The Undisclosed Resort

NOTE: Contains sexual themes and situations.

"It's not a big deal."

Maggie had said this to herself obsessively, both out loud and in her head, for the past six days, ever since she and Chris had The Conversation.

Now, standing in front of her closet with the empty house looming around her like a sinister presence, she felt that familiar, stomach-curdling anxiety again. She savagely pushed aside dresses and leggings and coats; their hangers clacked in protest. She wasn't looking at the clothes, she was just trying to tamp down her stupid insecurities. "Lots of people do it," she muttered.

It wasn't as though she and her husband hadn't dipped their toes in the water. They'd gotten involved in a threesome with a female friend one drunken night months ago, but it hadn't gone all the way; Maggie's self-doubt had crept in partway through, compelling her to go hide in the bathroom. The whole shebang petered out after that. It wasn't an evening she was proud of, but it was something, a minuscule notch in her belt.

And recently, she and Chris had started making videos of themselves and selling them online. Something was thrilling about picturing a stranger watching them with desire; it gave her a dangerous kind of charge that she'd never felt. And it was still relatively safe, for all that: it was just her and Chris, in their own home, engaging in activities they would have been doing anyway, even if the camera wasn't running. The end-user of their videos didn't have any connection with them, so there was no chance of inconvenient entanglements.

All this was new and shamefully exciting to her. She'd grown up introverted and unsure of herself, and hadn't done anything wild in her youth; her body count was embarrassingly low. Chris, on the other hand, had always been popular and good-looking and had been single for so much of his life that he'd gotten around more than average. Maggie didn't begrudge him his history, especially since he'd been happily faithful to her for more than a decade, but it always made her feel inadequate next to him.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want," he told her six days ago, as they lay in bed. "Just because they asked us doesn't mean we have to. I could do it or not, I don't care either way."

Maggie nervously cracked her shoulders, a habit she knew drove people crazy but one she couldn't seem to shake. "I like the idea of Rachel, but it's a package deal with Dave. I just don't know if I want to be with another man, even if you're right there with me. And Rachel's your ex-girlfriend. That makes it weird."

Chris's shadowed form shrugged in the dim moonlight from the window. "I only dated her for a month or two; it wasn't serious. That was ages ago before I even met you."

Maggie rotated her shoulders again; stress made them ache. "I don't know if I can handle seeing you...doing things with her."

He propped himself on his elbow to peer into her face. "I told you we don't have to do this, Mags. The only reason we're even talking about it is because you brought it up. Things may not even go down the way you think they will. You and Rachel might just go to town on each other while me and Dave are left standing there watching with our hands down our pants." He chuckled.

Maggie smacked his arm, but she was laughing too, picturing the scenario. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Hell yeah, that would be hot."

Maggie shook her head and pinched his cheek affectionately. After a comfortable moment of silence, her expression turned serious again; it was her curse, the serious earnestness that was her default state. "I'm scared," she admitted. "I want to do it, I want to open up, and change, and...I don't know, do something daring." She paused, unsure how to put her feelings into words without sounding like some sheltered spinster or naive adolescent. "But I can't help thinking, what if we do it and I hate it? We can't take it back. What if the memory of it just keeps looping through my brain until it drives me bonkers?" She closed her eyes as she spoke without being aware of it, another tendency born of diffidence.

Chris slid closer and put his arm around her. "Don't worry," he said. "Even if we do it, nothing bad will happen. It'll be a few hours of fun and then we'll come home and it'll be just like before. I wouldn't take it seriously, I wouldn't overthink it, or...I don't know, decide I loved my ex-girlfriend more than you or anything like that. I've been in similar situations before, and it's just a good time for everyone involved. But if you're not sure, then we shouldn't do it, okay? I won't be mad or disappointed, I promise. Just get some sleep and we'll discuss it later." He kissed her forehead and leaned back against the pillows. 

"I guess you're right," she said, settling under the covers herself.

She had eventually fallen asleep that night, but it had taken a while because her mind had spun with possibilities both arousing and horrific. The decision was up to her, which terrified and enthralled her in equal measure.

And in the morning, while they both sipped coffee at the table, she'd told him she wanted in.

Since then, she'd gone back and forth countless times, but kept this to herself, not wanting Chris to think she was chickening out. For his part, he seemed just as indifferent toward the prospect as advertised. He checked in with her a few times, telling her that nothing was set in stone and she could always change her mind, but she'd held firm, even though her insides were quavering like jelly. When he told her on Thursday that he'd called Dave and Rachel and accepted their invitation, she smiled and nodded, then discreetly excused herself to the bathroom because she thought she was going to throw up. She didn't, but that didn't make her feel any more confident.

