I have had a call from someone who said:

We’ve been trying to get hold of you for weeks now!

This is someone who works in a government department. Someone whose call I was waiting for. Did I know they were trying to get in touch with me?

No!

I can tell you why I didn’t know. It’s because they call my landline from a withheld number and don’t leave a message on the answering machine. I get home and find that I have missed calls, but I have no way of knowing who they’re from and therefore I can’t return the call. Now, assuming that they have no choice about the withheld number, assuming that the office phone system doesn’t give them an option on that one, then aren’t they lucky that I went to the expense of buying a phone with a decent answering machine. That should solve the problem, but nooooo! They absolutely refuse to leave a bloody message, usually having waited until after the beep to decide that they’d rather not, thank you. So, I arrive home to a flashing light, I listen to my blank, two second message and then I head for the calls list to see who it was… Withheld.

People who do this! Be aware that it is extremely irritating. That’s fine, it’s just a passing irritation. HOWEVER! When you do get hold of me and start to bitch about how many times you’ve tried to call me, despite having been offered the chance to have me call you back. You are just begging for me to pop round to your office and slap you repeatedly with a rolled up phone book.

Consider yourselves warned…

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A question which is often asked on forums is

Has anybody ever had a relationship with a working girl?

Duh!

No, we’re all man hating bitches

or

No! We all turn into wolves after midnight and spend the hours until 7am maiming and killing unsuspecting folk on their way home from the pub. Incidentally people,  please stop eating kebabs! They give you a funny aftertaste.

or

Yes, of course they have you silly arse!

You choose…

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Whoever wished that one on me had better watch out, because if I find out who it was, I’m going to stand on their bunions… HARD!

My life over the last six weeks or so has been eventful, to say the least, but it seems to be settling back to something almost recognisable as normal now, which means (fingers crossed) that I can start to catch up on my email. Well, I already have started, but if you’ve been expecting to hear from me and haven’t, feel free to prod me with a reminder.

Having changed my tune and started providing domination as a service, I have to say I’m thoroughly enjoying myself and can’t wait to get in a bit of practice in 2012. Which reminds me.

Naughty flatmate! Belated Merry Xmas and I look forward to giving you a good thrashing in the new year!

In case you hadn’t noticed (Yes you! pay attention at the back!), I’ve had a new field report.  So there you have it. Further proof – if you needed it – that I aten’t dead. Not only that, but that I am a sex goddess and social chameleon *preens*. Oh alright then, no I’m not, but I’m not half bad. In fact, as not bad goes, I’m really rather alright.

Anyhoo…

Interesting times or not, I was alternately amused and irritated to see that the Highland News seem to have appointed themselves the moral guardians of Inverness. Their article on the dating website for married folk who fancy a bit on the side may have been intended to stop such shenanigans, but the cynic in me wonders whether it wasn’t just a sneaky bit of advertising for the “security company” mentioned. Ooh! Yes, we’re all terribly impressed that they’ve just taken on two ex policefolk, but really? You’re going to hunt down all the adulterers who fancy a bit of light entertainment because of the recession? Then what? Burn them at the stake outside the town hall? You’ll just cause a traffic jam and then nobody will be your friend. Or are you planning to tell their unsuspecting partners?

Excuse me Madam, I know you think that you are perfectly content with your life and you have a good relationship with your husband, but I feel the need to inform you that he’s been having it away with her at number seven!

If I’m not mistaken, you can’t just start randomly following people. You’ll end up being sued. People have been having affairs and quick knee tremblers when nobody was looking since time began. Right or wrong, it’s none of your business.

Whether or not the articles in question boosted business for the professional nosey parkers, I’m absolutely certain that they will have resulted in a dramatic leap in membership applications for the no strings sex site. So, yah boo sucks to you!

And just don’t get me started on the letters page where two Inverness residents were allowed to spout homophobic bile to a wide audience… Just don’t!

To someone who’ll probably never read it.

Dear whatever you name is,

As much as I would obviously love to meet you in the truck stop tomorrow night for an hour long bunk up extravaganza in the cab of your lorry, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to make it.

I would also like to take this chance to thank you for your incredibly generous offer. It touches me deeply to know that you are such a giving and selfless person that you would offer me 40% of my hourly fee for an hour in such salubrious surroundings. You really shouldn’t have.* You truly are a prince among men.

I would just like to apologise again for my inability to accept your booking on this occasion, but I’m washing my hair and of course I really just can’t cancel that. In fact, you’ll find (if you ever contact me again) that I wash my hair quite often.**

Love and kisses

Amanda

*No, you really shouldn’t have

** And I’m sure that if it’s not hair wash time, I can find lots of other things I’d rather do, like sharpening matchsticks and shoving them under my fingernails with a mallet.

