Escorts to Hotels

A story about escorts visiting hotels in Barcelona…

I started going to the hotel bars, but honestly, you really have to love being the center of attention and spending hours striking a vampish pose, staring at the walls or into the distance, just to avoid noticing the stares from the cocky guys in that typical little group of hopeless salesmen at a convention.

But that’s not the worst part—in the bars there are men, and women, for heaven’s sake—what looks they give you! There are all kinds when they figure out what you do: surprise, curiosity, contempt, but the worst, without a doubt, is the one who turns away so as not to look at you—and yet, every now and then, keeps an eye on you out of the corner of her eye. I mean, who can put up with such suffocating, prudish women? …

A hotel escort hopes to snag—or be snagged by the bartender—some lonely soul, and that her company will be a good escape (and never has that been more true) from her boredom.

As for the men who take the risk of talking to you without an intermediary—being smart, they logically understand that a young woman with no gray hair, dressed provocatively, and who’s been alone since he walked into the bar, is very likely a hotel escort, The approach usually starts with, “Are you waiting for someone?” because the “Hey, I’m so-and-so…” line doesn’t exist—everything is more direct—to which you reply, “Well, I’m not waiting for anyone, but I’m bored,” etc., etc…

But if you have the misfortune of meeting the classic “flirtatious… tease” who wants to play the part of a “beach Romeo,” be on your guard and act fast, because he’ll drive you up the wall and there won’t be the slightest chance of finding what you’re looking for.

It’s impossible to win against them—they love being the center of attention, even if it means ruining your night. Just get out of there for a little while, and when they get tired, come back!!!

As a hotel escort, you also meet some really peculiar people. One day, while I was sitting in the pub, the hotel receptionist came up to me and said, “I’ve got something for you,” “Well, tell me,” I replied. With a very discreet gesture, he said, “The sixth floor is closed off for a famous sheikh, and they want an escort. Go up to the sixth floor, and he’ll be waiting for you in the hallway: Ssshhhh….” “Thanks,” I replied. “I’ll see you when I’m done.”

I went up to the sixth floor, and I was greeted by a short man in a suit with a big mustache—we could say he was someone’s valet or secretary. I went into the suite and was introduced to a man who reminded me of a relative; he was slim, had tanned skin, and was wearing a tunic.

Neither he nor I spoke a common language, so it was all smiles and pleasantries.

The secretary gave me a signal, and I left. In the hallway, he told me that his “boss” had liked me, handed me an envelope with enough money to cover part of the night, and walked me to another adjoining suite, saying, “Make yourself comfortable, and if you’d like a drink, help yourself to whatever you want— “though we don’t drink alcohol—you understand, right?” “Of course, no problem,” I replied.

Everything went pretty well, although I was surprised by how excited she was, given how fragile she seemed.

When we were done, he handed me a small, very pretty box with marquetry work. I was surprised! But of course, since we couldn’t speak the same language, he acted it out like a silent movie—with a gesture, he told me to open it. I opened it with great excitement—I didn’t know what to expect. But there they were—some big pistachios.

He picked one up, opened it, and gave it to me; I thanked him for his kindness as I savored that delicacy… He even gave me the box!

I guess we can all recall some odd stories that have happened to us, but I remember this one in particular because I was more lost than a turtle on a race track.

The truth is, I got too comfortable, and the whole hotel escort thing started to get to me.

These days I prefer discretion, but even more than that—which isn’t essential in my profession—I prefer to meet at the place we’ve agreed on.

These days, as an independent escort and hotel escort, I only stay at hotels with my friends! Staying at a small apartment is complicated (neighbors, arguments, etc.) and, for me, very risky because of the lack of security.

Agencies: a quick fix today, but a struggle tomorrow—and on top of that, they have to be available almost any time, 365 days a year.

I finally found a place that offered to rent me a room where I would pay only when I used it, with regular customers who frequented the establishment, normal and very flexible hours—including Sundays and holidays off—discretion, impeccable facilities, and very affordable rent.

I continue to post my ads, but I receive them at this location, which offers me security, discretion, and something vital: “stability.”