After a year spent wondering if "punting" was for me Summer approached and the sight of too many young women in skimpy clothes settled the matter - I needed to have sex and a year without was more than I could bear.

I chose an Indian girl that was new to the scene, had a good reputation already and according to reviews offered full-on French kissing. I always like dark-skinned girls with masses of dark hair and I can't associate ladies with an Indian background with the terms "sleazy" or "seedy". The reviews never mentioned a maid so I guessed that we would at least appear to be on our own together even if the lady had some "security" behind closed doors. The lady was also independent so I could communicate directly with her by email. The lady's web-site was classy with some nice pictures showing a petite girl in her twenties with a "girl next door" figure but with her face blurred out - you could just make out something of her bone structure and masses of lovely dark hair. Enough to say that she was attractive? Difficult to say - and in any case were the pictures those of the girl I would meet?

The location of the date was in a town close to the motorway that I would be using to get to the airport. I told my wife I would be taking a flight at 1pm giving full flight details when in fact it was at 3pm. This gave me two hours spare - half an hour to get from the motorway to the location, 1 hr appointment, half an hour to escape!

I sent an email to the lady in question a couple of days prior to the chosen date. She confirmed that she would be available but I would have to telephone her the morning of the date to confirm and get location details. Her tone in the email seemed pleasant and friendly, but she wouldn't answer certain questions directly (due to the need to avoid the crime of "soliciting" I guess)

On the day I was very nervous about phoning. I almost bottled out, but my sex drive wouldn't let me. I phoned just before work at 9am - no answer, only the voicemail. I hung up and then realised that escorts must rely on voicemail all the time so I called again and left a confirmation message. A few minutes later I got a call back. I was driving at the time and in my panic to answer the phone I almost lost control of the car. A rather stern business-like lady confirmed the date and gave instructions on how to get close to her flat, but not the actual address. The details given were enough to download a map from Multimap and I was on my way.

I treated the appointment like it was a genuine date - I was wearing a suit, had my hair and nails cut and had showered before leaving home. At a pub close to the location I visited the toilet, sprayed on some eau de Cologne and chewed a few breath-freshener sweets. I think I may have picked up a small bunch of flowers from a supermarket. I checked the cash which was tucked into an envelope. I was getting more and more nervous. I wasn't absolutely sure about the location so I had to call again. I was directed to park close to the flat. The "cloak and dagger" stuff was really making me feel uneasy, as if I was committing some awful crime.

As I drove along I noticed that this was perhaps one of the rougher parts of town - not really bad but not what I was expecting I guess. There were some rough looking people about and as I approached the flat I could see an ambulance parked outside. There were some rusty old cars parked around, one of which was chocked up with its wheels removed. I felt rather over-dressed for the area! Still, perhaps the curtain twitchers would think I was an insurance salesman!

There were no curtain twitchers. It was the middle of the day and no-one was about. I called yet again to let the lady know I had arrived, worrying about the number of calls I had made on my work phone to this one number. The lady was looking at me from her window, checking me out, but I couldn't see her. she gave me the flat details when she was satisfied. I chewed on yet another breath freshener mint, locked up my car with a krook-lock (I didn't want to risk losing my car whilst the local thieves knew I would be busy for an hour!) then approached the block of flats.

The block was modern, owned by a housing association if I remember rightly. It had big strong doors at the front. I took a few steps to the first floor and stood outside the ladies flat. It had a big strong door and handle of the kind meant to withstand violent men kicking it in. This certainly wasn't a "hell-on-earth" council sink estate but it wasn't a leafy middle-class suburb either. Thoughts of "Band of Gold" started flitting through my mind...

My heart was pumping so hard I was in danger of passing out! But I had made up my mind to knock on the door and see what was behind - and run like hell if I didn't like what I saw! What horrors might be behind that door? I imagined all sorts of scenarios, helped along by the rough-edges of the location. A guy with a baseball bat, ready to hit me about the head and steal my wallet? A drug-raddled mess of skin and bones? A girl with a face like a donkey? A seedy old slapper, unwashed and unwanted?

I took a grip of myself and knocked firmly on the door, then took a half-step back preparing myself to run down those stairs as fast as I could. I heard a ladies voice, the bolt on the door slid over and the door began to open....

Next installment: My first "punt" continued....