Fisting in the Garden of Eden: Hedonism Resort, Jamaica

July 2021

Our second trip to Hedo was a respite from the drama of family and friends back home. For one blissful week, it was just me, Jack, and the other perverted people who partied alongside us in the pool — and on the mattress. 

Ryan and Lauren were traveling with their swinger friend group, and we happily accepted their invite to tag along. We weren’t sure if we qualified as swingers or poly or whatever, but it didn’t really matter and we didn’t really care. We just wanted a week of sex, fun, and open-minded people in our own age range.

This group was quite different from the Sunset Beach crowd and the people we’d met at Hedo previously. They were partiers, complete with drugs, poolside drill-do demonstrations, and uninhibited sexuality. These people didn’t give a shit what others might think of them, but they weren’t jerks. Most were insanely direct but polite, and they respected others who behaved the same.  

Take Mila, for example, who had one of those Daddy kinks. Now imagine Jack entering the scene as the hottest father of four. He says, “I drive a minivan,” and this girl swoons. Next thing you know, it’s only our second day there and already he’s getting a handjob from her in the middle of the crowded pool, wearing nothing but a huge smile and his felt cowboy hat.

I know that seems a little fast, but we were prepared for this trip. We’d talked through our “Wants, Willings, and Won’ts” for weeks beforehand. For example, Jack wanted to have daytime sex in full view of others, and I was willing. We were both willing to engage in sexual activities with others if they were a good match, but we won’t do anything with anyone that the other person isn’t cool with. 

I suppose the time that I spent making out with Mila earlier that day counts as vetting her, so Jack was in compliance here. 

I also wanted some very nonsexual things that, knowing me, would lead to sex. I wanted to savor my time and shed my inhibitions. I wanted to feel carefree and peaceful, but with energy. I wanted to be in the moment. I wanted to explore and be adventurous, and I wanted to do things that I couldn’t do back home. I wanted to play.

And Jack definitely wanted a beautiful, voluptuous younger woman to compliment his cock. This was not news to me, but all the same I was glad to see that he was enjoying his time.

I turned to Todd, her husband. He was cute enough. Bald and smiley, which was all perfectly fine, but way taller than I normally like. Still, he was sweet, and I wasn’t going to date him. That’s the best thing about vacation sex — it’s just this one week, maybe this one time. 

So he and I talked, and then we kissed a little, too. We flirted, and it felt good to be desired, to feel that tension rising between us. It was fun to know that others were watching all four of us to see what might go down. Maybe I am a bit of an attention whore. Perhaps I just didn’t care about what others saw, or perhaps I was as intrigued as the rest of them.

Or perhaps I’d had one too many Long Island Iced Teas with Mila and the other women in our group. On second thought, I think I had the just-right amount, if shedding inhibitions was my goal. It certainly paved the way for that makeout session with not only Mila, but a few of the other women as well. 

My point is, we were having a great time, Jack now with Mila and me, flirting with her husband.

In our conversation on kinks, Todd mentioned an electro-shock sex toy thing. I’d never tried one of those. “I brought it here,” he informed me, his raised eyebrow invitation enough. 

The tropical thunderstorm that struck at that very moment solidified our afternoon plans. 

We went back to their room, where Mila and I showered while discussing our needs for safe sex, including STI status (all clean) and wants/willings/won’ts. It could have felt transactional, but instead it felt friendly and respectful. We were playing a game, agreeing on the rules beforehand so that everyone could have the maximum amount of fun. This is where Jack and I learned that there was a time and place for swinger sex, if we found the right people.

Our playtime that day would begin with the electro-shock thing, with me as its “victim.”

I lay on my back on their bed, naked, of course, arms and legs spread. I could see my reflection in the mirror on the ceiling, as well as everything that was happening around me. Mila and Jack flirting, Todd adjusting the dials of the machine, the wand in his hand. 

As I lay still, Todd demonstrated how to tickle with the wand. Soon, Jack and Mila joined in, three people hovering over me, teasing me, touching me. Even without the wand, a touch from another would omit a jolt of electricity, as I was holding some sort of grounding apparatus, too. It was a scratchy feeling on my limbs, and an intense feeling on my nipples and labia. 

We ditched the electricity after a bit. Overall, it had been more interesting than arousing, and I didn’t find it nearly as pleasurable as what came next. Which was, you guessed it, a foursome. 

I know that some of you are hankering for details on this, and I’ve got to say that the mechanics were much the same as with any foursome. Hands and mouths and genitals everywhere, people lined up in various positions so that everyone was pleased. 

