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My Trip to Hedonism II in Jamaica Taught Me That I'm Actually 27 Going on 87

“Oh look, titties,” I manage to get out as I chomp down on the first of many authentic Jamaican beef patties I will consume over the long weekend.

I’d barely settled in at Hedonism II, Negril’s lifestyle-friendly, clothing-optional resort before fully understanding that baring it all here was more of a norm and less of a light suggestion. Still, I wasn’t exactly nervous to be in this situation. Strolling around balls out wasn’t exactly a fear, I’d just never been presented with the opportunity of such freedom.

If anything, my inability to swim was weighing on my mind more than what people would think if/when they catch a glimpse of my slightly above average-sized penis. 

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Another thing on my mind: sex. Would I have it? How much would I have? Would I take part in a public beach orgy, balancing my vodka soda whilst dividing my attention between multiple attractive, sweaty bodies stuck to me? The ideal fantasy, of course, but unfortunately, all that fantasizing never played out past its dreamlike state. The only action I got at Hedonism II was with myself, and I came to learn that I’m actually a 27-year-old in the body of an 85-year-old. Let me explain.

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@thelonelyisland should be proud ?

A post shared by Sean Abrams (@seanybrams) on Nov 1, 2019 at 4:03pm PDT

Described as “a sandbox for your inner child, and nourishment for the mind, body, spirit, and soul,” Hedonism II is advertised as this all-inclusive escape from reality. Nudity, never ending food and drink and themed nights that will leave you feeling like you’re partying with a sorority during Rush. Sure, it might sound like paradise, but for a New York kid who’s never been on an island in his life (unless you count the dumpster borough that is Staten Island), it was kind of … monotonous?

That’s not me saying the entirety of my stay was bland. Everyone needs time to themselves, and my pasty white Irish skin was thankful to be soaking in some rays instead of straining my eyes on my second-gen MacBook Air. The food was great, the people were exceptionally friendly and I got to (legally) toke up on a fat blunt filled with marijuana that a nice beach peddler said was grown right in his very own grandmother’s backyard. 

But by day three, I started to realize that just because the liquor was overflowing, that didn’t mean I needed to pound free drinks until total inebriation. That same realization came about when eating, too – after I’d stuffed my face with what was probably my 6th or 7th biscuit. Was I hungry? No. I just needed a form of entertainment and a pause from the beach to prevent sun poisoning. Unfortunately, that meant filling three plates with enough corn beef hash to feed a small family.

At this point, you might’ve caught on that I’ve barely touched upon my personal experiences with the clothing-free part of this clothing-free resort. That’s because, well, my clothes stayed on for most of this getaway. I stayed on the “prude” side, a place where people like me could relax without fear of burning a body part that should never be burnt. 

With the exception of the last day, where I stripped down completely and strolled my way over to the “nude” side with a good book and a pina colada, I preferred donning a speedo to showing off my peen. That’s not to say I’m not confident in my body, but there really wasn’t any appeal to me in being naked.

The overall demographic during my visit was a bit on the wrinkly side, so spotting someone remotely close to my age made my heart flutter. It was just nice to feel like there was at least one person on the island that potentially felt the same way I did.

The funniest part? Those old people knew exactly how to party.

While I sat poolside, trying to figure out the best time for my nap before dinner, other guests were drinking their weight in alcohol, not caring about the time of day. After all, they’re on vacation. Part of me felt as if they were attempting to regain their youth, raging as hard as they could to make up for failed opportunities of the past, but who am I to judge? 

Here’s what’s what I learned: Hedonism II, or any trip you take, really, is about what you make of it, and only you. I relaxed, I worked out, I masturbated and frankly, I had a good time. There was no list of rules and regulations that had to be followed upon checking into the resort. The whole point of Hedonism II is being able to live loudly, pursuing your own pleasures in whatever way you please. For me, that meant donning a mesh bodysuit and cat ears one night, and curling up in bed by 10:30 pm on another.

And there’s nothing wrong with that.

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Sean Abrams, Khareem Sudlow