Welcome to Hedo

Summer 2019

I know — I swore I’d never go back there, but I changed my mind.

After arriving home from Sunset Beach, I found myself standing up straighter and showing off my figure more. I started speaking up in work meetings and even took a promotion to a leadership role. I’d been naked in front of others for a week and pretty much discovered a secret sex society, so sharing my ideas to improve circulation suddenly didn’t seem like such a big deal.
Then Lauren reached out. She told me about their recent trip to Hedo — it wasn’t the dingy compound of my memories. A new owner had modernized the buildings and brought in the best staff and entertainment on the island. The food was fantastic. The pool was wild, but the resort was huge, so there were quiet spots, too. There were nightly costume parties; I’m a sucker for a theme.

True, it was frequented by swingers, but it’s not like I would be forced to sleep with anyone. I’d quite enjoyed their sex positive vibe. And I was curious about those fountains.

I didn’t actually think that I’d do anything in front of anyone. That was Jack’s fantasy, not mine. Sure, he’d blab on about wanting to pleasure me at the pool nonstop, but he’d never pressure me. It’s more like an ongoing banter between us. It’s an openness and honesty that infiltrates our conversations about everything, including sex. Our sex life is not just a physical act in our marriage, it’s an ongoing discussion. A sharing of all ideas.

Thing is, ever since I turned a touch hippie, I’ve been motivated to make Jack’s sex dreams come true. It’s like my “thank you” to him for supporting me through my periods of depression and anxiety — I show him love in the language he desires most, and how I express it best.

I mean, you should have seen him after I agreed to this trip. Tears of joy, you guys. I was making his dreams come true.
And I thought our sex life was pretty fantastic before. We were unleashed.
I started thinking more about my fantasies. I described them to Jack, and we dug up the fuzzy bondage ties that I’d obtained years ago at a bachelorette party. We made them a mainstay, permanently tied to our bed’s legs, tucked under the mattress when not in use. We bought more sex toys. We started listening to podcasts about sexuality, eager for both inspiration and information.
This was already feeling good both physically and emotionally. We were on the precipice of adventure. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so alive.

The first thing I saw from Hedo’s open air lobby, directly in my line of view to the ocean, was a tanned couple fucking on a straw covered cabana. The man was on top of the woman, his glutes clenching with each thrust. Her hands grasped his ass cheeks much in the same way that I like to grab Jack. They were very much on display, but they were focused only on each other.
If I didn’t like watching them, I could simply look away or go somewhere else. For a moment, I took in the view of the ocean, the smell of salt and humidity, but then I glanced towards the cabana again. 

Jack walked up behind me and put his hand on the small of my back. “Oh, that’s awesome!” he exclaimed. I smiled. They did indeed seem to be making the most of a rainy afternoon.
When the staff was done briefing us on our stay ahead, a concierge escorted us through the resort to our room. We passed the cabana, where the couple was now spooning, staring out to the ocean, the man’s hands gently stroking the woman’s side.
Even though Jack was eager to get to the nude pool, he relented when the skies opened up to release a full-on downpour. We unpacked, ready to solidify our stay. We put everything in its place, including the bondage ties and sex toys that we’d brought from home. We also took full advantage of the giant mirrors on the wall in front of the bed and on the ceiling above the bed, leisurely and hungrily fucking for the next hour, examining ourselves from angles previously undiscovered.
We always had a lot of sex on vacation, but this trip would really take the cake. We had sex every morning, each rainy afternoon, and again every night. We took turns with the handful of sex toys that we’d brought from home, leaving our fuzzy leopard-print bondage ropes tied to the four legs of our bed, not caring if the housekeepers noticed. 

We had sex on the beach in the dark of night, next to the waves crashing. There were no security guards to chase us away like that one time on college spring break. There was no sand stuck to my genitals; Hedo had lounge chairs. Jack was elated that we were fucking “in public,” even though we didn’t see anyone else. The wind blowing on my naked body made me feel Earthy and zen.

After we had both orgasmed, we spent a few moments cuddling on the lounger, staring at the lights lining the bay. It was still the beginning of our trip. What would come next?

The next day began with a leisurely breakfast, then a walk along Seven Mile Beach followed by oceanside yoga before we made our way to the pool. The action was just beginning, and it was only around 11am. It was time for Jack’s second-favorite activity: socializing. Even I had to admit that talking to these sex positive strangers was a blast.
It started raining again as we were eating lunch. No problem, mon — it rains most afternoons in the Caribbean, and then it usually clears up. We knew exactly how to pass the time. 

But since we were on vacation, we reasoned…why not indulge in some cocktails, too? 

