A London Transsexual Escort. 255.

I’m not sure what it is about Asian men in particular, but almost to a man, they’ll ask about my cock size and request I send them a photo of it, before making an appointment. ‘I'm sorry, but I don’t do those photos, never have never will, people with a genuine enquiry don’t ask, however, there’s plenty out there who will, but I don’t.’ Not surprisingly, that’s the last I’ll hear of them.
The other yawn is…men who like to inform me of their endowment (honestly, it isn't necessary), because they're having trouble finding a girl who can accommodate them. For some reason it’s always nine inches, it’s never eight or ten, it’s always the magical number nine, I haven't the faintest clue why, perhaps someone out there could enlighten me? ‘Well, I’ll try and accommodate as best I can,’ I'll reply, again, it tends to all go quiet after that.
I’d not seen the Colonel in nearly a year, very odd, so I thought I’d better send him a text (only if given prior permission to), as his annual Christmas present, socks, were sat wrapped up beneath the tree, ‘Yes I’m still alive let’s meet soon,’ he answered. A week later we met for our Christmas dinner, whereupon, said socks found their eventual destination, on his feet.
JR arrived in town much earlier than his usual January visit; I booked a table at Wilton's restaurant in St James’ renowned for its seafood and just a stone's throw from his hotel, no taxi required (see Blog 246).
There’s nothing contemporary about this restaurant. This is starchy old-world dining where once upon a time, men were expected to wear a jacket and tie, if you didn't own one they had one you could borrow, otherwise, you're weren't coming in! Le Gavroche used to enforce the same rule, but has since been eased, one is only expected to wear a jacket. There's quite a lot of polished wood, carpets are deep and the conversation is hushed, so yes, it's a little stuffy (well OK, quite a lot), but if this is what you pine for, you were made for each other. 
The food is commendable; the fish as fresh as fish can be, next to catching it yourself and cooking it on the riverbank. We had a starter of steak tartare finely chopped (beef not horse) and agreed it was one of the finest we’d ever tasted: I'd never manage to get through a tartare as a main course.
The mature and highly polished couple sat in the booth to my left, didn’t have much in the way of a conversation going on, she toyed with her expensive bangles and bracelets, between making an occasional courteous stab at her vegetables. He, however, seemed very much to be enjoying his food and both kept the waiter busy, charging their large Riedel glasses with claret: 'Yes, we'd like another bottle.' 
I admired her black leather trousers; ladies of a certain age (men too) need a certain amount of verve to pull that off, she wore it well. I've a gorgeous custom-made black leather catsuit which I’ve not worn for years, perhaps I should see if I can still decanter myself into it: ahhh...but will I still have the verve?
After dinner, we strolled over to JR's hotel The Cavendish (Noir toiletries), where we made whoopie. Before leaving and at his behest, I cleared out the toiletries, 'Just leave me one shampoo for the morning Frances,' he shouted from the bedroom, 'Oh, and take the slippers!'
And so I here I am at the end of another eventful year, time to hang up my black silk stockings, put away the four-inch stilettos and lock up the Office until the New Year. Its been a good year if I don’t count falling off of my bicycle, and cracking a few ribs while trying to cycle home (rattle wobble splat) after attending a joyful wedding; agreed, silly me.
I’ve managed to tick a few more things off that bucket list and I’ve already compiled next years! Amongst them are, perhaps a visit to India; become a more proficient musician; make another road-trip to the beautiful West Country of England, throw my guitar in the car and see what happens as I did in September (why didn't I do it sooner?); pop over to Bologna for a weekend of feasting; revisit the tulip fields in Amsterdam and take the Sleeper Train to Penzance. However, like Medusas head, every time I chop one off another seems to appear.
So here's wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, thanks for staying tuned in. 
What I'm reading in bed...
A Christmas Carol: Charles Dickens.

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