The Year in Numbers (And Everything They Couldn't Measure)

What a Spreadsheet Revealed About My Work, My Clients, and Myself

Hello all,

I want to start by saying thank you for the outpouring of support for my last blog: The Quietest Girl in the Room (10^th June 2026). I was so heartened by the overwhelmingly positive response. Many of you wrote to tell me that it helped you understand me a little better. Others reached out to express that it resonated with you on a personal level. It’s the kind of feedback that makes writing such a vulnerable piece feel so worth it.

Today's blog is another peek behind the curtain and I hope it will be of some interest…

For those who don't know, I am an unapologetic spreadsheet enthusiast.

This probably won't surprise anyone who has spent more than five minutes with me. I have spreadsheets for work, spreadsheets for study, spreadsheets for finances, spreadsheets for meal planning.

To illustrate how deep this quality of mine runs… As a teenager, I had a handwritten spreadsheet cataloguing the contents of my emergency backpack.

(Yes, really).

This is another of my wild tangents, but stay with me here. Was this backpack in case of a fire? A home burglary? Running away from home? Who knows. Anything and everything, I suppose. But I would painstakingly deliberate on the shortlist of items I needed. Band-Aids, matches, sticky tape, my favourite childhood teddy bear (which was included purely for sentimental reasons and absolutely not because I anticipated needing a cuddle after surviving the apocalypse... any emotional support he may have provided was merely incidental).

My point is that being organised and feeling prepared are central parts of who I am.

So, yes, I honestly do keep a record of each and every booking.  

For tax purposes, it would be sufficient to simply track my income and expenses, but I keep meticulous records of all kinds of work-related details. It just makes me feel more proficient, more professional, more in control. The documents are password-encrypted, of course, for your discretion.

Anyway, back to the data at hand. As many of you know, April 2025 marked a significant change in the way I work. After years of operating from a permanent incall, I made the leap to hotels and serviced apartments. This blog is, in many ways, a look back at that first year and everything it taught me. I can hardly believe a whole year has passed already. It’s gone by so fast. During that first month, my work from hotels was a bit sporadic, with lots of trial and error, so instead I’ve isolated the data for the 12 months from the start of May 2025 to the end of April 2026. I suppose I could’ve waited until EOFY, but curiosity got the better of me.

What might the numbers in my Master File reveal?

What did my year actually look like?

What patterns would emerge?

What surprised me?

And perhaps most importantly...

Would the spreadsheet tell the same story I felt I had lived?

As it turns out… not always.

So grab a cup of coffee (or a zero-sugar energy drink if you’re anything like me) and let's take a look at what the past year uncovered.

Strap in! It’s going to be a long one...

~ ~ ~

A Typical Booking

Let's start with one of the questions people ask me most often: "What does a typical booking actually look like?"

The answer, according to my spreadsheet, is surprisingly ordinary. By far the most common booking length was one hour (62% of bookings). That didn't surprise me in the slightest. What did surprise me was how uncommon 30-minute bookings actually were (14% of bookings).

I suspect many people imagine that a 30-minute booking must be half the effort, half the energy, and half the work. Unfortunately, that's not really how it works. A 30-minute booking still requires all of the same preparation. The screening, the messages, the travel, the hotel reservation, the shower, the makeup, the conversation, the connection, the intimacy, the clean-up, and the transition back into everyday life. It all still happens.

In practical terms, seeing two men for 30 minutes each is often considerably more work than seeing one man for an hour. This is why a 30-minute booking is not priced at simply half the hourly rate.

It's two introductions. Two waves of nerves. Two rounds of small talk. Two opportunities to discover whether we're compatible. And, perhaps most importantly, less time to relax into each other's company. I've always found that the best encounters are the ones that have room to breathe. And the statistics seem to agree.

The reality is that a 30-minute booking is also rarely half the sexual intercourse of a one-hour booking. In most cases, a one-hour booking includes a healthy amount of conversation, cuddling, connection, laughter, and simply enjoying each other's company. The intimacy is only one part of the experience.

A 30-minute booking, by contrast, tends to be much more compressed. There's less room to settle in, less room to chat, and less room to linger afterwards. While the booking itself is shorter, it often isn't proportionate in terms of how the time is spent.

