Buckle up, buttercup—May at Hedo with the Sexy Silver Group, was a glorious blur of sunshine, scuba diving, sass, and theme-night mischief. This is our day-by-day recap with a few strategically cropped photos sprinkled in. If you’re chasing flirty sexual fun, outrageous laughs, and a soundtrack of poolside giggles, welcome to Hedo. If your dream vacation is quiet, contemplative nudity and lights-out by nine…you might want another resort. At Hedo the only quite time is from 4am to 7am.
Everything here, was written during this trip, is social-media safe—more wink than wink-wink—so while nothing gets too spicy for Facebook, you’ll absolutely get the idea. Dive in; the water (and the gossip) is lovely.
(Yes, this post is long...it's been awhile)
Hello Hedonism! We’re back! And let me tell you—this may have been our best travel day ever, which is saying something considering we woke up at 2:30 AM. That’s right, 2:30! Even the coffee machine said, “Are you serious?”
But the travel gods, airport spirits, and Hedo deities were smiling on us! Flight was smooth, Jamaica welcomed us early (with a connection, no less!), and Rocky’s Transport was waiting like a Caribbean Uber with rhythm. No traffic in Lucea either—what kind of sorcery is this?! We strolled into Hedonism just after 11 AM, got into our requested newly remodeled spa room (without waiting), and were at the dive shack before the morning divers even surfaced. Unpacked and fully demented by lunchtime.
Speaking of lunch—no grilled chicken on the buffet. None! The chef clearly knew we were arriving! Talked to some sexy couples over lunch, swapped smiles, kisses and then—oh yes—off to the nude pool.
Now, we’re riding in on the "tail end" of Bi Couples Week—pun absolutely intended. The pool? Packed tighter than a Speedo on a sumo wrestler. And the PDAs? Let’s just say it didn’t stand for Public Display of Affection—it stood for Please Don’t Ask because if we gave details, Zuckerberg would have us banished to Amish Facebook.
But just to whet your appetites, you dirty minded delinquents … let’s just say there were two-person jumping jacks (with full cardio benefits), above-ground snorkeling (both genders participating—yay bi week), and the Happening Hut looked like a Scrabble game gone wild: MF, MFM, MM, FF, MMFMM, and OMG!
Lots of friendly faces, even friendlier hands. Some ladies gave me the full Hedo Handshake—and let’s just say, a few held on like they were trying to read my palm. Mr. Happy, recently on strike post-Bliss Cruise, saw the local talent and leapt over that picket line like Hugh Hefner on Viagra.
Later, we rolled into the gala buffet, where Hedo served a feast fit for a king—or at least a very horny travel blogger. Giant prawns, jerked everything (including probably the chef), and a crepe station that could send your blood sugar into orbit. Our doctor would faint, but our taste buds were doing the limbo.
Then came the new Friday theme—Carnival Night! Think Mardi Gras meets Fantasy Fest meets "Oops, we forgot to wear panties!" (not really, Hedo is a panty free zone!) Beads were flying, feathers were fluttering, and somewhere in our sugar-soaked brains we wondered why Hedo didn’t bring in a local body painter. I mean come on—naked canvases galore, big tippers, and pure artistic naughtiness?
As Winston’s dancers did their thing in rockstar glory, that 2:30 AM wake-up came back like that ruler slap from your Catholic school nun. We didn’t want to sleep—but our eyelids were staging a mutiny. So we said goodnight to the naughtiness... for now.
Tomorrow? Oh baby, the Sexy Silvers arrive. The nude pool will be a Category 5 sexual hurricane, the spa playroom will need a mop team, and several rooms will require exorcisms by Monday. Mr. Happy and Mrs. Kitty are both in for the workout of a lifetime.
And yes—we’re buying the first round at the nude pool.😁 Party Marc is bringing the debauchery, we’ve got a week of wild naughtiness ahead, and if you burn through your 90-day supply of little blue pills in seven days? Just tell your doctor you were at “the Zoo.”
Welcome back, you beautiful heathens. Let’s get naked and totally irresponsible! Hedonism is Disney for Adults and Mickey and Minnie are cumming and looking for at least a threesome!
