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…withhandcuffs 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.
