The Birthday Present’s Jamie Watson

Jamie Watson works as a male escort using the name Simon Harrison and is paid an obscene amount of money to relieve a thirty-year-old woman of her virginity. He has never slept with a client before and, expecting a geek or a woman with a beard, he is astonished when he meets the beautiful ‘Samantha’. 

He does the deed and he expects to never see ‘Samantha’ again but they bump into each other at her birthday party at a central London hotel. Unable to keep their hands off each other, they spend two hours having sex in a hotel room. When she leaves, he expects once more to never see her again, especially when he discovers that she is, in fact, Freya Thompson, the daughter of a Conservative Member of Parliament.

The following morning, he is disconcerted to see her sitting at a table in a coffee shop near his apartment. She confesses she wanted to see the offices of the escort agency he works for and he confesses that Simon isn’t his real name and that Simon is a fiction – a fantasy – an act – and he doesn’t date clients. They had both been pretending to be someone else, so he suggests that they both forget the fantasy and start again.  

He confesses he’d never wanted to see a client again until her. A combination of her vulnerability and the fact that he was the one who took her virginity, has made her irresistable to him. He knows she wants to make up for lost time but he doesn’t want to just fuck her, so he asks her if she wants a relationship with him or just sex. She can’t have both. He wants a relationship with her and to get to know her properly. Before he can give into the urge to bring her back to his apartment, he tells Freya to think about it and to call him when she makes a decision. He then gets up and walks away from her. 

What is Freya’s response? Was she just looking for a bit of rough and now he has insisted on a relationship and not just sex, will she go looking elsewhere? Read The Birthday Present to find out!

He’d been paid to have sex with her. She will never see him again. Or will she?

Recovered from a heart transplant operation, thirty-year-old Freya Thompson is desperate to be rid of her embarrassing virginity and is given a birthday present like no other. A male escort will take her virginity and she can then carry on with the life the new heart has given her.

But ‘Samantha’ isn’t prepared for ‘Simon’ – tall, brown-haired, blue-eyed, and gorgeous. But even more important than that, he isn’t terrified by her huge scar. He doesn’t treat her like a freak, and she finds herself attracted to him. But he’s a male escort, he’d been paid to have sex with her, and she will never see him again. Or will she?

An Excerpt From Chapter Three

Her route back to the underground station brought her within two streets of the escort agency Simon belonged to. Making a spur of the moment decision, Freya turned down a street in its direction, suddenly curious to see it. It wasn’t as if she’d bump into him again, or anything.

Standing across the street, she gazed up at the office building. It was nothing out of the ordinary, just an ugly concrete monstrosity built in the 1960s. A little disappointed, she walked away and went into a coffee shop a few doors along the street, eager to rid her mouth of the taste of Anthony’s cold and milky coffee. Buying an Americano, she brought it to a corner table and sat down.

This was ridiculous, she thought, stirring milk into the coffee. You shouldn’t be anywhere near here. It was two hours of fantastic sex but you’re never going to see him again. Just drink your coffee, go home, and make a decision on what you’re going to do with your life.

“Samantha?” Hearing the voice she jumped and looked up. It was Simon – a rather scruffy Simon – heavily stubbled and dressed in a grey hooded sweatshirt, faded blue jeans, a newspaper under his arm, and holding a cup and saucer. “What are you doing here?”

“I, er, I was visiting a friend who lives nearby.”

He pulled a sceptical expression and she stirred her coffee again, noting how her hand was shaking a little with embarrassment. She’d wanted to see him again but now she just oozed crazy stalker.

“Can I join you, Samantha? Or, should I say, Freya?”

She froze. How had he found out? “Yes.”

Placing the newspaper and the cup and saucer on the table, he pulled out a chair and sat down. “There’s a picture of you in one of the tabloid newspapers. ‘Freya Thompson at her thirtieth birthday bash at the plush Connaught Palace Hotel.’ Do you like slumming it with the likes of me?”

She flushed as a woman at the next table began to eavesdrop shamelessly. “Could you please lower your voice?” she asked him.

“Why?”

“Okay, I’ll just let everyone here know how you don’t like having your cock in my mouth.”

The woman at the next table inhaled her coffee and began to cough but Simon didn’t even glance in her direction and Freya met his blue eyes defiantly.

“All right,” he said finally. “Outside.”

“What?”

“I think we should sit at one of the tables outside. Come on.” Getting to his feet, he put the newspaper back under his arm and picked up his cup and saucer, then walked out of the coffee shop.

Following him outside, with her own cup and saucer, she put it down on the aluminium table and hung her handbag over the back of the chair before sitting down.

“A friend?” he began sitting in the chair opposite hers. “You have a friend who lives around here?”

“Yes, Anthony. He’s just moved into one of the new apartment blocks overlooking the Thames. Mummy wants me to be a good girl and marry him. I’ve just been round to tell him it’s never going to happen. He was relieved.”

Simon frowned. “Relieved?”

“He’s the brother of one of my best friends,” she explained. “He’s practically a brother to me. The whole idea makes me cringe.”

“So your mother wants to see you settled down?”

“Yes. But it won’t be with Anthony. Anyway.” She took a sip of coffee, reached for her handbag and went to get up. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“You’re going?” he asked. “But you haven’t finished your coffee.”

“No, but—”

“Stay.” Reaching out, he laid a hand on her arm. “Please.”

“But you must think I’m a crazy stalker or something.”

“You were the last person I expected to see here, but now that you are here, please stay?”

“All right.” Hanging the strap of her handbag over the back of her chair, she sipped her coffee. “I just wanted to see where you worked,” she admitted. “Well, not worked…” Tailing off, she squirmed.

