Most people think of London escorts as glamorous, mysterious, or dangerous. The truth? It’s just a job. A messy, complicated, sometimes exhausting job-like any other. I’ve been doing this for seven years. I’ve worked in Mayfair flats, luxury hotels in Kensington, and one time, a rented flat in Croydon that smelled like old cigarettes and regret. No one talks about the boredom. Or the laundry. Or how you learn to smile when you’re emotionally drained.
It’s Not About the Money-At Least, Not Anymore
People assume escorts make a fortune. Some do. But most of us don’t live in penthouses. I earn between £800 and £1,500 a week, depending on the season. That’s not bad, but after taxes, rent, cleaning services, transportation, and wardrobe upkeep, I’m left with maybe £500 net. I don’t buy designer bags. I buy groceries, pay my student loan, and save for a tiny flat in Peckham. The money isn’t the draw. It’s the control. I set my own hours. I pick who I see. I don’t answer to a boss who micromanages my breaks.
There are women here who work six days a week because they’re paying off medical debt. Others do it to fund art school. One client I saw every Tuesday for two years was a widower who just needed someone to talk to while he ate his dinner. He never touched me. We watched old BBC dramas. He paid me £120. I cried when he stopped coming. Not because I missed the cash. Because I missed him.
The Rules No One Tells You
There are unwritten rules. Always check ID. Always have a friend who knows where you are. Never go to a place that feels off-even if the client is polite. I once went to a flat in Chelsea because the client said he was a doctor. The place had no windows. I left after ten minutes, saying I had a migraine. He didn’t argue. That’s when I knew something was wrong. I reported it. Nothing happened. But I didn’t go back.
Most clients are normal. They’re accountants, teachers, retired soldiers, single dads. Some are lonely. Some are lonely in a very rich way. A few are creepy. You learn to read the signs. A man who asks for your real name too early? Red flag. Someone who wants to record you? Walk out. Someone who brings gifts? Sometimes it’s sweet. Sometimes it’s a trap. I’ve had chocolates, books, even a handmade quilt. I kept the quilt. It was ugly, but it was kind.
The Stigma That Won’t Go Away
I told my mum I was an escort when I was 29. She didn’t speak to me for eight months. She said, “You’re better than this.” I didn’t argue. I just kept working. When she finally called, she didn’t say sorry. She said, “Do you still have health insurance?” That was her way of saying she cared. Now she calls me every Sunday. We talk about her garden. She doesn’t ask about my job. I don’t bring it up. But I know she knows.
At parties, people ask what I do. I say I’m a freelance consultant. Sometimes they nod. Sometimes they change the subject. I’ve had women at networking events tell me they’d never do what I do-then later, quietly, ask how I handle the stress. I’ve had men say, “You’re brave,” then follow up with, “But why don’t you find a real job?” I don’t answer. I just smile and sip my wine.
How the Industry Actually Works
There’s no central agency. No big company. Most of us work independently or through small, local platforms. Some use apps like OnlyFans or private websites. Others rely on word-of-mouth. I’ve been referred by three other escorts. One of them got arrested last year. She was lucky. No charges stuck. But she quit. Said the fear wasn’t worth it.
Police don’t target escorts unless there’s a complaint. Most of the time, they’re focused on trafficking rings or underage work-which is rare here. London has a strong underground safety network. There’s a WhatsApp group of 200+ women. We share client names, warn about bad addresses, and check in on each other after late appointments. One night, I didn’t reply to a check-in message. Two women showed up at my door with tea and a spare key. They didn’t say a word. Just sat with me until I felt safe again.
The Emotional Toll
It’s not the sex. It’s the silence after. The way you sit alone in a hotel room, wondering if you’re just a body to them. Or if you’re becoming one to yourself. I started therapy last year. Not because I was broken. Because I wanted to stay whole. I talk about clients. I talk about loneliness. I talk about the guilt I feel when I say no to someone who seems genuinely kind. My therapist says, “You’re not selling yourself. You’re selling time.” That helped.