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Up and at ‘em! Dive gear prepped and off to breakfast like a couple of starved Labradors in heat. Our mission? Jacqui’s egg station. There she was—sexy egg-slinging sorceress with a smile that could fry bacon. She cracked those eggs like she’s been watching us being naughty last night (maybe she was).
Breakfast turned into a postmortem on last night’s adventures. Or lack thereof—jet lag was the biggest sex killer of the night. Meanwhile, on Facebook, we were watching couples land, strip, and start their slow descent into Hedo debauchery. You could see it in their eyes: excitement, anticipation… or maybe just poorly veiled horniness. Hard to tell under those sunglasses.
The sea was calm, like Mother Nature saying, “You’ll need your strength later.” Just three of us on the boat, all veterans of both, diving and horizontal acrobatics. First dive: Sands Club Deep. Yawn. One lonely pufferfish who looked as bored as we were. But dive two? The Gallery—shallow, much better marine life, like a good first threesome. Baby ray! Spotted drum! A gang of squid drifting like they had somewhere sinful to be. A nice, easy dive to warm us up—because let’s face it, our bodies are still recovering from the last naughty vacation three days ago.
At lunch, the roast chicken was back on the buffet, but we flipped the bird to the birds and went with apple-glazed pork. Juicy, tender, and less judgmental. While we chomped, a few couples asked about our ridiculously priced June 2025 Red Sea Scuba Trip ( almost free)—which turned lunch into a not so sexy info session. Egypt, diving and naughtiness go well together, apparently.
We soon made our grand re-entry to the nude pool and BOOM—Sexy Silvers everywhere! Not tanned, but toned, and very touchy/feely. Reunion hugs, kisses, flirty intros, and a whole lot of “Nice to meet you, wanna see the playroom?” vibes. Meanwhile, the Happening Hut was LIVING UP TO ITS NAME. That missing playroom door was spinning like a game show wheel—“Congratulations! You’ve won two orgasms and a body shot!”
Those playroom beds were busier than a porn set on double overtime. Moans, giggles, and slaps echoing like sexy thunder. The sun was hot, but the action? Hotter. Way hotter.
Dinner at Pastafari with old friends and new naughty couples. The group kept talking Egypt, Red Sea, and the dive yacht. So instead let’s talk about the surf and turf—*the filet is melt in your mouth delicious*. Pastafari wins again. Much better than Flame. The pasta? No clue. You don't waste stomach space on noodles when there’s filet on the plate.
Dessert? Off to the coffee bar. Because we’re adults and dessert is foreplay. Plus, Pastafari thinks skipping dessert makes dinner faster. Maybe. But two-hour dinners still happen, with or without the cream brulee.
Winston’s show was in full swing (:yes, another pun), but we had our eye on something juicier—a whispered orgy at the spa playroom. Rumors were thick, like a good lube. We prepped ourselves, exfoliated, moisturized, trimmed where it counts. Got there… and, well, Mr. Orgy missed his connection, he won't be here till tomorrow! But no matter—we made our own sexy naughtiness, under the stars. Yes, the spa playroom is topless too? So chasing a lovely lady around an uncomfortable mattress was mandatory. Let’s just say Judy was an easy catch and even more naughty once caught. After all, to me, she is the hottest lady at Hedo.
By midnight at Hedo, the hot tub was calling, but so was our bed. Midnight pizza? We were full—of food, lust, and satisfaction. Tomorrow’s another day… and another chance to tease you with the naughty kind of adventures that would make your neighbors blush.
Ah yes, Sunday morning in paradise, where the eggs are supposed to be sunny side up, but alas—no Jacqui! Our beloved egg wizard had the day off. We mourned quietly with a polite trip to the Benedict station. Not terrible, but let’s just say, if Jacqui’s eggs are a Broadway show, these were more like...off-off-Broadway in Des Moines.
We sat with friends at breakfast and naturally solved all the world’s problems—war, famine, pineapple on pizza—but apparently no one in charge was listening.
Then off to the dive shack! Time to slip into neoprene and chase fish—not in the Tinder kind of way, mind you. First stop: Mike’s Reef. Gorgeous water, lovely coral, and... crickets. Mike, sweetie, hire more fish. We did spot a ray, but he took one look at us and fled like he owed someone money.
Second dive: The Arches. Ray #2 made a graceful appearance. Meanwhile, Judy and some other gals claim they saw a BIG shark—but look, we’ve been in the lifestyle a long time. When a lady says “huge,” let’s just say...there might be some rounding up!