Like me, sitting on Mila’s face while Jack fucked me from behind so that his balls got a little Mila tongue flick, too, all while Todd fucked Mila. That was the position that got the attention of our friends.

It’s a Hedo thing to leave your door open while you fool around, if you want others to inquire about joining in or if you just like showing off your game. When Mila asked if we could keep the door open, I shrugged. Didn’t bother me either way. Jack was more enthusiastic in his affirmative answer, him being a huge exhibitionist and all.

So the door was open, and in the aforementioned arrangement, Jack was insanely close to blowing his load in me…when we suddenly heard a Jersey accent billowing “Oh MY Gawd, that is so HAWT!” 

We all looked up to see a bunch of our new vacation friends packed into the doorway. Ashley with the Jersey accent, her husband the cop, Evan the principal who looked like a wizard, Lily his wife, and Steve the Single Guy. “Keep going!” one of them shouted, and we all tried, but I’d already burst into a fit of giggles. The moment was lost. We’d have to change course to keep the party going, and so we invited all of them in. 

And that’s when it turned into an orgy.

Ashley jumped onto the bed and began to pleasure Mila with her mouth. The rest of us admired them until Lily, who’d left to get supplies, burst back into the room with the biggest vibrator wand that I’d ever seen, already suited up with a clean condom. She handed her husband two beautiful leather floggers and then plopped onto the bed, seated with her back against the headboard.

Should I mention that most of us were already naked? When I tell these stories to people, I always forget that part. 

We all did our own things as we explored for a bit, careful not to share fluids with anyone that we didn’t already know and have vetted. There was a lot of kissing and nipple play, hands everywhere, and some fun with the floggers, but not all that much actual fucking. A true orgy requires more preparation, I’d imagine, as well as more mattress space.

This wasn’t romantic, or meaningful, or deep, but it felt natural, almost like a scene out of the untarnished Garden of Eden. It was a joyful session of experimentation using our bodies. There was no shame. Everyone was consenting, kind, and having a good time. Sex doesn’t always need to be about deep feelings and lifelong commitments, does it? Can’t we just take a break and have some fun once in a while?

Jack and I were in agreement on all of this, and so we partied on.

Actually, that’s not accurate. We proceeded forward with this mentality, but truth be told, we wanted to lay off the wild partying for the rest of the trip. We like weed better than booze, after all. I got my kicks that week with fresh coconut water over ice and a steady smoking regimen.

We also shifted our focus away from the most dangerous and raunchiest activities, having also scratched that itch.  For example, on Wednesday’s catamaran cruise, I emphatically turned down both swimming in the cliffside caves and the drill-do. I’d done the caves before and the waves almost smashed me into the rock walls, so no thanks. 

And the drill-do? For those wondering, that would be a dildo attached to a drill, which some women really seemed to enjoy. You totally would have watched that demonstration, too. Public drilldo-ing, however, got categorized into my list of “won’ts.” 

I also turned down all offers of hard drugs, nor did I participate in any of that week’s poolside games. I especially held my spot steady as a spectator during the Car Wash game, in which the ladies line up and go through a double line of males who “wash” their bodies. Ugh, no thanks. I’m into sexy fun, but I’m choosy about who touches me. 

At Hedo, I’m not afraid to say yes or no. And for a people-pleaser like me, that’s telling.

The only person I was interested in pleasing, outside of myself, was Jack. We’d been having a lovely time together with tons of activities that we could report on back home — sunrise walks along the shore, kayak rides to the little island in the bay, lunches of jerk chicken and banana smoothies on the beach. 

We saved our kinkiest sex for our hotel room, ties and gags included, but we made a point to enjoy the more vanilla flavors of sex outside our room. We’d already had plenty of encounters in the playroom, but after a while this starts to feel quite private, too, for an exhibitionist like Jack.

So…remember those cabanas in full view of the lobby? 

We’d just wrapped up a stimulating morning of me reading aloud to Jack from Justin Lehmiller’s book Tell Me What You Want (about sexual fantasies, recommended). It was hot outside, so I suggested we cool off in a small, quasi-private plunge pool near the main lobby. 

Even though we were smack in the middle of the resort, the way the walls are situated around the pool made me feel sheltered in this little grotto. I swam over to Jack and kissed him, deeply. I love this man, I thought. He not only accepted me, he also took care of me, supported me, loved me in the way I love to be loved best. I was so happy to be here, floating naked in a cool pool on a hot day, with nothing to do today except to love him. 

I wrapped my legs around him and let him hold me, my head resting on his shoulder. I focused on him, on allowing our bodies and souls to melt into the vacation. I was swelling with gratitude for him, and feeling a little sappy.

