What's in a rate?

In 3.75 years of being an escort, I've never published my rates. I always just assumed that if a potential client was really interested in meeting me, then he would be happy to email me to ask. Aren't conversations about money some of the most awkward conversations ever?

With that last sentence in mind, here are my current rates. All rates are in Australian Dollars (AUD) and only apply to bookings in Australia. You'll still need to email me for my Japan rates. My rates are 'outcall only' in Sydney and Melbourne, and both 'incall' and 'outcall' when I'm in Brisbane. Of course I will still tailor packages for longer dates, so don't be afraid to send me an email! 

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Now to the fine print.... rates are inclusive of any deposit that I may request from you. Rates are all-inclusive and I typically don’t charge for ‘extras’. Unless you request something extremely.... extreme. I’ll bring the ‘protective equipment’ and my full and undivided attention. You bring your charming self and your best hygiene. x

To every ‘you’ that I have met.

It seems just like yesterday that you and I met,

Whether in Australia or after travel by jet.

You’ve been older than me by 1-25 years,

Hopefully I’ve stretched your boundaries and erased some of your fears.


Anticipation and nerves eventually disappear,

Replaced by sexy fun and the lend of a listening ear.

Laughter, moans, and then sadness as we part,

Many of you occupy a tiny piece of my heart.


Tolerance of my tardiness when I’m late to meet you,

Short notes of concern when I was feeling quite blue.

You sent messages when I was lonely in a new city,

You still smile when we meet & tell me that I look pretty.


None of you can be my everything,

But my aim is to always treat you like a king.

And I cannot fill all of your holes (oooh!),

But your kindness has helped me to reach many of my goals.


There are those with whom I’ve parted ways

And I wish you great happiness for the rest of your days.

Cheers to all for the past 4.0 years,

These are my thoughts as that anniversary nears.

 

x Mischa  

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room.

It's not a silly little moment
It's not the storm before the calm
This is the deep and dying breath of
This love we've been working on

Can't seem to hold you like I want to
So I can feel you in my arms
Nobody's gonna come and save you
We pulled too many false alarms

We're going down
And you can see it too
We're going down
And you know that we're doomed

My dear,
We're slow dancing in a burning room

I was the one you always dreamed of
You were the one I tried to draw
How dare you say it's nothing to me
Baby, you're the only light I ever saw

We're going down
And you can see it too
We're going down
And you know that we're doomed

My dear,
We're slow dancing in a burning room

 Lyrics by John Mayer (2012)

 I used to listen to this song on repeat as my own relationship was dying. I associated it with great sadness.

However, after time (the greatest healer) and reflection, I now equate it with hope. Not so much the poignant verses (they haven’t changed, obviously), but just one line from the chorus:

We’re slow dancing in a burning room.

That one line. I now associate it with barefoot waltzing in the dark. Slowly, with no particular steps. Swaying and just holding each other. Exact footwork fading into unimportance. The slow tempo of the song and haunting guitar seem particularly conducive to such an activity.

When was the last time that you undertook such a post-dinner activity?

I’m not sure that I’ve ever done it, however I do recall seeing my parents do this long after they had put us to bed.

Anyway, when I hear the song, I am now filled with hope that I will find myself invited to slow dance in a burning room with a temporary lover. (Candles only, not smoke and structural damage). And I want us to be giggling as we stand on each other’s toes and collide with furniture in the dark.

I’d like to issue a challenge to anyone who reads this post. Invite someone to slow dance in a darkened room with you soon.  Do it and savour the experience. Just be careful of your partner’s toes.

30 Hours.

“You say you never saw this coming, well you’re not alone.

Million dollar renovations to a happy home.

My ex said she gave me the best years of her life.

I saw a recent picture of her, I guess she was right.”

      - Kanye West, 30 Hours.

Maybe we were happier when we had no money. Before the mortgage, boat and six-figure income (his). I’m sure that our happiest years were when we paid modest rent and all of our furniture was secondhand. When we would take baths together every night and dinner was usually something that I had thrown together with the help of a Donna Hay cookbook. We became engaged, then married. He was a part of every important event, every family vacation that I can recall since I was 19. A brilliant man, eleven years my senior, quick-witted, tall and attractive. His first degree was in industrial chemistry. I met him after he had completed his second degree, and quickly fell in love with his kindness, relaxed demeanour and sense of humour.

I won’t go into the reasons why it was all over a decade later. The reasons are too many, too personal, and too raw. But I will say that no-one was caught cheating, and there was no domestic violence.

It started slowly. We used to have awesome dinner parties, usually ending at 3:00am, with our little dogs rotating to sleep on different guests’ laps during the winter. Now, we were no longer eating dinner together, nor were we having any conversations of any substance. There were so many topics that we knew were ‘forbidden’ to discuss as they would cause an argument. We began taking separate holidays. The best couples grow together; we grew apart.

I had lost myself somewhere in there. I was constantly on edge, had lost my sense of humour and ability to laugh. I rushed through every day, just wanting it to be over, for the relief that sleep brings.

I tried, I really did. I ran the household, made sure that the bills were paid, clothes were ironed, and meals were cooked. And even though I was working full-time as well, I didn't mind. First, because I loved him, second because I’m naturally better at those things than he was, and third because my income was a third of his, so it seemed kind of fair. When he refused to go to couples’ therapy, I went alone.

The end came the day before my birthday. There were several defining events that took place in the preceding weeks (it’s hard to explain properly without going into too much detail). I took a deep breath, looked into his eyes, and gently explained I couldn’t live like this anymore and we needed to live apart.

Until that moment, I had no idea that I had the power to inflict that much pain on someone. He shook his head and kept refusing. I’ll never forget that day as long as I live. He just didn’t see it coming. Sure, he knew things weren’t great, but I had never uttered the word ‘divorce’ before.

As it turns out, we actually had to live together for another month or so, as we had moved out of our house while it was being renovated. That was a strange time. After work each day I would iron and pack his clothes neatly into boxes, and then crawl into bed beside him, being careful not to make any physical contact.

I gave him most of the furniture. He took our dog, I took our cat. I opted not to touch any of his superannuation and settled for far less than 50% of all marital assets. A decision that I may regret in later life.

I may be describing the events in a pragmatic fashion now, but make no mistake. I was devastated. I used to cry in the shower.  My poor parents bore the brunt of my distress- receiving calls from me, sobbing into the phone, asking if I had done the right thing.

My boss was aware of what was happening, but I didn’t tell a single colleague until I eventually resigned to move to Sydney. None of them had any idea. I’d been covering for my husband’s lack of attendance at my work events for so long that it was easy to continue.

I couldn’t tell my extended family. Especially my grandmothers. I didn’t have the words. Luckily, my Mum took care of that for me, in her gentle and honest way.

I was so embarrassed. I felt like I had left everyone down. I didn’t want to joins the ranks of other divorcees- those depraved cougar-types that drank like fish and hated all men.

I was worried about the stigma, the shame of having a failed marriage. I was worried about being treated differently. What if my friends were suddenly scared to leave me alone with their husbands at BBQs?

I remember sitting on the couch at a psychologist’s office, bawling my eyes out. “You don’t understand!” I wailed. “He hasn’t paid a bill in over a decade. When he last paid a bill, you took a paper copy to the post office and paid it with cash. I feel like I’m abandoning him to fend for himself.”

The kind psychologist said some things that struck me. First, she told me that most couples she saw in her practice come to see her about six years too late. When their marriage is beyond salvageable. Second, she had observed that the decision to part is usually a shock to one person, whereas the second person is just ready to get on with it. She had described my situation perfectly.

(As it was, I ordered him a new phone and set up direct debits for all of his bills before he moved out. Anything to make his life easier and ease some of the guilt that I felt).

I often feel like I gave my husband what should have been the best years of my life- my twenties. And yes, perhaps I am beginning my thirties as a single person, but I often feel somewhat like ‘used goods’. A 30-year old with a HELP debt and a mortgage who is still working her way through her bachelor’s degree. Not a lot of upsides there.

