Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
WILDER
I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve ever felt this guilty.
There was that time that I was mad at Mika back in middle school when his friends were over, and I grabbed his superhero underwear that he still wore and paraded it around like the asshole little brother that I was, telling his friends that Mika wore baby underwear.
But this…this beats it.
“There, that should do it,” the nurse says as she finishes putting a butterfly strip over Scottie’s swollen eyebrow.
I don’t know what came over me, but when we won the golf challenge, a challenge that a real couple should have been good at, I felt a sense of pride, energy, invigoration that I haven’t felt in a long time. I lost control, forgot that I was strapped to Scottie, and before I could calm myself down, we were tipping over and going straight to the ground.
I forgot about rolling.
I forgot about putting my hands out. And fuck, her cry when she hit the ground…
Once we were untied and I rolled her over, the blood already coming from her upper eye freaked me out. So. Much. Blood.
Horrified, I carried her in my arms to the nurse’s station, where they tended to her head.
Thankfully, it was not that big of a cut—just a small butterfly taping and she’s good.
“Do I have a black eye?” Scottie asks, looking up at me.
“Uh, I mean…a little.”
She nods and then whispers, “Cool.”
Cool?
And here I thought she was steaming with anger.
“Cool?” I ask her. “Are we going to have to check your head again?”
“No. I’m fine.”
The nurse cleans up while I say, “Can you explain to me why it’s cool to have a black eye?”
“I’ve always wanted one,” she says in a dreamlike state.
Okay, I do think we need to check her again. Because I’ve spent maybe a few hours of my life with this lady, and I can tell you right now that there is no way that the woman who wanted to murder me after our first therapy session would find a black eye at a company marriage retreat dreamy.
Continuing, she says, “I’ve been hit in the head many times, but never a black eye. Always such a letdown. I thought my eyes were incapable of blacking out. But looks like it only took a rock and a two-hundred-plus-pound man behind me, pushing me into said rock, to make it happen.”
“Uh, what do you mean you’ve been hit in the head many times?” I ask. “And who the fuck hit you?”
She looks up at me and tilts her head to the side. Cupping my cheek, she says, “Aww, look at you caring about me.”
“Who hit you, Scottie?” I say, a hard edge to my voice.
“No one.” She shakes her head. “But you know, like a ball or a can of beans, something like that.”
“Did you get hit in the head with a can of beans?”
“I’m not a very good catch.”
The nurse leans in and says, “She might be a bit off for a little while. I arranged a golf cart to take you to your cabin, and I believe Sanders is waiting out front. Would you like me to help you carry her out?”
“No, I can do it,” I say as I stand and then go to pick Scottie up, but she whacks me away.
“I can stand and walk myself. I can’t possibly be carried out of here. Humiliating. I need to look tough. Scare people with my bloody, black eye.”
“I think it would be best if I carry you,” I suggest.
“I think it would be best if you listen to my request,” she counters. And there’s determination in that swollen black eye, telling me she’s going to get her way no matter how hard I try.
So not wanting to get into another fight, I nod but then wrap my arm around her so she doesn’t wobble and walk her carefully out to the front, where Sanders is waiting in a decked-out golf cart. Christmas lights wrap around the poles and roof, fuzzy pink seat covers jacket all the seats, and a pair of plush diamond rings hang from the rearview mirror.
And then there’s Sanders, in his same outfit from earlier, but this time, he’s added moose antlers to his head and a neck pillow around his neck.
I mean, to each their own, right?
“You got her okay?” Sanders asks.
“Yes,” I answer as I help Scottie into the back seat with me.
“Glad you’re okay. That was quite the fall.”
“Yeah, I kind of forgot we were tied together when I was celebrating,” I say, guilt still consuming me.
“I could see that,” Sanders says as he pulls out and starts driving toward the cabins. “Something we tend to forget when married, that we’re tied together in all aspects. What one partner might do affects the other. Whether good or bad. One move tugs on the other and vice versa. That’s why when we’re making our way through life, we need to be aware that our every move is tied to our loved one. We need to be conscious of that.”
Huh.
I mean, what a great analogy.
“It’s a good lesson to learn, especially when you’re in a situation like the one you’re both in,” Sanders continues. “When we get caught up in ourselves and become complacent with our everyday life, we tend to forget how our choices can affect our partner.”
