At a bed-and-breakfast that caters to swingers, everyone leaves their reservations at the door.

On a Thursday afternoon about a year and a half ago I drove down a long paved, driveway with my longtime girlfriend, Kia, sitting beside me. The closer we got, the more it seemed we were traveling back in time a century or two. The blue and gold Victorian mansion we approached was huge. Its multiple gables, scalloped shingles and two enormous turrets shone brightly in the sunlight. The house had looked impressive on the inn’s website, but seeing it in person was something else. Kia gestured toward the conifers lining the driveway.

“Those must be the yew trees they mentioned on the site,” she said.

“Oh, the trees are a thing?”

“Duh, George. Didn’t you read the... Read More