I remember the first time I saw an escort. It was about eight years ago. I’d fixated on an escort named Peter, who was a hunky Australian guy living in San Francisco with brooding dark features and a knock-out body.
Each day I commute from San Francisco to my job in Sunnyvale. I am one of an army of reverse-commuters, heading from our flats and rowhouses in the City southward to the leafy office parks of the Peninsula and South