Fisting in the Garden of Eden: Hedonism Resort, Jamaica

I wanted to savor my time and shed my inhibitions. I wanted to do things that I couldn’t do back home. I wanted to play.

Enjoy this adaptation from my novel, Pretty Kinky for a Love Story, available now on Amazon.

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…there are these 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.

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. 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.

When we were all spent, we proceeded to the poolside grill for chicken tenders and fries. River admitted that he actually prefers orgasming with only Tiff in presence, and that would be their next activity that night. Jack agreed that his best orgasms also happened when it was “just” he and I. Shortly after, 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.

Interested in more? Perhaps you’d like to read my novel, Pretty Kinky for a Love Story, available now on Amazon.