The Feeling Strikes Again, and I am Lost

Recently I updated my advertisement page to announce that I wanted to accept more "platonic" date requests, as I had taken on quite a few in the past but never made a point of noting it could be done on a platonic / social level only.
The rate obviously was greatly reduced in comparison to my escorting fee, but I found that i did enjoy meeting someone and engaging in the art of seduction over a formal lunch, high tea, dinner, or just bubbly. I was more thrilled at dressing up and perfecting myself for the outing, than i ever was for more of the expected activities. And even better was the fact that although my rate for such was much less, a client simply never booked me for a mere hour, but instead three- which was nearly the same as an escorting rate once added up, and in my mind it was so pleasant. I would be taken on a date, really that's the best description, with a nice person who could find interest in me- whether that be my mind and conversation, or time spent just looking at me, both options just made me feel desired, greatly. Perhaps in their mind, and most definitely with some, they used this opportunity as somewhat of a preview, to determine whether I was to be re-booked for more intimate activities and find whether I lived up to their vision of me.
It was the end of a good week, and I received an email, a detailed one at that which had been well written, from a potential client inquiring my availability for the following week and asking if I would be interested in a platonic lunch date in central London. I was very happy to receive another request for this. I can recall his email described his appearance, stating he was quite young, late-20s, tall at 6ft 2in, and of slim build, with other references made to how he loved what he read of me in my profile and my images. Lastly noting that I was pleasantly tall and could tower over him when wearing my 5in stilettos - "hint," he wrote. Immediately I knew he was one for the look of style and powerful beauty in a lady - as opposed to the opposite follower whom adores my youthful face and child like styling when i dress to that part.
We confirmed with one another and the young gentleman booked a table at a very stylish and excellent Soho restaurant. All was set and arranged for us to arrive one hour past noon. I had asked what his preference was in my attire, giving him just two classic examples to select from- a fitted black office type dress or a Chanel suit dressed down a touch - both with sheer stockings and high heels. He kindly wrote and explained he knew i would look nice in anything, but the little black dress excited him- I complied.
Arriving before my date on that early afternoon, and anxiously awaiting to indulge into a glass of something, I walked in and as usual the head waiter greeted me however i knew i could not provide him with the gentleman's last name for the reservation. I didn't want to ask the last name either, as I respect one's privacy. I simply gave the first name and time and asked if i could wait at the bar until he arrived. The reservation was located and he announced the last name- a simple "yes," from me. The stylish surroundings, grandeur of old meeting modern sleek were tasteful and sophisticated, I knew Zi would have to return for it had met my approval as I was always searching for somewhere new to lounge about in.
The cocktail list was just what I had been wishing for, as a champagne lover I went for the lemon cocktail version at £13.75. I recall such precise details that it humours me to make note of them- the price for instance, or the tall glass with a lemon rind floating within, or the fact that just as I'd ordered and it was in preparation my young gentleman arrived. I had inquired that morning how I was to recognise him, and he replied "dark grey suit, black glasses, short hair." this description was not exactly pin pointing i thought, but the venue was so empty it wasn't hard to locate persons within. I sat with my iPhone checking some messages when i glanced up and there a figure stood- not realising for nearly a second whom it was, which in my mind seemed much longer for I recall thinking "who, what?" I smiled gently and stood up, giving a hello, a greeting of a kiss on both cheeks with a gentle hug. I am always curious to know what the headwaiter must think in such situations, for it's obvious that we didn't know one another, yet we act like old and close friends- a blind date perhaps in the afternoon?
My young gentleman was as he described, very young at 29, with lovely skin- which Is more than could be said for mine at that time due to a dreadful breakout the week prior, which forced me to use my finest of makeup and concealing techniques to try and regain my previous look of lovely smooth skin! He sat opposite me at our drinks table which made me doubt myself already and wonder if he just didn't have the nerve to say good-bye and leave for I was perhaps a disappointment in some way. We began with your average introduction chat, how is work, how are you, etc. Within moments I concluded he was one of the dreaded banker or finance types whom hates their job and life, and sees no good in anything, for their mind is poisoned from their hatred, and nothing will ever please them, although they look and seek for such a change to bring them happiness- but as long as they don't have the ability to separate work from play, their mind will be clouded. My fear grew, our conversation was dull somewhat, and I felt he hated me, and was thinking our date would magically bring happiness to his life of dull and hate, and transform him. I was regretting the fact i had began advertising more the fact i was available for such dates, and in a sense wanted to go back to the more expected activities to avoid such figures and awkward situations.