We ordered drinks from the bar. A margarita for me, a rum and Coke for Jack. I adore margaritas — not just the salty goodness of how they taste, but also the way they make me feel — revved up and ready to let loose. I ordered a second to go.
When I started smoking pot a few years prior, I had mostly stopped drinking alcohol. This, as well as omitting sugar, had caused a substantial amount of weight loss. I was back to being a lightweight in every sense of the word, and I share this to showcase precisely how poor my consumption choices were that afternoon, though initially it seemed to be the perfect cocktail of drinks and drugs.
Back in the room, we took a quick hit of ganja before proceeding on to kinky, athletic, completely uninhibited sex. Upon my request, Jack hogtied me, then used a second necktie to gag me, muffling my moans as he teased me mercilessly. I love being tied up, though I hadn’t fully psychoanalyzed the whole thing back then. I just knew what proved true every time — bind me, objectify me, and I’ll be aroused for hours.

Finally, he fucked me as we watched the scene from the mirror above our bed.
I love the savory delight of vacation sex. Not that we don’t have amazing sex at home, too, but is there anything quite like a two hour fuck session in the middle of the day? It’s a stark contrast to the mood at home after putting four rugrats to bed.
When we were done, we cleaned ourselves up, smoked more weed, and proceeded to the nude pool. I got another margarita. Drunk and high, we perched ourselves at the side of the raised bar in the middle of the pool. We spent the next couple hours there, on full display of the party around us, laughing hysterically at the stories we told each other.
We were having an intimate conversation for two, albeit quite loudly. We expressed ourselves with lots of touch. We gazed into each other’s eyes. An onlooker later commented to us that everyone in the pool was waiting with baited breath for us to start fucking right there; no one dared interrupt us.
I had a sense that we were alone, and yet I was blithely aware that we were being watched. It didn’t bother me like I thought it would; the fourth margarita that I consumed likely took away any of my remaining inhibitions. I was having the time of my life with my soulmate.
True, I was wasted, and I can verify that everyone watching was aware of this, too. For the rest of the week, we received not only comments on our compatibility but also questions such as “How did the rest of Monday work out for you?”
Here’s how — awful, but then, amazing.
We started to leave the pool around 5pm, but paused to talk to a threesome — literally, a guy and his two girlfriends. I don’t remember what we talked about, except for one of the girlfriends saying, “Maybe you should have your wife lay down.”
Suddenly, I was back in the room, sobbing as I lay curled up on the bed, my head on Jack’s lap. I was freaking the fuck out. I remember hyperventilating, and I remember Jack coaching me to breathe deep and slow. I thought I was dying. I kept telling Jack that someone had drugged me (true, that someone was me). The world was all wrong, spinning, with nothing for me to do but ride it out.
Jack kept his cool, even though I was making him a little paranoid, too. He stroked my hair and massaged me, holding my head in his lap, until I finally, blissfully passed out. He clicked on the television and alternated between porn and a European soccer game.
When I woke up four hours later, he was still holding me. The world outside was dark with the tree frogs trilling. I felt perfectly fine, except that I was starving. Jack continued to stroke me until I felt ready to sit up.
While I chilled in bed, Jack went to the buffet. He came back to the room in record time with the ultimate comfort food — jerk chicken, beans and rice, and a delicious Jamaican soup. To this day it remains some of the best food that I’ve ever eaten, anywhere. After I gobbled it up, my mood lifted even higher than it had been that afternoon. Was this euphoria? Eating the perfect meal in bed with my perfect husband — I had never felt more loved, more cared for. 

I craved ice cream.
Donning a tiny green dress, I went off in search of the soft serve machine with Jack as my accomplice. Once my basic needs were all satisfied, I was ready to repay Jack’s kindness.

He had been eyeing the little cabin at the side of the nude pool since our arrival. It had four walls, but just an open doorway — no door. Inside, two queen sized mattresses filled the space, save for a shelf of clean sheets and a hamper for dirty ones.
Dead sober, I led Jack to the cabin and pushed him back onto one of the mattresses. I slipped my little dress over my head and stood before him, naked, for a quick moment. Then I mounted him, briefly, before he flipped me around and began to pleasure me.
We were acutely aware, and aroused, knowing that anyone could walk in at any moment. I wasn’t nervous to be caught.  I wasn’t ashamed of what we were doing. I was proud. I was deeply, unequivocally in love. 

The next day, we set sail on a nude catamaran cruise that took us away from the resort for most of the day. It did not, however, take us away from Hedo’s aura of open copulation.
As we made our way back, I sat on the deck of the boat, alternately casting my gaze on the row of resorts along the shore and the couple having sex in the trampoline below me. I didn’t want to stare, but it’s hard not to be inquisitive about the people having sex just ten feet in front of you.

