My Hilarious “Nude or Prude” Adventure at Hedonism II, Negril

I came for the food.

Yes, I get that no one will believe me. Just like the time I swore I had no idea those boys were twins.

Oopsie!

But seriously, while most people are fascinated by the bizarre, freaky-deaky, crazy sexcapades and once-in-a-lifetime ultimate fantasies that go on behind the almost impenetrable palm trees surrounding this real-life Exit to Eden play den, this magical, sensual resort is also known for its local and international sensational cuisine.

Really; I came for the food. I know that’s like a guy saying he reads Playboy for the articles, but hear me out. You need to go to Hedonism II in Jamaica and see for yourself.

But, I digress. Okay, my main reason for heading to Hedo was not the food; I did it for you. Truly. Call it my journalistic integrity. The things I do for a story.

It’s true! You, my dear reader, are the reason I put my shyness aside (kinda’ like a pre-op trans ladyboy tucking her floppy parts way back between her butt cheeks) to give you gals a glimpse of the amazing treasures and pleasures that await you.

My sexy, single, solo female sisters, I know your deepest, darkest, secret desires, and I know (even if you don’t know it yet) that you fantasize about visiting Hedo so you can embrace your fabulous bodies (and your sexuality) and to play ’til your punanny cannot take it anymore.

And for those of you who may not be polyamorous princesses (yet), follow me to the pruder side of this wild ride.

Picture this: a shy and slightly conservative gal from the heart of Brooklyn, yours truly, setting foot in a place called Hedonism II in Negril, Jamaica.

Before you judge, let me be clear.

Yes, I agree that the word hedonism conjures up all sorts of potentially naughty scenarios of debauchery,; sweaty, glistening arms and legs flailing around in one giant orgy of exotic bodies of all shapes, sizes, and shades in orgasmic throes of passion.

(Why does no one believe me that I went for the food?)

Before you begin rolling your eyes, let me tell you, yes, I admit that Hedonism is known for the untold secrets and whispers of wet and wild things that may or may not occur at this magical adult Disneyland. But hedonistic pleasures do not begin and end with pure, unadulterated sexuality.

According to the McCombs School of Business (check out my classy, scholarly reference here), hedonism is not solely pursuing sexual gratification;

Pleasure can be things like “sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll,” but it can also include any intrinsically valuable experience like reading a good book.

Alright, I admit, I had no intentions of reading any books at Hedo, even if it were the poorly written (and dare I say, boring,) “Fifty Shades of Gray”.

But yes, this bookworm was looking for an adventure, and my intense curiosity about what goes on in this adult playground (as well as my insatiable appetite for a smorgasbord of seafood buffets and unlimited tropical cocktails) had me almost begging Hedo for a collaboration like a college frat boy pleading to just tap the tip o’ the dick in the pum pum.

Yes, you heard that right! I, April Hope, a lady who is more accustomed to bagels and books than, well, naked men waving their dicks around was salivating at the idea of seeing for myself what happens when a single, solo female traveler enters the secret, sacred lion’s den at Hedo.

Buckle up, folks, because my escapade at this adult playground is about to make Paris, Britney, and Lindsay’s antics seem like a quaint Mormon tea party.

So, there I was, standing in the lobby of Hedonism II, feeling like I had stumbled into a different dimension. What were my first thoughts?

Shit, I’m overdressed.

I mean, what do you wear to what is arguably THE sexiest resort in the world?

I mean, the tatas were hanging out, but like a reptilian goddess, I knew I was going to have to shed a few layers, and fast.

My Daisy Duke short shorts were fine as I made my grand entrance in the lobby, giving me courage as I took a deep breath and entered the vast and surprisingly well-lit dining room, but eventually, I knew that whatever I wore would be completely irrelevant. After all, Hedo is not known for a mecca for fashionistas, but for the lack of designer duds.

But I had been to a few wild clubs and parties in NYC, right, so how bad could it be?

Wild nights in New York? Um, this was a whole new ballgame. My heart raced faster than Usain Bolt in a sprint. Navigating through a maze of unfamiliar faces, I was trying to blend in like a chameleon at a disco.

