Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 I wrote parts 1 and 2 of my recollections of my trip to Hedonism II back in
1990's years ago.  I still get emails asking me to complete it, so I
thought I'd take a shot.  I apologize it might have a different writing
style as the others.  My health has declined.

   --------------------------

   Our day three at Hedonism started with murderous hangovers and the
realization that our friends from the prior evening had packed up and left
the resort without so much as a goodbye.  (If you're interested in the
prior nights debauchery, read part 2 of this story.  A good time was had by
all.)

   We both considered ourselves professional drinkers, but the alcohol from
the night before was cheap and way too plentiful.  This morning we were
paying for it.  Other than for an expedition to find some water, we didn't
move much and missed breakfast and lunch.By 2PM, we had to admit the day
was a waste.  There would be no windsurfing, snorkeling or other activity
for us this day.  As long as I was miserable anyway, I decided I would do
some homework for a class I was taking and let John sleep.  I left him a
note and another bottle of water, then packed my things and went to the
beach.

   We were on the nude beach side of the resort, but it was mid-afternoon
and most of the revelers that usually made camp there were either off on
excursions or perhaps back to their room for a mid-day nap.  There was but
handful of couples on the sands and things were pretty sedate.  I found a
spot near the very end of the resort property where I could be alone and
focus.  It was next to a tall fence that marked the property line.  The
fence was covered with a weathered brown tarp.  I liked that tarp - it both
provided a bit of shade and also blocked out some of the view.  (With my
hangover, I was suffering from a bit of sensory overload.)

   I had perched on one of those cheap pieces of patio furniture and
stripped down to my bikini to catch some sun.  I tried, but it was tough to
try to concentrate on the dry reading material, so I looked up towards the
ocean.  That's when I noticed the first of the resort visitors step out
into shallow breakwaters and circle around the ugly fence.  He returned a
few minutes later with something in his hand, and he gave me a weak smile
and a wink as if I was in on some sort of secret.

   Another visitor followed him, and then another.  Perhaps a half dozen
made the trip within the hour.  Always a male - always clothed in a bathing
suit or more (which was unusual on this side of the beach) - always a quick
trip of no more than 5 to 10 minutes.  It wasn't hard to put two-and-two
together to figure out that they were stepping outside the resort to get
something, and since they all returned without a grocery bag or other
parcel, it was a safe bet that they were buying recreational drugs.

   A quick peak through a hole in the tarp covering plainly displayed a few
tall black men sitting amongst the tree.  One was busy re-burying a grocery
bag in the sand - I was sure it probably contained his selection of goods
for sale and he'd retrieve it whenever a customer arrived.  (I later
learned that a little pot on your person might get you a hassle, but a lot
would get you 10 to life.) While he was stashing the goods, another was
rolling a joint in what I would come to know as the Jamaica way; fat,
uneven and held together with spit.  ( The end product looked less like a
cigarette and more like one of the dreadlocks that many locals wore on
their heads.)

   I have been a dedicated pot lover since I was 15, and I really wanted
some.  I had a few dollars in my bag, but the idea of leaving the resort by
myself didn't seem like a good idea.

   I had spent several years as a younger girl shacking up with a drug
dealer and found a certain amount of nostalgia in watching the slow conga
line of buyers.  Occasionally a shopper would stop and chat with me or
their spouse that was left behind while they did business would strike up a
conversation.  More than one thought I was a "lookout" or otherwise
involved in the activity.  (If I'd have told them they owed me a toll to
pass, I'm sure I could have collected some bucks.).

   When they found out I was just a tourist like them and had an
appreciation for recreational drugs just like they did, more than one
invited me back to their room for a bit of toot or a toke.  I was tempted,
but having followed a couple back to their room the night before, I
suspected that there might be strings attached.  Also, I didn't think my
husband would appreciate it.  Another topic of conversation - one initiated
by both males and females - was my choice to wear a bikini on the "nude"
side of the resort.  It was one of those crazy Hedo conversations that
seemed natural at the time.  "Hey, why aren't you naked?" Being clothed on
the nude beach was a bit of a breach of social protocol, and it remained
unsaid that the only reason they might be clothed is because they were
making their short trip next door to buy some blow or pot.