Watching people having sex in public didn’t look like I thought it would. It’s not porn; there is no money shot and the theatrics are rather subdued. The participants I witnessed during my days at Hedo only vaguely acknowledged others around them, instead focusing on their own pleasure or that of their partner(s).
I’d often catch myself letting my eyes linger on their exploits, and yet it wasn’t physically arousing to me. It was intimate, but not jarring. It was natural, like seeing someone eat, but far more interesting. A very different type of people watching.

Before our trip, we had listened to an interview with the owner of Hedo. Harry Lange explains that with each trip, the line in the sand moves a bit more, in terms of sexual experiences that people are willing to try. Looking back, I think that my line inched over a little day by day, even perhaps hourly, as my old ideas about sex and self were constantly challenged.
I contemplated my own thoughts about sex as the boat headed towards the sunset. What’s really so shocking, so taboo, about all of this? 

Sex was something that was “supposed” to be private, between a husband and wife. All this showing off and swinging…in the eyes of my conservative family, it would be considered so shameful, perhaps even grounds for being cast into Hell. 

But I realized that I didn’t think exhibitionism or voyeurism were such a big deal at all. 

Most of these people were just having sex with their spouses. Was there a value being broken if couples had sex in full display of others? Modesty, perhaps, but what a flimsy value. I was naked on a boat watching the sun set off the coast of a tropical island. What did anyone need to be modest about? This felt natural to me. It reeked organic. Sex all around? That seemed fine, too. Everyone was smiling, after all.
What about those couples that chose to have sex with others outside of their marriage? Jack and I had discussed this concept at length that past year. There was no betrayal. There was more than consent; there was outright enthusiasm. 

Jack admitted that he wanted to have sex in front of other couples. That fantasy had grown tenfold in the past year, now that there was an actual possibility of making it a reality.

I was the stalemate here. What was I afraid of? Was there actually a chance that I could like it? I’d quite liked sex with the possibility of being seen. I knew I was aroused at the idea of someone finding my sexual prowess desirable, but wasn’t that the mark of an attention whore? Wasn’t that wrong? 

But why was it wrong? Jack wanted it. I wanted it. It was a safe environment, with other consenting adults who could choose to watch, or not. My family was not involved, and when I really thought about it, I didn’t know why God would banish me to Hell for experiencing a pleasure that He had Himself created. 

How was this bad?
It occurred to me that the nagging feeling that I had been turning over in my mind on that boat wasn’t exactly a question of morals. It was a nagging feeling that I wanted something I had been denying myself. A feeling that I was getting closer to it, a feeling that I couldn’t hide under the morals imposed on me by others much longer.

Life is filled with enough suffering. Why not try to take a deep dive in the pure pleasure of being a human? After all, what am I but a speck in the universe? 

I was alive, and I decided it was time to act on it. 

After that evening’s arousing entertainment, I suggested to Jack that we try The Playroom.
The regular playroom was under construction during our trip, so we were redirected to the Kama Sutra Palace. It’s a gymnasium of sorts in the back of the resort, behind the tennis courts. We walked into the lobby and were greeted by a female staff member who informed us that we’d need to be naked to enter, gesturing us towards a locker room where we could leave our clothes and shoes. 

We obliged, grabbing towels on our way into the red-lit room.
There were about a dozen or so mattresses spread about two feet apart on the floor, with clean sheets available for us to lay on top. We took the only available mattress, the one closest to the door, next to a counter along the wall. The counter held stereo equipment that filled the room with erotic music.
The red light shrouded us in just enough darkness to feel comfortable, but with enough light to see each other — and a little of everyone else around us. 

Until that vacation, we typically had sex in silence with the lights bright, per Jack’s desire to “see everything.” This ambiance was a welcome change.
We started kissing. In time, Jack positioned his head between my legs, segueing to cunnilingus. I relaxed into the mattress, soaking up the light and music. I grew increasingly wet with each flick of Jack’s tongue against my clit. 

I consciously decided to let a few moans escape, joining in the chorus of the other women in ecstasy all around me. It felt empowering, all of us moaning together. We were safe, with partners devoted to pleasing us. This was all for pleasure, and nothing more. It was freeing and erotic.
And then, the music stopped. 

The room grew silent, and the moaning was all that I could hear. Someone stepped up to the counter next to us, fiddling with the stereo. A few couples began to leave, walking past us on their way to the door.
I became shy. I could tell that Jack felt a little awkward, too. I knew how badly he wanted to fuck me, but the mood here had shifted. We were done with the playroom for the night, but not for good.