Been awake most of the night. Trying to think about all this rationally. It's all happened too fast. I've got too close to it all, allowed myself to get sucked in, ended up doing stuff which I shouldn't. Madame Juliette made me think about that. "If you're stupid enough to let some guy make you do kinky stuff you don't like, that's your problem, sweetie." She's right.

This has been the weirdest two months of my life. It's veered towards fun and then off again towards humiliation. Sometimes, I've enjoyed it. Others, I've hated it. It started off bad, when I was being blackmailed into doing stuff I definitely didn't want to do. As it progressed, I kind of relaxed and began to enjoy it, and it became a bit of fun. Somewhere along the line it started to get serious again. But I went along with it.

And that's the crunch. When I went along with stuff. Did I want to? Did I have to? Oddly, I think the answer to both of those is no. Which means there must be another question, another reason for why I did it. I know what str8guy would say: I was discovering things about myself, testing my limits. Consciously, I may not have wanted to do it, but subconsciously I was curious to see how far I could go and how much enjoyment I could derive from it.

Which sounds to me like psychological mumbo-jumbo, but what other answer is there? I'm pondering that one...

Off to work now, to take my mind of stuff. Particularly, to take my mind off tonight, when I become Molly the high class hooker...

:-(

Thursday, 27th May, early evening

Right! Computer Geek is finally out of the running. I didn't see him at all today - not even sure if he was in. When I chatted to str8 five minutes ago - my final instructions for this evening's soliciting - he mentioned my new blouse. So it's not him.

And that means we're DOWN TO TWO!!! Rod or McCabe. How do I find which it is?

I'm actually more excited about that than I am about this date tonight. "Date"! How quaint! I suppose that's one word for it. Opening my legs for money might be a more accurate description. I'm getting myself glammed up, now. I've put my cam on, so str8guy can watch. He's logged in, so I'm assuming he's watching. Okay, gotta get ready.

Later

Okay, half past seven, and I'm off. Wish me luck. Back later...

later

I'm back. Well, what can I say? I actually don't know what to say. I don't know where to begin. I'm totally perplexed. Part of me is screaming that I hated what happened tonight, but a small part is saying that actually it was quite nice.

One one level it was quite nice: a very pleasant evening being wined and dined and treated like a lady.

On another it was terrible: an evening of being treated like a whore.

How do you square it?

I guess you don't. Here's what happened.

I went to the Royal, as instructed, and my nerve nearly broke when I went through the swing doors. Until then I was fine: I was walking briskly, which was helping me to concentrate and stay brave. But when I had to stop and shuffle through the doors it gave me time to think and worry. I often have meetings with clients in the bar here. What if I was recognised? What if they saw me going up to the rooms? It was almost my downfall, because as I emerged into the hotel lobby my face must have been showing my nervousness. But I pulled myself together and walked as purposefully as I could towards the lift. No-one gave me a second look.

I'd actually been worrying about that bit so much I'd not given much thought to what happened next. Or maybe that was just my way of dealing with it. But as I stood in the lift my heart began to race and I felt myself growing hot and sweaty. The last thing a call girl needs on her way to an evening's date! LOL

My legs were like rubber as the lift door opened and I teetered onto the landing. My stomach was lurching, rising in my throat and leaving an acid taste in my mouth. My ears were ringing with fear. I headed right towards Room 112 and my destiny. I knocked on the door.

A white-haired man, early fifties, opened it and smiled. "Molly?" he said. I nodded and returned his smile, wondering if I was about to throw up all over him. He invited me in and I tried to form my legs into moveable objects. There was a bottle of Gewurtztraminer chilling in an ice bucket. Bit strong tasting, but nice enough in a fragrant sort of way. The man introduced himself as Nigel and proved to be a hospitable host. He worked in engineering, he told me, and went on to explain exactly what. I stopped listening at the word 'engineering'. Engineering makes no sense to me. It's too practical: I'm an abstract kind of girl.

We went to The Nightjar for dinner. It's only been open about three months and it was my first time. It's rather nice. I'll go back again in more normal circumstances. Maybe take Tess next week, when all the str8guy rubbish is finished.

I ordered pasta with asparagus, lemon and black pepper. Nigel was Mr Charm himself, chatting the whole time, listening intently to what I said and laughing at my jokes or nodding at my opinions. It was the strangest experience, doing something so ordinary in such unusual circumstances. I can only liken it to when you are being interviewed for a job and all the candidates are gathered for a meal. You're doing something simple, but you know that you're on show the whole time, and your every move is being watched, interpreted, judged. I guess there's not much difference: prostituting your mind for work or your body for pleasure.

He was quite witty but very intense. He couldn't stop talking about work. About laminate processes or something, and distribution cycles and stuff. I was on familiar territory here, of course - I'm used to working with driven, work-obsessed zealots. McCabe springs to mind...

As the evening wore on I began to get more and more nervous. Until now, I could argue to myself it was just like schmoozing a client for work. But later, I knew, it would move onto a different level. I tried to eat as slowly as possible, to spin it out, but by 10.30 we were in The Waggoners, sipping wine and sitting close to one another.

"I thought we might go back to the hotel after this," he said.

I nodded. "Okay. That would be nice."

He smiled and drained his glass. I took a few final sips, forcing myself to swallow. Oh Molly, I thought, what are you doing?