Days in the Life of a Pattaya Hotel Owner

I have never had any problems personally with women who were — or are — prostitutes or escorts or whatever label they or you want to use. I had a friend in England for many years who worked as an escort. She was quite simply one of the most attractive, intelligent, decent and honest people I have ever had the pleasure to call my friend. For this story I will refer to her as Julie. By the way the picture accompanying this story is not of Julie, but it does bear a striking resemblance.

I met Julie through my real estate business. She was looking to rent a flat and was being shown a selection of properties by one of my negotiators when she told him what she did for a living. He stopped the tour immediately and returned, with her, to the office and explained the situation to me. She sat in my office and it took me a full ten minutes to be able to string a coherent sentence together — so beautiful was this woman! I wanted to have sex with her there and then, and I could not have cared less how much it would cost me or what anyone may have thought of me. Women like this usually only exist in the movies, not in the small office of a portly middle aged real estate agent. Eventually, I managed to focus and retain my carnal urges sufficiently to speak to Julie and ascertained she wanted a place to live. Her home was not somewhere she invited customers into, it was her escape from the world — her sanctuary. She promised me that she would never consider having a customer to any apartment she rented and that, because of this, nobody in the building would have any cause for complaint. She would pay six month’s rent in advance, in cash, and she did not even want to negotiate the rental amount.

I decided to speak directly to the landlord, who lived overseas, and explain the situation to him whilst Julie remained in my office. I was not going to put an escort, however beautiful, into his apartment unless he gave me the okay. He considered what I said and with a few sensible conditions (such as us ensuring she was telling the truth regarding “home’”visits), we could go ahead and rent the flat to her.

The deal was done and Julie took up her new residence a week later. A month after that I received a call from her asking if I wanted to go for a drink, she was now fully moved in and living only a few blocks away from my apartment. I agreed, no hesitation whatsoever, whatever time and whatever venue she suggested I would be there. We went for a meal and sat in the restaurant for six hours, a period of time which evaporated faster than a drop of water under the burning midday desert sun. I was enchanted and I had never noticed, until Julie pointed it out, that everyone in the restaurant had been staring at us. “Well staring at you perhaps,” I suggested. It then became clear to me that these were looks of derision and directed, in equal measure, at both Julie and I. I was a good twenty-five years older than Julie who, although in her early twenties, looked younger. Whilst in those days I could get away with claiming to be ten years less than my actual age the real difference remained significant. I was being looked down upon because I was having a meal with a young woman and our fellow diners had cast her as a harlot without a second thought. Our behaviour was impeccable, I had made no attempt at groping her or any such other maneuver, albeit many such thoughts had flooded my mind at the rate of approximately 1,000 impulses per second. Damn it, for all they knew she could have been my sister or my daughter, even a member of my staff. Whatever her occupation and, for that matter mine as a real estate agent was not something looked highly upon, we were, for all intents and purposes, two single people simply having a meal. I hated the way those people looked at us, I can still see their faces even today and I hate them even more.

Yes I did spend a night or two with Julie — at my apartment I hasten to add. We had become friends and we helped each other out from time to time, mainly in the area of listening to each others problems. I was not her customer, she never asked nor expected money but sometimes, when we were out together, her mobile phone would ring and she would have to leave. I understood and accepted that in the same way as she would have accepted my departing because of the need to attend to a matter concerning my business. The sex part of the relationship stopped after a short while though. I knew I was falling in love with her and, in that regard, the age difference would be ridiculous and any negativity towards such a relationship from her would surely end the friendship we had developed.

Julie and I remained close friends until I left for Thailand. Over the years, she also became a friend to my wife. I did ask Julie once why she did what she did, being such a good looking and intelligent woman surely selling her body was not something she had to do because no alternatives were available? Her response was simple — “For the money,” she told me, “where else as a young girl in her early twenties could I earn over 100,000 pounds a year tax free?” Julie saved her money, she purchased her own apartment and she bought a small office supply business which she has since expanded considerably and is now a successful businesswoman. I wonder, though, whether those people who glared at us that night in the restaurant would still utter words similar to those of the Admiral to Eva Peron.