As I mentioned in my Shyness blog, the social side of my work can actually be the more challenging part for me. But there is also a practical reality that many people don't consider: there is a limit to how many physically intimate encounters my body can comfortably accommodate in a day. A "maximum quota," if you will.

This is one of the reasons Brief Interludes aren't priced as generously as Extended Encounters. It's also why I limit how many 30-minute bookings I'll accept in a single day, and why many providers choose not to offer them at all.

It's not simply about income, either.

Longer bookings generally mean fewer arrivals and departures throughout the day, which is helpful for discretion, particularly when working from hotels. They also mean fewer room resets, fewer loads of washing, fewer towels, fewer showers, fewer touch-ups to hair and makeup, and generally a calmer pace.

But perhaps the most significant explanation is much simpler. When you remove the business considerations entirely, what many women tend to enjoy isn't the rush.

It's the anticipation.

The conversation.

The flirtation.

The slow build-up.

The chance to relax into somebody's company rather than feeling like you're racing the clock. For me, that's where I usually find the most fulfilment in my work, both sexually and emotionally. Which is probably why the overwhelming majority of my bookings end up being one hour or more. As it turns out, both my clients and I seem to prefer having a little more time to play with.

A Little Longer, A Little Slower

Although one-hour bookings dominated, there were still plenty of longer encounters sprinkled throughout the year. Many stretched to 90 minutes. Others to two or three hours.

And then there were the Extended Encounters.

Over the course of the year, I enjoyed several dinner dates, a couple of all-day encounters, and one overnight.

These remain some of my favourite ways to spend time with clients. Not because they are the most lucrative. Not because they are the most extravagant. But because they allow something different to develop. When you spend six hours with somebody, you're no longer simply sharing intimacy. You're sharing conversations, meals, stories, jokes, silences, and little moments that would never fit inside a standard booking. The dynamic changes completely. It's less like having an “appointment” with someone and more like temporarily stepping into a shared little bubble together.

A Little Note About Overnights...

The spreadsheet shows that I only completed one overnight encounter during the reporting period. But what it doesn't show is that I was asked to do several more. The reason I declined them is very simple: I'm still not ready to spend a whole night away from my little mini-me. I am a Mama-bear first and foremost.

While overnights can be incredibly fun, and yes, they are certainly financially worthwhile, they require something I'm not especially willing to part with these days: an entire night at home. To paint a picture, in an average week, I often book a hotel room for two nights so I can work an afternoon and then continue seeing clients the following day. Every single time I do this, I drive all the way home just to sleep in my own bed and be there if (or rather when) my daughter needs me.

It's usually at least a two-hour round trip. Fuel prices are bananas, I dislike driving at night, and I loathe peak-hour traffic. Yet I'll happily do it. For her. And for me. Because I miss her. And because those precious moments, the warm little snuggles, they’re worth everything to me.

The one overnight I did accept was largely born of circumstance. We'd recently come through a period of illness and unexpected time off, and I needed to rebuild the financial reserves a little faster than usual.

But if I'm being realistic, I don't see overnights becoming a regular part of my schedule anytime soon. Nor weekends away with clients, fly-me-to-you’s, or interstate tours. Certainly not over the next few years. As much as I enjoy my work, life changed when I became a mother. Priorities change too.

The Men Who Became Part Of The Furniture

One of the most surprising discoveries from this little spreadsheet project wasn't how many bookings I did, or which months were busiest. It was realising just how much of my working life revolves around a relatively small number of familiar faces. I think there is a common assumption that escorting involves an endless parade of strangers. And certainly, I do meet new people. But the reality is often much more wholesome than that.

Some clients become regulars.

Some regulars become fixtures.

A very small handful become such a consistent part of your life that it's difficult to imagine your calendar without them. The point isn't that they booked me the most. The point is that they became woven into the very fabric of my work-life. They are recurring characters in the story of my year.

For the sake of discretion, let's call the top three: Husband, Boyfriend, and Lover.

Husband

Husband has been around the longest. Technically, I do have one client I’ve known slightly longer, but he sees me monthly, whereas Husband sees me weekly. He’s my “old reliable”… and don’t worry, he won’t be offended. He’ll actually get such a kick out of me calling him that.