   I had kept a swimsuit on because it didn't feel right to be on the nude
beach without John, but in the spirit of the place, I instead explained
that I was working up a good tan line so I could remind my husband to put
his mouth on the lighter spots.  A good line that got a chuckle and a bit
of truth to it too.  (It was obvious enough that John found tan lines
arousing that I worked hard to keep them up.)

   It finally got to the point where I felt so awkward about the bikini and
I took it off.  I guess it attracted attention, as almost immediately I got
hit on by a middle aged European type who was pushing me to come join him
for some lines.  He wasn't bad looking, and to me, an ex-addict who hadn't
relapsed simply because I hadn't had the opportunity, those lines sounded
good, but as i was working with him to seal the deal I saw my husband
walking slowly down the beach.

   I waved to John, signaling the end to the awkward conversation, and the
European and his coke slunk away as he approached.

   John seemed to have his appetite back and I was feeling hungry, so we
decided together that a meal and perhaps a small portion of bear or other
alcohol might help.  I packed away my books and we dropped them off at the
room, then ventured over to the center area for a bite.  We chose food to
soak up the poisons and ordered a few Red Stripes with arrived in a steel
bucket filled with fast melting ice.

   After filling our bellies a bit we discussed the adventures with, and
sudden loss of, our resort friends from the prior evening.  I was upset and
mildly offended by their sudden exit - after all we had gotten very close
very fast in more ways that I was even comfortable thinking about.  John
was less bothered.- He had lived much of his professional life on the road
and was used to spending the evening with people for whom he truly enjoyed
their company, but that he would never see again.  Also, I sensed that he
felt a bit relieved to be free of the company of John and LIz, as some of
the things we had been pushed to do by the couple had been quite outside of
his comfort zone.

   This late lunch behind us, we felt a little better but were left to
wonder quite what to do with ourselves.  It was so late in the day that we
had missed most of the days possible activities of the type we had planned
to engage in (snorkeling, golf, etc.) and I don't think we were quite ready
to dive back into the kind of debauchery that we knew was available should
we be game to give it a try.  We had seen a small exercise area on our tour
the day before and decided together that a good workout might be just the
thing to burn the rest of the alcohol away and went back to our room to
change.  The workout itself was cathartic, and the combination of physical
exertion and hot sticky Jamaican weather helped us sweat away the hangover
and by the end of an hour we were both feeling much better.  A few other
couples had drifted through the facility as we went through our routine -
John on the free weights and I using the treadmill as a way to get a good
long run in without having to jog in the hot tropical sun - but most were
obviously new arrivals just getting a feel for what was available.

   We were just close to calling it quits when a young black woman did come
in and begin using some of the machines.  We struck up a bit of a
conversation and found that she was actually an employee of the resort and
did hairdressing 6 days a week.  She did not think it at all unusual that
she be allowed to use the facility on her day off and it didn't bother us
any, though I did sense that at least a few of the touring new arrivals
were bothered by the sight of her.

   She spoke with the lyrical broken English of the locals that we had
quickly gotten used to on arrival in Jamaica.  Her manner was friendly on
the surface, though with the odd edge we had found from many Jamaicans who
seemed to view us as not much more than as walking, talking ATM machines.
Her particularly pitch was unique though, and stands as memorable to me
even now after I've taken trips to perhaps 30 countries.  Instead of trying
to sell us a condo, or a vacation side-adventure, drugs or even sex, she
took a moment after watching john to point out that his pubic hair was
sticking out from the jockstrap that he wore beneath his workout shorts. 
It was unattractive she said, and especially on such an otherwise handsome
and well-groomed man.

   I laughed at first thinking it was a joke, but the laugh was met with a
stare that quieted me down almost immediately.  John was clearly offended
and at a loss for words, and probably would have been indignant had the
young woman moved forward with her pitch with all the earnestness of a
woman who truly believed in the product she was pitching.  She mentioned to
him that she did the pubic hair trim thing many times of day.  She pointed
out that I seemed to have my own garden in order, which was certainly true
though I really hadn't even thought of my running shorts as anything other
than adequate cover against prying eyes.