Some clients become friends. One guy sends me birthday cards every year. He doesn’t book anymore. He just writes. Last year, he sent a postcard from Kyoto. “Thought you’d like this,” it said. I still have it taped to my fridge.
What People Get Wrong
People think we’re all victims. Or all predators. The truth is, we’re just people trying to survive. Some of us chose this. Some of us were pushed into it by debt, divorce, or desperation. But we’re not statistics. We’re not “the other.” We’re the woman who takes her dog for walks at 7 a.m. We’re the one who argues with her sister about Netflix shows. We’re the person who cries at dog commercials.
There’s no “London escort” stereotype. There are dozens of versions. The single mom working nights to pay for daycare. The university student earning rent money. The retired nurse who started doing this after her husband died. The non-binary person who found freedom in a space where no one asks about pronouns. We’re not a monolith. We’re a mosaic.
What Happens When You Quit
I don’t know if I’ll ever quit. But if I do, I won’t go back to a 9-to-5. I’ve seen too many people burn out in corporate jobs. I’d start a small business-maybe a cleaning service for other sex workers. Or a blog. Or a podcast. I’ve got stories. Real ones. Not the sensational ones you see on TV. The quiet ones. The ones that don’t make headlines.
Some of us leave because we get married. Some leave because they find another career. Some leave because they’re tired. One friend moved to Portugal. She opened a yoga studio. She says the money’s worse, but the peace is better. I visited her last summer. She made me tea. We sat on her terrace. She didn’t ask if I still worked. I didn’t ask if she missed it. We just watched the sunset.
Final Thoughts
This isn’t a lifestyle. It’s a job. A hard one. A lonely one. A strangely human one. You don’t need to understand it. You don’t need to approve of it. But don’t pretend you know what it’s like. Don’t call us names. Don’t assume we’re broken. Don’t reduce us to a headline.
Next time you see a woman in a coat walking out of a luxury hotel at 2 a.m., don’t stare. Don’t judge. Just hope she gets home okay.
Are London escorts legal?
Yes, selling sexual services is legal in the UK, as long as it’s not organized or forced. Brothels, pimping, and soliciting in public are illegal. Most London escorts work independently from private residences or hotels, which keeps them within legal boundaries. Enforcement is rare unless there’s a complaint or evidence of exploitation.
How do escorts find clients in London?
Most use private websites, encrypted messaging apps, or referrals from other workers. Some use platforms like OnlyFans or subscription-based forums. Word-of-mouth is still powerful-many clients are repeat customers. Agencies exist, but they’re small and local, not corporate. The biggest risk is scams, so vetting clients is critical.
Do escorts get treated poorly by police?
Not usually. Police in London don’t target independent escorts unless there’s a report of coercion, trafficking, or underage activity. Most officers treat escort work as a low priority. There’s a mutual understanding: if you’re not breaking laws, you’re not on their radar. Safety groups often coordinate with local NGOs to provide legal advice if needed.
Is it dangerous to be an escort in London?
There are risks, like in any job involving strangers. But most women mitigate them carefully: always meet in public first, share location with a friend, use verified clients, and avoid isolated locations. The real danger comes from stigma-losing family, jobs, or housing if your work becomes known. Physical violence is rare. Emotional burnout is common.
Can escorts have normal relationships?
Yes, but it’s complicated. Many partners don’t know. Some leave when they find out. Others stay and support them. The key is honesty-if you’re ready for it. Some escorts date other workers. Others date people who don’t care about their job as long as they’re kind. There’s no one way. It depends on trust, timing, and how much you’re willing to explain.
Do escorts ever regret it?
Some do. Most don’t regret the work itself. They regret the isolation, the judgment, the fear of being found out. The work can be empowering-it gives autonomy, income, and control. But the stigma? That’s the weight. Those who leave often say they miss the freedom, not the job. Those who stay say they’d do it again, even knowing the cost.
There’s no redemption arc here. No moral lesson. Just a woman, doing her job, trying to live. That’s all.