I miss the banter, the joking around. I miss his ability to build things, fix things and show me how to use different power tools. I miss that having a date to take to weddings was a given. I miss not having to worry about whether the mortgage would be paid.

To my surprise, twelve weeks after we broke up, he had a girlfriend.  That’s what I would urge men (or women) NOT to do. Don’t think that you’re going to be able to leave a long term relationship and get straight onto Tinder. It just doesn’t work like that. Your mind and heart are a mess. And if you’re a man, your ‘downstairs region’ may not be in the mood to co-operate (as he admitted to me later).

As it stands now, we are (cautious) friends. We text. We joke via text. I’ve started to wear my engagement ring sometimes, but on a different hand now. Hey, it was beautifully designed (by me), and diamonds are my birthstone. And now that I know that my ex-husband is doing ok, I’m ok.

For some reason, I had kept every single card from our wedding. When I was home in January, I made myself read each one before tearing them in half and throwing them in the bin. Some of the cards were written by people who have since died- including my beloved grandfather. As I read each card, I felt a sense of finality, but also a sense of curiosity. How many of these people had their doubts that we were really right for each other?

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I view relationships differently now. Having had the ‘white picket fence’ existence before, I don’t seek it again. Instead I would hope for a kind of Venn diagram. Where we are both self-sufficient individuals, but our circles overlap.. hopefully a great deal. Having said that, I try not to see clients as potential partners- I see them as people meant to cross my path for a reason. Besides, that’s really not my call to make.

I could still be there today. In fact, any time I’ve ever found myself into a difficult situation as an escort, my first thought has always been, “Well, you could still be living the life of a suburban housewife. So the fact that you are in this situation is absolutely your fault.”

I’m in no hurry though. It would be enough just to be with someone whose face lights up when they see me. Someone who makes me laugh and wants to go on crazy, spontaneous and non-committal adventures (calling Italian Stallion…). To have someone that I could just drag into bed at midday on a Saturday to make love would be awesome. Someone who could overlook my years spent as Mischa and love me for the rest of me. I guess I crave consistency too- not to be confused with monotony. Just to know where I stand. That’s all. That would be enough. My time as Mischa is finite. The love that I have to give is not.

2017- W.T.A.F?

2017.

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

To loosely paraphrase Queen Elizabeth II back in 1992, much of 2017 (for me) has been what can only be described as ‘annus horribilis’.

To loosely quote Clint Eastwood in Heartbreak Ridge (1986), it’s been a ‘clusterfuck’.

I don't want to admit this, but there were times this year when I really struggled to be a great escort. Not through any lack of enthusiasm for the job or my clients, but simply because I spent much of the year running on empty. The things that had sustained me through my first two years as an escort were gone. A RL job, career and workplace that I was utterly passionate about. The joy of having lifelong close friends within walking distance from my house. The close physical support and love of my beloved family, who I have missed Every. Single. Day.

I honestly believe that the best escorts are optimistic, engaged, present, open-minded, caring, sober, well-supported, and in love with life as well as their clients (in a non-stalkerish, non-possessive kind of way). Being an escort involves bringing the best of yourself to the table… and by God did I struggle to do that at times this year. (Although I did try my best to hide it).

2017 has been a year of firsts for me. First time actually paying for advertising as an escort. First time living alone in a big city. First time having an income tax bill instead of a refund. First time negotiating heart-wrenching loneliness. First time enduring a RL job that I have detested for much of the year. First time sharing joint dog custody. First time travelling to Singapore and New Zealand as Mischa. First time going on RL dates in years and years. First time doubting my decision to become an escort. First time having surgery on my own. First time crying with RL workplace frustration on an almost weekly basis. (And I'm a pretty resilient cookie).

But Oh. My. Goodness have I met some incredible people in 2017. I have been truly blessed and thank my lucky stars that our paths have somehow collided in this crazy world.

TO my beautiful, beautiful clients that I have known for a year or more- words of thanks aren’t enough. You have been so supportive, (and far beyond what you signed up for when hiring an escort). To anyone who has given me a ‘pep talk’ this year- I OWE YOU. You have been my light and fresh air when I when I was stuck in a bit of a dark fog. 

Ironically, as soon as I left for Tokyo, several important changes were made at my RL workplace which will make 2018 a lot easier for me. It’s likely that 2018 will involve more time spent in Queensland (family ahoy!) as well as Melbourne, where I shall be awaiting with puckered lips, ready to smother my still-incubating niece with kisses when she is finally born in February.

Post- Tokyo, I’ve been recharging at the Parental Palace for a few weeks and I feel great. Back to my lighthearted self and ready to continue providing support, adventure and intimacy for those beautiful souls that I occasionally find myself horizontal (or vertical) with. Bring on 2018!

Spring and change

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When I began this blog post, there was a 6-ft unicorn in the pool outside and a ginormous grin on my face. Michael Kors sandals under my toes and sun beams on my nose.

For some reason, the vast majority of my blogging happens when I’m out of my usual routine. It was only when I opened my semi-neglected MacBook that I realised that I still have about five or six draft blog posts saved on the hard drive. All unfinished. My experiences with sugar dating. Love Hotels. My own ‘experimental’ outing. Japanese ingenuity. My visit to a swingers club.

Typing was slightly painful when I began typing this post as I had several blisters on the fingers of my right hand- a remnant of gripping the handles of a jet ski tightly while my Mum was at the wheel. I’m from a super-close knit family, which is why I find it so difficult to live outside of Queensland.

There were thirteen (my favourite number) of us that hired a big house in the Whitsundays. A week of laughter, games, home cooking, wine, karaoke and adventures. It was decided that one night we would have a ‘white party’. Unfortunately I hadn’t tried my white dress on before the night. Cue my younger sister in the bathroom with me, insisting that the only way to squeeze me into it was to remove my bra. My first time attending a party sans bra!

A particularly pesky possum had been lurking around on the deck all evening, and at about 9 pm, the men of the house decided to shoo him back into the garden. It would been one hell of a shock for the poor possum. One moment scourging for scraps, the next being chased by the alabaster-clad members of the Backstreet Boys, circa 1999.

 White Party ready. 

White Party ready. 

 
 Possum not pictured.

Possum not pictured.

If anything, this year has taught me the importance of having good people around me. To those beautiful people that checked in on me when I first moved to Sydney (and continue to do so)- thank you. To those special souls that I’ve met since moving to Sydney thank you also.

I do have a great sense of loyalty to the few clients that I have. It is always a great feeling when they return that loyalty. Whether it’s making a booking on a regular basis, saying “Hi!” via social media, sending me photos of what’s happening in their lives, or even inviting me for a platonic lunch, coffee or cocktail when we’re in the same place- I appreciate it all.

If I can digress to the topic of Twitter for a second. While undeniably an important marketing tool, social media of any variety can be all-consuming. Buuut....it’s important to keep it all in perspective. I remember reading a quote that went something like, “I hope your life is as good as it looks on Facebook.” Obviously, living a duplicitous lifestyle (as either escort or client) means that one ‘self’ is more authentic than the other. In my particular case, the tweets and blogs that I write as Mischa are very close to me. Change the name and I’m essentially the same person (although Mischa is much naughtier…).

I have genuinely met THE best people on Twitter. And while I enjoy sharing my life, and being let into the lives of others, I still like a reasonable amount of discretion. Take a stroll (or scroll) through my Twitter feed and hopefully you will find that it’s difficult to work out who I have met in person and who I haven’t. That’s purely my personal preference and exactly the way that I like it.

I recently read a really great blog post, written by one of the founders of the rotation curation Twitter account, @BeingTokyo. The link is below, and I promise that it’s a quick read:

https://fernandogros.com/why-i-deleted-the-twitter-app-from-my-phone-along-with-122-others/

From the above article, the following quote really stuck with me:

We’ve gone from sharing what we do to living so we can share.
— Fernando Gros

Would you agree?

