Confessions of a London Escort: Real Stories from Inside the Industry

Most people think being an escort in London is about glamour, luxury cars, and five-star hotels. The truth? It’s exhausting, unpredictable, and often lonely. I’ve been doing this for seven years. Not because I wanted to be famous or rich. I did it because rent didn’t pay itself, and no one else was going to help me survive the city’s cost of living.

The Real Day-to-Day

No one tells you how much time is spent waiting. Waiting for a client to show up. Waiting for a message to come through. Waiting for the next booking to land. Most escorts don’t work five days a week. You work when you can. Some weeks, I made £1,800. Other weeks, I made £300. There’s no salary, no sick pay, no holiday. If you’re sick, you lose money. If your phone dies, you lose clients. If you get a bad review on a forum, you lose income.

I used to meet clients at hotels. Now I mostly work from my flat. It’s safer, cheaper, and less stressful. I don’t have to pay for room service or worry about hotel staff asking questions. I screen everyone before they arrive. I ask for ID, check their social media, and never take someone who refuses to send a photo. I’ve turned down over 200 people just in the last year. Most of them were harmless. But one wasn’t.

The Clients Are Not All the Same

There’s a myth that all clients are wealthy businessmen or lonely billionaires. That’s not true. I’ve met teachers, truck drivers, retired vets, students on loans, and even a priest. One man came every Tuesday for six months. He never asked for sex. He just wanted someone to talk to while he ate dinner. He told me about his wife’s death. I didn’t charge him. I made him tea.

Then there are the ones who think they own you. The guy who tried to record me without consent. The one who showed up drunk and angry because I wouldn’t do something he saw in a movie. I’ve had people cry, scream, beg, and threaten. Most of them leave feeling worse than when they arrived. I’m not their therapist. I’m not their girlfriend. I’m a service provider. And I set boundaries.

How the Industry Really Works

You won’t find many escorts working for agencies anymore. The big agencies took a cut of 40-60%. Now, most of us are independent. We use private forums, encrypted apps, and word-of-mouth. There are no contracts. No HR department. No one to call when you’re scared. You’re on your own.

I use a platform called London Escort Network. It’s not like Uber. You don’t get ratings. You get feedback. Some clients write detailed notes. Others just say “good” or “bad.” I keep a private spreadsheet. If someone has a pattern of being rude, late, or abusive, I block them. I’ve blocked over 80 people in two years. One guy kept showing up at my building after I blocked him. I called the police. He was charged with harassment.

Payment is cash or bank transfer. No PayPal. No crypto. Too many chargebacks. I always ask for half upfront. If they refuse, I cancel. Simple. I’ve had clients try to lowball me after the fact. One guy offered £50 instead of £200. I told him to leave. He did.

The Hidden Costs

People think you make money and live like a celebrity. But here’s what they don’t see:

• Monthly rent for a secure, private flat in North London: £1,600
• Security system with motion sensors and panic button: £120 one-time, £15/month
• Regular STI testing (every 4 weeks): £85 per test
• Professional photography for profiles: £200 every six months
• VPN and encrypted messaging apps: £5/month
• Legal advice when things go wrong: £150/hour

I spend more on safety and health than I do on clothes or makeup. I don’t buy designer bags. I buy condoms, lube, and trauma counseling. I’ve been in therapy for three years. Not because I’m broken. Because the work changes you.

The Stigma Is Real

I told my sister I was an escort when I was 29. She didn’t speak to me for 14 months. My mum cried. My dad asked if I was okay. No one asked why I was doing it. They just assumed I’d sold out.

I lost friends. I got ghosted at parties. I was called a “prostitute” by a woman at the grocery store who didn’t know me. I had a job interview canceled because the employer found my profile online. I’ve been followed home. I’ve had strangers take photos of me on the street.

But I’ve also met women who’ve saved their lives because they found someone like me. One client told me she finally left her abusive husband after talking to me for two hours. Another said she felt human again for the first time in years. I’m not a hero. But sometimes, I’m the only person who listens.

Why I’m Still Here

I could quit tomorrow. I have savings. I could get a job in retail. But I wouldn’t make the same money. And I wouldn’t have the same control. I choose my hours. I choose my clients. I choose what I do and what I don’t. No boss. No shift schedule. No one telling me to smile more.

I’ve seen the worst of London. The loneliness. The desperation. The silence. But I’ve also seen the quiet moments - the ones no one writes about. The man who brought me a book he wrote. The woman who thanked me for not judging her. The teenager who cried because she didn’t think anyone cared.

I don’t romanticize this job. I don’t hate it either. It’s work. Hard work. Dangerous work. But it’s mine. And I do it on my terms.

What No One Tells You

If you’re thinking about getting into this, here’s what you need to know:

1. Never work alone. Always have someone who knows where you are.
2. Use a burner phone. Keep your real number private.
3. Record every interaction. Audio or video - even if it’s just a quick voice note.
4. Get tested every month. No exceptions.
5. Learn the law. In the UK, selling sex isn’t illegal. Soliciting, brothel-keeping, and pimping are. Know the difference.
6. Have an exit plan. Save money. Build skills. This isn’t forever.

And if you’re reading this because you’re curious? Don’t judge. Don’t assume. Ask yourself why you think this job is wrong. Is it the act? Or is it the person doing it?