Now it was Saturday and she was standing in front of her closet trying to decide what to wear, while Chris was at the liquor store, buying her courage for the evening. She started to hyperventilate but forced herself to stop, thankful that Chris wasn't home to see her. I'm pathetic, she thought, starting at the end of the rack again and going through the clothes more attentively this time. It's just sex, it doesn't have to be earth-shattering. I just want to try new things with Chris, spice up our lives. It's not the end of the world.

She didn't entirely believe herself, but the pep talk did calm her down. After making several more anguished passes through her wardrobe, she finally settled on a black wrap dress with a plunging neckline that was sexy but not slutty, and Chris's favorite pair of black high-heeled boots. Once dressed, she stood in front of the mirror, trembling but mostly pleased with what she saw. She appeared sophisticated and slightly mysterious but didn't look like she was trying too hard.

Chris came home with bottles of vodka and rum in paper bags, and his expression when he saw her confirmed that she'd made the right call on the outfit. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly when he kissed her, a barely noticeable spasm, but to Maggie, it spoke volumes: he was just as nervous as she was, despite his much wider sexual repertoire. This realization relaxed her a little; it hadn't occurred to her that he might be conflicted about this too. Now that she knew, she felt less alone.

They barely talked on the drive, apart from banalities spoken to make things seem normal. Once the GPS indicated they were getting close, Maggie began scanning the darkening cityscape for the place; she'd looked at photos online but had never seen it in real life.

They pulled into the parking lot of an establishment that appeared both more and less sleazy than Maggie had imagined. It was a regular-looking hotel for the most part, with a series of two-story buildings painted gray, and rows of red doors lining the outdoor hallways. A small, discreet sign flanked with landscaped hedges read, "Undisclosed Resort & Spa." A fenced-in pool sparkled in the foreground, and a handful of ordinary people lounged around it, some clad in modest swimsuits, a few of the women comfortably topless, all sipping cocktails and chatting. Other than the smattering of half-nude women by the pool, someone might think this was just an average, mid-priced hotel catering to business travelers, with a continental breakfast and a small office center off the lobby with free wifi.

The illusion of ordinariness was largely dispelled when they entered the small reception area and approached the front desk, however. "Monthly membership or one-night access?" asked the friendly but hard-faced woman behind the counter.

"Just one night for now," Chris said, tapping his debit card.

The woman was already sliding a substantial stack of papers across the countertop at them. "All areas are open 24/7, except the nightclub, which runs from eight p.m. until three a.m. No below-the-belt nudity is allowed in the outdoor spaces, but it's fine elsewhere. Rules for the playroom are posted prominently just inside the entrance, which is to your left out of these doors behind me. No single men are allowed to wander the premises, and we're very strict about that, so please let us know immediately if you see any unattached males lurking around the public spaces or looking into the room windows. Also, no cell phones or recording equipment; we value everyone's privacy. You may either leave them in your room or rent a locker for an additional charge."

She paused to take a breath. "You'll need to sign these waivers; all the rules I covered are laid out there, as well as some other ones. I'll give you a copy after you've signed." Chris and Maggie scratched their signatures onto the paper before looking up at the clerk once again; her smile seemed more genuine now. "Have fun!"

Her innards knotting, Maggie followed her husband out of the lobby and toward the room they'd booked. On the way there, Chris texted Dave and told them they'd arrived. Dave texted back almost instantly, saying he and Rachel were in the bar having a drink and would wait there until Maggie and Chris were ready to come over and get the party started.

They left their things in the room and freshened up, then headed back out into the night. The place had started to get crowded: there were now at least two dozen people, mostly couples in their forties, milling around the pool with drinks, and nearly all the women were nude from the waist up. Men openly groped breasts while others watched, and everyone appeared to be pleasantly buzzed and carefree. Maggie couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy as she watched them, middle-aged folks with less-than-perfect bodies, letting everything hang out and being entirely unabashed.

She even caught glimpses through the hotel windows of couples and groups having sex in a few of the rooms; apparently, some patrons liked to leave their blinds open so other people could observe them.

Before they reached the corridor that led to the bar, Maggie spotted a shadowy figure skulking in a recess formed by the intersection of two walls. It resembled a man dressed in tight dark clothing, but Maggie couldn't see his face; from his unsettling movements, she could sense he was up to no good. Remembering what the woman at the desk said, she started to ask Chris if he thought they should go to the lobby and report the incident, but when she glanced back over, the man had vanished, fleeing silently down the passageway toward the pool. Maggie was troubled, but almost glad of the diversion, since it gave her something else to think about other than what was going to happen over the coming hours.