At this point, neither of us can really imagine a world where the other isn't somewhere in it. We haven't met each other's families, of course, but we know plenty about them. We ask after them. We celebrate their successes. We commiserate when life throws challenges their way.

The dynamic isn't especially intense or dramatic. In fact, it's often the opposite.

We've settled into the sort of comfortable rhythm that allows us to tease each other mercilessly and slip into what can only be described as “old married couple banter.”

He also has an annoying habit of being thoughtful. More often than not, he'll arrive with dinner, dessert, or one of the zero-sugar energy drinks I'm embarrassingly fond of. It’s the ordinary things he does that mean the most to me.

It's not grand romance.

It's familiarity.

It's: "I saw this and thought of you."

And that feels very husband-like to me.

Sometimes he helps me navigate practical challenges in my personal life through his various businesses. And somehow, without ever intending to, he has become one of the constants of my adult life. Which, I suppose, is exactly what you would expect from a husband.

 

Boyfriend

Boyfriend and I are roughly the same age, and perhaps that's part of why the dynamic feels so easy. We've known each other for six years now. Long enough that entire chapters of our lives have unfolded while the other was quietly in the background.

If Husband feels like stability, Boyfriend feels like familiarity.

He sometimes sees me twice in a single day, and often twice in one week. And there's a lightness to our interactions that never seems to disappear. Our personalities are remarkably similar, and there’s a sense that we often understand each other without words. Above all, we have a genuine foundation of friendship beneath all of our naughty trysts.

Lover

Then there's Lover. This one is fascinating because he's almost the inverse of Husband. Our personal history isn't quite as long. What makes this relationship special isn't familiarity.

It's trust.

The intimacy has grown steadily over time, and so have the lengths of our bookings. Even more so over the past month or so (data that hasn’t been included in this analysis).

We explore more.

We experiment more.

We trust each other more.

He’s like a secret affair. And boy, does he spoil me! He knows my body as if it were his own (but that tends to come from hours and hours of intently worshipping it).

Interestingly, we probably know less about each other's day-to-day lives than Husband and I do. In fact, I wonder if he even knows he’s in my top three. I suspect he might be learning it here for the very first time. We are in some ways a mystery to each other. Yet there is a deep connection there nonetheless. It simply lives in a different place.

I often think that people imagine intimacy as a single thing.

It isn't.

Husband represents one kind of closeness.

Boyfriend represents another.

And Lover represents another entirely.

They're all different.

They're all meaningful.

And they're all reminders that human relationships rarely fit neatly into categories.

What Surprised Me

When I first sat down to analyse the year, I expected the spreadsheet to tell me about bookings. Instead, it told me about people. It reminded me that this business is far more relationship-driven than most outsiders realise.

Some of the most important relationships in my working life aren't defined by a single encounter.

They're built gradually.

Hour by hour.

Year by year.

And while I certainly cherish the excitement of meeting somebody new, there is something incredibly special about sharing a joke or a story that only makes sense because you've known each other for half a decade.

~ ~ ~

The New Clients

One of the data groups I was most curious about was my brand-new clients.

How many did I meet?

How many returned?

And what might that tell me about my work?

Over the course of the reporting period, I met 46 new clients. That number felt about right.

The next statistic, however, completely caught me off guard.

When I first ran the return-rate figures, I found that only around one-third of those new clients had returned during the reporting period. My immediate reaction was: "That can't be right."

Not because I have some wildly inflated opinion of myself, but because it simply didn't align with my lived experience. Intuitively, I know I have a very loyal client base. I know many of my regulars have been seeing me for years. I know that I rarely struggle to fill my available appointments and am so often “fully booked.” And I know that the vast majority of my bookings come from people who have seen me before.

So I started digging.

And what I discovered was a wonderful reminder that people are far more complicated than spreadsheets. And numbers only tell part of the story.

Fourteen of the new clients had already returned, most of them more than once.

Another eleven had actively tried to book again. In fact, many had tried multiple times. The challenge wasn't desire or satisfaction. It was scheduling. Between my limited availability and their own commitments, we simply hadn't managed to find a suitable time. Those clients shouldn't really be mentally categorised as "lost clients." They're more accurately: Clients retained, but not yet successfully rebooked. Huge difference.

Two new clients lived interstate and were only visiting Perth temporarily, making a return booking impractical.

