Escorts ads are hidden
Show classifieds now

A New York Escorts Confessions

We were hiking up Ithaca’s Buttermilk Falls on a perfect October Sunday. Well perfect in that it felt like it was still September. An almost cloudless blue sky, the smell of mulching leaves beneath our feet, the cascade of water and an overhang of mist. The path was damp from all the rain the weeks before. It felt hidden, grotto-esque, mysterious. The architecture of the rocks was dramatic, stage-like. I felt alive, as if I had finally rejoined the rest of life. If only Tash would get off her Little Ms. Fix-It Routine.

“But you’re really good at yoga. She’s really good at yoga.”

“Yoou ahre being very goood,” said Cass properly, in an on-the-nose imitation of Tash talking to her dogs. I snorted.

“Oh shog off the both of you.” She turned to me, plaintively. “But you are really good.” Then to Cass, “She can do ankle to knee.”

I shoved past her and ran up the next set up steps. “I’m not going to be a yoga instructor.”

Tash ran after me in hot pursuit. Jesus she was dogged when she wanted to be. “Why not? You just said you don’t like your place in the city anymore.”

“So I’m going to go get licened and then open my own place? What is that, like a three-year time-line?”

“What’s the matter with what you’re doing now?” said Cass.

Tash and I both stopped. I flashed her a don’t-even-think-about-opening-your-big-fat-mouth look. She flashed me back an eyebrow-twitching, nose-wrinkling, no-holds-barred well-if-you-don’t-have-anything-to-be-ashamed-about-what’s-the difference-if-she-knows face. Luckily Cass was too busy studying a tree to catch the mad mugging and masking going on behind her back.

“Okay. A vintner.”

I choked so hard the Reisling went up my nose. Cass did a spit-take into her glass. Since this was our third vineyard and our twenty-something taste, we were pretty primed to find just about anything funny.

“And this next one is our Moondance dessert wine—”

“Oh don’t try that one it’s bloody awful.” Cass did another spit take. She was going to choke if she wasn’t careful. “Sorry” Tash said to the clerk. “But it is. As sure as eggs are eggs.”

“I’d love to try it,” I said cutting her off. “So what? Now it’s a ten-year time-line you’re subjecting me to?”

“You like wine. You have a great palate.

“I know when they use oak Tash. Doesn’t make me Robert fucking Parker.”

“Can we have more Cheez-its?” asked Cass.

“That’s what these are? Cheez-its?” said Tash, horrified.

“Saw the box. Had a bitt of a sticky at that.”

“You make a lousy Aussie, you know that don’t you?”

Cass turned to me. “I don’t know. It’s not a bad idea. You could move up here. I’ll move from Portland. We could be partners.”

“What are you talking about? You have a great job. You just finished grad school.

“I’m designing grain elevators in Buffalo.” she deadpanned.

This time it was Tash’s turn to snort her wine all over her lace shirt.

“Remember when she wanted to be a cheesemonger?”

“Oh come on you guys. That was for like five days.” I looked apologetically at the Sheep Lady. We were now at the Cornell Farmers market getting desert for tonight’s dinner. “Not that I don’t like cheese,” I said paying her for a hunk of just that. “I’m just not sure about caves.”

“What about a pastry chef” Cass said as we wandered off to the cider donuts.”Or a baker.”

I didn’t answer. “Lex? What’s up? You look pensive.”

“…maybe I’ll write a book.”

“That’s a good idea!” Tash looked positively ebullient,like she was going to burst into a million pieces.

Who knew. Maybe I would.

When we got back to Tash’s I looked at myself in the mirror of the bathroom. I was breathless. flushed from wine, the exercise, and the company. It had truly been a great day.

Things just got better when I entered the dining room. In our absence the Rocket Scientist had fixed a feast fit for kings—roasted baby beets, brussel sprouts with walnuts, braised pumkin and butternut squash, salmon with rustic pesto, and cauliflower soup with caraway seeds. Yum. But where oh where was the chef in question? I stretched my mouth in preparation for the torrent of words that would erupt the second I caught sight of him.

We found him a few minutes later sprawled out on the couch, my open bottle of absinthe before him. The dogs had burrowed on top of him, making him look even more askew than he probably was. I couldn’t help laughing.

“Well look at you!” said Tash. “Nipping into the drinks without us”

“So how is it?” I asked.

The Rocket Scientist smiled lopsidely and blinked. “I see stars,” he said.