He ordered white wine, and wanted a bottle, it was clear that his pasttime was getting smashed to try and forget his troubles- a classic trait of the unhappy worker. We then were shown to our table- the restaurant was indeed rather magnificent, and ever so large, but only a small number of tables had been filled and all were in two's. At least at this seating we were not so spaced from one another, and instead our chairs were rather adjacent at the round table laid with white linen, and attractive place settings. My young gentleman even cracked a a small smile during our transition. I made a comment that one of the servers to our table paid extra attention and was continuing to look over- he stated that perhaps it was because my stocking tops were showing just a little. Indeeed they were, but only due to the fact that my height caused the dress to be rather short. He also smiled at this, and I knew then that he was now the happy little boy who got excited at something rather innocent- i was relieved. His charming character did shine through and come out gradually from this moment onward. No longer did i think of him as the cold, soulless, lifeless person, instead he was now on the way to being sweet, and he was normal, and had feelings with emotion behind them. Our atmosphere improved greatly, and from then on we smiled... We smiled many a time, and often, even after i corrected my dress from being so short, to hide the delicately risqué view.
We chatted more, as earlier we had started on the subject of my jobs outside of this scene, and what i did- being so many different areas in the art world over the years since i was only 16, photography, vintage fashion, fashion design, web design, etc. He was extremely impressed oa genuine level, and further by the fact i stated i had not been to university, and began as freelance and today still was "self employed." he said he admired that i did what i wanted to do, and didn't feel the need to go to uni; instead i just went and fid it. I used my resources from my alternative activities to fund and jump ahead of everyone else who was just a starving artist, invested wisely, and strived to get ahead, i explained to him. Which then made him remember a little envelope he had brought with my fee. I had been rather scared to ask for it earlier for fear of upsetting him when he already seemed upset. I was relieved he mentioned it with a smile, and that it wad in an envelope- i can't begin to explain how much more i respected a man simply from their gesture of placing the funds in an envelope, as opposed to just janding it over, folded up from their pocket. The envelope showed class, respect, and thought - as far as i was concerned.
We ordered, the selections were lovely. I had of course dined many a time at such establishments, but played the casual mood this occasion, and not the formal nor stuffy mood which may have come with such territory- instead i wanted to create a relaxed atmosphere between us. After all, it was apparent i knew what was what in such a place, and in the manner i spoke- it made for a relaxing time to see me not stiff and too formal. On a second occasion he made reference to his observation of the waiters all paying me great attention, i was not alone in thinking this!
First course, not the expected traditional oysters i had expected, instead they were topped with foam, and their shells filled with green and small lentils, as they rested atop a salt mountain individually in their trio group. My gentleman feasted on chicken. We continued to chat, our interest in one another grew, and the mood became better and better. A second lemon champagne cocktail, and bottle of white wine was ordered. I was enjoying him ever so much, i really wanted to pretend and ignore the fact that perhaps his wine was the cause of his happy new mood, i really wanted it to be me that made him this way, was it too much to think or hope that he actually did like me? It was only two glasses of wine for him later that i began to think these thoughts.
Our main was indeed the same choice, plaice. We chatted continually, so much that i really would say i don't recall tasting nor appreciating the fish! My mind was indeed elsewhere - my new young gentleman friend. We both grew more fond of one another as the minutes rolled on. He finally announced that he loved my hands, and of course my legs - made apparent on several occasions. I respected him ever greater for his taste in beauty. He noted that a ladys hands were a forgotten beauty. His eye to detail was very obvious now, from the envelope, to the small bit of stocking tops being recognized, amend now my hands. I used my hands in this situation to flirt as gracefully as i could, simply placing him in a beautiful position, resting one atop the other, extending the fingers to show the length of the bones rwaching to my wrist. I learned that he had a lady friend whom he wanted to love that had beautiful hands, and the most beautiful he had seen, until he saw mine, as he said. I reached over a few inches and held his hand - it was soft, very soft. I stroked it, and teased him with my hands and delicately extending fingers. By this point at the end of our lunch, i wanted him very much. He was not the awful bore i had first thought he would be. I even went so far as to say to him im so pleased you aren't what i thought you would be when i first met you. He apologised for his bad introduction and said he was having a binge, a release, and that he found the situation earlier quite akward- i liked him even more for he was human.
We held hands the remainder of our stay at the table, but uit was clear our interests in one another had grown so greatly, and we both wanted on another deeply. It was wrong, wrong of me to allow myself to get to such an emotional level with him, we had not even kissed. At the table his hand felt my leg and found it's way up past my skirt, between my hot thighs where his fingers began to stroke. It was insanely naughty, the sort of thing one reads about in a romance novel, or in a movie late at night. I wanted my young gentleman so much, he was handsome, my age, thoughtful, intelligent, and sweet. Could i have him?