One only participates in group bookings and doesn't typically see providers one-on-one.

Two told me outright that they'd love to return, but only engage in this sort of thing once a year or even every couple of years. They may well reappear at some point in the future, but they’re what my industry peers and I call “occasional hobbyists.”

Five clients fell into a different category altogether. They were men I chose not to see again because they were seeking a much more hardcore, high-octane, pornstar style of encounter; one that I am not comfortable providing. They simply weren't the right fit for the type of experience I offer. And that’s okay. One of the privileges of working independently is being able to prioritise the types of experiences that feel safe, enjoyable, and sustainable for everyone involved. But those five new clients don't belong in the retention analysis at all. I actively chose not to continue those client relationships. That isn't customer churn. That's quality control.

Finally, one client, rather sadly, passed away (something I learned from Twitter, as he was a well-known and beloved regular client of a handful of sex workers). I was incredibly lucky to share one beautiful and very memorable experience with this true gentleman. He'll be remembered fondly.

By the time I had worked through all of these individual stories, the statistic looked very different. What initially appeared to be a disappointing retention figure was actually a collection of entirely different outcomes, many of which had very little to do with whether somebody enjoyed spending time with me. My true conversion rate was actually a number I could be quite proud of.

A relatively small number of my new clients fell into the category of "I'm genuinely not sure why we never crossed paths again.” A few of these I shared a connection with, as well as genuinely enjoyable intimacy (at least, for me). I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take it a little personally that those clients hadn't returned. Maybe their satisfaction with the encounter wasn’t quite what mine was, but really, it could be for any reason at all, and I have to let that go. Such is the nature of the game. But secretly, for curiosity’s sake (if not my ego), I do wish it were a puzzle I could solve.

The Availability Problem

There was another factor the spreadsheet couldn't properly capture. Availability.

The spreadsheet shows that some clients appear in the data as one-time visitors. But what it doesn't show are the messages that arrived afterwards.

The enquiries.

The attempted re-bookings.

The "Are you available next Friday?" texts.

The near misses.

Sometimes a new client secures a booking by sheer luck, due to a rare last-minute cancellation or an unusually quiet week. They assume this reflects my normal availability. Then they try to book again. And they discover what many of my regulars already know.

I can be surprisingly difficult to pin down. Given the simple reality that I work part-time, there are only so many appointments available.

Many of the men who eventually become regulars don't secure that status immediately. Sometimes it takes several attempts. Some men who appear in the spreadsheet as one-time visitors have actually been trying to return for months.

What Surprised Me Most

Perhaps the biggest lesson from this section of the spreadsheet was that human relationships resist categorisation. The spreadsheet wanted to sort people into neat little boxes.

Returned.

Didn't return.

Regular.

New.

Success.

Failure.

Real life isn't nearly so tidy.

Some people become Husband, Boyfriend, or Lover. Some become lovely one-off memories. Some remain names in my inbox that I fully expect to see again one day when our calendars finally align. And some simply drift back into their own lives, carrying a small chapter of mine with them.

The spreadsheet counts all of those outcomes differently.

I suspect life counts them much the same.

~ ~ ~

The Calendar

One of the biggest surprises from this project was discovering that the year was shaped more by my availability than by client demand. This is a subtle but important distinction. My business appears to be constrained not by "How many men wanted to see me?" but by "How many men could fit into a calendar that was competing with university, parenting, illness, family commitments, friendships, and a real-life romantic relationship?" I think that's a much more interesting lens through which to view my entire year.

Before I sat down with the spreadsheet, I assumed my busiest months would simply be the months when the most people wanted to see me. But again and again, the data reminded me that my work doesn't exist in isolation. It sits alongside all of the other moving parts that make up a life.

The calendar wasn't telling me a story about business.

It was telling me a story about balance.

July and August: The Placement Months

The quietest periods of the year weren't necessarily the periods where demand dropped. They were the periods where I disappeared. Much of July and August were consumed by university placements.

For those who aren't familiar with my current degree, the practical placements are intense. The days are long. The shifts can start at inconvenient hours. The mental load is significant. The responsibility is huge. And unlike many university assignments, you can't simply decide you'll work on them tomorrow instead.

You show up.

You learn.

You survive.

And occasionally you remember to eat.