The bar was half full of women in sequined dresses and men in khakis swaying idly to loud 80s pop while colored lights flashed to the rhythm. The only hint that this was something other than a regular nightspot was the naked sixty-year-old man lying across a leather sofa, being pleasured by a younger woman in a leopard-print negligee. Maggie averted her eyes, but her gaze kept creeping back to them; no one else seemed to be paying any attention.

Dave and Rachel were at the bar and hailed them warmly as they approached. Dave looked fit and youthful in a pair of black cargo pants and a burgundy sweater, while Rachel was as ravishing as ever in a skin-tight green dress with severe slits up the skirt. Maggie had known the couple for years, but had never seen them in this context; there was something undeniably arresting about it.

The conversation was awkward for the first few minutes, but Maggie was pleased to find that as she sipped at her fifteen-dollar screwdriver, words and laughter came more easily, and she began to loosen up. These weren't strangers, she reminded herself; these were friends, and as the women talked the way they normally did, complaining about work and comparing the latest novels they'd read, Maggie felt the last of her trepidation melting away. This was going to be a blast, she thought: a night to remember.

Maggie had a second drink but didn't feel out of control, just alluringly wicked and game for anything. After leaving the bar, the foursome entered the playroom, not indulging in any activities, but enjoying watching others, like sampling hors d'oeuvres before the main course.

By the time they staggered happily toward their room, the electricity between them was so palpable that Maggie was surprised she couldn't see it as an enveloping red glow. Her hand intertwined with Rachel's on one side and her husband's on the other, and the night seemed fantastical and transformative, the stars like chips of diamond in the black bowl of sky above.

Once inside the room, with the blinds wide open, all barriers were removed. The space became a wondrous fantasyland of flesh, bodies coming together in exquisite configurations. Maggie no longer saw herself as separate from these other beings, but one with them, exploring both outside and inside with equal abandon. Her identity still mattered, as did her love for Chris, but she saw now that this was all pure pleasure, a pleasure she had denied herself for far too long.

As the night went on, she felt herself changing, mentally and physically, though she wasn't sure if anyone else could see it. She felt muscles rippling under her tightening skin and felt nubs of wings sprouting from her back, from the spot where she'd always had that stressful ache. She was becoming something else, something transcendent, a creature of freedom and carnality.

Just as she reached a peak, enjoying her companions and being enjoyed by them in turn, there was an almighty bang, and suddenly, the door to the room burst open and the dark figure from earlier stood on the threshold, his face still an indistinguishable blur. Maggie whipped her head toward the intruder, almost as if she'd been expecting him, while her lovers simply froze in shock.

The man—if it was a man, a conjecture that became less certain as he encroached further into the room—stalked toward them, his batlike wings unfurling from behind his shoulders. Maggie watched, her eyes narrowing. She thought she heard Rachel gasp from the bed behind her, and she felt a love for the woman so fierce that it nearly overwhelmed her. Who was this interloper, this demon who lurked in the shadows, feeding off other people's pleasure? She didn't know how, but she knew him, knew his nature, and knew her true form had now been revealed to thwart him.

She flapped her wings and lunged at him, moving purely on an instinct she never knew she possessed. The force of her motion carried them both out the open door and onto the pavement outside, and Maggie shoved down with all her weight, grinding the devil man into the concrete. She was vaguely aware of shouting and indistinct figures in her peripheral vision, but her attention was focused on this creature beneath her, who had violated her sanctuary and defiled the new beauty she'd created with her companions.

Slowly, gentle hands pulled her off the man, who cowered naked on the asphalt, hands before his face. Police officers were hauling the man from the ground and restraining him, marching him toward a car with red and blue lights oscillating on its roof.

Maggie was slightly confused, but she felt Chris's reassuring arm around her, and it didn't bother her that she was standing nude in a parking lot, surrounded by other nude people staring at her curiously. She heard Chris say, "Holy shit, Mags, you were amazing," and then strangers were talking all at once in admiring tones, telling her that the devil man had been creeping around the resort harassing people for weeks, but that he'd always slipped away without being caught.

Maggie returned their smiles and appreciation, then cautiously felt the back of her shoulders. No wings there, not quite, but she could sense their potentiality, lying just beneath her skin. Her smile widened, and she turned and kissed her three lovers deeply, each one in turn.