Hedo 2 with the WWW group; one word; Amazing.

 

Amazing in number and in quality are the people we met, and we didn't even

meet half of the group. Hedo is about the people.

 

Amazing also is the amount and quality of the food laid on by the resort at

every meal. Even more amazing is the amount which we consumed at every

opportunity. Typically five meals a day, breakfast, lunch, mid-afternoon snack,

dinner, midnight snack. "Snack", however, is really a misnomer. More like,

I don't know, I guess "pig-out" is the expression I'm looking for. As an aside,

the outfits worn at dinner, whether theme related or not, are fantastic. It's a

constant buffet for the eyes. Thanks everyone!

 

 

Sex? Yes, there is some sex going on, but very little of it for May and me.

We were usually just too exhausted to attempt anything.

This was the most active vacation we're ever been on. From bocce-ball and

volleyball every day, to just plain running around acting like big naked kids,

we were ready only for sleep most nights so we could get up and do it all

over again the next day. There is the occasional PDA/F/BJ. This leads me

to the most surreal moment of the week, the moment when you realize that

you have entered a new reality. Sunday afternoon nude volleyball. We're

having lots of fun, kicking sand on each other, trash talking, sometimes

bumping and volleying. The game grinds to a halt for no apparent reason.

I wonder what the heck is going on, and then I see that everyone is looking

in the same direction. I follow their eyes and there, just off the volleyball

court, is a fellow on a longer receiving a blowjob. "Hmmmm," I muse aloud,

"Who's the lucky guy?"

 

"Oh," says the tall brunette beside me, "that's my husband." Then she turns

to the other team and shouts "Serve the ball!"

 

Swingers? Yes, there are swingers. Were we approached? No. Are we

exceptionally ugly? Well, I am, but May certainly isn't, but I don't think that's

the reason. The woman in the lounger next to us made it a point to shout

"Monogamy! Monogamy!" every time a suspected swinger walked by, and

worked the word, loudly, into every conversation all week, and this served as

a sort of safety zone around the area.

 

Single men? Yes. Are they all arseholes? Absolutely not. Most of them are

a lot of fun to hang around with. There are a number of lonely sad looking

single men in the hot tub at night, but they didn't cause problems except

for taking up space. There were two exceptions:

 

One night I witnessed a single older man sitting at the edge of the hot tub,

causing no problems. Then he blows his nose into his hands, vigorously,

and then just as vigorously washes his hands in the hot tub. Gross! Yes, yes,

the chemicals will no doubt take care of it, but this is where the word "respect"`

comes in to play. For the love of <deity of choice> go to the bathroom you idiot!

 

Another night I witnessed security escorting two single men away from the

hot tub, one of them very nicely dressed in slacks and long sleeve shirt,

which indicates a problem right there, but I digress. It seems that the other one

had caused a problem in the hot tub by thinking that the ladies therein,

being naked and at Hedo, constitute a help-yourself sex buffet. When

informed to the contrary he became belligerent and abusive to the ladies,

at which point he narrowly avoids becoming biohazardous waste floating

on the surface of the hot tub. There was a good deal of language and

attempted stare-downs between the two single dorks and the various husbands.

So there are two points that I am, in my meandering way, trying to make.

One, some people don't understand the word "respect". Two, if you are stupid

enough to abuse a woman at Hedo, don't make the mistake of thinking that it's

pissed off husbands that become your biggest worry. The only thing the men will do

is pound you, one on one. The wolf-pack of women in the area who are ready, willing,

and able, to strip the flesh from your bones in a bloody show of solidarity are really

the greatest security force in the whole world. Magnificent, ladies.

 

Photography? Yes, there are cameras on the nude beach. I know that this has

been discussed a million times, but here is my take on it anyway. The cameras

that are out in the open are not a problem, because you usually know where they are

being aimed, and most people set up their photos so as to not get anyone else in the

background. We were caught in the line of fire one night at the hot tub, and

I simply approached the individual and politely asked to see the photo. She

gladly complied and once I saw that we were indistinct blobs in the background,

let her keep the picture, even though she offered to erase it right there for me.

No problem.

 

There are no cameras allowed at the lingerie party, at which May won a bottle of rum

for most revealing outfit (thong and a feather boa, pearls and high heels. Damn!) It was a

fun night with crazy outfits and lots of dancing.

 

There were also no cameras allowed at the toga party on the main stage. May won

another bottle for best toga, thanks to a large cheering section of WWWers and other

fellow miscreants and reprobates.

 

Other than that, cameras were everywhere, everywhen, so if you are naughtily dressed,

or naked, anywhere in the common areas, odds are that you will be photographed, at

least as part of the background.

 

Nudity is permitted pretty much everywhere after dark. Most people will put on a towel

when visiting the main bar, but I can tell you that if two ladies are waiting for service

at the main bar wearing towels, and some idiot tears off the towels and runs off laughing,

the bar tenders will still serve them. True story.