While the vast majority of my Twitter interactions bring me great joy, I often feel the need to step back and leave Twitter untouched for hours, sometimes days at a time. Increasingly I find that the less time I spend on Twitter, the happier I am. Maybe this is due to the fact that I’m seeing less tweets pertaining to the antics of @realDonaldTrump? Or perhaps, (and more likely), it is because instead of looking at a screen, I am off doing something where interpersonal interaction is required? I’m not sure.

However, Twitter and email still remain two of the easiest ways to contact me. The quickest way to contact me is undoubtedly via Twitter DM (my notifications are still on!).

Back to the point of this post!

The season has changed from Winter to Spring, and I’ve made a few changes of my own. Beginning with no longer parking my car under Jacaranda trees.

I’ve added a calendar to the bottom of my Contact page. This is always up-to-date, and at present it is filled in a month in advance.

I am slowly beginning to use some of the new photos that I have had taken this year. One of these shoots was a tale in itself- asking my Dad to drop me to an empty beach at dawn with a full face of makeup. (Ask me to tell you the story in person- it gets funnier).

In response to a question that I received via DM, no, I will not be creating an OnlyFans account. Mainly because I suspect that I would be my ‘Only Fan’! Haha!

I have however, made a new page on my website, Extras. This is home to a very dodgy selection of selfies and links to both my Pinterest page and DeliveryCode wishlist. Please don’t misconstrue the reason that I’ve included this last item. I neither want nor expect gifts. The fact that you choose to spend time with me is definitely gift enough! The inclusion of DeliveryCode is solely in case I need to ask you for a deposit to secure our time together. Your information is protected and completely invisible to my eyes.

I will be taking more lessons in kink. There are so many things that I want to learn, more for my own curiosity (and to share with those interested), as opposed to ever working as a PSE provider.

I plan to take a short course in remedial massage in January- purely for my own curiosity and for the benefit of anyone who might end up alone with me. If only I could offer a private health fund rebate…

And finally, I’ll be continuing to learn Japanese. And to do battle with my MacBook.

I can't believe we're in November already. The start of the festive season. I hope that yours is off to a great start.

Cheers!

x Mischa

P.S. To my long-suffering, long-distance friend C. Thanks aren’t enough.

"Baby, baby, baby, ooooh"- Justin Bieber (2010)

There is a baby coming into my life. Not a ‘baby’ as in a pet or a new project. A miniature human whose predicted 2018 arrival fills me with great excitement, even though I am not his/her mother.

I became aware of this little person’s existence when I received an ultrasound image on my phone. It looked like a little peanut just chilling inside a slightly-too-large shell.

It was a bittersweet feeling in a way. You see, the baby’s mother and I have been close for our entire lives. Not only are my mother and her mother sisters, but we are only nine months apart in age. We grew up in different towns, but we were keen pen pals. We attended boarding school at the same time in the same city. When I was in a long-term relationship, we would take ‘couples’ vacations’ together with our spouses. Eventually the discussion had turned to having children and we both vowed that when/if the time came, we would do our utmost to have children at the same time.

So when the news came, I wasn’t particularly surprised, but I was a little sad. We had been so close as children, that the plan was for our children to be just as close. But given that I no longer have a partner, such an option wasn’t viable.

I do feel slightly invested even though I had nothing to do with this little person’s creation. As well as being a relative and close friend, I was thrilled to act as the MC at its parents’ posh wedding. I even bought a few books from Amazon.com to brush up on the role. ‘You Can Be a Wedding MC’ was a highlight. Ask me about the outrageously rude bird joke that the book recommended and that I never used.

I can’t imagine any two people better to raise a child, really. They are always so physically affectionate, fitness fanatics with a heap of common interests and a knack for making each other and everyone around them laugh non-stop. 

Even though we’re only a one hour plane ride apart, I am firmly sitting on my enthusiasm. I imagine that being a first-time mother with no family close by would be exceptionally difficult at the best of times.

So I will drink, nibble on soft cheese, eat seafood and continue to enjoy all manner of vices while awaiting the arrival of someone who I’m certain will be quite something. 

I also intend to get my whooping cough shot, and stay a comfortable distance away until the baby has settled in to life on the outside. As an ‘aunt’ of sorts, it is my job to spoil the child mercilessly. But spoil them with useful gifts, not crap trinket boxes such as those that hold a lock of hair or a first tooth. What a waste of money- use a ziplock sandwich bag! 

(Although, I can see the merit in keeping a baby tooth or two after they’ve fallen out. As a child, I once kept the same tooth for around three years, bringing it out every couple of months in order to collect a $2 coin from the Tooth Fairy. I think I still have it somewhere. I wonder if I could try it again now?)

Slightly off-topic for a second. I’ve recently been home to celebrate my Grandmother’s birthday and surprise my Dad for Fathers Day.

My parents have been casually hinting for a year or so that they would appreciate it if my siblings and I went to our childhood home and sorted through our childhood possessions. I needed to find a few things, so I headed down to the empty house alone one morning. There is a ‘family room’ and two bedrooms which are being used to store a collection of things that have been accumulated throughout the lives of five people, and over the space of 40 years. The memories came back in a slow montage, depending on what caught my eye. My stamp collection, the first CDs that I ever bought. The sweet smell of the house and the objects that I saw, made me want to jump into a Tardis and live my childhood all over again. Ironically, it was a client who partially inspired this search-and-find mission. We had been discussing semi-precious stones, which made me want to find my crystal collection from 15 years ago. I was surprised to encounter some sentimental baby stuff that my Mum has hung on to, “just in case”.

But I digress. Back to my nicely incubating ‘niece’ or ‘nephew’.

By the end of September, this tiny miracle will have grown enough that we can know its gender. I believe that there’s a gender reveal cake coming towards the end of this month (oooh, cake!) 

Let’s see if this little baby pushes me overboard into the sea of clucky-ness. I hope not, as I am freestyling beautifully through a sea of lucky-ness. I have the most fantastically close family, great friends and the best clients that a ‘temporary girlfriend’ could ask for. And of course, the best thing about being an ‘aunt’ is that you can hand the baby back when its nappy needs changing!

Below are my first two baby purchases. #excited *squeeeeal*

x Mischa


 
 

Of loss.

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I fear that yesterday I started to lose a close friend. Not ‘lose’ as in they are facing death. Just ‘lose’ in that we may not be in contact with each other anymore. It took me by surprise and I’m still in tears as I write this.

There was no ugliness, no fight. Just a slow online discussion over the course of a few hours. The reasons are few- different expectations, and a change of heart.

I’ve never parted ways with a close friend before. And I’ve only ever parted ways with two clients on not-so-great terms. In fact, one of the luxuries of having few clients is that I believe that I share a close bond with each one. Some closer than others, but I know (and hopefully they know) that we can drop each other a line at any time.

But you see, the problem with letting people into your life (and your heart) is that it can only go one of two ways. You either stay friends forever and ever, or eventually you have to say goodbye to them. Perhaps every relationship has some kind of predetermined expiry date?

I continue to hope that my escort work will ‘harden’ me in an emotional sense. Unfortunately, it seems to have done the opposite. I definitely ‘feel’ more than I ever have before. In one sense I’m grateful, in another I’m not as I can see that sometimes feelings can lead to financially costly mistakes.

As I’ve said before, I genuinely try to leave everyone I meet in a better state than when I met them. Certainly everyone that I’ve met has taught me something.

What has surprised me about being an escort is that I have had the great privilege of meeting some awesome people who are neither clients nor potential clients. I certainly didn’t expect that. That’s how this particular friend and I met. Despite being sad at the moment, I’m still very grateful that we did meet.

So, I guess that the lesson here is that when it comes to friendship, being upfront and honest is always the best way to go. Even if it hurts the other person, there’s no point in maintaining any degree of falsehood. I suppose that one of the benefits of being an escort is that everything is upfront in your interactions. It is possible to become friends with your clients, but the expectations are still clear: time = money. You both know that you’re not going to end up together in a romantic sense, but certainly the bond that you’ve formed can last a very long time.

