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From time to time I have had the expression “English Rose” applied to me. It’s always intended as a compliment and I always take it that way, though I think the meaning is a little different in the world of the elegant courtesanTo me it implies a special kind of innocence, an innocence that isn’t really innocence at all.If you were to meet me, say across the bar of an upmarket hotel, I’d like to think you’d see me as beautifully turned out, in fine clothes, my hair and makeup just so. I’d like to think of you catching sight of me, liking what you see, then perhaps smiling at me.I’d smile back. No words would pass between us, but I would catch your interest. You’d see me sipping a flute of sparkling wine, and your mind might start to wander a little. Was I waiting for someone You’d notice I didn’t seem to be looking around as people come and go. Perhaps I was certain that someone would be there soonYou’d glance over from time to time, each time that little more fascinated. Your drink is going down a little more swiftly than mine. You find yourself slowing down deliberately, taking the time to look for clues. You check my left hand, and your heart beats a little faster when you see I’m not wearing a ring. Then you realise I’ve seen you looking and you blush a little. I don’t look upset. As discretely as you can you drain your glass, then walk up to the bar.You’re standing around eight feet from me, so I’m sure you’ll be aware of that nicely expensive scent I do so like. You turn and ask if you can refresh my glass and I smile and say that would be lovely.All of a sudden eight feet between us seems very unnecessary when there’s a perfectly goodempty stool right next to me. We start having a civilised conversation, but it’s not lost on you that I have a very nice cleavage. Being a gentleman, you do your best not to stare, and when you do make eye contact you’ll see there is a reason I think my eyes are a better feature than my bosom.You feel yourself becoming a little intoxicated by the situation, but it’s a very pleasant kind of intoxication, and when I laugh at one of your jokes and rest my fingertips gently on the back of your hand for a second longer than strictly necessary your heart pounds a little and you feel the blood setting off purposefully. You’re pleasantly surprised when I ask if you’d like another drink, but then you amaze yourself by somehow finding the courage to turn down my offer and suggest something from the bar in your room. When you hear me say “That would be nice” you think it’s perhaps the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard.We walk to the lift in silence, ride the three-floor journey in silence and the few scant inches between us feel agonisingly too far. The key card works first time, and you gesture me through the door. The door closes behind us. We’re alone.My scent fills your head, and as your eyes try to adapt to the darkness, you feel my arms closing over your shoulders, drawing you gently close to me so you can politely put your tongue into my mouth and I will let you…And that is what an English Rose means to me. Would you like to meet her –  (Gallery) 

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