Escort Security

It started at John Wayne airport, where we were met at the airplane steps by a Lincoln town car with the black suited holding the rear door open. That, by now, was normal. And a black Suburban follow car. Which definitely was not. Nor was the fact that by the way he stood, moved and took in everything, the driver was definitely a professional. And carrying heavy on his right hip. Not the usual “I have seen a few movies so know about everything” shoulder rig that was too slow and too obvious and sure to get you into serious trouble without the ability to get out of it. “Maybe they are Christian Scientists and don't like sex workers getting near their boss.” I thought. Right until I entered the car right after Mistress (as I called her and though of her while we were “on the job”) and saw the second guy in the passenger seat. Another professional; scanning front while the driver scanned rear as the tools of Mistress´s trade were placed in the boot. The guy in the front barely glanced at us in his visor mirror. Which, given that there were a pair of black patent thigh boots and the thighs of a goddess showing under her Dolce and Gabbana raincoat showed true dedication and commitment on his part.

When we arrived at the house near Laguna Beach (I use the term house because palace seems so un-American somehow) they were obviously on full highclass escort and her muscle are about to arrive mode. The door opening process was reversed and the guards looked a little surprised as I got out to check things before the boss. I am not that tall – five feet ten – and I don't look big while I am in a suit. Contrary to what you see in the movies, Special Forces operators are not all built like Dwayne Johnson. Especially not British ones. It is hard to pass selection running up and down mountains with over a hundred pounds on your back if you are already lugging a load of heavy muscle. So I was definitely not what they were expecting.

There was a lot of security around, and they were, as they say, loaded for bear. If they were surprised at my appearance – not being a steroid-fed arse taking his call girl to stay for a few hours and carrying a pocketful of blow so he could hopefully make an extra bit of money – they just about shit themselves when I put my left arm across the open car door and said

“Please stay in your seat Mistress. I need to assess this first.”


Location: Barcelona, Spain

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