The Naked Truth about what Sheri Likes | Sober and Unashamed

I was naked before the hotel-room door closed behind me. I love the rare occasions when we are behind the locked door of a hotel room — just me and my wife, Sheri. No kids. No neighbors. No one who hasn’t seen me naked more times than she’d like. I threw back the shades and walked straight onto the balcony. Our room was one of the few with a solid, three-foot-tall, concrete and plaster railing, rather than the metal slats with three-inch gaps leaving nothing to the imagination of anyone peering up from the pool or hot tub below. “We could have sex out here, and no one would know,” I thought, but was smart enough to not say out loud. I’ve come a long way in my sobriety, and the associated adolescent immaturity shedding.

I went back into the room, fired up the gas fireplace (even though it was the middle of the summer), ripped back the comforter and sheets, and wallowed around on our king-size bed. I listen to a lot of podcasts, and I often hear advertisements for hotel-quality sheets you can purchase and have shipped to your home. I don’t know about you, but hotel-quality sheets are not exactly enviable in my world. We usually experience the sheets in a hotel as we trudge across Kansas or Missouri on our way to and back from Sheri’s family in Indiana — Sheri and me and four kids crammed into a single room at the Super 8 or Days Inn. The…