Looking back at the calendar now, it's obvious why availability was limited during these months. At the time, however, I was simply trying to get through them.

November: The Birthday Month

If the placement months represented one extreme, November represented the other. November absolutely dominated the statistics.

Highest revenue.

Highest booking count.

Highest face-to-face time spent with clients.

When I first noticed this, I was puzzled.

Why November?

Why not December?

Why not January?

Why not tax-return season, when more clients are cashed up with disposable income?

Then I remembered what had actually been happening in my life in November. My exams had finally finished. After weeks of reduced availability, many of my regulars had been patiently waiting for opportunities to see me again.

November also happens to be my birthday month. As a result, there were celebrations, gifts, thoughtful messages, and a surprising amount of birthday-related spoiling. In November, I was also inclined to take on more bookings because with Christmas around the corner, I certainly wasn't opposed to a little extra shopping money.

Suddenly, the numbers made perfect sense. The spreadsheet wasn't showing me a mysterious surge in demand. It was showing me what happens when I finally appear from a work hiatus.

December: Family First

December was my second-busiest month, but at first glance it looked surprisingly modest compared with November.

Once again, the numbers only told part of the story.

December wasn't limited by demand.

It was limited by me.

Between Christmas celebrations, family gatherings, school holidays, and all the beautiful chaos that accompanies the festive season, I intentionally worked less.

And truthfully, I wouldn't change that.

There will always be more opportunities to work.

There won't always be opportunities to make memories with the people I love.

 

March and April: The Reminder

The final months of the reporting period were some of the most challenging. Both my daughter and I experienced periods of illness that significantly disrupted our routines.

Plans changed.

Appointments disappeared.

Availability shrank.

The spreadsheet captures this as fewer bookings.

What it doesn't capture is sitting beside a sick child.

It doesn't capture cancelled plans.

It doesn't capture exhaustion.

And it certainly doesn't capture the strange guilt many working parents feel whenever family responsibilities collide with work commitments.

Thankfully, we're both doing much better now.

But those months served as an important reminder.

Sometimes life decides what your priorities are.

 

What The Calendar Really Taught Me

When I first started this project, I assumed I was analysing a year's worth of work. In reality, I was analysing a year's worth of life.

The bookings, clients, and encounters all mattered, of course. But what ultimately shaped the year were the same things that shape everyone's year.

Education.

Family.

Health.

Friendship.

Responsibility.

Love.

The spreadsheet simply gave me a different way of seeing them. And perhaps that's why I enjoyed this little exercise so much. Because hidden amongst all the dates and numbers was something surprisingly reassuring. The things I value most really are the things that receive the most space in my calendar. Even when I don't realise it at the time.

~ ~ ~

Hotel Life

This entire project began because I reached a milestone. A full year of working from hotels and serviced apartments. When I first made the transition, I was nervous! I had become comfortable with the familiarity of a permanent incall space. I knew where everything was. I had my routines. I had my little comforts.

Hotels felt different.

Temporary.

Unpredictable.

And if I'm being completely honest, I hated it at first.

They just felt so unfamiliar. There is something oddly vulnerable about arriving somewhere new, carrying your overnight bag, wondering whether the room will be nice enough for my clients, whether the parking will be convenient, whether the air-conditioning will work, and whether you'll accidentally spend ten minutes wandering hallways looking for the correct room number.

Not that I've ever done that, of course.

Ahem.

Becoming A Creature Of Habit

What surprised me most was how quickly unfamiliar places started becoming familiar. Over time, I developed favourites. Certain hotels felt easier. Certain apartments felt more comfortable. Certain locations simply worked better for both myself and my clients.

I learned which places had the best parking.

Which lifts were the most discreet.

Which rooms had the best lighting.

Which locations offered the easiest check-in experience.

And perhaps most importantly, which places felt welcoming.

It's funny how quickly humans establish routines. Even when those routines involve carrying lingerie and sex toys through hotel lobbies.

The Familiar Faces Behind The Desk

One thing I hadn't anticipated was becoming familiar with the people who work in these buildings.

When you visit the same places repeatedly, you inevitably start recognising faces. And they recognise you.

“Welcome back [insert Jasmine’s real name here]!”

