” I spent a week at a resort for young swingers"
When one writer travelled to Jamaica with her (then) boyfriend for a week of sexual experimentation, it changed her perspective on relationships forever
Standing on tiptoe to see over the crowd, I hear a wave of cheers erupt across the resort. As I peek through the mass of tanned bodies, I finally see what’s got them so excited. Three women are lying by the pool, legs spread, wearing nothing but bucket hats and sunglasses. Each has a naked man in front of them on all fours, racing to eat apples out of their vulvas. When the referee blows her whistle, the man who’s eaten the most jumps to his feet in celebration, revealing a rock-hard erection.
This was just a regular afternoon at Hedonism II, a “clothing-optional” sex resort on a private Jamaican beach. Now, I’ve seen a lot in my time as a sex writer. Orgies, pegging, orgasmic massage, I’ve witnessed (and tried) it all. But what I learnt when I spent a week at Hedo – as it’s known by regulars – changed the way I think about sex and relationships.
I went along during its Young Swingers Week, when twentysomethings take over part of the resort, alongside the usual clientele, for seven wild days. In tow was my long-suffering boyfriend, Joe.* During the previous year, we’d been going through a rough patch, and our once-incredible sex life had become almost non-existent. This trip felt like a last-ditch attempt to save our relationship.
Baring all
From the moment I arrived,
I felt out of my depth. Signs hammered home the rules: naked or else. Naturism had always interested me, but the falling apart of my relationship was taking its toll on my confidence. Joe, on the other hand, stripped off and strode out of our room on the first morning like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Naked except for a baseball cap and jelly shoes, I followed Joe to the beach. We were settling on the sun loungers when he nudged me. “Over there,” he whispered. A few metres away, a woman wearing a huge sunhat was being pounded by her partner. With every thrust, he looked around to see who was watching. They either didn’t know or didn’t care that it was 10am on a Monday.
Two hours later, I was tipsy on rum slushies and had come face to face with more penises than in the other 29 years of my life combined. I’d seen so many body types and countless couples having all sorts of sex. A mass exodus of bare bums to the restaurant signalled lunchtime, and I joined the queue to order. I was thinking how bizarre it was to be naked while ordering a grilled cheese sandwich when a man grabbed my arm. “Can I see your tattoos?” he asked. I told him not to touch me without my consent, and we stood there in silence waiting for our food. When you’re nude and angry, 10 minutes feels like a lifetime.
Playtime
Every evening at Hedo has a theme, and the first was “Playboy night”. We decided to have a few drinks and (respectfully) people-watch, as bunny girls strode around in heels and men sashayed in silk robes and sailor hats and puffed on pipes. People took the theme very seriously indeed.
We were on the cocktails when a man in his fifties joined us. Andy,* a nurse from New York, wasn’t part of the young swingers group. Dressed as Robin Hood, he’d clearly missed the Playboy memo. He said he came to Hedo every year with his wife, and they’d been in “the lifestyle” for years. Andy tried to suss out how into “the lifestyle” I was a few times. Before I knew it, he’d taken my hand and was leading me to “the playroom” (that’s the sex dungeon to you and me). “I don’t like being touched by strangers without consent,” I said angrily, for the second time that day, as I pulled my hand away. “You need to get over that if you’re going to have fun here,” he replied. And with that, and a double dose of side-eye, Joe and I went to bed.
Making friends
On the second day, Joe was feeling unwell, so I explored on my own, and got talking to some young swingers at a BDSM workshop. While a heavily tattooed woman bound by her ankles and wrists was spanked by her partner, I got to know 26-year-old Jenny* and her partner Shane,* 33. Jenny explained they’d both come from sexually unsatisfying relationships. They agreed to swing before they were an official couple, and came to Hedo to play with others. As they spoke, their trust and respect for each other was clear. I left thinking my monogamous relationship was nowhere near as strong and honest as their open one.
Life’s a beach?