   She pointed out that pubic hair was just a bother anyway that made you
spit and clogged the pipes, coughing a bit to let us know there was a joke
there.  She made it known that it was a lot easier to put sun screen on a
hairless cock and balls and that might make all the difference in the world
as far as our mutual enjoyment during the time on the Island.

   She finished up with a twinkle in her eye.  "You be looking so big too -
maybe not so small compared to the local boys" - a definite reference to
the legend that black men seemed to have more going on downstairs then
white men do.  (BTW: this seems to have some validity.  I saw a lot of
black cock at Hedonism and just about all of it was larger.)

   I laughed and clapped my hands - amused at the idea of my husband
submitting to something like this.  (We had seen some shaved crotches here
and in a porn movie or two, but back then grooming downstairs was
definitely not something men did.)

   I was sure that John was going to object, but she didn't really wait for
an answer.  Instead she walked over to her bag and pulled out a small
package containing the tools of her trade including a big beach towel that
she laid down in front of her and waved for John to come forward.  I
actually pushed him the three or four steps and she grabbed his gym shorts
and pulled them down to his feet, feeing him for the shorts and exposing
him completely below the waist.

   John stood there and he was beside himself.  I was afraid he would blow
up - he was nothing short of flabbergasted.  I could almost hear the clock
tick as I waited for what would happen next - but our hairstylist was equal
to the task.

   Jamaicans have a tone of voice - one I'd heard already before on this
trip.  A voice to be used when the foolishness was to be dispensed with and
the patience was being tested.  It's quite affective.  Hers was a demand
that he step forward on to the towel and when did it she reached out and
grabbed him by the cock and balls and pulled him a bit farther forward,
stuck a comb into his most manly of manes, and began to snip away.

   There's no good time to stop a story to say something like this, but for
want of a good mental picture I guess this is an good of a time as there
will ever be to discuss John and his cock.  Here goes - though I'm going to
have to be inventive here for lack of any other way I can approach this and
keep my self respect.  Here goes.

   Though I haven't seen them all or even most of them, I can assume that
the world of men's cocks is a lot like the world at large.  There are some
horse jockeys out there that are small and fast and some others that are
like NBA basketball players.  Most are pretty much all the same size and
shape except for way they style their heads.  In this world, my husband
isn't a little guy and he certainly isn't a gentle giant, but he could be
the penis equivalent of a football player or maybe a professional wrestler.
Not a giant but plenty tall.  Wider than most men with a kind of well-toned
thickness you just don't see every day.  It's not a long one but it's a big
one - really big.

   This young woman now handling my husband's balls didn't seem impressed.
Nor was she embarrassed.  The lady did her job, trimming the hair on top to
a very tight trim.  From where John stood, his penis was just at about nose
level for the stylist, and she moved his manhood from side-to-side in much
the same way that I had seen John move his chin around during his ritual
morning chin scrape.

   For the next part, she brought out a razor and some foam, and proceeded
to foam up John's balls, working with them softly and smoothly.  At some
point she seemed to begin playing and even stroking his cock, and to watch
her deeply dark hand manipulating him was almost hypnotic in a way.

   Finally, she seemed frustrated.  She looked up at him and explained that
for this procedure it helped if he was hard.  Her pulling and playing
hadn't awakened the monster.  John looked at me with a bit of amusement as
this girl continued to try to tickle his balls and manipulate his penis. 
Our eyes locked for a few moments and he started to get hard.  It's the
little things in life that make you love a man - and this was one of them.

   The whole procedure took like 15 minutes - and I will count us lucky
that during this whole time no one wondered by the area.  Nudity was not as
well accepted off the beach and not in common areas.  There really would
have been some explaining to do.  She ended her administrations, got a
water bottle and wet down a rag, then toweled away the excess lather and
asked for her fee, which John told me later was about what a good shave
would have cost at the barbershop back home.

   Money isn't necessary at Hedo, but John and I both had some out of force
of habit, so we pooled the money together and she was on her way as if the
place were on fire, leaving us alone amidst the exercise bikes and
barbells. He slipped on his shorts and it was all over as if nothing had
ever happened.  Hedo was just like that.

