Well time for the concluding episode of my descent into debauchery. Quite why I continued with this appointment rather than simply running from the room screaming is difficult to say. I think that probably it was because my interest in "pornstar experience" was more derived from a kind of scientific detachment rather than pure unbridled lust. Having seen various acts performed for the cameras for adult movies with the lady in question smiling sweetly throughout I wondered in each case "Whats that like really?" and was determined to find out. So the fact that I was in the process of finding out just how awful it could be was not in itself a deterrent from continuing with the appointment - it was all part of the experiment. This blog posting may contain some graphic depictions of an adult nature, so if you are likely to be offended do not click on the "Read more" button!

Having discovered that I was finding it difficult to maintain an erection the escort stopped for a moment to consider what steps to take. I settled back to watch the porn movie on the TV which was far more entertaining than the live action in the room. The room itself was a depressing, dingy place - just a bedroom and a bathroom. It reminded me of the early scenes in the film "Personal Services". Fortunately there was no transvestite maid, however. The escort decided I needed to "relax" and started to give me a massage. This wasn't so much a deep muscle massage as a deep cartilage massage. As she set about dislocating each of my joints in turn she trapped a nerve in my lower spine. Ok this is not funny now, right? This deranged maniac has now paralysed my right leg. I manage to flip over onto my back but my leg is in excruciating pain and has gone into spasm so that it is completely stiff, my foot and toes pointing towards the door. It is, in fact, the stiffest part of my body! I am in big trouble and wonder just how embarrassing it is going to be to have the local paramedics rescue me from an escorts flat in Earls Court, naked and with a paralysed right leg. Those posters back at the local underground station may warn you about HIV but they don't warn you about unexpected paralysis! I am reminded of the Steven King film "Misery" - here I am, the character played by James Caan, unable to escape from the bedroom of a psychopathic old lady that is determined to prevent me from writing a negative review of her!

Fortunately flipping onto my back was all that was required to release the trapped nerve and no long term damage has been done. After a few minutes I can move my leg and the pain subsides. Relieved, I start to giggle uncontrollably at the ludicrous situation. I am now determined to get to the end of the appointment. It is time to invoke that British Bulldog spirit. This is like a kind of Punter "extreme sport". What could go wrong next?

The escort decides that perhaps a bit of role play is in order. She asks me if I would like her to wear an outfit. Clearly there is a huge opportunity for uncontrolled laughter here so I stick with the "Carry On" movie theme and ask her to dress up as a nurse, "Carry on doctor" style. She fishes a tawdry yellowing PVC nurses outfit from the wardrobe and squeezes her enormous boobs into it. Surprisingly the sight of her jumbo-sized cleavage spilling out from a PVC uniform she looks to have inherited from her gran is quite erotic and we try a bit of nurse/patient role play (appropriate considering my recent back injury), even her regular inane repetition of "Oh you naughty boy" like a dolly with an electronic speech circuit doesn't seem out of place. I have always felt I would have trouble maintaining a straight face during role-play at the best of times but in fact not only do I manage not to fall about laughing I actually get an erection. Delighted she immediately drops the nurse routine, grabs my willy and starts a hand-job so ferocious it leaves it looking like a Pepperami stick. Realising I am starting to go soft again she takes it in her mouth and begins to deep-throat me. Given that I am somewhat longer than average this is something of a medical feat - it actually requires her to control the contents of her stomach magnificently as she begins to gag! The sound of her desparately trying to force back her lunch whilst sucking on my willy was never likely to keep me aroused. I begin to suspect that this process has been employed to ensure that my prime objective of discovering what anal sex is like will never be achieved but its difficult to tell for sure as the lady is quite loopy and I suspect she may be on amphetamines. I cannot entirely blame the lady for baulking at the idea of having my oversized love truncheon shoved up her back passage the wrong way, but if that was the case then surely it would have been better to have said something like "You're too big" somewhere near the beginning of the appointment? But then again if honesty had been the best policy she would have admitted she was 55 not 30 years old, that she had a sponge up her vag, that her massage was likely to end in hospitalisation and she couldn't give oral without throwing up. Cearly such an approach was unlikely to bring her much custom.

Nevertheless I am determined to try anal almost, it must be said, out of spite. I revert to a more conventional position first and after some snogging things are looking up. I am semi-erect. I suggest anal and the lady adopts the doggy position. Simply enormous quantities of lube are applied to both ends of the proposed conection sufficient to prompt an oil crisis and I attempt to penetrate. It isn't going to work. It is just like trying to squeeze a limp and extremely greasy jumbo sausage through a very small key hole. I briefly consider the option of making a splint to ensure sufficient rigidity and at least get to the point where I can tick the box and say "Yeah, anal - tried it but didn't like it" but obviously that isn't a viable option - no lolly sticks to hand.

I have failed to achieve my objective, but at least the appointment and all its attendant horrors are finally over. To her credit the old dear has given me an extra half-hour in her company - one of the few times when clock-watching would have been welcomed! I leave the lady's flat with the knd of joy that comes with relief - like the smile you have on your face when you leave the dentists. The experience was a bit like a kind of psychological sado-masochism. But the little old lady, God bless her, has one parting gift for me. It seems she has sold my email address to porn spammers and my mobile phone number to text message con-men. Both phone and private email have to be replaced. Lovely.

There are several lessons to be learn't from this experience:-

A good glamour photographer can work wonders with a bit of make-up, a soft-focus lens and some image processing software. Even on video clips!

A bad escort may be a prolific writer - of her own reviews! It can take a while before the review sites ban her completely.

Running away screaming is sometimes the best option! Even if you have left the money with her!

But perhaps most importantly of all:-

Fantasies in the deepest, darkest corners of your imagination (particularly the ones put there by pornstars) are best left there. Try turning them into reality at your peril.

Well after that experience I was only too happy to say stuff it to the advice of seasoned punters and go straight back to my Brazilian favourite for some healthy GFE. So what if she could wrap me around her little finger if she wanted? But I don't want to bore you with repetitive stories of the good times - I think you will learn more from my mistakes.

So the next installment will be:-

A Bad, Sad Experience.

Have a great weekend everyone!