It’s a surreal and slightly discombobulating experience when I have my "Jasmine heels" on and am not expecting to be addressed as “that other girl from back home.” I quickly look around to make sure a client hasn't approached as the receptionist shouts my legal name in a booming voice. (I’m sure they weren’t actually shouting, but it sure did feel like it to me).

Before long, I started exchanging friendly greetings and making polite small talk with the staff at my favourite venues. One hotel manager in particular gradually transformed from a stranger into somebody I genuinely enjoy chatting with. Nothing dramatic. Nothing scandalous. Just one of those pleasant little human connections that develops when people occupy the same space often enough.

I think that's something I've noticed repeatedly throughout this blog. Whether it's Husband bringing me an energy drink. Whether it's a regular client checking how my studies are going. Or whether it's a hotel manager greeting me with a smile. The most meaningful parts of the year were rarely the things I expected to remember. They were the relationships.

~ ~ ~

What Surprised Me Most

When I first opened the spreadsheet, I expected to find patterns. What I didn't expect was to find reassurance. Throughout this blog, I've repeatedly discovered that the statistics only told half the story.

The other half lived in the context.

The relationships.

The choices.

The reasons behind the numbers.

For example, I initially thought the new-client retention figures looked disappointing. Then I realised how many of those "non-returning" clients had actively tried to book again. Others lived interstate. A few simply weren't the right fit.

The spreadsheet had presented me with a statistic. Life had presented me with a story.

Again and again, I found the same thing happening.

November wasn't my busiest month because demand suddenly exploded. It was the busiest because exams had finished and I was finally available again. The quieter months weren't quiet because nobody wanted to see me. They were quiet because I was on placement or spending time with family.

Even the hotel statistics surprised me. I expected to discover which venues generated the most bookings. Instead, I found myself thinking about the familiar faces behind reception desks and the strange comfort of walking into places that no longer felt unfamiliar.

Most surprisingly of all, I realised just how relationship-driven my work has become. When people imagine escorting, they often imagine endless novelty. An endless stream of strangers.

The spreadsheet painted a very different picture.

It reminded me of Husband.

Boyfriend.

Lover.

The men who quietly appear throughout my calendar, year after year. The clients who know how my studies are progressing. The clients who ask how my family is doing. The clients who remember my birthday. The clients who know my favourite drinks. And perhaps most importantly, the clients who have trusted me with their time, their stories, and their companionship.

For all the statistics I collected, I think that was the biggest revelation of all. This business may begin with intimacy. But often, what keeps people returning is connection.

The Spreadsheet Test

At the beginning of this project, I asked myself a simple question: Would the spreadsheet tell the same story I felt I had lived?

Surprisingly, the answer was yes.

Not immediately.

Not without a little interpretation.

But eventually, yes.

The numbers confirmed what I already suspected.

That family comes first. That doing well in my studies matters deeply to me. That I value long-term relationships over endless novelty. That I prefer quality over quantity. And that my version of success has very little to do with being the busiest person in the room.

Looking Ahead

So where does that leave me? Hopefully, with a slightly less chaotic spreadsheet.

Realistically, though, probably not.

If history is any indication, I'll continue tracking far more information than any reasonable person should. Some habits are difficult to break.

As for the year ahead, I don't have any grand plans to completely reinvent myself.

I don't suddenly want to work every day.

I don't want to spend weeks travelling.

I don't want to chase overnights, week-long bookings, or a lifestyle that pulls me further away from the people I love.

If anything, this little exercise has reinforced how happy I am with the balance I've created.

There is certainly room for growth. I hope to continue building beautiful connections with both new and existing clients. I hope to create more opportunities for those wonderfully indulgent Extended Encounters that I enjoy so much. I hope to continue progressing through my studies and move steadily towards the next chapter of my professional life.

And perhaps most importantly, I hope to remain present for the people who matter most.

The year wasn't really about bookings, hotels, or statistics. It was about the life that existed around them.

Thank you to everyone who shared a small piece of this year with me. Whether you appeared once, a dozen times, or somewhere in between. Whether you've been reading these blogs quietly from afar. Or whether you've sat across from me at a dinner table, a hotel room, or a café.

Thank you for being part of the story.

And thank you for giving me enough material to justify an entirely unreasonable amount of spreadsheet analysis.

Until next time,

Yours, statistically and sentimentally,

Jasmine x