Taste of Fizzy Wine

My first real money making night came during my first week, where I was paired up with a charming, petite, middle aged blond English girl, and sent over to sit with two Russian men.  Both men were middle aged, and one was actually okay to look at, the other whom I sat with, not so great, and didn't know but a string of English words. I was convinced it wouldn't work, but the other girl showed me how easy it was, and we then had our first bottle of the cheapest pink champagne. The menu price was £280, although it was just fizzy wine, and probably cost them about £8 at the most. Immediately £50 was made for each of us, and then it was a matter of reaching the £500 mark to get commission thereafter, even though it would have to be split. I recall drinking the majority of what I had of the first bottle, as I knew I had a very high alcohol intake level, and it was much easier to get rid of it that way. The two men only drank their spirits, so we were doing all the work of getting rid of it. Shortly after, we had a second bottle, and then finally a third. 

Our conversation with the Russian gents was fun, even though it was minimal, it really is amazing how you can hold conversations regardless of a language barrier if you try to communicate. One of the little flirts we did with the men was unbutton a few of their top shirt buttons... and then run our fingers across their chest. I can recall my Russian male being plump, and maybe 35 years of age, whilst the other was slimmer and similar age. I had my legs crossed near him in a very tart like, with my dress hemline raised high, and I was actually wearing the same dress and heels every night since I started- as most girls did. I found him quite charming, and sweet, and the mysterious Russian appeal set in. I then let him run his hand, as shy as he was whilst doing it, across my chest. His watch got entangled in my fishnet tights, and caused a rip, but I didn't care, I soon learned it would be common practice for me to replace my short life hosiery on a regular basis.

As the two Russians left, I gave mine a nice hug, and actually was slightly sentimental, thinking I would more than likely never see him again. I was satisfied with my earnings, yet I was letting myself be quite bubbly, and full of life, as a result of me allowing the champagne's effect to be noticeable in me. I can quite easily hide the effects, even when I'm on the level of being ill, as I always can walk a straight line, and my speech is unaffected. Yet, on this instance, I was enjoying myself, and felt like I was in a nightclub! Oops.

I learned the next day not to do that again, as I had imagined the following day I would be told off for drinking. Indeed I was correct, and the Mediterranean receptionist scolded me and stated "first and last warning" with a nasty smile. He was also the only person running the place and serving the drinks, which gives an indication as to how small and not busy the place was on the whole. I can recall getting very upset after he said this to me, and almost cried. I was very quiet the duration of the evening. I just kept thinking to myself, I am so desperate for a job in this huge city, and someone like myself, who was not just some stupid uneducated girl,was being told off for simply drinking a bit, and I then realized how much of a little fish in a big sea I was, so to speak.

First Step Into the Adult Industry

My dressing area at my flat - I spent a great many hours here before going to work.

To keep it as condensed as possible, I will briefly describe my first experiences, which happened over a year ago. I don't recall precise details of who was my first client, which surprises me, but I believe it was someone I met whilst working at a gentleman's club in Mayfair. It had to have either been him, or a charming London based young man I met off the independent escorts website I joined and listed myself on, which was around the same time.

When I moved to London from the countryside, rather than fighting amongst 100's of east European immigrant applicants for the same very boring, and dull, waitress position, I recall walking past a gentleman's club in east London, and thinking how glamorous and fun that would be. As a mater of fact, I was on my way to a job interview for a barmaid position at a small Asian nightclub in the east end when I passed the first ever gentleman's club I'd come in contact with. I vividly recall the mature, porkly, bald doorman who stood proudly before the club's entrance- he was dressed in a typical black tux with black bow tie, very much an English "old crumble." After returning home from what seemed a boring interview, I then looked up via search engine, what gent's clubs there were in the London area. I literally took the first one that came up, and read on their website they were also searching for new girls to join, and no appointment was necessary. 

