I Feel Like My True Self at a Sex Resort

At Hedonism in Jamaica, I can be bohemian, bisexual, existential, silly, & sensual

If you would’ve told my younger self that, one day, I’d feel pure bliss at the all-inclusive I’d once deemed “dingy,” well…life is funny that way. Now here I am, less than five months away from my third weeklong stay at Hedonism II in Negril, Jamaica.

My first visit doesn’t count. I was just skinny dipping with Jack to get him to shut up about it when we were staying at the Disney-esque Sandals resort next door.

I was nervous about my first actual stay, but I’d already conquered nudism, discovered that swingers weren’t so scary, and made friends who provided credible insights that ultimately convinced me to book the trip…so what the hell, right? Jack was elated when I finally said yes. The whole scene was akin to a girlfriend saying yes to the proposal she’s been pining over for years.

I guess I had good reason to be nervous — after all, that trip is where I recognized my ingrained sexual shame and my suppression of my bisexuality. That trip marked a turning point in my life, in which I started to blossom into the woman I am today. Jack got to fly his exhibitionist freak flag, so he was quite pleased as well.

If that first stay at Hedo sounds ceremonial, well, then…the second stay was the reception. The party, complete with quasi-orgies and fisting a new friend. I guess you could say that we were celebrating our sexual liberations.

But I wouldn’t have felt comfortable opening up like that, peeling away the outer layers and seeing who I was underneath — at a sex resort, of all places — if there wasn’t something extremely special about that place. I’m very environmentally sensitive, which is why my house is pristine to the last detail, even with four kids running amok. Take my bedroom decor idiosyncrasies, for example.

Hedonism isn’t just any sex resort. We tried both Desire Resorts in Mexico, and it wasn’t the same. It’s like they say, find your vibe, find your tribe…and my tribe clearly meets up at Hedo.

Shall we dissect this?

Let’s start with the outfits.

Or lack thereof.

My attire at Hedo is scant but chosen thoughtfully. I’ve always been a fan of tropical wear. Think Blue Lagoon without the creepy pedophilia aspect of Brooke Shield’s age while filming.

Crochet coverups as if I fashioned them out of old ropes from my washed up shipwreck stuff. Crochet bikinis, too. Typical resortwear, but the sexy stuff — sarongs, flowy goddess-style dresses, everything in natural hues. Floral headbands, beaded bracelets, my hair in its natural wavy state, worn down or braided. Lots of big hats and sunglasses, lace up ropey sandals.

This is the stuff that makes me feel like I’m overdoing it at home. Like I’m drawing too much attention to myself, or trying too hard to be someone, or not quite fitting in up here in the Midwest, especially during winter. I might be harshly judged solely by my appearance if I show up wearing this stuff in my conservative hometown, but at Hedo, these styles make me feel beautiful. Like I should always be here, with sand stuck to my dress and my hair getting frizzy and without a care in the world.

That said, I spend most of the week nude. Nothing pinching, no wet swimwear, and totally comfortable — because everyone else on that side of the resort is nude, too. Clothing prohibited means an equal playing field, with all of us stripped down to our humanity.

I pig out, yet keep my girlish figure

The food is fantastic, and it’s everything I love — fish cooked to perfection, jerk chicken, salads, omelets cooked to order, fresh fruit everywhere. I may have been dubbed “The Vegetable Girl” by the staff during my last stay because of my tendency to try one scoop of every roasted vegetable option at each meal — and there were usually about five.

I eat and eat, and somehow I arrive home from Jamaica weighing less than before. Not that weight should be that much of a concern of mine on vacation, but hey, I have issues in that arena, and it was certainly better than the post-vacation feeling of ugh-bloated-and-now-I-have-to-kick-it-in-gear-again.

My preferred method of inebriation

I’m not a big drinker; since taking my first hit of weed about seven years ago, I can go months without a sip of alcohol and think nothing of it. I much prefer edibles over alcohol.

In Jamaica, weed also reigns supreme. Hedo even has a dispensary on-site now, so there’s no need to risk getting shady flower from the guy selling on the beach. I can spend the week drinking a just glass or two of top-shelf liquor each day, and get my real kicks from my drug of choice.

Plus, I don’t feel judged for being a pothead here, as I often do at home, and as I did even at Desire. Sometimes the drinking crowd can be awfully harsh towards us cannabis-consumers.

I highly recommend eschewing alcohol all together on some days to instead get day-high and drink fresh coconut water. Heaven. And healthy(er).

Let’s talk about sex…ooh, and death, too!

I know that my favorite conversation topics are considered taboo and/or morbid by most. I like talking about sexuality, sensuality, love, relationships, books, life, mortality, shame, religion, spirituality…stuff that often makes my neighbors look at me sideways when I bring them up at the Christmas party. But at Hedo, I find boatloads of people to talk to about these things.

There must be something about partying nude in a pool that gets people to open up about the stuff that really matters. Maybe, styled about as raw and vulnerable as we’ll ever be in a public setting, it’s easier to overlook the niceties of society and cut the crap, getting to the heart of the matter.

It’s not just flirting with the intent to fuck; it’s connecting with connection as the ultimate intent.

