* Getting out of Dodge

The bar around them was energetic, filled with the daily ritualistic indulgence that is happy-hour. "I don't know how you do it Mark." He meant marriage of course. "How long have you and Stephanie been together? Three, maybe four years now?" His friend nodded back to him. "I think I have a three month curse." 

Chris has spent this evening confessing that he just broke it off with his latest girlfriend. "After three months, women start to freak out. Out of nowhere they just start talking as if they own my future. They start suggesting vacations, telling me how my living room would be so much more brighter and aerier with lime colored curtains, or making one of a half dozen other hairbrained compromises to my life. And I feel like I hardly even know them. Suddenly every time I pull their clothes off, all I can think about is how much I hate white picket fences and how kids are something other people should bring over to my place to keep the rug-cleaners and painting companies in business." 

Mark couldn't help but laugh. Chris seemed to have it all. Somehow, despite the two of them graduating the same degree program in Marketing, Chris' life had simply soared past his. Chris made more money, he lived in a high-rise Miami apartment, and not less than once a month he'd introduce Mark to another stunningly hot girl that was a 'friend' of his. 

Back when Mark's schedule included nightlife, it was rare for one of Chris' stable of women, from casual acquaintances to semi-frequent hookups, not to spot them and come say hello. Mark simply didn't understand how Chris could know such gorgeous women, and still come up with reason after reason that none of them were good enough. Mark wasn't exactly jealous. His wife was amazing. He just never had that kind of opportunity. 

Mark had to shout a little to be heard over the noisy bar crowd, "Chris man, I don't know what to tell you." Chris certainly didn't need to marry, he really didn't. But he seemed to want to, or at least be trying to find someone special. "Stephanie and I Just want the same things. Ohh, and I'm not afraid of procreating. Someone has to continue our species." 

Some part of Mark wanted to smack his friend, as if to wake him up. Chris' current girlfriend, Reena, was so hot that Mark found himself meeting them for drinks just to be around her. Plus, as far as Mark knew, she actually seemed quite nice and normal. This was a far cry from most of Chris' sexy but often mal-adjusted girlfriends. Like the one that pepper sprayed a doorman who refused to let her up, or Kendra. Christ, Kendra. Mark still couldn't get her out of his head. 

Kendra was a big Mets fan. Mark had dropped by Chris' place on a Saturday afternoon to leave them some ballgame tickets. After buzzing him up, she opened the door stark naked, save for her heels. She was absolutely gorgeous. Blond, tall, fashion model thin. Mark had fingered his wedding ring for the strength to decline her invitation inside as he handed over the tickets. 

Mark could sill recall her voice pleading with him. Are you sure? Chris told me he'd be 'right back' over an hour ago, and we're tired of waiting. She had reached her arm around him, and whispered to him with the best fuck-me voice Mark had ever heard, We're both jacked on X and just dying for a cock to play with. Mark couldn't stop himself from pushing the door open to see her naked friend, legs spread wide on the couch. She was brunette and slowing fingering herself, as if to keep warm because he'd interrupted them. Mark turned and ran out of there like his pants were on fire, seeing his marriage, and possibly a friendship, flash before his eyes. But when Chris had heard the story, he just laughed, telling Mark he really missed out, that Kendra was a dirty girl in the sack. 

Chris was just never satisfied, no matter what girlfriend he had. Mark had never been like that, his wife Stephanie might not strut around in panties, starve herself constantly, or bring 'friends' into their bed, but she was amazing, really amazing. She made his life better. Mark wondered if maybe Chris' problem was something other then commitment, and poked fun, "I think you need to see someone totally different... A psychiatrist." Chris didn't seem amused. 

Then someone dawned on Mark, something he'd read about recently. "Wait, I know what you need." Mark had recently read about some kind of kinky adult vacation. He didn't dare bring it up with Stephanie, but maybe Chris would try it out. "I heard about this place, this resort. Some kind of mutual adult exploration. Maybe if you get whatever it is you're searching for out of your system, you can find someone to be happy with." Chris was doubtful, but as he swigged down the last of his pint, he thought, hell, why not. 

