A Postcard From Hedonism by Zak Jane Keir

(AKA What I Did On My Holidays by Zak Aged 35 and three quarters)  

Wednesday: Travel day

"That place is a fucking zoo," someone had said, adding, with a grin, "You'll probably love it." My mate S got to the point more quickly. "There's about ten men to every woman." Nude beaches, all-inclusive fun, free drinks, loads of horny men. These thoughts are with me while I wait for the plane to take off. And wait for the plane to take off I'm not fond of flying. It would perhaps be in keeping to join the Mile High Club on the way out there, but my seat-mate is a loony and everyone else is in family groups. I try to focus on sun, sea, sand and? Some fourteen or fifteen hours later, boggle-eyed and fit for nothing but George Romero's casting couch, I'm in a taxi pounding through a weird lunar landscape of quarries and potholes. Dogs leap baying from shadows, and the lush greenery flickering in our headlights looks just sufficiently different to remind me I'm a very long way from home. The driver's telling me what a wonderful time I'm about to have, and I rally enough to agree that, once I get there, even if it is three AM, I want some good Red Stripe and a once-round the disco. By the time I've checked in, though, feeling limp, grubby, and as sexy as a cold doner kebab, I barely register the lushness of my room - pink drapes and mirrors on the ceiling as well as a bed big enough for the band, the whole road crew and me - before passing out dreamlessly. Heaven - or Hedo - can wait.

 

Thursday

Up early, I'm gobsmacked by the view: blue skies, blue sea, turquoise jewel of a pool, palm trees, flowers The view over breakfast isn't so bad, either, quite a helping of firm, tanned bodies wearing very little. After breakfast I introduce myself, as requested, to Mark, who handles the PR. What was that about nice views? Tall, with dreads, a glinting gold tooth and a wicked grin, Mark is clearly popular with the guests. "Everybody not behaving themselves?" he asks as we stroll through the dining hall. "Hell, no!" come the gleeful replies. Already I'm starting to believe the rumours are true - this is the place to be wonderfully wicked.

I'm comfortably settled in by mid afternoon, relaxing on the nude beach and marvelling at the diversity of bodies: old, young, fat, thin, tattooed, pierced, scarred, and all perfectly at ease with themselves. The other guest are predominantly American, predominantly paired-off, but all amiable and ready to chat. Feeling the heat, I hop into the swimming pool, where the swim-up bar canopy allows me to stay in the shade, cool off - and have a Red Stripe. Nikki, a well-tanned and cuddly blonde from New York, wants to know if I've "had Bubbles" yet. When I say I don't think so, I'm towed across the pool to be introduced to a sleepy-eyed man who tells me to stand still and take it easy. He ducks below the surface of the pool and - Oooh, what's that? His party piece involves blowing a stream of airbubbles right against a girl's groin, producing a startlingly pleasant sensation. Talk about Welcome to Jamaica, I gasp, falling backwards into a group of friendly hands. Oh yes, I'm going to like it here.

Spare clean sheets have been delivered to my room when I get back to it, as it's Toga Night. Grateful for the lunchtime toga-tying demo, I experiment with my sheet and put my biggest earrings on. I wonder how long the togas are meant to stay tied for? Unfortunately, after dinner, jetlag strikes and I have to go to bed - but I've got the rest of the week to be wicked.

 

Friday

Halloween decorations are going up on the beach, which seems deliciously incongruous. First thing in the morning, I have a solitary swim, enjoying the feel of warm seawater on a nude body. What exactly is the point of swimsuits, anyway? As the day continues, I find many more things to appreciate: the universal friendliness, the complete lack of yobbish or obnoxious behaviour. The entertainments crew seem to be having as much fun as the guests, and the party games are endlessly inventive.

In the afternoon, someone brings a large dildo to the pool and we compete to chuck plastic hoops over it. Can't say my hand-to-eye co-ordination is that good, but have fun trying.

The next game is a suggestive-eating-of-bananas competition. With memories of Forum's editor bringing the entire office to a standstill with her own fruity methods, I interrupt my flirtation with dark-haired, green-eyed Chris from Connecticut to uphold the honour of the English when it comes to doing ridiculously rude things. Chris finds my banana method most excellent, particularly when we retreat behind the waterfall so I can demonstrate it properly. After a while, we have to retreat to his room to demonstrate one or two other things that require a little latex helper... Promising to meet up later at the beach party, I scoot off to change for dinner. The evening dress code is "beachwear", which strikes me as a suitable occasion for my black lace leotard. With a shirt over it so my boobs don't actually land in my salad plate... After dinner, we all pile down to the beach to watch trapeze acts, drink rock cocktails and Red Stripe and dance. There's no sign of Mr Connecticut, so I wend my way along to the nude beach hot tub when the party starts to wind down, as several people have mentioned that this is when and where the PARTY parties take place. I join TJ from Toronto in the jacuzzi, and mention how glad I am that there are lots of single men here. He observes that shy guys like him don't get the girls - a theory which I proceed to disprove for him. Holy hell, they build things big in Canada. By the way.

