So as I embark on a futile search for a nice hotel room right in South Beach for Saturday night for a blogger meet-up, I'm reminded of my one-year wedding anniversary.

We were living in Los Angeles and had been there for about 18 months. We decided that rather than go out of town – something that our schedule didn't really allow for – we would find somewhere fun around LA to go for the weekend.

But where? Should we stay in a classic Hollywood hotel, run-down but still filled with the past? A cabin in the mountains where the smog was just a smudge on the horizon? A chic beachside resort where everything is modern and chrome and the bathrooms are unisex?

After much consideration and careful Internet searching, we settled on a bed & breakfast in the hills of Malibu, overlooking the ocean to the north of Los Angeles. The website was awesome, the pictures beautiful, the scenery breathtaking. We got a pet-sitter to watch over our ferrets, packed up the car (including my own toilet paper, which I always bring with me), and drove the hour up to the hills of Malibu.

After some consternation with the directions, which meant going up some twisty, windy roads down turns that were barely marked, we pulled into the driveway. It looked nice from the outside, and with very little trepidation we stepped in the front door.

Our first warning should have been the Mapplethorpe-esque paintings on the wall. Our second warning should have been the owner of the B&B wearing an outfit that had more leather and zippers than a cow with pockets. And our third warning should have been the large photo book sitting on the coffee table with the photo of the handcuffs on the cover and the word "Fetish" stamped clearly on it.

However, we persevered and allowed Gothy McChainhead (as I mentally dubbed her) to give us a tour of her beautiful home. We were shown the lovely kitchen where they have wine and cheese every evening. We got to see the dining area where breakfast was served every morning. And finally we were brought up to our room, which was gorgeous. No black, no leather, no hooks from the ceilings – just a nice bed with a traditional comforter, a huge bathroom with a big garden tub and shower, and sliding glass doors exiting on a private balcony, which overlooked the ocean.

"And here is the balcony," Gothy said as we walked out onto it. "To the left," she gestured with a blackly clad, darkly polished hand, "is the pool. Now, during the day, we require bathing suits, but at night, it is clothing optional, just like the hot tub."

"Clothing optional?" I mouthed to my wife. She stared at me incredulously and shook her head.

"And directly below your balcony is the gym. The gym is clothing optional day and night, but please have the courtesy to bring your towel to sit on any of the equipment." She pointed downwards as my wife and I looked at each other, quietly writhing, our faces red, trying not to burst out laughing.

"And finally, down here is the area we have set aside for nude sunbathing." My wife and I lean over and look over the railing. Below us, one floor down, laying on a red and blue striped towel, with the largest penis I have ever seen, in porn or in real life, is a small, well-built man looking directly at us. He smiled and waved, and I was so overcome with hilarity that I almost flipped over the railing which would have caused me to land on this little horse-cocked man, crushing him instantly.

The weekend passed with a blur. I know that the breakfast was delicious. I recall that Senor Horsecock had a girlfriend with breasts the size of watermelons and pubic hair that was shaved to look like a smiley face. I definitely remember that we were too afraid to take off any of our clothing, even in the shower and bath, and I remember thinking about when the website said that it was a "great place for consenting adults to enjoy a casual, active night life with no strings attached", I really should learn to read between the fucking lines.

UPDATE:

I've been asked to provide a picture, and the best I can do is a sketch. So here you go. Also, the name of the place escaped me, but I found it online. It looks like they've closed down the Malibu part (and now are in Palm Desert) and really embraced the nudist aspect of their business. It was not nearly this obvious five years ago!

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