The people we end up conversing with aren’t always our type, though of course we’re most drawn to those people, especially in a crowd where hooking up is more of an option. But we’re not only seeking out sex partners. If people hit the right notes conversationally, from the depths of their soul, we enjoy chatting with them simply because they share their life experience and their wisdom.

Many people that we’ve met at Hedo seem more aware of their mortality than the Average Joe, and they let their knowledge of their finite existence guide their decisions and perspective. It’s refreshing, really.

I love being surrounded by the adventurous, open guests of Hedo. If someone breaks the most important Hedo rule — don’t be a dick — the tribe takes over, ostracizing the creep. The good people watch out for each other; the men become protective of their women in best possible way. Caring, not controlling.

The aura of accepting sexuality

I grew up with parents who yucked on pretty much everyone’s yum, unless their yum was heterosexual sex that had been made valid by the sacrament of Holy Matrimony. This messed with me more than I’ll get into here — in short, my early definition of sex was very narrow and I harbored the belief that my attraction to women was a mortal sin. I was depressed for years, in large part because I was alternatingly suppressing and berating a huge part of who I am.

At Hedo, the first thing I noticed was the public sex, which was happening right outside the lobby — a couple, doing it on a bed in the middle of the deck, where anyone could see them. Weird, right? I thought so, too, but Jack had long been aroused by the idea. Of both seeing it, and being seen.

I got over it. Well, actually, I got into it, for Jack. I started with sex with Jack where we could be “caught,” then sex in the playroom, then orgasmed at a tantric workshop in the presence with others, and then back to the playroom…suddenly the idea didn’t feel so foreign. What was wrong with this, exactly? If it’s not your thing, don’t do it.

In accepting the exhibitionists and voyeurs, I found myself accepting all those supposedly-strange kinks. You like feet? Good for you. Jack is particularly fond of accessories (only accessories — like a woman wearing a hat and sunglasses, but no clothes). If I want him to come quick, I just go grab a headband and some beads and he won’t be long. (Well, he’ll be long, but uh…you know, he won’t take long…)

My point is, acceptance. If no one is getting hurt…what’s wrong? That idea opened something up within me, and by the end of our first stay, I was able to embrace my bisexuality like never before.

I can’t wait to go back and be my full-fledged sexual, sensual self. I like sex, I like women, I like orgasms, I like playing the part of the submissive, and I’m not embarrassed or ashamed by any of this anymore — especially at Hedo.

Quality time with the person who brings out the best in me

Jack and I are best friends. We spend every moment possible together, and we have to strive to balance out our time so that we get alone time and time with our kids. But it never feels like enough, and there are always interruptions.

Not at Hedo — at Hedo, it’s a week of just us, and whoever else we agree to let in.

We spend our time together eating leisurely meals, walking the Seven Mile Beach, kayaking, making new friends, and having more sex than I ever thought physically possible.

We can’t keep our hands off each other, especially at Hedo. Is it vacation mode? The tropical air? The lack of responsibilities and the utter freedom? The sensual aura? The unleashing of our innermost selves and desires? Probably all of the above…

Just be

There’s nowhere else in the world that I feel so complete just being. Maybe that’s a problem, or maybe that’s the essence of vacation. A time to step back from the “real world,” to reflect on what’s inside and what’s ultimately important. To find that feeling of “it’ll all be okay” from within.

I find that feeling at Hedo, on the tropical-treed shoreline of one of the bluest bays in the world, with tree frogs trilling and the smell of jerk chicken wafting our way from the grill. I feel completely, utterly loved by Jack, who looks at me from his beach chair with admiration and respect for my authentic self. The self that I relax enough to allow to emerge while there.

I find, in those still moments, on that particular slice of Earth, that I am whole. That I am part of something bigger than me, and that I was created as I am for purposes that are greater than I’ll ever fully comprehend.

I find that I love myself, just as I am.

And after a blissful week, I pack my bags, and I take that essence home.

I miss my kids when we’re gone — and that’s a good thing. I need to miss them sometimes in order to fully appreciate them. I need my weeklong refresh so that I can greet them with the joy that they deserve. Interacting with the good people I meet on vacation affirms my knowledge that my children are good people, too. I accept them; I don’t yuck their yums.

I’ve learned how to be a better parent — and a better person — from spending a week in the place I often refer to as my Garden of Eden.

I bring home the confidence I garner from not only being comfortable with my body in the nude, but also by dressing in my personal style. I feel able to take more risks in baring my inner self to others at home after not being totally blown off for being “weird” after a week at Hedo.

I bring home the openness I feel towards others. In conversing deeply with others, I feel not only more accepting of others, but also more connected to others. I have clear examples of how we’re all more alike than different. I take that with me everywhere I go, from work at the library to concerts to the grocery store.

I find that I have the ability to take a breath and just be, wherever I am. I can pause to find the peace within, surrendering to the universe. And I know that, in the end, everything will be okay.

No, this isn’t a sponsored post. It’s just me, fan-girling over Hedo, my Heaven on Earth.

Maybe you want to pay a visit now, too?

If you’d like to read more about my sexual adventures, both at Hedo and at home, pick up a copy of my book, Pretty Kinky for a Love Story. Available now at Amazon in paperback and Kindle Unlimited.