I’m not sure what’s going to happen with this particular friendship. It quite likely could be salvageable. I have no prior experience to draw on, but I suspect that I may take a little while to stop feeling sad. Hence, I’m trying to keep super-busy, so all distractions and bookings are welcome!

x Mischa

P.S. My forthcoming blog posts will be more upbeat, I promise!

P.P.S. In awesome news, I have just been invited to my first ‘twitter’ wedding! (Meaning that I met the bride and groom through twitter). I’m so honoured to be invited and oh-so excited!!

"Unicorns"- rare but real.

I recently had the unexpected good fortune to meet a unicorn.

The term “unicorn” has become somewhat of a buzz word in recent times, with all manner of different meanings. Do enough internet research on unicorns and you will find a myriad of different definitions of the term. However, I simply offer my own interpretation.

So what is a unicorn? Quite simply, it’s thus: in another time, another place, another dimension, they would be the perfect person for you. They have everything that you would want in life- both for yourself, and in a partner. They are generally a high-achiever, physically beautiful, mysterious, humorous and charismatic. You can’t help but be in absolute awe while also experiencing a comfort level in their presence that can’t be explained.

Your first encounter with this creature probably began innocuously enough. You both approached each other with caution. However, it can take mere minutes to feel a spark, a connection, and then suddenly you can’t get enough of them. Unicorns can make time stand still- this is one of their powers. If you are lucky enough to find yourself behind closed doors with your unicorn, brace yourself- because it’s likely to be an uninhibited and insanely passionate ride. True unicorns will welcome bedroom experimentation of many kinds.

Your first instinct may be to contain your new find, but this is simply impossible. There is zero point in trying to trap or cage a unicorn. While they can often be drawn/tempted/lured in for an initial encounter, unicorns are headstrong, and any contact after your first encounter must be purely their own decision.

Ultimately, unicorn contact is a catch-and-release situation. Let them know that they are magical and very much appreciated, and then let them go. Unicorns are free-range animals. If you’re lucky, you will encounter them again, but neither you nor your unicorn are putting your lives on hold for each other.

Not only do unicorns work their magic on time, they also work their magic on your sense of smell and your hearing. You may forget how good they smelled until one day you are on the train and are suddenly hit by the scent of their cologne. You are frozen to the spot as a montage of memories dance their way through your brain. The same applies to the music that you heard around the time that the unicorn entered your life. Hearing music that you listened to together with your unicorn is a particularly poignant experience. Hence, at the moment I can’t listen to The Potbelleez “Saved in a Bottle” and most of Coldplay’s back catalogue….

Four. The number of unicorns that I’ve encountered in my entire life. Two of my unicorn encounters have occurred overseas, two were in Australia, and each one took me utterly by surprise. It’s unlikely that these men even realised that they were/are a unicorn, which is probably for the best.

A lovely, lingering part about any unicorn encounter is that you will never be quite the same person again. Unicorns will leave a hoof print firmly on your heart and you won’t ever forget them.

x Mischa

Toyota (Postscript)

Thanks to everyone/anyone who messaged me to give me feedback on my 'Toyota' blog post. I really appreciate it.

This will be my last musings on the topic of body size etc. I wrote the original piece because of something that I had read. 'Size-ism' isn't something that I think about on a regular basis. I'm more focused on trying to be the best friend/employee/colleague/sister/daughter/escort that I can be, while having as much fun as possible. If someone makes the choice to write something unnecessarily negative (or just unnecessary) about another person's appearance, then there's really not anything that the subject can do except paint on a smile and move on. I guess the lesson here is just to be mindful of what you write. Life is too short for unnecessary negativity.

In the escort industry, your appearance is most often the factor that determines your worth. Not your worth as a person, but your worth as a tangible dollars-per-hour figure. Which is why I wanted (but completely forgot) to point out in the original post that I don't charge brand-new Yaris rates. In keeping with the 'Toyota' theme, I'm probably charging three-year-old Camry rates. A brand-new Yaris will cost you a lot more. (Incidentally, Chris the photographer actually told me that my rates are too low. And he's photographed a lot of escorts).

On that note..

Yesterday I had the great privilege of being photographed by the very talented Chris at www.sydneyglamourphotography.com.au. Below is a shot that he took on his phone at the very end of the shoot. This shot is completely unretouched. If you look very closely (please don't) you can make out the small vertical scar a few inches above my bottom. That scar is where the surgeon made an incision to remove part of a broken disc after my ski accident, the one that led to me gaining a great deal of weight. There are also moles scattered across my back- the remnants of an awesome childhood spent in sunny Queensland.

Anyway, I've been studying this image to try and work out whether I would consider this person to be BBW if it was a photo of someone else. I still haven't come up with the answer. Granted, it may not be the body of a Yaris, but it's definitely not the body of a LandCruiser either....

Post-photo shoot

Toyota

For those of us who are time-poor (myself included), here is the general gist of this blog post:

Don’t buy a Toyota Camry and then complain later because what you actually wanted was a Toyota Yaris.

The photographs of me that you will find on my website were taken by a professional photographer in 2014. The only time that Photoshop was used on these images was to conceal a small tattoo and remove part of a bra strap that could be seen under my white dress.

Little did I know that a year later I would suffer a potentially life-threatening injury to my back that would cause me to gain a ridiculous amount of weight.

New clients were made aware of this, however. Anyone who has ever emailed me and asked to make a booking will recall me warning them that I am now heavier that my website photos. I would never want to disappoint anyone. Imagine your fury if you were expecting delivery of a Yaris and then suddenly a LandCruiser appeared in your driveway?

I’ve been trying to get some sort of definitive answer this morning as to what qualifies someone as a BBW (Big Beautiful Woman). From what I can gather, there is no hard-and-fast rule. One site suggested that wearing clothing of US size 12/AU size 16 and over qualities someone as a BBW. Another site suggested that a US size 14/AU size 18 is the determining factor.

The problem is that many of the jeans in my wardrobe are US size 10/AU size 14. Most of my shirts and tops are US size 6 or 8/ AU size 10 or 12. So, do I now change my marketing to BBBW (Borderline Big Beautiful Woman)?

Yes, this is a largely superficial industry and perhaps by being a part of it, I have waived my right to get offended when people use terms like “chubby”, “fat”, “larger-sized”, ‘plus-sized”, “chunky”, “non-petite”, “bigger”, and“curvier” in regards to my appearance.

But do you know what? It still hurts. This hurt is multiplied when I have seen a client, done everything to ensure that he had an excellent time, and then read later in a review exactly how many references he makes to how ‘large’ I am.

Perhaps if I was a full-time escort, and didn’t have to fit my escorting activities around a full-time job, study etc, I would look like a svelte stick.

So, here’s what I’ve decided about the rights of the client. You don’t have the right to buy a Camry and then make your displeasure known to the world because you later realised that you should have bought a Yaris. You also don’t have the right to make me feel bad about myself because I am not Yaris-sized at this moment.

Do you know the best bit about the escort industry? It is home to so many beautiful Toyotas! From the Yaris, through to the Prius, Corolla, Aurion, Camry, RAV4, Kluger, Prado, LandCruiser- there is an absolute plethora of choice out there! The other great thing about the escort industry is the lack of obligation. The client is not so starved for choice that he has no choice but to ‘settle for’ me. I’m not so desperate for money/clients that I have to see men who make me feel uncomfortable or bad about myself.

Right. With that said, I can get on with my day. I have a gym class to attend, broccolini to steam and devour. I have a bicycle to ride and adventures to go on. I have a few lovely clients to spend time with who are sensible enough to focus on how I make them feel, rather than how I look.

x Mischa

P.S. As an escort, I don’t particularly care which model of car you are. However, I do care that you’ve been washed and detailed very recently, and that your interior is genuine.

