"You're in charge while I'm gone."
"What? Who? Me?"
The receptionist looked confused.
"Well OK. You don't have to take charge, but when the company's crack
top management team comes looking for me, just tell them I'm on a beautiful
beach where the sun shines, the women are naked, and the phones and
electricity are unreliable."
"You're going to California?"
"Not exactly."
Two days later, after driving 400 miles to leave the little urchins
with their grandparents, Sophie and I landed at Montego Bay for our fifth
visit to Jamaica's Hedonism II. We
met our friends Dan and Nan in the customs line.
For reasons that I cannot seem to recall, we rode the bus to Negril
this time. The road is long, convoluted, and in places, actually paved.
By my estimation approximately 70% of the route is under construction,
meaning that work crews have dug up the road and adjacent areas, piled debris
conveniently in the path of traffic, then left the worksite for an indefinite
period. Jamaican bus drivers deal
with this complex situation by accelerating rapidly and turning their heads
around to talk with passengers. It's
an exciting way to travel.
Two
and a half hours later our bus came to a stop at the entrance to Hedonism II.
We disembarked, taking care not to touch the surface of the vehicle,
which pinged with the escaping heat. At
the registration desk there was no record of our reservation, but after only a
slight delay that particular bureaucratic snafu was cleared up.
As a courtesy we were given an ocean front room, though we had paid for
the less expensive garden view.
We dropped our bags in the room and changed into the standard Hedonism
II attire of sunglasses, sandals and a hat.
Sophie and I strolled arm in arm to the nude pool where we found Jim
and Celeste, whom we know from previous visits, and Paul and Karen1, whom we
met on line before the trip.
The
facility
In some respects the resort's condition was similar to that of the road
from Montego Bay. A new Japanese restaurant is under construction, a
refurbished gym is (finally) in the works and during our stay ground was
broken for a new swim-up bar. The
resort was mostly unoccupied. We
arrived on Monday July 16, after the departure of the "Wet, Wild and
Wicked" group. Our visits
usually overlap with the tail end of the WWW, but this year we found no sign
of them. The hot tub was completely devoid of chocolate syrup and
whipped cream, so obviously they had been gone for several days at least.
People
Bill and Karen2 arrived Tuesday.
They said hello and Bill sat with us at the edge of the nude pool.
Only minutes after their appearance, Karen2 was dancing naked on
Delroy's bar with two other women she had encouraged to join her.
After a few minutes of this, Karen2 eyed a friend of hers who
apparently had been surgically enhanced since their last encounter.
Karen2, who has cute but not large breasts, rushed over and said,
"Bill! Look at these. I need a pair like this!"
Speaking of Karen2's breasts, later that day she applied sunscreen to
them as we congregated in the nude pool.
She rubbed and massaged, spreading the lotion slowly.
When she noticed all the nearby men watching, she remarked, "This
is sunscreen, but I call it 'men's wrinkle remover.'"
I have to admit that it worked that way for me.
Although we did not witness it firsthand, apparently
Karen1 captivated the audience with her singing talent Wednesday at Veronicas
Piano Bar. Perhaps next year we
will have another chance to hear what others described as the best voice ever
to reverberate within that place.
Our friends Chuck and Paula arrived Thursday. Chuck and I
immediately began discussing our views of current political events, while
Paula and Sophie caught up on other subjects.
Every day a particular couple stationed themselves on
lounge chairs at the far end of the nude beach.
He was particularly well endowed, and occasionally when we walked past,
they would be engaged in an intense act of fellatio. Shortly thereafter he would stroll the length of the beach,
taking care not to bang his engorged organ against low hanging tree branches.
We referred to this as the daily "presentation of the color
guard."
One afternoon a newcomer stepped into the hot tub near us.
An unattached male (which is sometimes a very frustrating thing to be
at Hedonism II, as they outnumber the unattached females by a considerable
margin), he complained, "I've been here for 16 hours already and haven't
gotten laid even once!" This
was clear evidence of his first-timer status.
Many young single men come to Hedonism II expecting to find constant
gratuitous sex. Although that's
been known to happen, most such men leave disappointed.
Jon and Janet (self-described as shy and innocent)
arrived near the end of our stay. They
brought with them a collection of fascinating appliances and a clearly
insufficient number of "C" batteries.
Events
The Battle of the Sexes took place Tuesday evening.