 

Which leads me to several comments on bar service. Mostly is was pretty good. There was

only one bar tender that I was unhappy with, but as he seems to be popular with everyone

here, I will say no more. Delroy, on the other hand, is the most professional bartender I have

ever seen. Happy, efficient, and he does everyone in order, regardless of the crowd. Other

bartenders were not so efficient and I found that you had to be either loud, or pretty, to get

good service. Well, I don't like yelling at bartenders, seems a little desperate, and I'm certainly

not pretty, so May served as the runner for drinks most of the week as she got served much

quicker than I. And before the feminists get on my case, May likes going for drinks because

she gets to talk, and mingle, and get sidetracked, such that I didn't actually get my drinks

any faster, but I did get to watch her walk away, and eventually, back again, which is better

than the drinks anyway. But I digress. Basically, no-one goes thirsty.

 

The nurses on are duty from 9 to 5. So if that infected toe is bothering you at night, the

only medical care you can get is at the bar. We arrived Saturday night in time for dinner,

and immediately after that we ran down to the beach and jumped right in. Ten, count 'em,

ten seconds later and I'm back on the beach clutching my foot. I had stepped on a sea

urchin. Two good deep spines. The folks with whom we had dinner are at the beach as well,

and we two men stagger over to their room to use the tweezers on the spines. Picture it; two

drunk men, in dim lighting, trying to extract sea urchin spines. Good intentions but not

something I want to repeat. It took two visits to the nurse over the week to get the

spines out and get the infections cleaned up. Short story; wear the <expletive of choice>

water shoes, every time you go into the water.

 

I visited the nurse on another occasion, just after the catamaran cruise, which was a blast,

even in spite of the seasick passengers and vomit. It was a bit choppy that day, which I love,

but others don't. Anyway, we stop at some cliffs and caves for some naked swimming. The

crew warn us to be very careful in the caves because of the waves that day. So two of us

jump right in and ride the waves into a cave. No problem, lots of fun. Just as we get to the

back of the cave I look back out, pause, and then say "Oh poop!" (or a vulgar variant thereof).

A rogue wave, easily three times the size of the usual waves that day, is barreling into the

cave. It picks me up and pitches me back-first onto a rock ledge. "Sexual intercourse!" I grunt,

(or a shorter variant thereof). I make like a torpedo for the open sea, thankful that my legs are

still functioning. Turning back I can see that the other fellow has been pitched right to the back

of the cave and up onto the rocks. I wait while he takes a minute or two to get himself oriented

and then he too makes a dash for it. Once outside, he takes some stairs up to the cliff top, and

I make for the catamaran. Once aboard there is a bit of a stir when people catch sight of my

bleeding injuries. Of course there is no 1st-aide kit aboard, so one of the crew takes a cup of

rum and pours it over my back. <Insert more bad language here.> One of the fine WWW ladies

comes running with what I figure is an antibiotic ointment and applies it. It isn't until much later

that I find out that is wasn't medicinal at all, it was just a waterproof lubricant, in which case she

applied it to the wrong place, but there I go digressing again.

 

The rest of the cruise was fun, and I visit the nurse when we land. She is concerned about spinal

injury, but I decline the services of a doctor. Having played hockey most of my life I can usually

tell when I need extended care. Besides, all the doctor is going to tell me is to take it easy for a

week, and not exert myself. Hello? I'm at Hedo! I don't intend to go home well rested and in good

health. I'm not here for the peace and quiet! Not that my spine didn't hurt quite a lot, it's just that

I feel that intentional denial can be a good thing in small doses. But I'm feeling much better now.

 

The after-dinner entertainment was very enjoyable most nights. Lots of dancing. Damn it, but those

hits from the '70s are just too much fun. Oh, and I apologize to anyone who inadvertently saw me

dancing. I know that I'm a glowing white rhythmless dork, but dammit, my wife loves it when

I dance with her, so the rest of you just have to suffer.

 

The WWW group had a Porn Exchange one afternoon. I'm sorry, that should read "Erotic Gift

Exchange," but really, is a twelve-inch monster dildo considered erotic, or porn? Rhetorical

question. It went on a bit long, but it sure was a hoot, except for a couple of women who

made it plain that they were not pleased with their gifts and made every annoying effort to get rid

of them. Helpful pointer; if you are attending the Porn Exchange with the goal of scoring that

long-hoped-for toy that you are too cheap or too embarrassed to go buy for yourself at home,

then you are attending for the wrong reason. The fun is in wondering what the hell a given item

is, and how do you operate it? The inflatable goat being a case in point. Side note: the inflatable

bondage chair hasn't been test-driven yet. More reports as events warrant.

 

We were at Hedo 3 in May 2005 with the WWW group. I neglected to submit a trip report after

that one, but here is a brief comparison of our experiences at both.