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

Today he said hi.  He was talking on his phone in the locker room, I walked by and he caught my eye and said hi.  I realize that sounds so juvenile, so junior high girlish.  Perhaps I should say “OMG