“Something I tend to struggle with,” I say, really wanting to take the blame for this because I feel terrible. Getting Scottie hurt within the first few hours of being at camp is not really setting the tone in the right direction.
“Me too,” Scottie says.
“I’m glad you can both admit to that.” He pulls up to a cabin with a red circle and the number eight on the door. “This is where you’ll be staying.” He puts the cart in park and then pulls a key from the dashboard. “Right this way.”
I help Scottie out of the cart and then gently help her up the ramp that leads to our cabin.
When we’re all inside, Sanders flips the light switch on, and it takes everything in me not to bust out in laughter, because holy shit.
I will say this: when looking at the website and pamphlet for the camp, they didn’t show much about the accommodations. There was one picture showing a regular bed but nothing else too specific.
I can see why now, because this…this is not what I was expecting in the least.
Let me paint a picture.
The focal point is a king-size four-poster bed… with handcuffs and chains hanging from every wooden post. The floor is covered in a giant, white, fluffy rug, the walls are decorated with pictures of body parts, zoomed in, all in black-and-white. Nipples, tips of penises, stomachs…butt cracks. The bedding and the curtains are also a heavenly white color, while accents of red pop up in the pillows and erotic decorations. But the centerpiece of the room, the eye-catcher some might say, is the white dresser with black knobs covered in products. We’re talking lubes, sex toys, lingerie…and lots and lots of condoms.
Is this a cabin or a sex dungeon?
“Oh…wow,” Scottie says, her voice cracking. “This is, um, this is different.”
Sanders chuckles. “That’s the same response we get from all our couples when they first see this cabin. But we’re very intentional with our rooms. Ellison…”
Ellison appears from the doorway that I assume leads to the bathroom.
Jesus Christ.
How long has she been waiting there…in the dark?
No longer in the Bermuda shorts and polo she was wearing, she’s now strutting toward us in a bikini and open silk robe.
What the hell is going on?
If this is a swinger-type camp, I’m out. I know I gave my word to Scottie, telling her I’d help her, but there’s no way I’m taking my clothes off in front of the Brads and Chad and Sanders, who is wearing moose antlers and a neck pillow. Not fucking happening.
“Welcome to your sanctuary,” Ellison says, gesturing her arm to the space. “This is where you’ll be able to escape and have some of your most important conversations while also reconnecting with each other.”
“It’s where our couples find the most success and the most renewal in their relationships,” Sanders says. “We believe here at Camp Haven that a marriage is not only a team effort but requires a deep emotional connection that needs to be solidified between partners. And that starts here in the bedroom. Therefore, we provide every aspect of what it means to have a thriving physical connection. Now, you don’t have to take part in everything we offer in this room, but we want to give our couples the option to explore. To have fun. To possibly test things out they might have been nervous to ask for back at home.”
Ellison places her hand on Sanders’s stomach, which is on display because in addition to the antlers and neck pillow, his shirt appears to be a crop top, and she says, “We’ve found so much joy here at Camp Haven, so we encourage you to explore, to be adventurous, and to always use a safe word. Start with consent”—she presses her hand to her chest—“and lead with your heart.”
Jesus. What the hell is this?
“Very well said, darling.” Sanders turns her head toward his and then kisses her, using tongue. Straight-up tongue. In front of others.
So much tongue.
Yikes.
When he pulls away, Sanders licks his lips aggressively, and it takes everything in me not to dry heave into my sleeve. “We have our camp welcoming and dinner at six. Please feel free to come however you’re comfortable, but don’t be late. And if you need anything for your head, please let us know.”
“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.”
“Yeah.” I pull on the back of my neck. “I’m really not that guy. Not sure where that came from.” I gasp, and my eyes widen. “Shit, are the Brads and Chad already wearing off on me? Am I…am I turning into a douche?”
“I don’t know. How do you feel about boat shoes?”
“Unfavorably,” I answer. “But that doesn’t mean that I’ll still feel the same way about them if I continue to be around them.”
“Dear God.” She shakes her head. “I refuse for you to become a douche. Refuse. We must get rid of all the things.” She reaches for the dildos lined up in the back, and I quickly swat her hand away.
“Don’t touch anything.”
“Why?” she asks, staring down at the cluster of copulation.
