After our “smack-n-smack” session, John shows me to a walk-in closet, my walk-in closet.
“Obviously, there’s more, at Escala,” he say, opening the doors. Holy crap, more?! The closet is filled with a number of full-length gowns, as well as an array of cotton, linen, wool, and silk blouses, skirts, pants, and dresses. There’s drawers upon drawers of bras, panties, garter belts, and thigh-highs. Three whole drawers are filled with jewelry. There are at least fifteen pairs of shoes — all heels except one pair of athletic sneakers which sit displayed next to a sports bra, white tube socks, and a pair of the tiniest gym shorts I’ve ever seen.
“Obviously,” is all I can eek out.
As I’m ogling the incredibly adult-looking assortment of clothes and accessories (Is that a Birkin?), John takes
