Introducing Georgina (Part One)

Introducing Georgina My name is George Harrington, and I work in the UK porn industry. There, I’ve said it. And do you know what? I’m not in the slightest bit embarrassed or ashamed of that statement. I’ll confess that there have been times (especially at the start) when I seriously wondered if I was doing the right thing, but even now when my “sordid secret” (their words) has been exposed by a national newspaper as a matter of so-called public interest, I don’t feel a single pang of guilt or shame. In fact I don’t see that what I do for a living differs vastly from millions of other people the world over – I provide a service, and I’m very good at it. I may not be able to occupy the moral high ground like a teacher or a doctor, I admit, but I enjoy my job, and it brings a lot of people pleasure. So why should care what a narrow minded minority think? But before I launch into another diatribe in defence of my inadvertently chosen career (which, incidentally, I have recently discovered can pay quite well in itself, following an article on this subject I was asked to write recently by a well-known liberal broadsheet) I should introduce myself properly. My full name and title (deep breath) is the Honourable Georgina Vittoria di Tomasi Harrington, a fact which the press made much of in their detailed “expose”, employing genealogists to trace my family history back to the reign of Henry VIII and drawing unfavourable comparisons between myself and noted courtesans of the time. The title “Honourable” stems from my being the youngest child of a very minor Viscount (I have two elder brothers), and the “Vittoria di Tomasi” was bestowed upon me as the name of my maternal grandmother. Despite his title, my father is a long way removed from the traditional view of the English aristocracy, something which the tabloids conveniently overlooked in their reports. Vast numbers of my male ancestors, it seems, were cut down in their prime in the fields of Flanders during the First World War, and the subsequent toll of death duties and changing social climate ensured that by the time he assumed the title there was little more for him to lord over but a couple of medium sized farms in the home counties and a large Georgian town house in London – all mortgaged to the hilt. Not that he was interested in being lord of the manor anyway; my father was a dyed-in-the-wool bohemian. His primary interest in life was the arts; in particular painting and photography, but he happily lent his support to any artistic endeavour he felt was worthwhile, and upon inheriting the estate he quickly hired managers to handle the day to day running of the farms and devoted himself to wholeheartedly to his chosen career. Which (much to everyone’s surprise, I gather) he turned out to be extremely good at. Whilst his paintings were a little too avant guard to sell in any quantity, they were widely exhibited and his photographic work, particularly in the field of fashion, quickly became highly sort after. Thus it was that he met my mother, (incidentally herself the impoverished daughter of an Italian Count, thus sealing my aristocratic credentials) who at the time was modelling for a famous fashion house, whilst undertaking a swimwear shoot in Tuscany. I suppose you could say that my childhood was idyllic. Looking back on it now I imagine it would be considered a privileged upbringing – I attended what were considered the “best” schools in the area, before being sent to a very prestigious and progressive private school close to the family home in Berkshire. Anadolu Yakası Escort Neither my father nor my mother felt comfortable with the idea of my boarding, so I attended as a day-girl, returning home to the bosom of my family at the end of each school day. Having two elder brothers encouraged me to grow up able to look after myself, and by the time I was sixteen I was proficient at a range of masculine skills such as clay-pigeon shooting and driving an aged Land-Rover at breakneck speeds over rough ground. I also discovered sex. Taking after my mother (for which, she frequently remarked, I should be eternally grateful) I grew tall and slim, with long dark wavy hair and a complexion that appeared permanently slightly sun-kissed. My legs were long and shapely, and my breasts, whilst not large, were firm and pert, topped with prominent brown nipples which to my embarrassment leapt to erection at the most inconvenient moments. Despite (or perhaps because of) her own Catholic upbringing, my mother had few inhibitions when it came to preparing her daughter for the trials and tribulations of adult life. Prior to meeting my father she had been something of “wild-child”, and she was determined to pass on to her daughter what she had learned from her own