“Because what if the dresser has a weighted sensor like the minibars you find in hotels? You pick it up, and the hotel automatically charges you.”
“Do you think that’s a thing?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug and then open one of the drawers to explore. I move around the dresser, running my fingers along the wood, examining every facet of it, even the back wall to see if it’s plugged in. When I detect no feel of a sensor, I blow out a heavy breath. “No sensor. We should be good.”
“Thank God.” Scottie opens a drawer and then scoops everything inside, leaving one single dildo poking out from the top as she closes the drawer just enough for the head of the fake penis to be peeking out.
“Why are you leaving the dick out like that?”
“Because if there’s no sensor, that means they come in here and count everything to see what we’ve used, and I don’t want them charging us. You might be rich, but to hell if we’re getting charged”—she stares down at the menu—“twenty-seven dollars for a three-ounce bottle of lube. If we leave the dildo poking out, they’ll know we just shielded our eyes from the sex minibar.”
“Smart.”
“Thank you.” She then takes a look around the room. “Any chance we can take off the handcuffs?”
“I can work on it.” I head over to the bed and start assessing as Scottie looks at the erotic pictures on the wall.
Gesturing to one of just a single breast with a very erect nipple and a water droplet hanging off the tip, she asks, “How do we feel about the nipple?”
“It’s a great nipple,” I answer honestly.
She then moves to the picture right next to it of a scrotum and motions to it. “And this nut sack?”
“I mean, it’s a well-manicured set of balls.”
Her head tilts to the side as she studies it. “Looks kind of old.”
“Scrotums are supposed to have wrinkles, Scottie.”
She purses her lips, unamused as she glances in my direction. “I know they’re supposed to have wrinkles, this set just seems… Oh God.”
“What?”
She clasps her hand over her mouth. “Do you think this scrotum belongs to Sanders and that nipple belongs to Ellison?”
Well, there’s an unnerving thought. I turn toward the pictures, giving them a better look, focusing more on the scrotum than anything. “Ehh, I don’t think Sanders would be that well landscaped. I mean, the man was walking around with a goddamn neck pillow hanging around his throat like a necklace. No way do his nuts look that good.”
I catch the swallow in her throat as she glances at the pictures. “Maybe you’re right, but just to keep the visual out of my head, do you mind if I take them down?”
“Nope. Please do.” I chuckle as I pluck the handcuffs off one by one and then set them in the drawer along with the rest of the lovemaking loot.
Scottie places the pictures in the corner and then scans the room, her watchful eyes taking in every nook and cranny. “There, I think that’s better. All we needed to do was take the sex out of this marriage.”
“Couldn’t be prouder,” I say and then go for our bags. I place them on the bed so we can unpack. “No wonder everyone was gunning to win the mini golf competition. They probably knew they were going to get a free basket of sex toys and condoms.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think about that,” she says. “Makes sense.”
I flip open my suitcase, and I’m met with a paper on the top from Camp Haven.
“What’s this?” I ask, holding it up.
“I have no idea,” she says, walking up to me. “What does it say?”
“‘Dear Camper, your suitcase has been examined by the camp staff, and we’ve found the following contraband in your bag.’” There’s a list of different contraband items, and at the bottom, food/drink is circled. “Holy shit, I think they took the Nerds Clusters.”
“Nooooo,” Scottie says next to me. “Check.”
“I don’t need to. They were right here, on top. They’re gone.” What the fuck is this? They just go through our bags without our consent?
“The hell? What else is on that list?” She takes it from me and scans it for a few seconds before looking up. “Condoms, sex toys, lube, edibles, it’s all on here. What a scam! They want you buying their costly condoms.”
“And here I thought Sanders was an upstanding man.” I shake my head. “I’ll tell you this, my opinion of him has severely dropped with this blatant display of capitalism.”
“Took the Nerds Clusters. Wow, first a blow to the head, and now a blow to the heart.” She drops the piece of paper and walks over to the bathroom.
I start pulling my clothes out when I hear her yelp.
“What’s wrong?”
“Wilder, come here.”
Curious, I set my clothes down and head over to the bathroom, where Scottie is standing, staring straight ahead.
I follow her line of sight, straight to the steam shower, where a large dildo is stuck to the wall.
“Dear God,” I whisper. “Whatever you do, don’t drop the soap, Scottie. For the love of God, don’t drop the soap.”