Back on land, the lunch buffet offered roasted chicken, and more roasted chicken. I grabbed some pizza that was more “cheesy bread with an identity crisis,” but calories don’t count at Hedo, just orgasms.
Then off to the nude pool, where **Party Marc** was elbow-deep in cleavage for the legendary car wash was less “wash your car” and more “lose your inhibitions.” The line stretched longer than the buffet on lobster night.
And then... the poolside Pie Eating Contest. Let’s just say the splash zone now extends into Negril. Disney’s got fountains, but Hedo’s got geysers of joy. The pool’s up four inches and everyone’s smiling like they got baptized in naughtiness.
Later, the Topless Travel crew hosted their meet-and-greet—although it was more of a “meet and not win” No one we knew won the raffle, so we sashayed over to Harrison’s Sushi Bar, now officially our **#2 fave restaurant*i*. Surprisingly good, and not just for raw fish lovers—there’s veggie sushi too, for all your rolling plant-based fantasies.
Finished dinner with dessert at the coffee bar because, obviously, no day at Hedo is complete without a chocolate-covered, espresso-fueled sugar bomb to fuel your next round of naughtiness.
Lots of bunny ears and really nice tails! Winston’s show? Skipped it. We had a more hands-on performance in mind. Spoiler alert: our bed gave us a standing ovation. We then gave our friends—new to Hedo but "seasoned" in our wild ways—the “Fifty Cent Tour” (inflation, baby). From the disco, to the secret Pastafari location, to the Spa Playroom—where the moans echo like a sensual rams in heat—we showed them the real Hedonism.
Piano Bar? Michael was off on vacation. Wait... isn't watching naked ladies every night on the piano already a vacation? The fill-in guy was okay, but no Michael sparkle.
And so, we crawled into bed, full of dreams—naughty ones, the kind you can actually act out here. Stay tuned for tomorrow's shenanigans, mischief, and mattress marathons. And remember: Keep your hands inside the ride and hold on to your panties!
Woke up this morning like we’d been hit by a tranquilizer dart made of rum punch and very naughty decisions. Slept so hard you would thought someone drugged us. We staggered to breakfast 15 minutes late, looking like zombies who missed their coffee shipment. And there she was—Jacqui, the breakfast enchantress, giving me the look. Not a word was spoken—just a slight wave, a spatula twirl, and suddenly my eggs were doing acrobatics across the plate like they were auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. She’s not a cook—she’s a culinary sorceress. We expect next time she’ll summon bacon with a flick of her wrist and a Beyoncé shimmy.
We joined some friends for breakfast—but only briefly, because scuba calls! And by calls, I mean yells, like your mom when you're supposed to be cleaning your room and you're watching cartoons in your underwear. We hustled to the dive shop like two overgrown otters in a hurry, only to find—surprise!—island time still firmly in charge. Dive staff on a break, oxygen tanks still socializing. Fine! Gave us a chance to breathe and question our yesterday's choices...not really, we'd do it again today.
First dive: Bloody Bay. Now, I don’t know who named this spot, but it either refers to red coral… or pirate rage-fueled mutiny where someone shouted “Walk the plank!” and everyone forgot how to swim. Either way—splash! In we go. I saw a small ray, a few lionfish, and possibly the ghost of Captain Jack Sparrow doing yoga on a coral head. Everyone seems to see something different—some folks saw Atlantis, I saw Wayne, one of our favorite fellow divers, doing the underwater Macarena.
Next stop: Treasure Reef! Oh yes, baby eagle ray sighting! So adorable it should’ve had a Disney theme song. Then a very shy eel popped out, saw us, and ducked back in like, “Nope! Not today.” Diving at Hedonism is hit or miss, but when you mix it with naughty escapades and included free dives? It's like getting a free side of sinfulness with your snorkel.
Lunch? Finally the buffet gods answered. Yes, the legendary Roasted Chicken was there again—eternal, unwavering, maybe cursed—but it brought friends: teriyaki chicken, BBQ ribs, and pork chops that whispered "protein me." It was the meat lover’s dream and the vegan’s nightmare. I ate like I was training for an eating contest against Thor.
