Till Summer Do Us Part(33)

“Thank you,” I say as I stick my hands in my pockets, unsure of what to do in this room.

“Oh, and your bags are over there in the corner,” Sanders says. “Let us know if you need anything.” Then they take off, and when the door clicks shut, I turn toward Scottie.

“Am I dreaming?” she asks, dizzily looking around. “Because right now, it seems like I’m in some sort of X-rated room made for erotic torture.”

I slowly nod, taking in the space. “Yeah, you’re not dreaming, unless we were both knocked out and this is us simultaneously dreaming together. Although that seems less likely.”

“Less likely than a camp cabin set up for erotica?”

“Good point.” I walk up to the bed and tug on one of the handcuffs. “That’s taut.” I drag my hand over the plush comforter. “Surprisingly full.” I then turn toward Scottie and say, “This is really fucking weird.”

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m sleeping here,” she says with a shake of her head. “It’s a sex dungeon.”

“I think dungeon is a strong word, because there’s a window with curtains. Maybe consider…sex palace. The comforter has palace-like qualities.”

“Wilder.”

“Hmm?”

“We’re not sleeping here.”

“Okay, want to grab a tent? Because I think that’s our only other option, unless you want me to see if the Brads and Chad don’t mind us crashing with them. Then again, Sanders made it seem like all the other rooms had the same design style.”

“I’m being serious, Wilder.”

“So am I. This is it. I don’t think there are other styles of accommodations.”

She glances around, hugging her arms tightly around her. “I don’t want to touch anything. How much sex do you think has been had in this room?”

“I mean…” I look around. “If these walls could talk, they probably would moan from the amount of sex they’ve seen.”

“Gross.” Scottie shivers. “Call me a prude, but I don’t want to sleep on the same mattress where people get tied up and stare off at zoomed-in nipples on the wall.”

“To be fair, it looks like there are handcuffs, not ties. A bit of a difference there.”

“Why are you making light of this?” she asks, looking very annoyed.

“Because,” I say, “if I don’t make light of it, then I think both of us would spiral, and we can’t both be spiraling.”

“We need to spiral. We need to find a different place for slumber, because sex palace isn’t it.”

“I’m right there with you on the sex palace thing, but I honestly don’t think there is another option, and listen, I read online that they have a pretty intense cleaning service.”

“Ew, why is that something they need to state?”

“Probably for this precise reason.” I gesture around the room. “So couples like us come into the sex palace and feel comfortable having fun.”

Still looking really uncomfortable, she walks over to the dresser and takes a look at the “offerings” just as there’s a knock at the door, startling the both of us.

“Come in,” I shout.

Sanders pops in, holding a basket. “Almost forgot, here’s your prize for winning the golf tournament.” He winks. “Have fun.”

I take the basket, and then he leaves, his heavy footsteps heading down the ramp. I glance down at the basket, and my eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

“What is it?” Scottie asks.

I turn it toward her, showing off more condoms, dildos, lube, blindfolds, and, in the center of it all, a book on sex and positions.

“Oh my God,” she whispers as she comes up to me. “What the hell is going on?” Without touching anything, she scans the contents. “Why would they give us more? Do they not know there is a plethora of items on the dresser over there?”

“I mean, they really want us having sex.” I take the basket to the dresser to set it down with its friends when I notice a menu. I pick it up and start looking over the contents, everything coming into place. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Scottie asks.

I set the basket down on the floor and turn toward her. “Do not touch a damn thing on this dresser unless you want to pay a surcharge for pleasure.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks, walking up to me.

“This dresser is a minibar for sex.”

“What?” she snaps and then pulls the menu from my hand. She scans it over and then gasps. “Fifteen dollars for a three-pack of condoms? That’s outrageous!” She turns to me and whispers, “That’s outrageous, right? I haven’t bought some in a while.”

“Yes, it’s outrageous,” I whisper back.

“Outrageous,” she shouts again. “That’s five dollars per possible orgasm. Given the user, there isn’t even a solid chance of orgasm. What a rip-off.”

“To be fair, there’d be a solid chance with me.”

She rolls her eyes in my direction. “Really, Wilder? You don’t seem like the kind of guy who needs to brag about his ability to make their partner experience pure pleasure.”