But hey, I’m from Brooklyn, right? I got this! Except I didn’t, not really. I was extremely nervous and, well…shy. Was I going to get attacked by lecherous wolves? Or worse…would no one talk to me at all, repulsed by my overly voluptuous ass and polka-dotted thighs of cellulite? Either way, I was determined to do this.

My grand entrance into the dining room was an Oscar-worthy performance. I strutted in with what I hoped was a cool demeanor, while inside, my nerves were playing tug-of-war with my sanity. Virgin drinks became my BFFs, the ones I’d turn to for liquid courage. And if anyone asked, I was just sipping them to enjoy the tropical vibes. Totally normal stuff, right? Just a Brooklyn badass, blending in with the bold and the, uh, bald balls flopping around. Luckily, the dining room has a dress code, and birthday suits are not allowed.

Remember that saying about life beginning at the edge of your comfort zone? Well, consider that zone obliterated. I wandered through this wonderland of a resort, like Alice in a very peculiar Wonderland, finding myself drawn to the gift shop where I would be safe for a while. Who knew buying souvenirs would be my initiation into the world of the “prude beach,” a spot where clothes were optional and body positivity reigned supreme?

I had a ball in the gift shop (no pun intended) as I browsed through all sorts of costumes, contraptions and adult toys for big girls and boys.

I took a ton of selfies, (pretty much the only place I was allowed to whip out my cell phone) and quite enjoyed my period of procrastination spent checking out the dildos and lingerie. That, I could handle, (even though one Johnny Cockran type of buzzing beau reminded me for some strange reason of the giant chocolate bunny in a big pink basket my mother gave me one Easter).

When I had overstayed my welcome and left without any sexy souvenirs, I dragged my feet but eventually wandered over to the “Prude Beach”, which was clothing optional. Lucky for me there are only a few people lounging on chairs under the trees. I’m not sure if I was relieved or offended that no one seemed to notice me. I was finding Hedo a bit less exciting than I’d expected, so I gathered the courage to walk to the bar where a few people were hanging out (literally).

I made a few not-at-all-funny jokes and struck up a chat with a couple who had been Hedonism II veterans for five years. They spilled the beans on the place, reassuring me that people were nice and the real party happened at the nude beach pool around 3 PM.

It was now or never. I considered myself a pioneer, paving the way for naked millennial gals everywhere, leading my freaky followers down the path of sin and scandal, and kicked off my shoes to begin my journey.

At the very least, my feet were naked and raring to go. Finally, I was off to the nude beach.

Let me set the scene: 3 PM, poolside at the nude beach, surrounded by laughter and unabashed revelry. The performers on stage had more energy than a pack of Energizer bunnies, and they were stealing the spotlight.

Oh, and I had my trusty virgin strawberry daiquiri because nothing says “I belong here” like a non-alcoholic fruity drink, right? As I soaked in the spectacle, I realized that life at Hedonism II was as unpredictable as a game of Twister after a tequila shot.

But then, the plot thickened, and not in a way you’d expect.

I had been sitting there on the chair closest to the nearest escape route, but the hot Jamaican sun had been baking me and I had no other choice. I had to jump into the pool and head over to the swim-up bar if I wanted a refill. I was dried up like the Sahara after a sandstorm, like my pum pum after my last date informed me that he wanted me, badly, but bareback, and oh, by the way, he had herpes.

I blamed the heat on the blazing Caribbean sun rather than on my hot flashes, but needed a cool drink.

Unfortunately, I had to pass through a human gauntlet of nekkid bodies to get there. I was like the Fast and the Furious and made a run for it like Katniss Everdeen in The Hunger Games. I could do this; I was a warrior (regardless of how much cellulite was on the back of my thighs as I sashayed past nude nipples and the confident cockiness of those who could afford cosmetic surgery if they chose to.

Surprisingly, only a few were perfect and poised by the pool. Most pool partiers were, well…normal. I mean, the party was full of attractive people; black, white, Asian, young and old. But while they were mostly pretty sexy, they were each unique, different, and flawed.