--

Before he got the details from Mark. Chris had done a little research, finding places that seemed like scams. Laiden with blurry pictures of women from odd angles, they seemed like cheap hotels luring you out into hard-to-leave locations so they could bleed you dry with drug riddled and hardly attractive women. 

However, the website for this thing Mark turned him onto seemed totally different. It was a bit non-descript, but almost classy, with a black background and white text reading, 'Goddess Resort'. The site design was clean and simple, conveying a sense of budget, or purpose, or both. As he dug deeper, he saw pictures of an upscale thatch and bamboo resort, with a pool area set on the beach. 

Conspicuously absent were pictures of any women, or people at all. The other sites he'd checked out had galleries of pictures, usually obscuring the face, body, and any trust that the women were pretty. This site had promises of partners and experiences beyond your wildest dreams, but no people were depicted at all. 

Then he found their guarantee. You pay nothing until you are onsite and confirm our promises. All inclusive, no tipping allowed, no currency exchange allowed, no added charges. That was different. The more he read the more he realized how different it was. Turns out you couldn't just book a visit, you had to apply. The location of the resort was vague, but with a Carribean destination, it couldn't be more than a couple hours flight. 

Chris decided to go for it. He registered, and started filling out the online application. It turned out to be more of a sex checklist. At first he felt like quite a stud. He answered questions like number of partners -- cumulative, consecutively, simultaneously. He'd seen his share of bedroom time of all tyepes -- quiet, intimate, sexy freak-show. Then he started having to answer negatively. Some S&M, some punishment, even violence. The sex section came to and end and led into an unexpected set of psychology questions. How did he respond to intimidation? Did have have anger issues? Rate his level of respect for women. The application ended with employment and financial background. He realized he hadn't noticed any prices on the website, but from the way this whole thing was coming across, it couldn't be cheap. He finished and clicked send, wondering what would happen next.

--- 

"I can't believe you're actually going." Mark was secretly jealous as he drove Chris to the airport. Chris normally would have hired a towncar like he usually did, but Mark insisted on driving him, as if it got him somehow closer to going himself. If this thing was half as amazing as Chris made it out to be, Mark was missing out on the trip of a lifetime. 

At the airport curb, Chris pulled his carry-on from the trunk and patted his friend with a gentlemanly hug. "You should be coming with me. This place is going to be sick." Mark had no doubt he was right, but he didn't have room in his mind to think about it. He offered a fist-bump before they parted and Mark headed for home. Well, at least he'd get to hear about it. 

Chris made it to the plane boarding for an island off Jamaica before his euphoric confidence about the trip started waning. The plane was filled with grungy passengers. Nothing like a Miami to Vegas flight, where most everyone was beautiful and it was easy to spot the strippers. Chris liked to joke that those flights were the only place in the world strippers didn't expect benjamins to fly at them like rain in a thunderstorm. Chris had more than once been seated next to one -- and one he coaxed into the restroom so he could join the mile-high club. He figured she did it because two hours is a long time to survive the boredom of stripper ADD. 

On the Jamacian flight, Chris be lucky not to be seated next to a sweating mexican or cuban with a weight problem. He cursed at the air-travel gods for having no first class seats in this plane. 

--

The flight itself wasn't nearly as bad as he imagined, and he passed the time reading some industry rags he'd brought with to keep him busy during the ten-day vacation. The Jamacian airport, however, was even worse. Immigration and customs were hot and muggy; there was no A/C anywhere; and people were packed into dense lines, like cattle inching towards the slaughter. This was one of those situations he despised in his privileged upper-class life. He scanned the room for a way to buy himself out of it, but instead just found semi-automatic weapons watching for suspicious travelers. He could survive the lines.

The first moment of improvement came at the sight of his driver. Dressed in crisp white, he held a plain sign with CHRISTOPHER ROTHCHILD written in large block letters. As Chris approached him, he felt immediately recognized. "Bienvenida, Bienvenida, senor Rothscald". The man took his bag, and lead him to a new and clean white van with tinted windows. 