I made myself up as glamorously as possible the night I went to apply, having spent probably over an hour straightening my excessively long and thick brunette hair, and also applying very detailed, what I refer to as, "porn star" makeup. My attire comprised of a black jersey tulip hem v-neck dress, just something I purchased at one of the trendy high street chain stores, I wore it beneath a black shiny cotton tails jacket, which was in the style of a shrunken gentleman's tailcoat, whilst my accessories were black lace patterned tights, and sparkling jewellery. All in all, I looked smashing, but appeared far too dominant, powerful, unapproachable, and intelligent, for such a crowd as I was trying to be a part of, I was unaware of this at the time. And whilst I was getting ready, I ensured that every last detail was taken care of, down to putting some foundation powder on my scars. I was certain the standards would be so immensely high, considering it was a huge city, etc.

Upon arrival I ventured down a squeaky staircase into the basement where the club was located, all very dimly lit, for ambiance sake, though done in a very tacky manner. I awaited at the tiny reception desk for some sign of life, and heard speaking and giggles of girls in the adjacent main room, which I was unable to see into through use of privacy glass. I didn't dare poke my head around the door, for I was unsure if I would be immediately escorted out for doing such, thus I waited a few minutes and finally someone appeared. In came a rather short, Mediterranean, older male, who was inquiring to my visit, and stated the boss was not in and would want to see me for the interview. Also he mentioned that he had too many girls that week, due to the fact that their nearby sister club was closed for renovation work. I was told to wear a very sexy dress, and asked if I knew what was expected of me, which was said in a very dark tone, as though bad and illegal deeds were imminent. My reply was a simple yes, with a strong tone, yet gentle smile. However, I really had no idea, and at that point began to believe a blow job was part of the nightly agenda.

This did not put me off, and instead, I promptly returned the next week on a Monday, dressed to impress, yet having slightly altered my ensemble to just the same dress, with fishnet stockings, as opposed to the classy lace examples, and had eliminated the stylish female tailcoat, thus instead covered myself in my well loved black wool, belted and flared, knee length coat, not forgetting the black stilettos of course. Upon arrival a rather attractive and youthful, dark features beauty met me and inquired. I stated I had come previously but was told that the "boss' would want to see me, so should come back. She seemed puzzled by this, but still showed me in very professionally through the doors that I had not yet had a glance behind. I'd had my first visual of the club, yet I didn't pay much attention, instead this female pulled out a chair for me at a small table and presented me with a document to complete, which was just legalities for working. I already admired her presence and sophistication within those few moments, and felt a strong sense that she and I shared similarities- which would ultimately cause me grief and loss of clients as I will describe later on.

I was then shown into a dark arch in the wall, with only centimeters of headroom to spare when I stood up, and it can only be best described as a private alcove area. On the leather chesterfield sofa sat a very mature, overweight male dressed in a suit. I ensured my attitude was bubbly, yet used my good upbringing through my proper etiquette and manners, to better fuel my chances of having one above the rest so to speak. He seemed friendly enough himself, and I immediately got the sense he liked me. I always addressed him as "sir," and smiled gently throughout our conversation.

The interview comprised of questions such as what would I do if I discovered other girls were selling illegal drugs, or I was asked by a client to leave with them for the evening, etc. This seemed quite appropriate and not in the least suspicious, as the first male receptionist had led me to believe- perhaps he was just the type to be "colourful" with his stories. Naturally, I answered them all with the correct answers. One remark he made through the interview was that if I kept addressing him as "sir", I would be alright, and cheekily placed his hand for a moment on my knee which was prominently positioned as my legs were crossed. He also addressed me as "young lady." This made it greatly obvious that he had a connection within the BDSM world. Not once was I examined, or inspected, to determine if I was up to the standard, so clearly the just accepted anyone who came along.

Awaiting for an interview just several feet from us was a very tall, slim girl, with long blond hair. I immediately thought to myself- "that's my competition," yet I smiled and waved at her, and she did the same back- in a nice way actually. That girl, whom was interviewed on the very same night as I,  would later become one of my few very close and dear friends in life.