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Coupons always remind me of my Nan. You’d find her sat at the kitchen table with the daily paper (after Grandad had finished with it of course) and a pair of scissors, scouring them for any sign of coupons (she pronounced it kewpons) for anything at all, didn’t matter whether or not it was something she’d usually buy or whether it would get used. If there was a coupon for it, it was going on the list.

Anyway, that’s approximately 400 light years away from the thing I was going to tell you.

I received an email the other day from a chap who has decided that the one thing missing in the adult industry is a coupon site.

Hey there,  I’m near on 95% finished building the world’s first Adult Groupon website.
I’ve called it Scroopon.

Well, full marks for initiative sweetie and the name is umm… inspired.

He went on to inform me (and probably a gazillion other working girls) that

Is just like Groupon, but we’re offering heavily discounted Adult services instead of the more traditional facials and massages you might expect to get offered via email from Groupon.

You’re offering? Really?

As I know you work in the industry – and whether you’re independent, at an agency or a club – I want you to be part of my new adult group buying revolution.

Well my dear. You can want all you like. In fact, it’s good to want things, it builds character.

Scroopon is kicking off in the UK first, to be closely followed by the US, then Aussie.
My sole restriction is I will only ever promote 1 girl/offer per city per week, except in the major cities like London, Manchester or NY where it will be 1 girl per area per week (e.g. 1 in Mayfair, 1 in Earls Court etc etc).
To drive traffic to you, I’ll be sending your offers to my own company director database of close on 230,000 blokes all over the UK each week. Will be exactly the same in the US and Aus.

Fair enough, I suppose. Although I do hope this database of blokes have actually signed up. Otherwise you may find that they’re a tad peeved at you.

So if your offer is sexy enough, in every sense, whoever is featured that week will get a LOT of business.
Best thing?
These will be real-time deals that attract customers exactly when you need them.
Yep, just like Groupon, your offer for the week must be hugely discounted but like I said it will be more than made up for by a flock of business that week. Business some other girl in your City might have got instead of you.

So to get featured, it’s “best offer wins”? Ooh! Put me down for quick wanks behind a bus shelter at 50p a pop… Not!

Let me know you’re up for earning more Scroopon style by filling out:
>>> this simple form <<<.

I’ll probably pass on that to be honest.

Oh, costs absolutely zilch to sign up, so dont worry about that.

I wasn’t

See you inside.
– M***

No… You won’t.

p.s. Will be a great way to fill up those quiet Sunday and Monday nights too!

I happen to like those, ta very much.

It may surprise this chap to know that I and all the other escorts I’ve seen discussing this are quite happy with the number of bookings we take. We price ourselves to suit the way we want to work and don’t offer “quickie” bookings. The girls who do offer these things and see more clients are probably too busy to bother with this. We are also quite fussy about whose bookings we accept and the idea of running an offer which would lead to a whole day/week/whatever of chaps “with an eye for a bargain” turning up by the coach load with their coupons clutched tightly in their sweaty mitts causes a collective shudder which probably has seismologists the world over sitting up and taking notice.

Yes really. I have no room to talk, because anyone who knows me will tell you that I amuse myself on a daily basis by making up new words for things and bastardising the words we have been very kindly provided with already, but squonuts? I mean, it’s not as if all other doughnuts are the same shape. We don’t feel the need to call them roundnuts or longnuts, so why bother?

Right, news… What have I got for you…

Well, as you can see. I have

revamped the site. Actually, I’ve done it three times, but just wasn’t happy with it. I know it’s not finished and any escort directory who ditches my listing because their link hasn’t shown for a few days, rather than just reminding me to replace it can kiss my almost geriatric and extremely lily-white butt! Any who show a little patience and consideration will see their banner reappear almost magically (ok, maybe not) over the next few days.

I’m dabbling in  people battering these days as well, in case you’re interested. Well, I shouldn’t really say dabbling. People will think I am clueless and I can assure you, I’ve reddened many a posterior and applied probably hundreds of nipple clamps over the years, just not at work. So if you have an irresistible urge to be spanked/whipped/plugged into the mains by 6’2” of high heeled domme, just give me a call.

Oh yes, and speaking of giving me a call. I will be changing my number soon. I know that I shouldn’t really and that any business guru would jump up and run shrieking from the room at the very idea, but mine is no ordinary business, so I need to shed the fuck-nuggets who have saved my number and send me texts at 6 monthly intervals asking the same questions. The same questions of course include such beauties as:

• Is this Amanda? (Always tempted to send back something along the lines of “No, this is her 6’6” rugby prop forward boyfriend, how may I help you?” I really must learn to behave)
• U r hooker (I assume this is a question despite the lack of question mark, because if it’s a statement, then there really is no hope left for humanity)
• How much 4 a good tym? (RTFW my friend)
• U do anal? (No no no no no no no no no no… getting it yet?)
• Can we fuck in your car? (I get this a lot for some reason)
• Can I see you now? (No, I am currently wearing my cloak of invisibility and anyway,  I require notice for an appointment, so EXPELLIARMUS! Ha!)
• Grump grump moan whinge bitch (cont. page 273)

I have taken to answering the phone with greetings such as “Ross-shire home for pregnant nuns” and “Tart Hut, Amanda speaking. May I take your order please?”. I should probably apologise for that, but I see it as fair warning. If you can’t handle that, you probably don’t want to be left alone with me.