Inside, the van was unusual, resembling a low-budget party limo. The entire floor was carpeted and a low wide seat was against the side of the van. He felt like he was almost sitting on the floor, though the cushion was plenty comfortable. The driver said something in Spanish he didn't understand, and then took off for their destination. 

Chris tried a few times to find out what the driver knew about the resort, but he kept just answering, no comprende, no comprende. He gave up, and just zoned out staring at the inside of the van while it made it's way. He realized he had no idea where he was headed, that he couldn't even see out the windows seated so close to the floor. 

For a moment Chris wondered if this the whole operation was a front for kidnapping, organ harvesting, or some other nefarious activity. He turned on his cellphone and was happy to see both battery and signal. How many trips had he been on where there wasn't at least a possibility of it all being a sham. Anything outside a big city really. He felt confident that at least his friend Mark knew where he was, and would come looking if he didn't get some kind of contact from him. Not that searching would do much good if that evening ended with him cut open lying in a bathtub, his organs flying to save a south american druglord's cousin. 

--

Some words from the taxi-drive broke his morose train of thought. "Recurso de la diosa." Chris had no idea what he was saying. "A menudo se llama complejo de las mujeres giantes." Chris felt the van turn into a drive, and caught glimpses of an archway pass his useless vantage point up and out of the window. Moments later, the van came to a stop and the door swung open, revealing the first pleasant surprise of the trip, the front promenade of a gorgeous tropical hotel. 

As soon as Chris stepped from the van, he noticed a smartly dressed, tan, and attractive woman waiting for him. "Welcome Christopher. I hope your flight was bearable. I'll show you the resort and get you registered. Please allow me to take your bag." She wheeled it off in front of him, and he followed her into a dark paneled bamboo and thatch entryway. 

Inside, the ceilings were vaulted, bringing the shape of the roof-line directly into the interior. There was no formal looking hotel reception. Instead some empty couches occupied one side of the room, while the other side contained a dark large natural slab of wood, with a chair on either side. She wheeled up to the desk, and offered him one of the chairs. "If you could just fill out these basic forms, we can get started. As is stated in our guarantee, you will receive a brief tour before you will be under any payment obligation." She pushed some paper across the table and Chris began to handle it.

The first was simply a check-in statement, thankfully filled out with all of his information. It included his arrival and departure dates, and the astonishingly high per-night rate of the resort. He had given pause after finding how much the place cost, but he had the money, and it wouldn't do him any good when he was dead. He was also encouraged by the line describing the resort as 'an exclusive environment for mutual adult engagement and fantasy fulfillment'. Apparently it was other patrons like himself, not staff members, that would make his stay worthwhile. So it was not prostitution, and more like club med. Chris wasn't above paying for sex, but this was more his style. He suspected some part of their exorbitant rates subsidized stays for the right kind of counter-party clientele.

After reviewing the check-in details, the next form was a basic release disclaimer. He really just skimmed it. Many resort activities .... danger ... at your own risk.... patrons tested daily ... sexual activity .. not without risks. not responsible... not responsible... not responsible... not responsible. It was really quite a standard release form. They could probably outright stab you in public, throw you in a ditch, send a video of the crime to your mother, and claim that because of some fine-print in this release form they were somehow not responsible. Bottom line? If you were dead in a ditch it wouldn't matter. He signed it. 

The receptionist was ticking away at a little Apple laptop when he pushed the forms back over towards her. Once she was satisfied, she gestured her hand towards a nearby hallway, where another woman was approaching. "Excellent Christopher. This is Linda, she will be your personal guide for this tour, and can answer any questions that should arise during your stay in the resort." Linda handed him an icy and dripping wet glass of a tasty looking red punch, and he welcomed it in the sticky heat. His first taste gulped half of it down. 

"Please, walk with me. You may leave your bag here." He followed as she led them back the way she'd came in. "I'm confident you'll find our establishment is quite different than any you have every experienced, and exceptionally so. We combine the amenities of a five-star hotel with the settings of a tropical island. Then, through our exclusive methods, design a patron driven experience that we are confident you will never forget." 

