The price of a bath

“Well, you have a choice. Spa bath… or bed” said Matty, setting his bags down.

I’d opened the door to our Melbourne motel room and was taking in the sleeping situation. A tinge of awkwardness began to rise in my chest. The Polo Player had jetted over to Sydney for a night out with some very rich American clients and err, some porn star strippers (as you do). In his absence, me and Matty, the rather good looking, 19 year old polo player who also works with us, were getting downsized.

We’d already rejected the first room because, unlike the previous night, it didn’t have the luxury of a spa. See, I love a bath. I haven’t had a bath, let alone a huge one with jets and bubbles, since I left home. So there we were; I’d got my spa bath, but unfortunately, it was at a cost.

Sharing a room with a bloke doesn’t really bother me, but sharing a double bed as well as the two packs of Corona we’d just bought was another story. It wasn’t that I worried about explaining it to the boyfriend, it wasn’t that I was worried something might happen. The whole situation just felt a bit…weird. So while Matty was patting himself on the proverbial back, I was looking around for a solution. Then I noticed the sofa.

“Is that a sofa bed? Does it fold out?”

Matty answered far too quickly. “No, I don’t think so…”, his voice trailing off as I removed the cushions and revealed precisely that.

“Right! I’ll have the sofa bed as I get a double at the farm, and I had a double last night”

“Are you sure?” he answered, the hope fading from his eyes. “Is there enough bedding?”

“Yep! Look, there’s sheets and pillows in the wardrobe. Done. Sorted. Ok. Let’s eat.”

Subject changed, we cracked open the beers and food. Little did I know, there was still one hurdle to go: the Spa. Three beers down, and Matty’s running the bath. Surely, I thought, he’s going to just shut the door, have his spa, then I’ll have mine. But…hang on. Why is he putting his swimming trunks on? Why would you wear your trunks in the bath unless you were expecting…Oh.

Right on cue, my phone rang. “Boyfriend! Hellooo!” I said, shrugging apologetically at the slightly tipsy, half naked 19 year old standing in front of me clutching his towel. He waited about 10 minutes before giving up and hopping into the spa, leaving the door open, emerging again soon after to find me still yapping away. "Are you still on the phone to your boyfriend? It’s boring in there on my own…I want you to come and talk to me!”

To the Boyfriend’s credit, he took overhearing his girlfriend being beckoned into a bath with another bloke very well. “Oh, Matty’s just wondering around the room dripping water everywhere. Apparently I’m boring.” I said by way of explanation.

Eventually, seeing that I wasn’t getting off the phone any time soon, Matty retreated to the bathroom, shut the door, and bathed alone. “I don’t know how you do it” he said, drunk now, as we lay watching a film in our separate beds later on. “all that time apart. You should have some fuuuun…”

Whether it was his age which put me off, the fact that all the “fuuuun” has been sapped out of me, or just plain not being tempted by the offer of even the most innocent shared spa experience, I’m not sure. Once again, I’d found myself having to defend my choice to be In A Relationship. But when you're working with blokes to whom the word "relationship" means precisely nish all, sometimes you just have to play along.

“So, last night...did you two...?” asked the Polo Player on his return from the airport.

“Yeah” I replied casually, rolling my eyes, “Twice, and once in the morning.”

“Nah. Don’t believe you. Matty wouldn’t have it in him. Once, maybe. But not three times.”

You can’t win.