I was then told how the girls made their money, which was basically through just selling champagne and having it with them over conversation. The pay sounded decent, £50 would be given if you were "booked" to sit down with them through the sale of bubbly, and if you were lucky enough to sell over £500 worth, then 10% commission would be awarded to you for anything over that amount- this seemed like a definite possibility as the champagnes started at £130 per bottle, and went as high as £750. He said I would receive "training" for all I would need to know- which was far too posh of a word for what I did get! Basically one of the regular girls, a beautiful blond English young lady with posh accent sat down with myself and another new girl that evening and explained the champagne menu, and just walked us around the club showing procedures, etc. I can even recall asking her how to pronounce some of the names of the champagnes- not one single girl I showed around later in my position there had asked this question. How can you ask a gentleman to buy you overpriced champagne because you claim you "like that one"- if you cannot even pronounce the name of it?

I started that night, there and then. The changing room, again far too good of a word for such, was another arch in the thick brick wall, hidden behind a curtain, no larger than fifteen feet long, and rather narrow, with very low ceilings it was impossible to stand up fully. Only one mirror, with three yellowy small hot lights was available to get ready against. Still, I carried on.

The lighting in the club was kept so incredibly dark, it meant that you could be sitting next to an ugly girl, and find her attractive. Yet for those of us who were actually blessed with nice fine features- they were not visible, so it worked against me. The system was that whenever a client came to the club, a strobe light would flash several times to alert the available girls to head to the very small dance floor, which had four poles positioned on each side, and a mirror ball spinning in the center. And we had to dance amongst ourselves solo to the loud random music play lists. I found this incredibly silly and a stupid idea, none of the girls, except for one, could do tricks on the poles, either.

I should also mention that the system at the club was the girls were not allowed to actually drink the champagne, or at least not more than a few sips, and instead had to continually venture off to the ladies grubby toilets throughout the duration of their client's visit, taking their large wine glasses full of nice bubbly, and pour it all into the sink, then return with a glass refilled with ginger ale or ginger ale with a splash of cranberry juice to resemble pink champers. It reminded me of Marilyn Monroe in the film Bus Stop, where she has the gentleman buy her about half a dozen "whiskey shots," which actually turn out to be tea. 

The Beginning

We all keep a diary/journal as a form of remembering.... but ultimately it is because we hope that one day, someone will find it, and read it....

How many escorts (aka call-girls) are there in the world who come from very educated backgrounds, were star pupils in school, and ultimately do the job not because the actually need the money to survive? Well, I am one of them.

I can only think that the point of origin for my desire to enter the world of escorting must have come from when I was about 15, or 16 years old, I saw the film Belle du Jour (the original, which starred the beautiful Catherine Deneuve). I found it rather confusing but loved it. After having watched it several times to get a better understanding, I realized how much I envied her (the character played by Deneuve). 

To make a long story short, she is a very well off, privileged, young married beauty living in Paris, the wife of a successful doctor husband, residing in a stunning apartment, and wearing only the finest of high fashion. Yet one day, she approaches a brothel, and after several visits, does begin working for the madame at their place of work. She does this not because she needs the money, but she clearly wanted excitement, and had a desire to be used, abused, and please men- even though she does get a bit scared at times. The film plays out fantasies that are going through her mind along the way, one of which includes her husband taking her to the woods, having assisting males tie and bound her, and then she is beaten, and even humiliated in another scene by having mud thrown at her whilst in a white dress and restrained. These are just a few of the scenes, but whether or not I'm correct, how I perceived it was that she very much liked pleasing men through either the use of her body (for sexual favours), allowing a sadistic & dominant male to control, punish, and humiliate her, and also one of the most key elements was that she gained arousal from fear.... which DOES happen. When one begins to undergo the emotion of fear, the adrenaline gets going as the body's way of staying alert for preserving itself, and as a result this triggers sensations which can be very enjoyable, and ultimately cause arousal. Thus why so many men and women seek "sessions" within the BDSM world / dungeons.