   This all had taken place in the main gym area, but before we left I
tugged John to the small steam room and admired the handiwork.  I don't
think the steam room had ever been heated up in the normal way but doubted
we were the first couple to ever do what we did next.

   I was busy wiping down my chin and attempting to dab spunk off the front
of my tanktop when the next new visitors found their way to the gym.  We
slipped out quickly.  (We were still basically newlyweds after all and I
felt the need to reward him for making me feel special.)

   It was around early dinner time when we exited the gym and some of the
newer resort guests (always very noticeable because they were not as tan
and seemed to be a bit overly dressed) were already making their way to the
center area for an early dinner.  We decided to grab a drink before going
back to the room for a shower and found the bar area filled with people
coming back from afternoon excursions.  There were tales of naked booze
cruises, snorkeling trips and wind sailing to be listened in on, and we
nursed our drinks for a while taking it all in.  I was just really happy as
the rum drink helped me get the seriously bad taste of shaving cream and
semen out of my mouth.

   We had a second drink and then a third watching the people go by, then
went back to the room to shower and get ready for dinner, which again was
edible, but nothing to write home about.  We mingled with a few other
couples, got hit on once by an older couple who were so terribly
unattractive that we were almost a bit insulted, and decided to take a walk
by the beach rather than stick around.

   The beach at night at Hedonism was quite dark - surprisingly so for
those of us used to the beach resorts of Hawaii or Mexico where the resort
beaches tend to be well lit even at night.  We stumbled along looking at
the stars and quickly realized that we could spot multiple satellites
moving across the sky at any given time, and we could hear but not see the
frolicking of several people who had swam out to one of the floating decks
several yards off shore.  At one point, we actually mistakenly stepped on
the clothing of a couple lying on the sand.  (The couple weren't in them at
the time.)

   The resort is not that big, and we were quickly back to our room and
neither of us was quite ready for bed, so we reversed course and went back
and grabbed another drink, then made the rounds again to find yet more
couples frolicking and more abandoned clothing.  The sharp smell of burning
marijuana was mixed in with the smell of the ocean and there was island
music echoing out from the meeting area in the middle of the resort.

   We took some time to crawl out onto a small jetty (which was easier said
than done - it really was dark) and watched the stars move around some
more, striking up a conversation on what we thought the next mornings plans
were.  John was big on the idea of playing a round of golf, which I found
to be a luke warm idea.  (I had grown to love the country club life living
with John.  The clothes, the parties and the drinks on the deck overlooking
the 18th hole.  Shlepping around looking for the ball I'd hit into the
rough or the trees for hours?  Now so much.)

   I had loved snorkeling on my trip to Hawaii and wanted to take an
excursion.  John wasn't in love with the idea.  He gwe was worried about
the sunburn potential from being facedown in the water for hours.  I really
think he just knew that most of those boat trips quickly turned into
drunken naked deck parties and he wasn't quite ready to debut his sleeker
and more aerodynamic penis to a larger audience yet.

   In the end, we decided that he would go his way in the morning and I
would go mine.  He would have no trouble picking up a spot in a game with
one or more interested golfer from the resort and I would certainly have no
trouble striking up conversations on a catamaran full of people getting
drunk before noon.  A little time without the spouse on vacation wasn't
such a bad idea.

   We had both slept in while trying to relieve our hangovers, so as the
evening carried on we found ourselves not at all sleepy.  Remarkably, the
number of revelers on the beach was beginning to decline a bit, signaling
that it must be awfully late indeed.  We decided to explore the hot tub in
the hopes that some hot bubbling water would help get us to sleep.

   We had been plenty warned that the hot tubs were ground zero for adult
behavior at the resort, and we discussed it before hand.  John said he
wasn't particularly bothered with the idea of it all as long as it was dark
and not too much in his face, and I was honestly interested to see what the
fuss was about.

   We didn't know what to expect, so we went back to our room to get some
towels.  Guessing quite correctly that this was going to be no clothes
territory we took off our evening resort wear and simply wrapped swim
towels around our waists and stepped into some sandals for a walk.  This
left me topless - which by this stage in our stay didn't even seem worth
mentioning - but we didn't meet anyone in the common areas on the walk to
the tubs anyway.