P.P.S. I slouch. My Mum is always telling me to pull my shoulders back. I slouch out of habit because I was the tallest girl in my class during my early teens. I slouched to make myself look shorter. I stopped growing at 173cm, which I’m happy with, and which is also clearly written on my website. (Unfortunately the slouch has remained and I have to work on this, lest I look like Quasimodo when I’m 60 years old). Unlike my weight, I can’t do anything about my height. If I suspect that a client has a problem with my height, then I will wear flat shoes instead of heels. In fact, feel free to request this! However, if my height is an issue for you that you may feel compelled to comment on later, then I’m not the escort for you.

P.P.P.S. Thanks to the gentleman genius who told me that I was a "sexy Camry" this morning.

Japan, emotions, and... socks.

I think that I’m suffering from Post-Japan Melancholy.

The usual symptoms- wanting to stay in bed, reluctance to unpack, wanting to go home to my parents, procrastinating in regards to work, and consulting webjet.com to see how soon I can feasibly leap on the next JAL flight back to Tokyo.

Although, the chance to meet up with a gorgeous gentleman friend on my second evening back in Sydney has absolutely taken the ‘sting’ out of returning home. And for that, I am extremely grateful.

I’ve been on a kind of ‘escort hiatus’ since February. There are several reasons for this. I moved to Sydney to start a new job in late January; one which I had sort of been ‘headhunted’ for. My new boss was very specific- I had been hired to ‘tighten things up’. I was expecting a challenge, but absolutely nothing like I have encountered. Hence, much of my time has been spent either at work, or thinking about work.

In addition to work issues, I had felt a ‘connection’ with a man that I had met last year. Until I can get some sort of idea as to whether our friendship will go anywhere, I decided to take a break from actively working as an escort.

I was surprised by the depth of loneliness and homesickness that I experienced as soon as I moved to Sydney. I guess that over the past few years I have been blessed to have my parents, siblings and close friends all living or working within arms’ reach of me. In Sydney I have no family, but am extremely lucky to have my friends C and K close by.

The loneliness that I encountered when I moved reminded me of one of the reasons that I began escort work in the first place. Obviously, money was the greatest driver, but the true breakdown went something like this: money 60%/ altruism 30%/ adventure 10%. I don’t mean ‘altruism’ to mean charity. I use it in the sense of wanting to make connections, make people laugh, listen to their stories, and try to ease some of their loneliness if I can. I have spent a significant chunk of my own life in a relationship where I often felt invisible. I assume that many others can relate to that feeling, and may enjoy experiencing something different for an afternoon/evening. In addition, I have never dealt well with being alone in hotel rooms, and I imagine that men who travel often for business feel the same. I also often ponder the isolation that men can experience throughout their lives. If I am struggling with something or having a ‘Depresso Latte Day’ (a term coined by my sister), I have any number of female friends that I can text or call. I sometimes wonder if men are more solitary creatures who have plenty of ‘acquaintances’, but maybe not as many close confidantes.

It was the late Grace Bellavue who once said that, as an escort, she’d “been given access to the greatest minds in the world.” This is absolutely true. I have been truly blessed to have encountered men who are at the top of their field. One such man I met in person last week.

We connected initially online. I was convinced that he was some sort of time-waster from India. Due to the lack of nudity and face pictures on my website, I think he had dismissed me as a part of some sort of bait-and-switch scheme. In a moment of boredom (probably for both of us) we spoke via FaceTime last year. I was in Brisbane, he was in Nagoya. A short-yet-pleasant conversation about Japan and then no contact since.

Anyway, as fate would have it, we both happened to be in Tokyo at the same time, and he reached out to me and invited me to lunch.

Unfortunately, I had been running errands all morning which left me no time to change into heels and a dress. I also got lost and ended up at the building next to where I was meant to be. Thank you, Nihon Kotsu Taxi Company. Not a great start to any engagement- late, lost and underdressed. In the end, he had to come and rescue me.

Do you know how some people just have an imposing presence? That was him. He strode towards me, looking like he had stepped straight off the cover of GQ Magazine. Early 40’s, an immaculately groomed executive at the top of his field. Huge watch, custom-fitted suit, perfectly matching belt and shoes.

After rescuing me, he guided me into this incredible underground restaurant. The decor was simple-yet-dazzling, the place littered with expensive champagnes and huge rock crystals. The staff bowed in succession as we walked past. He was clearly a regular here, as no words were exchanged, yet a waiter led us to a private dining room.

Over lunch, no topic of conversation was off-limits; global oil prices, Saddam Hussein assassination conspiracy theories, cats, Ramadan, natural resources, travel, his wife and child. The amount of knowledge that this man had was astonishing. I was grateful that he had made time to meet me, especially as I could see the screen of his phone filling up with email notifications.

Before long, an hour was up, he had to return to his office for an afternoon of back-to-back meetings. He escorted me out of the restaurant with a thank you nod to the staff. I realised that we hadn’t been presented with a bill. What an untold luxury that must be, to have an account at your preferred lunch location. While he has/had no interest in engaging me as an escort, it was in all, a fascinating lunch.

A little while later, I messaged him to thank him for lunch.

“I didn’t think that you would be interested.” He replied via text.

“Why? Because it’s not a booking and you’re not paying me? I’m more about experiences than money. Meeting you and eating in that restaurant were both experiences.”

Speaking of experiences, I’m trying to put some real effort into crossing off #BucketList items in 2017.

Setting off fireworks has always been high on my list. So, where better to go in Japan than south to Yokosuka? I could spend my birthday by the sea and possibly find a landscape that would be more conducive to setting off fireworks than the centre of Tokyo.

The purchasing of said fireworks was remarkably easy. I was even partway to getting them included in my duty free items until the store manager wandered over and explained (with the assistance of Google Translate) that fireworks could not be taken on airplanes, so therefore could not be duty free. Damn.

Adult toys, on the other hand, can be included as duty free, on the proviso that you leave them sealed and unused until you return home.

Visiting a Shisha/Hookah cafe was another #BucketList item that I managed to tick off during this trip, as was participating in the favourite Japanese pastime of karaoke. Sadly, there was only one Kanye West song on the menu. The operators should really do something about that.

I was also fortunate to see the work of Tatsuo Miyajima in Nippori. I was first introduced to his work in Sydney and loved it. Therefore, I was determined to seek out more of his work in Tokyo. A quick warning though- his work makes soooo much more sense if you do your research first. See if you can find an interview with Tatsuo Miyajima online- the interviews that I have seen make his art even more poignant.

Another marked highlight of this trip was the chance to encounter one or two seriously smart Australian expats. I've often wondered how difficult it would be to live and work in Japan for a significant period of time, so it was great to hear their experiences.

To a quick personal note for a second.

When in escort mode, I have very few clients. I couldn’t operate any other way.

It can be a hard balancing act for both client and escort, how much to reveal, how much to keep private. For me, revealing my real name, address, employer, and real life occupation are all off limits.

It takes a great deal of trust to completely open up to someone. In fact, I’m more comfortable revealing my naked body to someone, rather than revealing much about myself. Sometimes you will meet someone that you just ‘click’ with, and you will feel comfortable sharing details. I like the idea that the amount of effort you expend towards another person will produce a relationship that is proportionate with the energy that you’ve invested. This idea certainly works in academia- the more energy and effort you put into your studies, the better results that you can expect. However, when you’re dealing with relationships, there are simply too many variables involved to guarantee any kind of outcome.

Being an escort has taught me things that I could never have anticipated. I’ve been extraordinarily blessed. But my greatest hope remains- that over time any ‘hurts’ that I experience will ‘harden’ me to be less affected by the next hurt. That over time, I will develop a much thicker skin (as opposed to thicker thighs, which I have already achieved). :-)

As Shakespeare himself wrote, ‘all’s well that ends well’, and like most things in life, open and honest communication can often smooth out any understandings. However, there have been times in my short career as an escort when I have experienced hurt. As no one in my real life is aware of my work as an escort, it can be hard to move on when you have no one to 'debrief' with. Most escorts may present facades of steel, but ultimately they are people with emotions too, whether 'on hiatus’ or not.

