Several years back, my (now ex) boyfriend and I were traveling in Europe and up for an adventure–any adventure, really. We weren’t quite sure what we were looking for, but the idea of being young and so far away from home, among people who we would never see again, made us giddy with anticipation. Anything could happen.
I stood at the mirror in the hotel bathroom and carefully put my makeup on while he scrolled his laptop, looking for something nearby to do. “There’s a bar that looks cool a few blocks down, some live music up the street, and also…” he trailed off.
“Also what?” I asked.
“Also, a sex club that we could get to in about 25 minutes if we got a taxi. It’s in Rotterdam.”
*A sex club?* I hesitated, realizing that the very thought of it made me nervous. What would we do there? I hadn’t been to one before. We had said we were up for a good time on this trip, but were we ready for *that* kind of good time?
He sensed my hesitancy, “The band playing up the street looks really good.”