Gadgets are golden

I so love my mobile phone. There's an App for everything these days, just as the adverts tell us, and I have yet to find one that doesn't. I'm addicted to everything electronic and sleeping as it is, so my Smartphone is just the icing on the cake. Gadgets are golden, and although I can't live without my trusty Filofax, you can't send someone something racy from the A5 pages of a notebook.

When I get a new client (or tending to the needs of a regular), I always take their phone number down so we can smooth out the finer points of our date. Whether it is by voice or text, I'm available. This also means that I can wind them up throughout the hours preceding the date if they so wish, which is precisely what Rob asked me to do before our date on Sunday.

I was instructed to whip him into a frenzy with some truly saucy text and MMS messaging. So I flexed my digits, limbered up my right wrist and got to work. The camera quality on my phone is pretty good for what it is. This works even more to my advantage when I need to send video over the airwaves. I thought I'd sneak a few pictures in of me in my most revealing cream satin lingerie (Rob stipulates he likes lace rather than leather) with some smooth skin visible... titled "Guess the body part?"

I also thought I'd spice things up by walking through Kensington High Street, snapping a few landmarks for authenticity. Then I'd casually throw in that I was sitting in a quiet cafe, daring to take pictures down my top while sipping a latte. Gadgets are golden in this game, and it's all about titillation rather than seeing it all at once. There would be plenty of time for that in the evening on our date. Rob said he wanted to spoil me by booking us a table at Marco in Chelsea. This is one of the few London restaurants I haven't been to regularly, and I was looking forward to sampling their delights again. I was especially looking forward to sending him a text while demurely looking at the menu, reading: I've dropped my fork; you'd best get under the table and look for it.

I deliberately use words and phrases that reek of double entenders. I think the best way to man's heart is to make him laugh at my brazen cheekiness and cause him to feel twitchy in the trouser area, but not enough to be noticeable. I want him to grab me and tell me, close to my ear, that I've been driving him mad all day. That's passion. Couple that with a tight pencil skirt that shows off my bottom and a neckline just low enough to make him wonder... I'm an elite London escort, after all - I know how to work the system.