Lipstick on your collar

Wellington-based escort Amanda Jameson on manners and intimacy

“I want deep, passionate kissing,” he said, in a manner lacking manners. A way you cannot escape the lizard tongue of poking and prodding thoughts that have already taken over your imagination. But it wasn’t imagined. It was a salty memory from the last person who demanded it. So, I refrain. No, I don’t offer that as part of my service.

“Are you sure?” He smiled intently. “Pretty sure,”

I replied with certainty. He happily left after our appointment — a little worse for wear. But smiling broadly where any graciously sought kisses would have been pressed.

My next gentleman was right on schedule, he watched my lips as I talked. I imagined he was mesmerised by my conversation. But that was my imagination. “I don’t want any kissing as I don’t want lipstick on me!” He was enamoured by the YSL warpaint on my face but didn’t want it transferred. Fair enough. Neither do I ... This stuff is expensive.

The following appointment was due and swiftly became one of my favourites. A shy man. A lovely soul. He seemed to carry a reserved sadness inside of him, akin to polite carry-on baggage he didn’t want to let anyone else trip over.

“Do you kiss?” he asked tentatively. Hopefully. And I understood. I returned his smile kindly at his anticipation and winked. “I don’t play tonsil tennis, if that’s what you mean.”

It wasn’t. He wanted intimacy. He craved it. I felt his anxious urgency as a human need for human touch, not a despondent angling towards something I wasn’t comfortable with.

I showed him the mouthwash in the bathroom and poured us a shot glass each. We both took a swirl. It’s a two-way street walking down this road of intimacy.

And so began the long kiss goodnight.