Well, I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to take my phone number off of my adultwork profile.
Having endured the last couple of weeks, filled with phone calls which start with “Hi, I seen (sic) your profile on the internet. Can I have a few details?”. I can only assume that the chaps who previously arranged their afternoon liaisons via the Daily Sport have moved onto the interweb. All the details are there! It doesn’t matter whether it’s my adultwork profile or my website. Unless you want to know something very specific, it’s probably there. So, from now on, it will only be the chaps who can use the messaging facility who will be able to contact me.

Anyway, I’m currently sitting outside my Inverness hotel during day two of my special offer, enjoying a well deserved glass of wine. A hotel (incidentally) which considers a pillow stealing 5″ gap at the head of the bed to be just fine and dandy, Ta very much.
I won’t be available at all now until Tuesday. I’m off to play for the weekend. I won’t be good, so don’t bother suggesting it…

Or “How Not To Annoy Me Before We’ve Even Met”

1. Don’t Tell Fibs.

Hi, I read your website. How much do you charge?

No you didn’t. If you had read my website, you would know that your question is answered there.

2 & 3. Speak English and don’t tell me to text back.

I wd luv 2 fuk u. TB

I’m not 15. I don’t understand your daft non language and I don’t respond well to orders.

4. You are not a pirate and my name is not Attila.

Yo hun!

The only way I will allow “Yo” to pass through the fuckwit filter is if it is followed by “ho ho and a bottle of rum” and your name is Jack Sparrow. I am not your “hun”.

5. I do not run a premium rate number.

Tell me all the things you’re gonna do to me baby

No! Just no. One of these days I will get myself a premium rate number and when I do, you will be very welcome to call me for wank fodder. Until then, you can search the web for porn, just like everyone else does.

6. I am not sitting by the phone, waiting for your call.

Can you come and see me in twenty minutes?

No, I can’t. I need to shower and wash my hair and make myself look human presentable. I need at least a week a couple of hours notice.

7.  Re number 6: A hard on won’t sway my decision.

But I’m horny now!

That’s nice dear.

8. I do not own a Lear jet.

I want to see you in Elgin in 1 hour please.

Actually, this one is do-able if someone would like to buy me a speedboat.

9. My site is not a dating site.

When you’re not working, maybe we could meet up for hot sex

No. We absolutely can’t.

But I’m young and well hung!

Young doesn’t particularly float my boat and if you keep annoying me you won’t have the latter problem for long.

10. Don’t haggle, this isn’t a car boot sale.

You’re not exactly young or skinny. I’ll give you £40

Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahaha….    …breathe…   …bwahahahahahahahahahaha…

Ok, I’m done.

I have purged.

Thank you for listening.

As you were.

I absolutely detest that phrase. With a passion! It makes me swear like a Tourettes sufferer.

So you can imagine my utter, deep and heartfelt joy when, on the way home the other day I saw a house (which obviously belongs to someone with more money than sense. I wouldn’t want their electricity bill) covered with Christmas lights, with a huge neon type Christmas sign in the garden which flashed “Happy holidays!”.

Let the swearing commence…

As I drove closer to the offending object, I tried to figure out what on earth the rest of the sign depicted. I could see that it was something in a Santa hat, but what?

A Dolphin!

A damn, non-Christmassy, dolphin!

Why?

The only place I can think of in which that sign would make any sense, is Sea World, Orlando.

Bah! Tuna eating humbug!

Oh by the way, if you happen to be the owner of this awful monstrosity and by some strange quirk of fate you are reading this, I’m not sorry. Not one iota. You’re obviously an idiot.

Merry Christmas

Because answering the phone leaves me wide open to the “Numpty Factor”.

The other day, just as I was parking the car, my phone rang. I didn’t quite grab it in time and I needed to get into the Post Office, so I sent a text.

Sorry, I can’t speak on the phone now. Please call again later or send me an email.

The response was.

Whoz dis

He went on to enquire (in txt spk), how much I charge for an overnight appointment in glas (Glasgow?). I told him and he asked how much for an overnight at my flat?

Now, this chap had quite obviously not read my website, apart from going straight to the contact page to retrieve my phone number. If he had, he would know that I’m not based in Glasgow and I don’t provide incalls, not in a flat, not in a house, not in a broom cupboard, nor even a bloody palace for that matter.

Is it really that hard to read my site? I’ve tried to keep it down to as few words as possible.

Anyway, the worrying thing is that I’m not the only one. For instance, read Amy’s latest blog post.