The teams were closely matched, particularly in the fake orgasm
contest. In my view the guys won that category, but nevertheless the
judges awarded the win to the ladies. Perhaps
that outcome reflects an unfair advantage, since women generally have more
experience with that sort of creativity.
Later Tuesday night was the pajama party, and our little group did very
well. Tall and shapely Nancy
walked off with an award in the "most sexy" category, with her high
white boots and revealing attire, Jim and Celeste took "best
couple," newcomer Paul won with "most unusual" and much to
Karen2's consternation, I took first place in the "Bare as You Dare"
classification. In a major
violation of official Hedonism II rules, Dan and Nan slept through the pajama
party.
Thursday night was Toga Night. Under
the official regulations of Hedonism II, "no sheet, no eat."
As in previous visits, however, this rule was not rigidly enforced.
Even so, almost everybody complied with the dress code.
In another scandalous violation of Hedonism II rules, Paula slept
through Toga Night.
Trapeze
Having made my debut on the flying trapeze during last
year's visit, I was looking forward to further training (and who knows, maybe
running away with the circus) this year.
The schedule was changed, however.
Trapeze practice, formerly conducted at 11:00am, was now scheduled for
4:00pm. Considering the fact that
western Jamaica experiences heavy (but usually brief) downpours most
afternoons at about that time, this time slot was distinctly sub-optimal. Also, to perform on the trapeze you cannot have consumed any
alcoholic beverages in the preceding three hours. This by itself would eliminate pretty much the entire
population of guests.
Thursday evening after the daily deluge I ran into Chubby
in the dining room. Chubby is
nominally in charge of the trapeze. He recognized me from last year, which
must mean my experience hanging upside down by one leg, screaming and yelling,
was more memorable than I had hoped. Friday's
practice was to take place at 9:00am. I
told him I would be there.
There are special temporal rules in effect on this particular island.
Friday at 9:40am someone dropped off half the equipment necessary for
the activity, then Chubby arrived with his assistants at 10:20am.
The practice therefore was considered to have begun "on
time." Four or five other
guests were there, as well as Sherry, kickboxing instructor, personal trainer
and all around athlete.
There are countless differences between the US and Jamaica.
One such difference involves the dearth of attorneys.
I'll resist the temptation to make a lawyer joke here. If guests were allowed to perform on the flying trapeze at a
resort in the US, there would be forms to sign, notarize and submit, blood
pressure checks, medical histories, permission slips, and of course a cabinet
level Department of Trapeze Services with at least 40,000 employees.
In Jamaica, if you want to do the trapeze, you climb the big ladder
when they tell you to do so.
Apparently I make an excellent victim, and I was directed to go first.
I climbed, crossing from the outside to the inside of the ladder at the
fifth rung, so that if I were to fall I would land on the net rather than the
ground. From the 20th rung I
stepped across a chasm to the platform where Bob smiled and attached a rope to
the special trapeze belt strapped around my waist.
I looked down to the beach and saw the others waving to me, appearing
as though I were looking backwards through binoculars.
Sound does not carry well in the rarefied atmosphere of very high
altitudes, so I did not realize that Bob had been speaking to me.
"What?"
"Put some chalk on your hands."
"OK."
"Now hold the rope with your left hand and lean forward.
I'm holding your belt so don't worry . . .grab the bar with your right
hand."
"Got it."
"Good. Now let go of the rope and put your left hand on the bar
also."
"Um . . . ."
"Left hand on the bar, I said."
"Um . . . "
"Please, there are others waiting."
I let go of the rope, leaned forward and held the bar with both hands.
"Now when I say 'Hep,' you step off the platform and do the
routine Chubby explained to you."
"Um . . ."
"HEP!"
So I jumped and swung out over the abyss.
When, as a pendulum, I slowed and began to swing back, I put my knees
over the bar and dangled upside down in what's referred to as a "knee
hang." When Chubby shouted at me from below I lifted my upper
body, reached and grasped the bar with my hands.
The effort of doing this was that of doing crunches against the
centrifugal force that results from swinging upside down.
It's a good thing I'm built like Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Chubby shouted something unintelligible.
"What?"
"I said DISMOUNT, flipping the way I told you!"
"Right."
So I swung my legs back up in front of me, let go of the bar and
grabbed my knees, in an attempt to do a back flip, then land on the net in a
perfect seated position. Instead
I crash-landed in an ungraceful heap of middle-aged man, juvenile mindset.
It was fun, and all things considered I thought I did well for someone
perilously close to receiving his first welcome notice from the AARP.
Guess I'll have to try this again next year!