“The office is across the road. But it’s only an office. Look,” he said. “The first thing I need to tell you is that my name isn’t Simon. Simon is a fiction – a fantasy – an act. He isn’t me. My name is James Watson – Jamie – well, James. I’m getting a bit old for Jamie.” Shaking his head, he reached for his cup and took a gulp of the black coffee.

“Oh.”

Putting his cup down, he gave her a humourless smile. “Please don’t tell me you were naïve enough to believe that Simon was my real name?”

“You seem to be quite annoyed that I’m not called Samantha.”

“Touché.” He laughed.

“Well, you are, aren’t you?” she asked. “Anyway, I didn’t give your actual name much thought, I just wanted you to fuck me. And you did. And I loved it. Anyway, I like the name Jamie and, yes, I suppose it is safer for you to use a false name. Like it was safer for me to use a false name. You must have encountered women even crazier than me.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Just a bit weird?” she suggested and they both smiled. “I must get it from my weird inbred family.”

“I went home and looked you up on the internet after I saw the newspaper photo of you in the newsagents. Daddy a Conservative Member of Parliament. Mummy the eldest daughter of an earl. Educated at Oxford and the London School of Economics. Had the heart transplant operation in a private hospital, which ruffled a lot of feathers.”

“I still had to wait for a heart to become available like everyone else,” she informed him. “Just because I’m a spoiled little rich girl doesn’t mean I was automatically entitled to one.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replied and she could hear the humour in his voice. “So, what now?”

“Now?”

“Are you looking for a bit of rough or something?” he asked as she raised her coffee cup to her lips and took a sip.

“I hadn’t had a bit of anything until you. Or rather, Simon. And he didn’t come across as rough. I don’t know a thing about you. Are you a bit of rough?”

He began to laugh. “Yes, I am compared to you. I live around the corner in a one-bedroomed apartment. I do own it, though. Owning my own home is very important to me.”

“I still live at home,” she mumbled.

“Well, that’s understandable in the circumstances. Freya, Simon doesn’t exist. With me, what you see is what you get.”

“It’s the same with me.”

His eyes dropped to her casual but hugely expensive white shirt and blue jeans. “I doubt that very much.”

“I don’t understand?” She frowned.

“Well, are you going to bring me home and introduce me to your incredibly rich and well-connected parents and tell them how we met? How a man using a false name took your virginity in a hotel room, and how you now love being fucked?” She began to cough and he sat back in his seat. “I thought not. I don’t date clients, Freya.”

“Not even ones you’re attracted to? Ones you love fucking? Or was that an act, too?”

“I’d never slept with a client before until you,” he told her instead of answering. “I did it for the money – a huge amount of money. It’s as simple as that.”

“Is it? Unless you are also an Oscar-winning actor, I know you enjoyed it. You enjoyed it so much you were completely freaked out. I thought it was my scar but it wasn’t the scar at all. You couldn’t keep your hands off me down at the Embankment. I made you come with the tip of my tongue, then you couldn’t wait to lift my dress and get your hand between my legs. You were the first to mention getting a room. We fucked in that hotel room for two whole hours.”

“It was a fantasy, Freya,” he reminded her. “We were both pretending to be someone else.”

“So, what now? Do you want me to get up and walk away?”

“Do you?”

“No,” she replied quietly and saw relief flood into his face.

“I’m glad because I don’t want you to either.”

“So, what now?” she repeated. “What can we do?”

“We forget the fantasy and start again?” he suggested. “I give you my number? And maybe you could give me yours?”

“Are you married?”

He shook his head. “No. And I’m not seeing anyone at the moment either.”

“If you’re caught with a client will you get fired?”

“Yes, but the booking was made in your friends’ names and your name was given as Samantha.”

They swapped phone numbers then sat silently for a few moments finishing their coffee.

“Would you like me to call you James or Jamie?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what do your parents call you?”

Sighing, he ran a forefinger around the rim of his cup. “My parents are dead,” he told her in a flat voice. “They died when I was four so I have little or no memory of them. I was a care home kid and I was fostered out from time to time.”

“I’m sorry,” she said and he shrugged.

“It’s just the way it was. My parents were heroin addicts and they both died of an overdose. Because of it all, I don’t even like taking aspirin for a headache.” He gave her a little smile at her shocked face. “I can delete your number if you want?”

“No,” she replied firmly. “No, don’t. Can I call you Jamie?”

“Yes. I’d better get used to calling you Freya now.”

“It’s a bit pretentious.”

“No.” He smiled. “I like it. I didn’t think Samantha quite suited you.”

“Liz and Amanda came up with the name,” she explained. “I think they got it from the Sex and the City character.”

“I’ve never watched it. Look, if, at any time, you just want to walk away, just do.”

“Why would I just walk away?” she asked. “I’d never just walk away,” she added, realising as she spoke that, from a child, no-one had wanted him. “If we feel that it isn’t working, then, we’ll discuss it like adults. I’d never just walk away,” she said again.

“Thank you.”

“Can I see your apartment?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Her heart sank. “Why?”

“Confession time, Freya. I’ve never wanted to see a client again until you. There’s just something about you and I don’t you what it is – your vulnerability maybe – and the fact that I was the one who took your virginity. But I’m so fucking attracted to you that it’s scaring me and if we went back to the apartment, I know exactly what would happen.”

“But I want that to happen,” she admitted.

“I know you do. And I know you want to make up for lost time, but I don’t want to just fuck you.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want a relationship? Or do you just want sex?” he asked and she stared at him. Couldn’t she have both? “No, you can’t have both. We can either have a proper grown-up relationship, which includes sex. Or we can just meet up to fuck each other. I want to have a relationship with you. I want us to try and get to know each other.” Lifting his cup, he drained it and got up. “Think about it and call me when you make a decision.”

Open-mouthed, she watched as he picked up his newspaper got to his feet and walked away from her.

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