There is a great line in the Natasha Bedingfield song, I Bruise Easily that goes, “anyone who, can touch you, can hurt you or heal you”. This line could almost have been written specifically for the client/escort relationship.

Additionally, there is a line in the Puff Daddy song, Come With Me, that goes, “can’t stand nobody like you”. This line can be applied to the person who ‘liberated’ (i.e. stole) my hair straightener from my hotel during my last 24 hours in Tokyo. :-(

I apologise if this blog post appears disjointed. I wrote most of it in Tokyo and intended to post it from there. However, I simply ran out of time. So, I’ve tried to rearrange it as best I can and am posting it now that I’m home.

Speaking of home, winter is approaching! I recently read a 2012 study that looked at brain scans of men and women taken during sex. One unexpected discovery of the study was thus: by wearing socks during sex, it is easier for both sexes to achieve orgasm. If you take anything away from my ramblings, make it this: keep your socks on when going to bed this winter.

x Mischa    

 

Taking a break...

The mark of an excellent escort is to accurately read what your client wants, possibly before he even knows it himself. Last year, I accidentally ‘misdiagnosed’ a client. I assumed that he wanted a relationship that was both physically and emotionally enriching, rather than one that was purely physical. The realisation of this ‘misdiagnosis’ led me to ponder... am I actually more suited to being a mistress or a sugar baby, rather than an escort? 

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love being an escort. I went into it entirely on my own terms and with a plan that would work for me: minimal clients (less than seven), all of them repeat clients who I would see around once every eight to twelve weeks or so. Men that wanted some kind of emotional connection rather than simply sex alone. Despite the emotional connection, our ‘relationship’ would be neither a huge distraction to his life or mine. I could maintain anonymity and continue to study and work full-time. 

Though my escort career has been relatively short so far, my initial plan seems to have worked.

However, in order to investigate the ‘mistress’ option, I recently registered on Ashley Madison as a young female looking for an affair with an older married man. However, I didn’t pretend to be a bored housewife. When I set up my profile, I made no secret of the fact that I was Mischa Maxwell, escort. Most men viewed my profile and declared that they were not interested, which is exactly what I had expected would happen. 

However, what I didn’t expect was the range of specific things that these men were looking for- all for free. One wanted someone to pop around to his house before work for a quick shag on a bi-weekly basis. One wanted a single lady with her own ‘love nest’. One gent wanted NSA fun, declaring that he loved to perform oral for hours. Another wanted someone who lived in the CBD so that he could often ‘drop by’ after his regular boys’ night out. Aside from the occasional meal, all of these services were expected to be provided for free. Dick pics were absolutely rife. I have never seen so many in my life. What alarmed me the most was the amount of men who expected that all sex would be completely natural. Condoms not required.

It took about four days for management to shut my account down. I wasn’t surprised. How dare anyone suggest that these men should actually pay for sex when they were attractive enough to get it for free. 

A bit of a hint for these men- women worth your time are typically more interested in what is between your ears rather than what is between your legs.

On a more personal note, January has been a huge month for me. I spent the first part in Japan before moving to Sydney to begin a new RL job. It’s an interesting experience, getting your bearings in a new place, completely on your own. My new colleagues seem lovely, but I certainly have my work cut out for me. 

I had always expected that the start of my new job would mean that any bookings would be an impossiblity- for both new or existing clients. (Actually, I have no permanent Sydney clients, so being booked by existing clients was hardly an issue). University is starting again soon, and I feel a compulsion to be a complete workaholic while I get a handle on my new role.

Hence, I’ll be on hiatus from February 1st. I’ll still be contactable via the usual methods, but may not check them as often. I imagine that the person who commented that my Twitter feed is sadly lacking in nudes will be most relieved. I’m relieved myself, actually. Relieved that I purchased so many duty free sex toys while I was in Japan, that is...

x Mischa

P.S. ......However, if you are a 40+ year old man with sugar daddy potential who would like to meet once or twice a month in Sydney, do get in touch... :-)

Ramblings from December continued..

Tokyo, 2017.

It had only been 10 hours into 2017, and I had already been chastised by a policeman, harassed by a homeless man and intercepted an attempted robbery.

But first things first..

I’ve never been one to celebrate New Years Eve, wherever I am on the night. Fortunately, the sheer amount of people in the streets of Tokyo and the icy cold wind had reinforced my decision to retreat indoors for the evening. What followed was a few drinks with my fellow capsule-dwellers, and a chat via text with a lovely man in Australia. Before I knew it, the time was 2:00am. 

It was 9:00am on the 1st of January when I emerged from my cocoon andpacked up in preparation to change hotels. The Japanese are sticklers for punctuality. It was only a week prior that I was yelled at for arriving at Reception at 10:04am. I casually arranged my luggage in a pile outside Reception and nipped to the store 20 metres away to grab breakfast.    

Breakfast sourced, I headed back towards my luggage. It was then that I noticed a Japanese man casually walking down the street carrying something that looked strangely like my leather cosmetics bag. I jogged after him and said “excuse me, but I think that’s mine.” He handed it over, mumbled something inaudible in Japanese and continued on his way. It was only after I returned to my pile of luggage that I realised that he had made off with my can of Acai energy drink. Which, in the scheme of things, was ok. I was just sooo relieved that he hadn’t picked up the bag to the left which contained my MacBook Pro and two iPhones. Besides, at the pace that he was moving, he clearly needed the can of energy drink more than I did. 

This is a valuable lesson for all travellers- choose a cosmetics/toiletries bag that looks stylish enough to pass as a handbag. Actually, he really should have thanked me for interrupting his criminal activity. I had saved him from the absolute shame that he would have encountered when he returned to gangland HQ. His equally dodgy mates would bring back iPads and jewellery, whereas he would have contributed..... a bag containing a plethora of half-used Mecca Cosmetica makeup and a month’s supply of disposable ‘Fresh Look’ contact lenses.

Post-burglary-interception, I took a taxi to my new hotel and left my bags there. Strong coffee and something called a VitaCig were next on the agenda. Coffee was easy to source. Despite being a non-smoker for a significant period of time now, a friend had given me something called a VitaCig. No tobacco, no nicotine, but packed full of vitamins. The prevailing wisdom of the developers was that when you inhaled, you absorbed the vitamins through the roof of your mouth. No lighter required. I was sampling this weird creation with my coffee when I was literally shooed off the pavement by an angry policeman. Complete with waving arms. I’m not sure if that particular move is taught at Tokyo Police Academy, but I later saw him use it on another innocent bystander. The problem with being chased onto the street was that I was instantly set upon by a homeless man who smelt like tuna and wanted to have a long conversation. It was a fascinating chat, with him ranting in Japanese while I kept nodding politely and taking tentative steps backwards.

So, why move hotels? Very simply, it had gotten to the stage where I had to leave my hotel in a disguise at night. The problem was that from around 9:00pm onwards, Nigerian touts would roam the streets directly outside of my hotel, trying to coerce foreigners into bars. If they were successful, the bar gives them a cut of whatever the foreigner spends on drinks. I was an obvious target- being female, alone and caucasian. At first, one of the touts would walk next to me, ask me my name and then ask me why I didn’t want to talk to him. Then it progressed to several of these huge guys blocking my path. I took to the usual methods of trying to avoid someone- earphones in my ears, pretending to be engaged in an important phone call, etc. I made sure that I was dressed as conservatively as possible. Nothing seemed to make much difference. Even changing routes and cutting through a lane at the back of my hotel wasn’t successful. These touts were literally everywhere. 

It all came to a head one night when one of them actually grabbed me by the arm. I had absolutely had enough. A quick pit stop at my favourite store Don Quijote (yes, they have spelt it incorrectly) ensured that I was now attired in a very fetching multi-coloured beanie (complete with wooden plaits) and surgical mask. I added my prescription glasses to the ensemble and felt much better. Even though I was curvier and taller than your average Japanese woman, my blonde hair and fair skin were now covered. I could now walk into my hotel without attracting a second glance from any tout.

