Conversation With A Serial Killer

I *get rid of any men who fancy a trip to the Dark Side. I think most things are fine between consenting adults but I won’t draw blood, bark like a dog, or change a grown man’s sh*tty nappy. I am broad minded and have done some very kinky things with my boyfriends, but the Dark Side isn’t my bag.

But anyhoo, men I’d rather not see sometimes slip through the net.

This man said it was his first time visiting a sex worker and told me over the phone that he was very nervous. I’m great with first-timers and was looking forward to showing this guy that some sex workers are just normal girl next-door types and not the stereotypes most people have read about.

He was 15 minutes late and I was just grumbling under my breath about time wasters when he called to say he was here. He was very nervous and asked me to feel his heart, which was going like a mad thing (maybe a clue there). He gave me an extra £40 for being late and I adored him instantly . I did refuse to take the money but he kept on insisting, so, well, you know…..

Actually all I want if anyone’s running late is a phone call to keep me posted. Regulars are fine but newbies can be a bit touch and go – especially if they are nervous, so if a newbie is a minute or two late, I often think they have changed their mind and haven’t bothered to let me know.

What followed was the strangest conversation I have ever had with a punter.

He asked me if I’d ever taken cocaine and I told him I’d tried it many years ago in my clubbing days but it made me feel really depressed afterwards so I didn’t take it again.

Cocaine Man: I’ve got some here, it’s good stuff and you won’t get a downer taking this.

Oh Jesus, he’s got drugs on him.

Me: No thanks.

Cocaine Man: Do you mind if I have some?

Me: Oh God, no you can’t take it here.

Cocaine Man went over my head and snaffled a line.

Me: No wonder you have so much cash, is that your job?

Cocaine Man: You’ll never guess what I used to do for a living. I used to kill people.

I have a morbid interest in serial killers and know they either look like raving lunatics or are completely charming. Think Bundy and Dahmer. This guy was neither one nor the other which was leading me to think he was telling porkies, but who knows?!

Me: Ohhh I don’t agree with that.

Cocaine Man: It’s ok, they were nonces.

Let’s not get political.

Me: Did you go to prison?

Cocaine Man: I did eleven years for the second one. I didn’t get caught for the first one.

Great. I’m sat here with a serial killer who’s obviously about to whip out his phone and start showing me photos of his dismembered victims.

Breathe in, stomach out. Breathe out, stomach in.

But, ever the professional (not to mention I wanted to keep the £100 he had given me) we got on with it and, as it happens he finished before we had even started – if you see what I mean.

I never turned my back on him once!

Afterwards, he snaffled another line in MY KITCHEN. Bloody cheek!


Now, this man obviously wasn’t a murderer. Who kills a person and then tells a complete stranger all about it? No. This guy was obviously and weirdly trying to impress me with this odd concocted story.

Wasn’t he?

*Not in an under the patio kind of way.