   The tub compound had some walls around it probably mostly to keep the
sound from escaping towards the rooms nearby.  The area itself was lit with
a combination of the lighting from the bottom of the pools and a few very
low voltage lights hidden in the foliage that ringed the tub area.  In
other words, not well at all.  There were multiple tubs - all of them below
ground step in tubs - including one that I originally thought was a
swimming pool but was later pointed out as the hot tub that dozens of naked
people climbed into each week for a :group grope" portrait.

   Each of the smaller tubs was still large enough to fit at least four
couples comfortable, and there were no unoccupied tubs when we arrived. 
The lighting was bad enough that we had to get closer to each pool to
inspect it for inhabitants, and quickly saw multiple instances of one
partner sitting on the side of the deck while the other got busy either
sucking cock or eating snatch.  In at least one case a woman straddled her
mate and while they were both underwater there was no question what was
going on beneath it.  Many of the tubs had multiple couples engaging in
these kinds of activities - even a few cases in "mixed sets" where two or
more of the same sex were getting busy.  (Just about always lesbian action
- usually with one or more husbands/boyfriend looking on in appreciation.)

   It was a lot to take in.

   There was no modesty in any of it, but we weren't really comfortable
with the idea of stepping into an occupied pool saying things like "No, no.
You just go right ahead.  Don't worry about us." We finally found a larger
tub (my as large as 10 feet around) without only a single couple inside,
and thankfully they were sitting on the far side of the pool from the
approach angle we choose.

   John wasn't in his element and I could tell, but he was taking it well
all told.  I asked him how we was going and he said it was "quite a show"
though he admitted it was the first time he had ever seen a "male on male
homosexual act." Given that John has spent a lot of time on business, I
wondered if John really knew if that was true, but I absorbed the fact and
was thankful that it was just the one isolated act that had made him
uncomfortable.

   We settled down and let the swirling hot waters do their job, and within
a few minutes another couple arrived and then another.  Soon enough the tub
had five couples and one had sat close enough that we felt obliged to
verbally acknowledge them.  There wasn't a lot said though, and within
minutes the two were embracing with undisclosed things going on under the
dark water.

   John was getting a bit tired and when he's tired he can be a bit of a
stick in the mud if you let him be.  I wasn't having any of that, so I
reached down to get a good feel of his nearly bald monster.  He acted like
he didn't like it at first, but that act faded quick, and as the various
couples who had joined us in the tube began to enjoy more intimacy together
we played along.

   At first it was mostly below water, but the action progresses quickly.
Soon enough one of our male tub mates sat on the side of the tub and his
girlfriend took him in her mouth.  They were just a few feet from us and
she was well aware of it.  She was very theatrical about the way she went
about her business and when he came she made a big deal of showing it to
him before she swallowed it down.  Another woman straddled her male partner
and created their own waves.

   After a while I lost track of it all as i was busy myself.  John and I
turned our attention to each other - good old fashioned make out style
rather than exhibitionistic sport fucking - and only looked up again when a
splash announced the addition of not one but three couples who had joined
our little soak.

   They quickly made it clear they were very, very good friends -
particularly the pair of rather heavy but still very cute young women who
were quickly out of the water exploring each other - and I decided that
John would probably find all of this uncomfortable so I got into the motion
to get up to leave.  John wasn't eager to leave though and in fact I found
he was quite aroused at watching this 100% sincere and in many ways cutely
innocent display of lesbian affection.

   These girls were all curves - big and round like fat babies and seemed
happy could be.  Eventually the girls split off and their husbands joined
in.  Once they got on top from our view it was all hairy middle aged asses
bobbing up and down, which was much less visually entertaining.

   We exited the hot tub and found out slip on shoes but not our dry
towels, so we made the trip home naked.  In the night air we were
practically dry by the time we hit the sheets.  It had truly been quite a
show and I'm not ashamed to admit I was aroused by it all and John didn't
have to say a word to show his interest.  He fucked me and I fucked him and
we made a real mess of the bed.  I'm sure the people in the next room
fucking hated us.

   The next day we separated in the morning, and our adventures were quite
interesting even if they were a bit clouded by thievery.  More about that
next time.