I wanted to give him what he’d been wanting this whole time. He deserved it.

I kissed him again, quite a bit, before I got out of the pool and laid our towels out on the cabana bed. This spot was raised, practically a stage, but underneath the straw roof it felt private enough. Was I doing anything wrong? No.

I invited Jack to lay down next to me. His eyebrows shot up. “Really?” he asked, and I smirked. He knew not to push me, and I knew that if I changed course now, he’d be sore. We were doing this.

We kissed and caressed, and eventually Jack’s body rolled on top of mine. He fucked me there, in full view of anyone who happened to be nearby.

I wasn’t embarrassed at all. I didn’t care if anyone saw, because this was allowed. Encouraged, even. I focused on Jack, content in the knowledge that I was making him a happy man. I didn’t feel exposed; I relished in the feeling of the warm breeze. I felt peaceful, natural, good. I let myself orgasm, and Jack too finished up in our same position. Our aftercare here lasted much longer than tired nights at home; we cuddled looking up at the straw ceiling and the sky for some time afterwards, talking nonstop.

Later, we’d get comments from others who saw us from the lobby or walkway or wherever. They were genuine compliments like “You two are beautiful together!” or “It looked like you guys had fun today.” 

What could I say? I did, thanks for noticing.

There’s a reason that the regulars call Hedo “home.” I have never felt more comfortable in my own skin in any other public place. There, the taboos of “polite” society are stripped away, and the only real “rule” is don’t be a dick. After that, you’re free to be yourself.

Being naked most of the day means that I choose my accessories carefully, often going for a large hat and some cute beaded bracelets. I wear my tropical goddess-style dresses to dinner with my hair in some sort of braid and bun concoction. I don’t think twice if people will think I look like a hippie-boho-poser-trying-too-hard-whatever. If I think it’s pretty, I rock it. 

I feel confident, so I talk to more people than I ever would back home, and I make way more eye contact. I feel sexy, and I’m encouraged to be my version of sexy. So I stand up straighter and walk slower. I like being sensual and alluring and attractive without apology. I like being me. 

When you express your true self without giving a shit, do you know what happens? Your vibe attracts your tribe, that’s what.

There was another couple who we’d been flirting with that entire week, but initially we weren’t sure where it would lead. 

I could sense that River found me deeply attractive, both physically and intellectually. I enjoyed his attention, but he wasn’t “my type,” per se. He was a big guy — not fat, but strong with bulk. His eyes and words were kind. I found myself feeling a kinship with him, but the physical attraction just wasn’t there. 

Our therapist had said to be picky, but I felt a little guilty about it. I didn’t want to be judgemental; I wanted to be open-minded. I wanted free love in a way that let me embrace everyone’s unique beauty. 

But the thing is, you can’t sleep with everyone. We all have our preferences, and we all have to be choosy. In part, it’s what keeps us safe. 

Especially me and Jack…see, we’re the type of people that are lots of people’s types. I don’t say this to brag, but rather to remind myself that I have an effect on people. I used to think that people stared at me because I was weird or ugly or strange. With that mentality, you’ll jump into bed with anyone who compliments you, and that’s dangerous.

My adventures have taught me otherwise. They bolster my self esteem, and I finally can see past the self-deprecating fog on my mirror. I’m what people call “a familiar face” or “naturally beautiful.” People are curious about the yoga-toned muscles on my petite frame. I get lots of compliments on my brunette hair, now down to my lower back. Even the little strands of gray that have recently appeared seem endearing to others.

Jack, meanwhile, always knew he was attractive. His ego’s saving grace is that he’s only 5’8, so there are a good number of girls out there who want nothing to do with him based on his height alone. No matter if the guy in question uncannily resembles Michelangelo’s David, but with a more angular jaw, better hair, and a longer, thicker cock — I want to be able to wear heels, they say. 

Jack doesn’t take offense to this, because he feels the same way. He can easily find a tall girl attractive, but his journey into polyamory has confirmed that girls near his height or taller “just don’t do it” for him.  It makes him feel emasculated.

Take Tiff. Stunning blue eyes on clear, pale skin. Blonde wavy hair to her shoulders, big perky tits, and a deep intellect enhanced by a desire to have fun. But she was taller than Jack, so he wasn’t interested.

I was, though. I liked her assertive attitude and her pretty face. To be fair, Jack liked those things, too, but he wasn’t interested in having sex with her. Same as with me and River. So at first, we just kept things friendly. When River pulled Jack aside and told him, “Offer is on the table,” Jack didn’t say yes, but he also didn’t say no. He said we would consider it, and we did.