 

Saturday

Hungover but happy, I decide to do something ever so slightly virtuous and non-decadent today, so go snorkelling. As I am a complete snorkel virgin, a nice man called D has to look after me and give me a VERY personal lesson. All that and tropical fish, too. Mmm. After lunch, and back on the nudist beach, a voice calls out in concern behind me - "Honey, what happened to your ass?" Twisting and squirming reveals that, due to being face down in the sea for an hour with insufficient sunblock, my rear end now looks like the top of a Marlboro packet. Ow! Inform everyone that whoever I have sex with tonight is definitely going to have to let me go on top and rush off in search of aftersun.

Saturday night has no particular theme, so I chat to some of Cap'n Bob's Turtles, one of several clubs who meet up at Hedo in Anniversary Week. I subsequently try my hand, or rather my groin, at soca dancing, determined to master the bum-wiggling bit or at least look less ludicrous. Now, if I'm doing this right, I am practically waving my fanny at the band. It's all right, my pants are clean - and for some reason, shaking your groin like this roots your thoughts firmly in that region.

Some more beers later, I visit the piano bar, where guests are invited to sing along, then move on to the disco and, finally, the hot tub. It's all so deliciously laid-back that I'm losing all sense of time, sitting in the water under the stars with a beer and talking about life, the universe and who's done what where so far. Eventually decide that my sunburn is a little too sore for any shenanigans and go to bed.

 

Sunday

Today's big event is the renewal of vows for a couple who have been married for 25 years, which will be taking place on the nude beach. Leslie and Chick, the happy pair, both look very young to have been married that long, which confirms one of my pet theories: lots of enjoyable debauchery stops you looking ancient. I'm actually 108. Honest. The ceremony is short and genuinely moving: they look so pleased to be together. Having bumped into TJ, my Toronto friend, again we both decide to go on the tour round Negril and watch the sunset at Rick's Cafe, a well-known landmark. Already I feel strange putting actual clothes on in the daytime: t-shirt and trousers, and underwear. I feel overdressed.

Rick's Bar is certainly all they said, perched high on the cliffs, with the opportunity of diving 60 feet into the sea if you're feeling brave. I consider the wisdom of having a go after a couple of beers, but don't have my bikini with me and definitely don't fancy going all the way back to Hedo in wet clothes. The sunset is utterly beautiful and, hanging out at the bar listening to a reggae band, I feel totally chilled and mellow. Probably because I'm on a promise for later.

Tonight's dinner and dance theme is The Sixties, and so I break out my Religion chiffon flares, which are all but see-through. Sometime after dinner, TJ and I head over to the piano bar, and the singer entertains us with assorted wicked parodies, including a hilarious version of Margaritaville. It is, however, pretty hot and crowded in there, so TJ says he'll meet me in the hot tub at midnight. It's his last night, so I've already offered him a good send off...

 

Monday

There's going to be a Repeaters cocktail party tonight. I wonder for a moment if this involves multiple orgasms or, indeed, multiple cocktails. The answer is probably both, but the real deal is that anyone who's been to Hedo before is invited. Fascinated by the phenomenon of those who've been ten or twenty times, I ask nicely if I can attend in the interests of research. Already my days are falling into an elegantly wasted sort of routine: breakfast with some of the new friends I've made, down to the nudist beach until midday, back up to the dining hall and bar for lunchtime silly games, back to the beach till sunset...Today I manage to win the Worst Tan contest: being a typical pale Brit (apart from my still scarlet arse) I've been mostly sitting in the shade. "Honey, don't they have sunshine in England?" someone asks when I line up next to the spectacularly-tanned Nikki. Later on, people compete to hook bottles of rum with a small hoop on a stick, and when that palls, Ronnie, Nikki's husband, lies down on the edge of the pool and lets the girls try to hoopla his -er - hoopla pole.

At the cocktail party, I'm amazed at how many people raise their hands to say they've been to Hedo more than twenty times. Thirty is called, and still dozens of hands are in the air. The winner of a free week is Howard, from Connecticut, with a grand total of 60 visits. Grabbing my notebook and pen, I start asking what makes so many people come back so many times, and get the same answers again and again. Friendship. Peace. Freedom. The people you meet. "You drop your inhibitions when you drop your clothes,"says Patty from Tennessee."The freedom to be who you are and do what you want to do without having anybody judge you," says MC from Florida. "If the whole world could live the way we do here, there would be no more strife," says Lucille from New York.