Although, I do admit that I had a strong interest in sex, arousal, etc, from a much younger age... If I'm being honest I recall masturbating successfully when I was still a young child! I remember always thinking of horny stories in my mind growing up through school, yet I never fancied any boys at my school- I always lusted after men, not boys (that includes teachers!). I would always dress very mature for my age, as I was the tallest girl in my classes with the longest and thickest hair, and I never really acted like the other girls- such as being preppy, giggling like mad, or wearing clothes like everyone else did. Being an immensely huge fan of the "silver screen" of cinema, aka all the wonderful Hollywood movies produced during the 1920's-1970's, I did find myself leaving the TCM channel on in my room permanently (just for background noise or to watch), and I learned all about seduction, "femme fatale", superior female fashion, etc. This all sounds very well, but surely that would make a person become more of a dominant female superior "mistress"- and yes, I agree, thus I have been a professional (yet amateur) mistress along the way, as you'll read about in my later posts,  but all in all, I gained knowledge of both sides, known as a "switch," which helped me all to better understand. The silver screen films were filled with emotion, passion, and immense attention to detail, without showing horrific graphic scenes, etc, it was all down to the mind and senses... so much has changed since then sadly. Where lighting, voice, costume, posture, set, all shaped how the mind of the viewer watched. I can recall watching typical mid 20th century film scenes set in a dark alleyways at night with contrasting white street lamps, brick walls, grubby narrow back streets, and well suited male figures, with "crime" of some sort taking place- either prostitution, gangsters, or else, and I always got so excited thinking about the prostitutes in such a setting- in the urban dark nights, with strong males shadowing over them, wanting to use them, and when the sun came up, it would all return to normal.

As disturbing, delusional, or just strange as it sounds, being raped, or just forced, in such an environment always aroused me... I'm certain I would not still feel that way if I actually were experiencing it, but the thought at least did. There was another film I saw recently, maybe a year ago, about a beautiful & slim, late teens girl being abducted, drugged, glamorously styled in lingerie and presented at a very private, exclusive auction, where the girls are sold off to the highest bidder, and the clients being billionaires wanting to pay $50K-$100K for them.... I can recall thinking how that excited me also, yet I could see how it was a horrible thing of course. That is just the ultimate form of submission. I suppose it's similar with the Russian mail order brides, older wealthy men get a beautiful stunning girl, if they can afford it.

Fear and adrenaline did cause my arousal. I did put myself in these dangerous situations when seeing my "punter" clients, where I was unaware of what would happen, and didn't know if anyone would hear my screams should it ever come to that stage, and knew not if it would hurt greatly. I mention the hurt factor, as it was very late in life that I lost my virginity, in fact I was 18, and was so glad to get it over with. I was so squeamish about anything that had to do with penetration, whether it was the use of tampons (which still to this day I have never used!) or sexual, just the whole concept made me feel ill, scared, and I just wanted to clench up. I never have liked sex much anyway, it doesn't feel great to me, and when it IS good- it still doesn't feel great (believe me I've had some experienced, very good males), and also I may add that I am very tight, still.

So all in all, for me it was not at all about the great financial reward, but of course I was happy with it- who wouldn't be? I had financial security and was already independent through other means, but I just loved being worth something, and pleasing them. I envied the stunning Russian young girls who were mistresses to billionaire males, simply because they could have anyone, and the fact they chose them, meant they WERE worth something. This to me is a great sign of submission, and all the excitement that went along with it, as let's face it, I more than likely would not actually want to sleep with the majority of the clients, so in a sense it was a type of rape- being invaded and having to deal with it, that's what I was paid for, forcing myself to french kiss (which most of the time did not bother me at all), and get aroused naturally for the client.

When I first started I was 20, and this being when I was fat (being a dress size UK 14 / USA 12, but tall at 5'9"!) so was charging £130 which is appx $200 for a 1hour incall (and did do one 1/2 hour session for £100, appx $170), but then, when I resumed the business, nearly eight months later, I was charging between £170-200, appx $280-$340, for a 1hour session, and really only did outcalls. This was after my return into escorting where I was a much slimmer dress size UK 10, or UK 12 in tight jeans (appx USA 8 or 10), and even found that I had grown slightly taller so was around the 5'9.5" mark. My chest had reduced from a 36C to a 34B, which helped me look even more youthful, as I had gotten older, and before when I was fat, most men would mistake me for being 24-25.... it did have something to do with the fact I am very intelligent, and was proud of my knowledge and understandings, so everything from the way I dressed, and carried myself, and manner I spoke in, were all how someone older would be.

But during my second stage of being a call-girl, I would then change who I was. I would no longer be 20 but look 25.... instead I would be Zeenya who was an English rose (even though my ethnicity is not English, whilst I am a citizen) and be 18/19 years of age. But that part of the story is a long way off yet, we still must visit the life of Allie, which was me during the first stage.