mistakes instead of allowing her to make them herself. This became particularly relevant when I was seventeen, after a series of photos my father had taken of me were published in a popular fashion journal, and a number of modelling agencies began pestering her to allow them to sign me up. To her credit, mother refused, saying that in a year’s time, when I was eighteen and legally an adult, I could make my own decision. In the meanwhile, she continued to give the benefit of her own experience to prepare me for adult life. On my sixteenth birthday, she took me to one side and quietly presented me with a vibrator, saying that she would far rather I experiment with my body alone, rather than with unsuitable boys. When I’ve related this to various people over the years, some have reacted with shock and horror, but it seems to me to be an eminently sensible course of action, and one which I would follow should I ever be blessed with a daughter of my own. No doubt she knew that I was already fully aware of the delights my body could offer me, and I would have had to have been blind not to notice that I was already commanding a considerable amount of male attention, something which I confess I played up to as much as I could, always wearing the skimpiest and most revealing of outfits if I thought I could get away with it. I had discovered my emergent sexuality and the power that went with it, but something in my mothers teaching must have struck a chord, because I held on to my virginity until I was nearly eighteen, before losing it to the boy I had been seeing for several years. I confess that the initial experience was something of a disappointment (something I suspect I share with a lot of girls) but as time progressed and I managed to show him what I liked, things got better, even if we never really set the bedroom on fire. At eighteen I left school with a clutch of pretty good ‘A’ levels, and much to my mothers delight turned down the various modelling offers in favour of a course in Media at a reasonably prestigious London university. My ultimate goal was a career in business – ideally advertising and I threw myself happily into my studies. I was lucky enough to be able to lean heavily on my family name and past portfolio Anadolu Yakası Escort Bayan to secure the odd independent modelling job to help eke out my impoverished student finances, which made life a lot easier for an inveterate shopaholic like myself. Uni presented a nicely anonymous and egalitarian environment where no one knew about my “aristocratic” background unless I told them (which I didn’t), and although I occasionally got teased for being a bit posh it was only ever as a friendly joke, and never malicious. Before long I found myself going out with Toby, a gorgeous rugby playing medical student with a floppy fringe of dirty blonde hair and a goofy grin. A little older than me, Toby had the experience to give me what I had been led to believe I could expect in the bedroom (and everywhere else for that matter!). To put it bluntly, he fucked my brains out – I couldn’t get enough of him inside me. For the first year we were idyllically happy, but by the second year, as the pressure of Toby’s impending final exams began to bear down on him, things grew a little less perfect. For one thing, I had lost none of my delight in being the object of male attention and still tended to openly cultivate it by my dress and behaviour (perhaps the tabloids are right – I am just a posh tart) and Toby had a tendency to jealousy which occasionally flared into outright anger. The second thing was that although our sex life was perfectly satisfactory, I couldn’t help feeling there was something missing, as if a part of me remained unfulfilled. With hindsight, I think it is quite likely that all of this was due to little more than two young people involved in a relationship that had simply run its course, but then Jess got involved, and changed my life forever. Jessica Wharton was a bubbly blonde drama student who was part of our immediate social group. Very pretty, petite, and well-spoken, with gorgeous boobs, which she was fond of displaying wrapped in unfeasibly tight tops, Jess was understandably popular with the boys, and was preparing herself for a career in TV, which everyone knew was pretty much a given. She was also openly bisexual, which gave her an added allure to the male fraternity and a feint air of mystery to us girls. I knew her quite well as a drinking and clubbing partner, and we’d been out as part of a group on a great many occasions, but that was the extent of our acquaintance. One morning, during one of our increasingly rare good periods, Toby and I were relaxing in bed following a frantic early morning shag. Even if our relationship wasn’t brilliant, the sex was still athletic and exhilarating, and I was lying with my head in the crook of his arm, concentrating on getting my breath back. “Jess Wharton fancies you,” he said, out of the blue. “I don’t blame her,” I replied, eyes closed. