, impersonal sex, as part of my job interview, to see if I would be comfortable having sex with a stranger without a lot of prompting or much effort on his part. After all, this is what I was signing up for, wasn’t it?He smiled, obviously aware that I was off center, an indulgent sort of smile; “I don’t know, which book are you reading?”It only occurred to me then that the book was lying in my lap, there was no way he could tell which book I had selected, unless of course he had memorized all the books in the bookshelf and their location. I felt myself blushing with embarrassment. “Oh, of course, sorry.” I picked up the book to put it away, “It’s just the latest Dan Brown book.” I couldn’t even recall the title, I was so embarrassed.

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