She was chatting with a girlfriend, while spinning at SoulCycle about an erotic masseuse who was buzzing about the Upper East Side, giving happy endings to a bevy of increasingly turned-on wives. Ellie is divorcing her husband, Nate, who devoted his energy to his many hobbies rather than her.
Nate has moved into a Tribeca rental, and is currently spending the week in Florida at tennis camp. Mandy, who introduced me to Ellie, and I are transfixed. Ellie, who recalls a young Auntie Mame, sits back in her red Louis XIV- style chair, her brown Lanvin caped dress splays over the arms.
It felt crazy good. Then, flipping me over, slowly stuck his middle finger inside me. The memory of the massage palpably excited Ellie. She insists Mandy and I try Tomaso tonight. To my horror, he just happens to be finishing an appointment on 71st and Park and will be over in 45 minutes.
Even Mandy, a walking orgasm, seems nervous. She blurts about her very own, unintentional climax, which occurred last month after a relaxing acupuncture session. A sweet, balding, pot-bellied man placed a vibrating tuning fork on each of her chakras to balance her energy post-abortion, and when it firmly landed on her root chakra , a tremendous orgasm erupted. Right on time, Tomaso arrives. I catch his brown eyes and avert my gaze.
Maybe I should allow myself more sexual liberation? Tomaso has prepared the room with the scent of Palo Santo wood, which I recognize from yoga class. When I feel his warm hands on my back, I naturally decide this is the moment to bombard him with questions.