Onto culinary matters, I began a love-affair with the fresh dumplings sold at 7/11. These became my staple breakfast. Pizza, chicken and seafood were my favourites. I’ve never been a pork fan (with the exception of bacon) so those dumplings were out. However...

“They don’t sell beef dumplings...” I whined down the phone to a friend.

“What? Of course they do. I’ll come with you”

Accompanied by said pal the next day, I wandered myself into the nearest Lawson’s Store. It soon became apparent what the problem was.

“They think that you are asking for a root.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Beet, not beef. Beet. Root. You’ll have to either ask for gyu niku or make some horns on the top of your head with your hands.”

Problem solved. 

There were two casualties of the trip. Firstly, my prescription Ray Ban sunglasses. I’m not usually a loser of possessions. But I had left them somewhere. I went to an optometrist to order a new pair as I had been surviving wearing my huge Dolce & Gabbana ‘Jackie-O’ style sunglasses courtesy of 2005. Yuck. What the hell was I thinking back then?? Anyway, getting across that I wanted the lenses to be ‘polarised’ was quite a challenge. The lady serving me kept repeating “polaroid, polaroid.” Admittedly, I do own a Polaroid Instax camera, but I had left it in Australia. Besides, this was hardly the time to take a selfie together to memorialise this frustrating occasion.

As it turned out, she actually meant ‘polarised’. Now we were on the same page. Transaction complete, I dashed out of the store to catch a train. However, half an hour later, I could not remember the name of the store, or where it was located...

Secondly, I had purchased the most gorgeous pair of black woollen Chloe gloves, with a little leather bow on each wrist. On my final day in Tokyo, I was wearing both gloves for most of the day. I arrived at Narita airport with only one glove in my possession. I still have that one glove. It is a sad reminder, but still so kawaii.

Things that I will miss about Japan: 

Alcohol being sold 24/7 at 7/11. Tokyo’s hours of operation, many places from 10am to 4am. Capsule hotels. Don Quijote.

Things that I will not miss about Japan:

Having consistently cold ears. Taxi drivers that blatantly exploit foreigners by driving them the longest possible route to their destination. Love Hotels with signs that state that if you’re not Japanese, you’re not welcome.

The morning of my very last day in Tokyo (pre-glove loss) I kept despairing about my new Ray Bans. I had paid for them in full when they were ordered.

I needed to find that optometrist....

x Mischa

 

Post Script: Out of sheer desperation, I ended up shoving the receipt for my glasses in front of a taxi driver. He was able to interpret it, and drove me to the store Paris Miki. I was then able to collect my glasses. They look ridiculous. Really too big for my face and an odd shape that makes my nose look even rounder. What the hell was I thinking??

Random ramblings from December.

I am currently writing this with Kanye West VH1 Storytellers playing in my ears. Unfortunately, this particular coffee shop in Shinjuku has an obsession with the music of The Beatles. I simply can’t stomach Strawberry Fields one more time today...

Has it really been almost 6 months since I wrote a blog post? How time flies...

So much has happened in that time. Firstly, I underwent surgery on my spine in August. I took a tumble whilst skiing in Hakuba last year and ended up with a prolapsed disc. L4/L5. The eight months of chronic pain that followed the accident were like nothing that I had ever experienced before. Not even Endone would touch the pain.

However, when I woke up in Recovery post-surgery, the pain was gone. I could feel my right leg again. I’m delighted to report that I’ve been pain-free ever since.

Secondly, I was offered a new position in Sydney, commencing in January 2017. It will be a completely new challenge for me, and one that I’m looking forward to. I am quite apprehensive though- I know 2.5 people in the whole city. My family and closest friends are all in Queensland. I’ve only been to Sydney a handful of times in my life. I can cope on my own quite comfortably for a short period of time, but I’m not sure how I’ll go long term. I also wonder if I’m a little too old to be essentially starting my life from scratch all over again. It also doesn’t feel real yet. I don’t think it will until late February when I’m pining for my old colleagues, my friends and family.

Back to (non-Beatles) music for a second. My little sister and I regularly swap song titles. One song that she introduced to me last week has become a firm favourite of mine. I would encourage everyone to stop what you’re doing, head to Officeworks and buy a few 8GB USB sticks. Transfer your 20 or so favourite songs and give them to your closest pals as a gift from the heart.

I once did this for my boss. It all started when he and I were driving to a meeting in his car. He turned the key in the ignition, and what should emerge from his car stereo? The Corrs. Good Lord.

It was at this point that I knew that he needed help. An intervention, if you will. 

The next day, I conspired with his wife to get hold of his car keys. I snuck into his car, ejected the CD of The Corrs, and inserted a CD that I had prepared the night before. It was comprised mostly of 50 Cent and Kanye. I turned the volume up very loud, locked the car and nipped off to replace the keys in their usual spot. 

Half an hour later, all hell broke loose after said leader was spotted heading towards his car, keys in hand. The second that the ignition was engaged, I could hear the thumping bass at the start of “Golddigga”. 

Next came a bellow of “MISCHA!!!” 

I casually wandered down. “Yes, did you need something?”

“You bloody changed my CD, now where is it? I can’t drive while this shit is on.”

“That’s right, blame the blonde. Blame the female.”

At which point, the CD came flying out the car window like a frisbee. Some people are so ungrateful.

I can’t describe how lovely it is to be back in Japan again. On Monday I had the pleasure of meeting three girls who work as escorts in Tokyo and internationally. I was nervous going into our meeting, as I had never met another escort before in my life. I’m happy to just stick to my tiny business model of six(ish) clients, and let the professional girls do their thing. Besides, my time as an escort is finite. If I should meet someone amazing, ‘Mischa’ will be sent on a very long vacation. Yes, I will definitely miss the friends that I have made, but in the end, one must look at the bigger picture.

Anna, Hana and Yuma were absolutely lovely. Despite our very different backgrounds and experiences, we got on brilliantly and many laughs were had. It was almost unfortunate that two of us had to leave to attend bookings, otherwise I’m sure that we could have stayed all night.

In the unlikely event that there are any other Australian escorts reading this, Japan is definitely not a minefield to make money. In order to compete, you will be charging less that your Australian rate. It is the busiest period of the year for the Japanese at the moment. The majority of my work here has been infrequent and more surprisingly... platonic. 

Earlier in the week, I had enjoyed a casual beer with a Tokyo-based journalist who has lived in many different parts of the world. When I considered his age, I felt like a real underachiever. He told me about some of the stories involving the sex industry that he had covered in his homeland. He also casually mentioned that the next day would be a big day as Putin would be in Tokyo.

After we said goodbye, I messaged the Tokyo girls:

Me: “Prepare yourselves, Putin is in town tomorrow!”

Anna: “I’m gonna hide under my blanket.”

Hana: “Hahaha! When is your wedding to him, Mischa?”

In other news from Japan, I’ve taken up swimming. I’m ashamed to say that I haven’t actually swum laps of a pool since I was in high school. However, I’m pretty sure that an important guy that I know in Australia does laps before work. I assume that it must somehow prepare his mind for a busy day in the office. I’ve actually suffered from short periods of anxiety lately, and I thought that swimming might be worth a try. The closest Olympic-sized, heated, pool is only one train stop away from Shinjuku. However, there are soooo many rules. No tattoos, no makeup. Wearing a swimming cap is compulsory, as is wearing a bathing suit that reaches down to your knees (for women). You must purchase a pass on your way in the front door and display it in the glass panel of your locker. If you fail to do this, your locker will not lock. You must wear your locker key on your wrist while swimming in the pool. You must shower twice- once naked, once in your swimsuit. No plastic hand paddles are permitted. No diving of any sort- use the stairs. Flippers are ok, provided that they do not extend more than 10 centimeters from the end of your toes.