We were in no rush now. We took time to get to know them over the week, much more so than anyone else. We spent a late night talking on the beach, and another evening partying in our Glow Night gear. When we had dinner with them later in the week, even the server picked up on the vibes. He concocted special shots of liquor and constantly brought them to our table, egging us all on. 

By Toga Night, we had a counter-offer. Jack and I had realized that they were very much the type of couple that would be ideal for our women-centered friends-with-benefits arrangement that we wanted back home. Would Tiff be interested in playing with me, with the guys lending a hand here and there?

Offer accepted. We left the party and sauntered back to their room, Tiff and I arm in arm. I asked her what she most likes to do with girls. “Fisting,” she said, and held up one of my little hands. 

I’d seen a poolside demo earlier that week, actually, but still I had no clue what to do. River proved to be an excellent teacher.

First, you need to get really wet, in whatever way works best for you. Tiff was like me — she could get her responsive desire going with the toys. We played with her vibrators together and made out while the guys ran their hands over us. 

I felt my mind shift as my own body responded, but this was different from my typical sex mindset. I was in a dominant position, literally hovering over Tiff, working to ease her into the pleasure of receiving. 

River coached me through the fisting. He described and demonstrated how to enter her, slowly, my fingers together and slightly curled, my palm face up towards her belly. He told me how to move my hand back and forth, gently, creating a feeling of fullness and pressure for her. 

I watched Tiff’s face contort with pleasure. I felt her muscles squeeze around my hand. I moaned along with her as she orgasmed, fully enjoying the warm, tight wetness around my hand and wrist. 

If I do say so myself, I make an excellent lesbian lover. 

Once I got the hang of my job, Jack started to finger me from behind. He showed River how to make me squirt, and then, with my enthusiastic consent, River took a turn, too. 

Tiff came to after her orgasms and suggested that River show off his spanking skills on me. His slap was more of a hit than Jack’s, and its impact hurt, but it didn’t sting. It was pleasure and pain mixed together, feeling his full force on my backside, and I found myself more aroused than expected. 

When we were done, we all went to get chicken tenders and fries from the poolside grill. River admitted that he actually prefers cumming alone, with just Tiff, and that would be their next activity that night. Jack agreed that his best orgasms were with just me, too, and we parted on the best of terms, with pleasure on the horizon.

Jack cried tears of joy three times on this vacation. It was sweet the first time, but slightly embarrassing the second time, when we were at dinner and the server was overly concerned. By the third time, I was over it and just wanted to go to sleep, so I told him I loved him and we’d talk more about his joy in the morning.

I’m not as mushy as him, but I get where he’s coming from. Thing is, we’re just so happy to be together. We’re beyond grateful for each other, and we never tire of the other’s company. We love wild fun like orgies and fisting lessons, but at the end of the day, Jack is my person. And I’m his. Our trips always remind us of this.

We spend a lot of our vacation time unwinding from drama at home, but by the end of the week we’re always formulating our next plan. How can we bring some of this joy back to the Midwest with us? In the past, our biggest idea was investing in a hot tub. Granted, it was a good idea.

At the end of this trip, we talked about relationships. What was next for us?  The relationships that we’d started to develop at home were certainly deeper than the flings we’d had on this vacation. Our friendships at home felt more purposeful, more meaningful, more admirable. They might actually develop into something…though we didn’t say love. It’s hard to imagine loving anyone more than we love each other.

We spent one rainy afternoon chatting with a guy named Joseph while his wife, Erin, was fucking Steve the Single Guy. He explained some of their open-marriage guidelines, obvious ones, like “don’t take one for the team,” but others that we found a bit of a bummer, like “don’t fall in love.” But wasn’t love something to aspire to? 

Sure, he had his reasons. Love had made Erin crazy, he said, when she fell for a coworker.  “So as soon as we start to feel something for someone else, we cut the cord,” Joseph explained. In this way, they focus their feelings on only each other.

Jack and I exchanged a fair number of glances during this conversation. The parallels weren’t lost on us, but at the time we thought we were above this. We thought he was a mere swinger and we were more polyamorous, somehow on a moral high ground. I didn’t see yet how my shame hadn’t actually vanished, but merely shifted.

I left Hedo feeling confident, validated, inspired, and in love. I was eager to reunite with the kids and spend a good portion of the remaining summer on my back deck. My anxiety was tamed, and I felt at peace. Fuck the haters, fuck Ned, and hopefully I’d actually fuck Hannah again. I was going to live my life like the adventure it was, at Hedo or at home. 

As Joseph also said, “This is not a dress rehearsal.” I took those words home as my favorite souvenir. 

Mortality indeed.