When I finally got a glimpse inside the playroom, my imagination ran riot. Low lighting, a sex swing, a cabinet of dildos – it was my dream. Joe seemed pleasantly surprised, which gave me
“Seeing people so open and fluid in their sexuality had been eye-opening”
a glimmer of hope that we might make it in there one night. Both excited by what we’d seen, we went home and had sex in our room.
It was the first time in months I’d actually wanted to.
Another morning, after chilling on the beach, we went back to our room. Joe kissed me, and the next thing I knew, we were having sex on our balcony, just metres away from the packed beach. Knowing we could be heard or seen made me prickle with excitement. Suddenly, Joe stopped. “I’m distracted,” he said, before going inside and falling asleep.
That evening was “fetish night”, the theme I’d been most excited for. I’d packed my boobbaring harness and paired it with a miniskirt and boots. Joe struggled to find an appropriate outfit. When I reminded him that he used to wear my knickers when we first started having sex, he pulled a black lacy pair on. Seeing him in them used to get me so hot, but now something about it just made me feel sad.
We headed to the beach, where a party was in full flow. Looking at other couples in their fetish wear made me feel nervous with anticipation. I eyed everyone up and pointed the best outfits out to Joe, hoping he might be considering at least flirting with other couples. “Let’s play the ‘who would you fuck on this beach?’ game,” I suggested. But Joe said he didn’t feel like it. All around us, people were having sex – against trees, on the sand, in the middle of the crowd. After an hour, we walked back to our room in silence.
A missed opportunity
It was 8am on the final day and we were eating breakfast when one of the young swingers I’d met on day two bounded up to us. On his phone was a picture of two naked women lying on top of each other, bum-tocamera. Both were wearing branded Hedo butt plugs. “Have fun last night?” I asked. Grinning, he bounced off to join the group. We went back to our scrambled eggs.
Joe and I were swimming that afternoon when a man walked by. He pointed at me. “It’s you!” he said. “My girlfriend thinks you and your fringe are so hot!” I buzzed with excitement as I remembered the cute woman I’d seen him with the night before. “We’ll hopefully see you in the playroom later,” he said, winking, before walking off.
Inspired by the guy’s forwardness, I wrapped my legs around Joe’s under the water. Kissing him, I led him to the edge of the pool. Feeling his cock stiffen and press into me, I reached down into his swimming shorts. “Look,” he said, pointing to a sign. It read: “No fluids in or near the hot tub.” And just like that, the moment had passed.
Lying in bed that night, knowing we were flying home in the morning, I reflected on the trip. Seeing people so open and free in their sexuality had been eye-opening. It felt incredible to me that they could have meaningful relationships while being able to explore their sexuality and kinks with others.
I also realised I’d been so distracted by all the sex that there were alarming things I’d overlooked. I thought back to straight couples I’d spoken to, where the woman having sex with other women was actively encouraged. But when I’d asked the men if they ever had same-sex experiences, the suggestion was met with a hint of disgust from them and their female partners. It seemed homophobia and objectification of queer women could happen even in what I’d considered to be a progressive environment.
Hed-ing home
A week later, I broke up with Joe. I’d had many a revelation in Jamaica, but one of the most prominent was that I’d placed too many expectations on one person. I’d thought Joe had to be everything to me – my best mate, my emotional support, a top shagger, and someone with whom I could explore my sexuality and alternative relationship structures. I’d considered his unwillingness to get into “the lifestyle” a sign that he didn’t love me enough to make our relationship work. Actually, I was using that as an excuse to push him away and blame him for our downfall. We’d been together so long, and I’d never had a chance to confirm long-held suspicions I’d had about my sexuality.
I’d gone into the experience pretending I wanted Joe to swing with me, when what
I really wanted was to swing with other women, without Joe. Breaking up and going forth to live my best bisexual life was the only thing I could do.
Still, Hedo was one of the best weeks of my life. And if anything is going to confirm you’re not straight, it’s seeing loads of hot women dressed in leather, shagging in public.