WHEN I WAS A MALE ESCORT.

I was working as a door-to-door salesman, selling ‘Golfing Packages.’

The art of the job was to find a golfer, and make him an offer he couldn’t refuse. And they never refused, because it was such a good deal: a free golf club, membership to all the golf clubs in the region, free tee-off sessions, and a free golf lesson. The challenge was in finding the golfer.

I’d found a few, made the sales, but the commission wasn’t paying the bills and I had to look for another job.

So I replied to an ad in the local paper, ‘Looking for male escorts’, and got invited to an interview at an address in Portslade’s Old Village.

‘I’m Mike,’ said the pimp at the door, ‘You must be Matt. Come in and meet Diana.’

There was a double bed in the front room. Diana was spread out naked barely covered by a red satin sheet.

She was the age of my mother and was the ugliest prostitute I had ever seen.

The memory of it still strikes a shiver down my spine. Skinny as a rake with droopy tits, hair of a witch and a face I don’t even dare to recall.

‘You’ll be shagging Diana as part of the job interview,’ Mike told me to my utter horror.

But a whore has to do, what a whore has to do.

Mike, a math’s teacher during the day, was helping her out as a favour.

The interview progressed, I rolled a cigarette, we laughed and discussed the terms and conditions of the job.

‘So are you serious, Matt? We get messed around by so many people in this business,’ asked Mike.

They had lost count of the people they’d met who said they wanted to work in the escort business, but when it came down to it ran a mile.

I assured them I was 110% committed. I needed the money and I certainly wasn’t getting my leg over as much as I wanted.

Somehow during the interview I had convinced him I was happy to shag ugly, old women for money.

Now all there was left to do was to prove it and as long as Mike wasn’t in the room, I was prepared to do it.

We agreed he’d leave the room and watch us from upstairs on the spy-video camera, making sure I was up for the job.

My relief was enormous when Diana told me she was too tired and said we should skip the shag until another day.

So Mike agreed that the interview was done and the job was mine.

I was now the ‘Hunk’ of ‘7-2-Late Escorts’.

Come Saturday, I was ready for work. I was showered, dressed in my best suit and drenched in my finest perfume.

It just so happened that my best mate, Alec, and his Australian mate Andy, called round at 3pm and invited me out for a drink and before I knew it I was on my third pint, and then the call came through.

‘Call this number and ask for John. He wants you to shag his wife,’ Mike said.

So I rang the number.

‘Hello John, my name is Matthew and I understand you have a job for me,’ I asked.

‘I want you to come here so I can measure your cock,’ John said. ‘My wife wants an eight-inch dick and if you’re not exactly eight inches I’m showing you the door.’

Alas I had to be truthful and tell him I wasn’t up to measure and the call ended.

I had run out of credit on my mobile and Diana and Mike started to call me to find out what was happening.

Bad reception disrupted our calls and I had no way of getting back to them to explain how I never measured up for the job.

Back home I found a message on my landline. I was same as the rest of the time-wasters and I was fired.

That was the closest I got to being a male escort.

But I wasn’t too bothered.

At least I wouldn’t have to shag Diana.