I mean that in a good way. I controlled myself and avoided staring, however, I did glance at the mostly couples around me, laughing, joking, flirting, and simply enjoying themselves. I remembered what one of the guys at the “Prude bar” had said to me earlier, “You have a beautiful body; we all do, and it’s wonderful to be able to embrace your beauty and to simply enjoy being natural.”

He had a point. Every single person there was a beautiful human being. It was quite lovely to see people being so completely free. I saw some women who were slender, others who were thick, some with wrinkles, and a few who also had cellulite. Men had tattoos, cowboy hats, and hairy balls. They were just…normal people having an amazing time hanging out with others who were non-conformists, but, well…nice.

One woman talked to me, and although she was alone, she was dancing around the pool introducing herself to everyone. One cute guy kept peeking over the other side of the bar giving me flirtatious looks, but also seemed shy. A few couples chatted but never made me feel uncomfortable. And everyone danced and laughed at the hilarious show the performers gave.

It was fun.

Yes, I know you may have been expecting a much more scandalous scenario, and yes, there was a bit of excitement, but really, the party was cool and filled with nice people, not at all a bunch of aggressive swingers trying to coerce me to do anything. I think there’s an unspoken rule at Hedo that the single unicorns (that’s me) get to make the first move without any pressure, but we solo gals are definitely welcome.

So for the scandalous scene? Well, as I was cool and calmly lingering at the pool bar, considering the best way to pose as if I was not at all nervously wondering if anyone was enjoying a golden shower in the water, a couple sitting a few feet away from me decided to put on their own underwater Cirque du Soleil performance.

I wasn’t sure if I was imagining things at first, (I do tend to be a bit creative with my imagination), but after a minute or two I realized, nope, it wasn’t my dirty mind making up things. This couple was creating waves that could rival a surf competition.

My first instinct? Look away, pretend you don’t notice anything. Give them their privacy. But then I realized that since it was the middle of a bright, sunny afternoon, and there was a full party going on. These guys were exhibitionists and wanted people to look.

The comedy of it all hit me like a wave (pun intended). Life, it seems, can be as quirky as an improv show, even in a pool where people are getting a little too cozy.

As I sipped my daiquiri, a thought hit me harder than those waves: I had been pretty disappointed with myself during the past week when I chickened out and could not bring myself to leap off the cliffs at the famous Rick’s Cafe. Then, even after standing there a good 45 minutes, I failed to dive into The Blue Hole. Even after another tourist beside me mentioned that the three children playing near me had each jumped more than once, I still did not have the courage to take the leap.

But that’s okay. Lots of people can show pics and videos of their daring dives and crazy adventures. But how many people can say they graduated from “Prude to Nude” at the famous Hedo?

Here I was, at Hedonism II, a SOLO female, completely alone, proving I was a courageous warrior.

Sure, I didn’t become a daredevil, but I embraced the wild, wacky, and wonderfully weird side of life. Amid the swirl of body types, races, and ages, I realized we’re all imperfectly perfect.

As my time in this hedonistic haven drew to a close, I pondered my journey. I might not have conquered every adventure Jamaica had to offer, but I did something far more daring: I ventured into uncharted territory, danced with my fears, and emerged as a stronger, more confident version of myself.

The shy Brooklynite had officially become a card-carrying member of the “I Am a Badass” club.

So, here’s to all you fellow adventurers who refuse to let societal norms hold you back. May you dive headfirst into the unknown, embracing the hilariously unexpected moments that life throws your way. Just remember, even a shy girl from Brooklyn can embrace her inner wild child at Hedonism II. Cheers to laughter, liberation, and living life on your own fabulous terms!

If you’re eager to go on a super fun girls’ getaway, Hedo has a special surprise for you. Whether you’re planning a bachelorette party, or want a fabulous vacay that you won’t be posting all over Instagram, Hedo is offering a special where if three females book together, the third woman is free. Click here for more info and to book your trip.

Be sure to check out my photo gallery below.

Any golfers looking for nudist resorts catering to those who love playing with their balls? Check out “What Do Nudists and Golfers Have in Common?”!

Have you ever been to Hedonism II, or are you planning a trip? Leave your comments and questions below!

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