“So, Wally,” says Mica, leaning in, “is this your first time at something like this?”
“It is,” I say. “And my name isn’t Wally — it’s David, or Dave to those who’ve seen my varicose veins.”
“Oh, I think you’re probably a Wally,” she says, looking intentionally at the wedding ring on my left hand. “Where’s the wifey?”
The wifey is home, I tell her, and I’m here alone because I’m a writer and I’ve always been sort of curious about clothing-optional resorts, like Desire Pearl, and when I got an invitation to visit, I couldn’t resist. I plan to write a story about the resort, I tell them, and hope they’ll be my friends and show me the ropes while I’m here.
Marge says she thinks I’m “kinda sweet and maybe not a Wally at all but maybe a Sam” (more on that later), and all four members of my new naked posse offer to explain to me “how things work at Desire.”
“You absolutely need to lose the swimsuit,” says Mica. ...