Chris was in marketing, and he admired the craft. Find a product people want, and then expertly chose sound bytes to spin it into something they'll pay many multiples more to buy than it costs to make. He hoped they could deliver on their promises. At least the punch was good. "Unlike a traditional hotel, we have very few roaming staff members. Instead, we enlist our patrons to entertain and serve each other inside the resort." Wow if that didn't ever sound like a source of margin value. "All our patron service activities are strictly voluntary, of course, and there is no dirty work. We take care of the cooking, and cleaning, and well, anything that isn't directly serving a resort visitor. It may sound unconventional, but I assure you most of our visitors participate and enjoy this part of the experience.

"As you know, this is goddess resort. We have carefully screened our female 'goddess' patrons. Their job is to pamper you, and your job is to worship them. Tell them and show them how much you admire them, and they will pamper you all the more. I am simply here to simply guide you and answer questions." She was turning a corner. This hallway was cooler and dim, except for frequent windows peering out onto sunshine lit tropical plants. 

"The resort is split off into three segregated areas. We think of them as levels. The more you engage yourself in the experience, the more you admire and enjoy the patrons, the more you embody the spirit of goddess resort, the more quickly you will gain entry into the next level. Some enjoy all three levels in a single visit, while others return time and time again, working to obtain and enjoy the benefits higher levels have to offer. When you return, you will be allowed to participate in any level of the resort you have been previously allowed." 

She stopped, about five feet from a wide opening to the outdoors, the bright sun somewhat blinding their view beyond the threshold. "Let me express my personal sincere hope that you will one day reach level three, and experience that which truly gives goddess resort it's name. Now, let's go introduce you to level one." With that creshendo, she stepped through the door, and Chris followed her outside. 

As his eyes adjusted to the brighter light, he was on a terrace overlooking an incredible pool area, entirely like what he had seen in the website pictures. Bamboo and thatch buildings and umbrellas were punctuated by white cushions and white stucko walls that brightly reflected the sun. However, unlike the pictures in on the website, this pool scene was steaming with gorgrous women. Some of them were walking about, some of them were engaged in PDA with men, and some of them were simply lying sunning. There seemed to be many more women then man, possibly as many as three to one. Chris focused in on details, and each woman he singled out was absolutly sunning. "As per our guarantee, you may now leave the resort without any charge. Is our environment satisfactory?"

Chris was overwhelmed at the scene he was gazing out at. "I'm speechless. Your facilities, and your patrons, are stunning." 

"Excellent. Take a look through our patrons, and let me know if there is anyone in particular you'd like to welcome you. If not, I'd gladly select someone for you." Chris noticed some of the women already looking up at them on the terrace. His eyes were immediately drawn to a sultry brunette whose eyes locked onto his. Linda followed his glance, and without pressing for any more clarity she rang a bell. Even more women looked to the balcony, and many down below raised their hands, including the brunette. Linda gestured back, singling her out. The stunning woman shot Chris a satisfied smirk and stood, walking towards a door down below and out of sight. Another woman joined her. 

As Linda led them back to the lobby, she covered some technicalities, "we have our own sense of etiquette here at the resort. For everyone's safety, STD testing is required each day; and, violence, aggression, drama, and tempers are strictly prohibited. PDA on the other hand, is not only allowed, it is encouraged, as are public nudity, and public sex. However, as Level One is the first introduction to the resort, patrons are requested to remain mostly clothed unless actively engaged. Male patrons are invited to spectate, even voyeur, any public activity, but we request that you refrain from disturbing those involved. Female patrons, on the other hand, are not under the same restriction, so don't be surprised if you are politely approached anytime you are in public, even while engaged with a partner." The juxtoposition of the impressive pool scene and the overtly sexual content in her guidelines was starting to whet his appetite, fast. 

Back in the lobby, the two gorgeous bikini clad women were there to greet him. The brunette he had singled out introduced them, "I'm Jodi, and this is Kate." They each offered a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze. They were both about average height, but there was nothing average about them. They were slim and sexy, and their suits showed every inch of skin possible. Linda handed off a map, while Kate handled his luggage. "Shall we," Jodi extended her arm, leading them off in a different direction.