The first day was nerve-wracking as I strode out to the pool, pretending that everyone wasn’t staring at the exceedingly voluptuous caucasian chick. Just when I thought that I had everything covered, a lifeguard came running over with a roll of tape. No. I had forgotten to remove my small pearl stud earrings. They had to be taped over. 

I’m sticking with the swimming though. I generally (and lazily) place myself in the ‘beginners’ lane. This allows me to plod along at a sedate and thoughtful pace. Right next the the ‘beginners’ lane is the ‘walking lane’. Yes, as the name suggests, one popular activity here is literally walking laps of the pool. It’s not just the oldies who are into it either. 

While Japan never gets old for me, there is true joy in introducing parts of Tokyo to people that have never experienced it before. I remember grinning like a loon when I took my little sister to the Shibuya ‘Scramble’ crossing one night last year. She was just captivated. I’m hoping that I will get the chance to see such amazement on someone’s face again at some point in the future.

My new Mac Book Pro continues to baffle me at times. I am still blaming Windows 10 for the death of my three-year-old Toshiba. While outrageously expensive, I do like the compact size of the Mac. However, I fear that it’s going to take at least another month to get fully acquainted. I can’t move items around as easily, some things are back to front and I definitely do not understand how the touch pad operates. 

I’m working on a ‘changes’ list for 2017. Essentially, it is a list of New Years Resolutions, just less flippant. I’ll share once I’m done. Please feel free to steal any of my ideas or add suggestions.

Now to leave you with something that I heard again recently: “You can’t pour from an empty cup.” 

Try to find some time to take care of yourself over the festive season.

Travel, clarity and change.

The time has absolutely flown and I’m back in Queensland enjoying the sun-, err, rain. My sojourn to Tokyo was magical, as it always is. There is something about landing at Narita Airport that lifts ones spirits immensely and erases any lingering memories of trying to sleep on a crowded plane.

I can’t accurately describe the trip as a holiday. It was more of an… adventure. I met extraordinary people. I climbed a mountain. Ate unusual foods. Got naked with beautiful Japanese women twice daily to soak in an onsen. Explored Love Hotels. Explored Love Hotels to the extent that a follow-up blog post will be required.

On a personal note, it was an interesting time for me. Mentally, I mean. A friend that I was meeting in Tokyo had to cancel; I would now be travelling alone. Two days before I flew out, there was a sudden death amongst my circle of friends. I was torn whether or not to go.

As it was, some time after arriving in Japan one client lost a family member, and another client ‘broke up’ with me. Both of these episodes left me feeling sad. Gentlemen- spare a thought for your lovely lady friends- they often have more on their brains than just liberating your cash. ;-/

But as Lupe Fiasco says, “The show goes on.” And it did.

I packed too much. I always do. Realistically, I could have survived with one set of casual clothes, two ‘date’ outfits and an armful of lingerie. Essentials that would not have equated to 25kgs, I’m sure.

I had forgotten about something. Something that I didn’t remember until I spent my first night in Shibuya.

I had forgotten all about travel’s ability to bring about clarity. That was when I began brainstorming, scribbling notes on my iPad. I did manage to decipher most of them, and offer this quick roundup:

In short, I need to begin the process of wrapping things up* here in Queensland. Realistically, I have done all I can here in regards to my RL (real-life) career. There are far more opportunities in my RL field in capital cities. So, by the end of 2017, I expect to have relocated to either Sydney or Melbourne.

But for now, my first task is to throw myself back into my university studies. Hence, there may not be as many inane, cat-centric tweets from me. Hurrah!

My second task is to begin ridding myself of material possessions that aren’t absolutely essential. Pairs of Louboutins that I don’t wear. Handbags that I don’t use. It’s amazing how much lingerie one can accumulate in an 18-month career as a temporary girlfriend. I’m quite looking forward to standing in my empty apartment with just a box of books, my phone and my cat.

I’m so fortunate that I have travels to look forward to. Melbourne tomorrow, Brisbane in three weeks, Sydney in September. Tokyo again in December and January. Availabilities remain, by the way. J

I must conclude by saying a huge “domo arigato gozaimasu!” to the people that I met in Japan. You are all stars. I love you all. I have been “loved” by a few of you. I have my fingers firmly crossed that I will see you again in December. I’m working on my Japanese already…

 

 *(If anyone reads this, please don’t send me a “sorry to see you go” –type message. I’m talking a time frame of 12-18 months, not tomorrow. And besides, travel is so easy that such a move is not really a big deal).

 

Of life and love. (Part 2)

Will anyone ever accept me if they are aware that I spent part of my life as a temporary girlfriend?

I have hope that they will.

For the rest of my life, I want to be judged on how I treat people. On how hard I work. On my qualifications.

I’m not convinced by the above quote from the most gorgeous man. I’m not actively looking for love, but would not reject it if I felt it. Love has completely taken me by surprise before, and I expect that many people have the same experience.

Maybe we’re all looking for something- happiness. But maybe it’s not going to arrive in a parcel that we recognise. Don’t be afraid to unwrap it, look at what’s inside. Love can turn up in the oddest of places.

Defy convention.

Throw caution to the wind and live. And love.

Of life and love. (Part 1)

This blog post was inspired by a Twitter conversation that I had recently with a client. All content is used with permission. I will issue a grammar warning however. Neither the dear client nor myself are partially illiterate, just busy. And we all know that iPhone keyboards were not designed for muscly male fingers.
(That's not really an excuse for my mistakes, though...).

Sure. But can you really differentiate between someone like myself who splits her time between five different men, and a lady who works in a parlour? No. Prostitution is prostitution.

And what of some of my married friends, who will use sex as a negotiation tool/incentive/reward in exchange for new handbags, jewellery and holidays?

My closest friend got married to her doting husband several years ago. However, he was not a regular church-goer, and refused to go and meet with the minister to discuss the upcoming ceremony. In order to change his mind, my friend offered to participate in ‘A-Levels’ if he met with the minister. Problem solved.

I have another friend who used to issue her partner with what she called ‘bointy points’. Mowing the lawn would earn him 20 bointy points. Doing the dishes would earn him 10 bointy points. When he had accumulated 100 bointy points, then bedroom activities that evening were a certainty.

Is there a whole lot of difference between the above scenarios and what escorts across the world do on a daily basis?

I have entered this phase of my life with the knowledge that having a relationship would be out of the question for the next 3 years. Most of the time, I’m absolutely ok with that. I work a full-time RL job, I study full-time, I spend time with friends, my pets, and my family whom I absolutely adore. I see my darling clients.

I’ve been in a long-term relationship before, and I hope that I will be in one again. Sometimes I do miss it. The laughter, the banter, the intimacy. Someone who knows exactly how you like to drink your tea, and remembers which pillow is yours. 

I have couples around me that inspire me. They talk about each other, they have shared goals. Their faces light up in a huge grin when they see each other.

I have very few clients. I won’t go into specifics, but it is less than ten in total. Of these, there are three that I would retire my 'Miss Maxwell' persona for.
Or enter into an exclusive ‘mistress’ type arrangement.
Or just see more of them and 'see how it goes'.

I interact with each client differently. I have a unique relationship with each one. Things in common, chemistry, rapport.  You can’t force something that is not there. Chemistry is electric and magical. It can’t be manufactured, and it doesn’t grow on trees.
If you feel/find an extraordinary chemistry with someone, don’t let it go!

Would I survive without escort work? Yes, of course.

I work full-time in RL. I own my car and have no credit card debt. My home renovations are almost complete. I’m more of a saver than a spender. I would probably defer payment for my university subjects to HECS, rather than pay them upfront. My dreams of a rhinoplasty would be on hold until after I have graduated. But that would be absolutely fine. Both of these pale in comparison to being with someone that you can’t get enough of.

Money isn’t everything, and if you find another person on this earth that you adore, you should cling on to them with both hands.

To be continued...