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. “She says posh girls are always more fun. Much dirtier, apparently.” “Well, she should know – she’s hardly working class herself. So should you, for that matter.” I dug him in the ribs. There was a pause. “Why don’t you sleep with her?” he said. I raised my head and looked at him. “I might.” I said, intending it as a joke. I felt him stiffen slightly. “Really? Do you want me to tell her you’re interested?” I propped myself up on my elbow. “What are you now? My pimp?” I grinned. “Tell her I’ll fuck her for a thousand pounds – I don’t come cheap.” “No, noisily is the adjective I’d use.” “Noisily is an adverb, you illiterate Doctor.” I Escort Anadolu Yakası reached down and grabbed his cock, slightly surprised to find that it was already stiffening. Clearly he’d been playing scenario of Jess and I over in his head. “Well, now’s your chance to make me noisy again. But if you want to you better get on with it – I’ve got a lecture in an hour and a half.” I can’t pretend that I completely forgot about that conversation, but I certainly didn’t regard it as anything more serious than one of Toby’s little sexual fantasies. Consequently, I was more than a little surprised to emerge from the Library one evening a few days later to find Jess fall into step beside me as I walked. “Hi Georgie – sorry to catch you unawares like this…is there any chance we could have a quick chat?” I wrestled the pile of books under my arm into submission. “Yes, sure.” I indicated the cafeteria on the other side of the concourse. “Shall we go get a coffee?” A few minutes later we were sat blowing steam off the top of our mugs of the frothy bitter concoction that was billed as coffee. Jess looked at me over the top of her cup. “Toby told you I fancied you, then?” “Yes, he did. He seemed rather keen on the idea.” She raised an eyebrow. “What about you?” I looked down at my coffee in an attempt to gather my thoughts. She went on: “…I mean were you shocked that I’d said that?” “Not at all. I thought it demonstrated exquisitely good taste.” She smiled at me. “I thought you’d come up with confident, cocky comment like that.” She lowered her cup. “Were you excited, then?” I might have imagined it, but I swear she pushed those magnificent boobs just a little further forward as she said it, as if she wanted to remind me of the potential delights on offer. I felt a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, and took a deep breath. “Yes,” I said, quietly. “Aha!” she took a celebratory swig of her coffee. “I knew I was right.” “Sorry?” “I knew from the moment I first saw you that you were the kind of girl who’d be curious. I can’t explain why, but I’m very rarely wrong. You’ll understand someday, I think.” She paused for a minute. “So, about your offer…” “My offer?” “Yes. Toby said you’d sleep with me for a grand.” “That was a joke.” “Really? I thought you were serious. Working your way through Uni as a high-class hooker or something!” I grinned. “Who says I’m not?” She laughed. “Toby doesn’t really have what it takes to be a pimp, does he? Although he seems very keen on setting you up with me.” “I think in his sad little mind he somehow thinks he’s going to get something out of it.” Jess looked at me, suddenly serious. “He won’t, you know. Quite the opposite, probably.” I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, so I stayed quiet. I was still trying to come to grips with what was happening, and events were moving almost too fast for me to keep up with. “You were talking about my “offer”…” Jess laughed again, and I was suddenly struck by what a good-looking girl she was; deep blue eyes, radiant healthy skin and a bright white smile. For the first time in my life I had a suddenly feeling of boundaries blurring and barriers tumbling, a feeling that aspects of my life that I hitherto regarded as immoveable constants were about to be swept away in a tidal wave of change, which would leave behind a vastly altered landscape I would barely recognise. Sometimes I wonder if I’m slightly psychic… “Ah yes, your offer,” she laughed again. “Here’s my counter offer: if you sleep with me I’ll pay you five thousand pounds if you can honestly say you didn’t enjoy the experience.” Her hand reached for mine across the table. “But I don’t think that’s very likely, do you?” I shook my head slowly. “No, I don’t.” I paused for a moment. “Look, Jess, this has all got very serious very quickly. I need time to get my head around what is happening here.” She drew her hand back with an easy smile.