World's Oldest Confession

I may as well admit it: I'm on that list. You know, that list. The list of clients of Pamela Martin & Associates, the escort service run by alleged Washington madam Deborah Jeane Palfrey.

Although I never quite understood why they called it an "escort" service, since we never actually went anywhere.

Ha ha.

But let me make this clear: I did not have sex with those women. The occasional back rub and foot massage, yes. Arm-, leg- and thumb-wrestling, sure. Mumbletypeg every now and then. But no hanky-panky.

Oh, I also had them change the timing belt on my Mazda and deworm the dog. Hey, they said they'd do anything for $300 an hour.

Anything legal, that is. After all, PM&A was a "legal, high-end erotic fantasy service." Sometimes a man's wife -- even My Lovely Wife -- forces him to turn to such a service.

I would sometimes use my cellphone to call the alleged D.C. madam. "My wife doesn't understand me," I would whisper, my hand cupped over the mouthpiece. "Can you send one of your girls over?"

She would arrive and we'd get right to business. "You know my fantasy," I would say. "Tall glasses on the outside of the upper rack, tumblers and coffee cups to the inside, with soup bowls down the middle. Large plates at the back of the lower rack, small plates at the front, cereal bowls around the edges. And for the love of all that is holy, put the knives in the cutlery compartment with their points facing down."

I'm very particular about how the dishwasher is loaded.

Then, if there was time, we'd head to the couch and watch "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit." (My wife draws the line at "Law & Order: Criminal Intent.") If I was feeling especially frisky, I wouldn't share the ottoman.

Did I feel bad? Yes, I did. I felt like a bad boy, a very bad boy indeed.

Which is why I would sometimes ask Tiffanie, Jazmin or Brunhilde to spank me, but -- and I can't stress this enough -- in a legal, high-end sort of way.