Later, it's time for a battle-of-the-sexes game, which reaches new heights in the final round. As I have a little sideline in terms of erotic audio, I can't help whispering to my team mates that, now we've just been asked to fake orgasm, we're going to win this game. I close my eyes, grab the microphone and... Well, let's just say that Girl Power won the day. I'm concerned that this might put off any further conquests, as they might worry that I'm faking it with them, but the opposite effect seems to be occurring. I go for a little stroll with John from Texas, who has a great deal of glorious Texan chivalry, and end the evening in the hot tub where all the rum suddenly catches up with me and I find myself telling Bubble's partner, Miss Sweet And Low, that I can't remember my own name. Another very chivalrous gentleman escorts me back to my room, and leaves me to catch up on my sleep.

 

Tuesday: Halloween

Wishing people a happy Halloween in blazing tropical sunshine seems strange, but I'm not complaining. I have a monster hangover, but administer the cure of a couple of Bloody Marys. "Breakfast of champions," says a passing Bubbly Bare as I stagger over to join in the pumpkin carving contest. "The mind, the body, the soul, the spirit" say the Hedo t-shirts I've seen, and I feel better than I have done in years. I carve my pumpkin and get covered in pumpkin glop, but don't care: this is the real innocence, this sweet, friendly, happy, silly enjoyment. I get talking to Alan and Tina from Bermuda, who want a massage, which I will try to apply. THe massage gets a bit naughty, and I only leave because I want one more snorkelling trip. This time there are more fish but there are also great big waves. Back and relaxing on the nude beach, I meet Joel from New Mexico who is cute and single and happy to watch the sunset with me. With a promise to meet in the hot tub at midnight, we part to get ready for the Halloween party.

This turns out to be a million times more spectacular than the plastic-fangs-down-the-pub one usually gets in London and I, rather improvisedly dressed as a "kinky witch" start wishing I'd packed something else. It's not just the outfits: people have prepared all kinds of skits and performances for the evening. The main prize is won by a team calling themselves "rock and Roll Heaven", who do Romero-style mimes to Elvis, Morrison, Lennon and Joplin. All spooked out, I nip back to my room and shed my Halloween outfit for a visit to the hot tub and my own good sendoff. As I have arranged to meet Mr New Mexico, I am chilling out for a while, when I meet John, a local boy who's come in for the evening. As I am temporarily alone, I'm quite happy to take a "walk" on the beach and find out just how much fun you can have on a sunlounger with your clothes off. When I return to the hot tub, John from Texas is ready and willing, though I believe he has a (back home) wife. "What happens in Jamaica stays in Jamaica" we agree and find another sunlounger. On The beach. Under the stars. There are some moments of absolute joy that one doesn't analyse and can't describe. "Just remember," says John, "When things get rough, just remember walking down to the pool, and finding someone's arms waiting for you." (That probably sounds better in a Texan accent, Zak! -Ed).

 

Wednesday

After breakfast, I pack. My departure time is 3pm, so I have the morning and half the afternoon. I spend the morning in my favourite spot, chatting to my favourite people. I can't believe I'm going home. I'm swimming round the pool, having a last drink - and over there is my big bag with winter clothes in it. I swim round once more to say my goodbyes, and some men I hadn't spoken to before swim  over to say hello and begin to flirt. I have to go home, I tell them, I have to get out of the pool, get dressed and go to the airport. "Don't leave, change your flight or something. Don't leave, English, we love you" they say. And I get out of the pool and dry myself off and put on my shorts and t-shirt, and all of a sudden the tears are rolling down my face. Just like everyone said it would happen. Everyone cries when they have to leave Hedo. I brace myself and wander back up to the main entrance, choking up every time I say another goodbye. "The answer is simple" says Juliet from Arizona, hugging me. "You'll just have to come back next year."

 

Afterword

I can't remember the last time I felt so happy. While I appreciate that not everyone would like it, I know what I like. As we said  then, big big love going out to: Harry, TJ, Chris, John, other John, Chuck & Eileen, Charlie, the Bubbly Bares, the Turtles, Crazy Anton, Mark, Lucky, Marie, Travis, D, Mikey and Mikey's room-mate... dammit, all of you.

 

(BOX COPY - HOW TO GET THERE)

Tempted? Prices for a week at Hedonism II start at around 1250 for a garden-view room, depending on the time of year and, once you're there, everything is included: food, drink (yes, all the alcohol you want), entertainment and activites like snorkelling, circus skills, windsurfing, tennis... Single people can be allotted a same-sex room-mate on request, or can have a room to themselves on payment of a small supplement. At various points throughout the year, special events are arranged or, if you're planning a special event of your own, like a wedding or vows renewal, it can be arranged. To find out more, make a booking or get a brochure, call Funway Holidays on 020 8290 3600 opr check out the website www.funwayholidays.co.uk. Hedonism II is a Superclubs resort situated at Negril Beach, Jamaica.