I was a late bloomer.

I did not become a companion until I was seventeen, much later than the majority of companions.

Truth be told, I wasn’t sure I wanted it. The idea to me sounded quite bizarre – not in the sense that it was strange, but that it just didn’t sound like a smart career choice for me. Although such a job is considered by many to be a position of respect and dignity, for me it was the opposite.

I was raised by parents who morally objected to such a lifestyle and none of my friends had a problem calling such "companions" as whores, in fact if you tried to call them anything else, you were the one with the problem. Even though we lived in what you might call "the dirts" , Companions, and those who chose to hire such ones, were held in the lowest contempt. Of course, what many chose to ignore was that their disdain would soon disappear when ones came into a bit of money, at which point the first thing to do was to have a "test drive". Politicians, officers, shepherds... all would frequent bordellos (in private of course) whenever they could. It was a town of hypocrites, but that of course is nothing new.

To cut a long story short, lack of money; an exciting privilege; and the revelation that the opinions of my so-called friends and family counted for squat, resulted in me turning a back on my former life to pursue a life as a companion. Or "took a trip to Whores R Us " as those old friends would say.

The companion house in the nearest city to our town - Kara on Londinium - was nothing spectacular from the outside. But inside... maybe it was the glorious reds and golds, or maybe it was the elegant outfits the residents wore, whatever it was, it made the place shine. It was a palace, or at least the closest you'd ever get to one in Kara.

The women were the most beautiful I had ever seen, in fact I had to pinch myself to make sure it wasn't a dream. The reason why all the women I had seen before were less than attractive was now apparent - anyone that had the slightest indication