So you have a 30,000 square-foot beachfront property next to Lloyd Blankfein's new house? A helicopter that whisks you to and from Manhattan on the rare occasions you're called back in NYC between Memorial and Labor Day? A staff that makes sure the only finger you lift all day is the one to signal you need more sunscreen applied to your back and that they should bring a refill for your rosé while they're at it? One-hundred million dollars in your checking account? A highway? All of that is well and good but if you're looking to send a message that you've actually made it, none of it means nothing unless the lady of the house is being serviced by her female trainer.
“The pussy whisperers!” she repeated. “The trainers who have affairs with their clients during summer in the Hamptons!” It sounded like a variation on the pool boy cliché: a hot working guy, the beautiful wife of a wealthy man who works in the city during the week, the kids at sleep-away camp…But I hadn’t heard the term—which implied a particular skill set, and a special knowledge about what women want—before. “Well,” I said, “if these men are attractive and attentive to their female clients…” “The pussy whisperers,” she interrupted, “are women!” [...] “It’s sort of the new workplace affair, but with a different ‘workplace,’ and genders switched around,” observed a Manhattan workout aficionada who was aware of the whispers about pussy whisperers. She noted that she had heard the term “straight whisperer” to describe the phenomenon, as in, able to whisper a straight woman into bed. “Isn’t it just that when you’re a woman who has it all, having a female lover is an experience you might allow yourself to have?” a woman who summers in Sagaponack mused, surprised that anyone would be surprised.
If you are, maybe Coney Island's more your speed.