Then came the nude pool. A new group was at the helm. And naughties… you haven’t lived until you’ve watched six double-headed dildo disappear into synchronized mouths like an X-rated Olympic relay. We didn’t know the rules, but the crowd was cheering, and somewhere Hugh Hefner was waking up in his grave! . Then came Party Marc, flipping the playlist like a DJ with a degree in foreplay. The pool got hotter, the bodies got slicker, and then—storybook time.
Marc brings out a children’s-style book with a big ol’ hole in the middle, and with the addition of a naked gentleman, who pops through? Mr. Happy. This wasn’t Dr. Seuss. This was Dr. Seuss after three tequila shots and a night tied to the cross in the spa playroom. As Marc told the story, Mr. Happy went page by page—firehose, rocket ship, genie from a magic lamp—and the crowd laughed so hard they nearly missed licking shots of of tatas. Was it educational? It certainly was disturbing. It was not really art, but it's why we love Marc!
Dinner was on the beach—romantic, beautiful, unless you’re me. Because the sand fleas? They treat me like a buffet. I’m filet mignon in mosquito form. So we made a tactical retreat to Pastafari, where the steak is so good it could make a vegan question their life path. And tonight, don't know why, but crème brûlée was here for dessert! Torched just right, like my shoulders after forgetting sunscreen.
We meant to nap after dinner. But then conversation happened. Then laughter. Then… piano bar! RJ was filling in for Michael—doing a decent job—but Michael knows the Hedo crowd like, Navarro, the bartender, knows your wife and your girlfriends drink orders. Still, the vibes were good, the songs were familiar, and the drinks were free. Well, already paid for anyway!
We tried to make it to the playroom. Really. We had the best of slutty intentions. But then… delightful friends! Some we knew, others we know now. They stopped us, hugged us, charmed us, kissed us—and by the time we were back on track, the spa playroom was soaked in Jamaican drizzle. Outdoor beds and rain? That’s cold shrinkage nobody ordered. So we called it a night.
But tomorrow? Tomorrow is another jam-packed ride of wildness, wetness, more sightings of tasty tatas, beautiful buns, and many shaved beavers. Same bat time. Same bat channel!
Morning starts with no Jacquie again—tragic, I know. Judy thought the gentleman at the egg station was cute, smiling and made her egg perfect. I left with Eggs Benedict, which did its job, soaking up enough regret and rum from last night to keep us upright for diving.
Off to the dive shack! First up: The Cable. Not the most imaginative name, but it's literally a phone line that runs under the ocean—Jamaica’s very own underwater telecommunication spaghetti. Whether it still works? Who knows. We do think the fish got a group call and ghosted us—maybe there was a fish rave elsewhere.
Second dive: The Gallery— finally something worth putting on the wetsuit! Rays swishing by like elegant dinner guests, a crab doing its best Spider-Man impression, and a barracuda that looked like it knew all your secrets. Delicious dive.
Back on dry land, lunch hit with a culinary plot twist: the roasted chicken was murdering everything on the buffet. Dry, stiff, and possibly used as a doorstop earlier. We found salvation in some BBQ pork belly—luckly the chef knows about pig.
Then off to the nude pool, where the Topless Travel catamaran crowd was rolling back in like sunburned pirates—mostly booze-soaked, a little dazed, and thoroughly pleased. We’ve done it. It's snorkeling and rum. A lot of rum. It's like a floating frat party meets Girls Gone Wild. Lots of bouncing tatas and body shots.
DJ Marc took over pool duty— His music? Bumpin’ which is very good in the nude pool. His games? Sexual Trivia! Oh yes. Equal parts raunchy, ridiculous, and surprisingly educational. “What has multiple legs, no shame, and makes loud noises?” The answer? All of the naked people in the nude pool. The groans were real. So was the laughter.
Meanwhile, over on the edge of the pool, we noticed a lineup of gents with expressions that can only be described as ecstatic. Several ladies were apparently testing out each "snorkel" diligently. Let’s just say nobody was looking for fish.
Evening brought the Repeater’s Party hosted by the legend Winston himself. He handed out \$1,500 vouchers like they were candy and introduced a chunk of the hardworking staff. Because nothing says "thank you for returning" like free booze and a chance at paying off your next trip back.
Dinner? Off to Harrison’s for the "Jamaican-Hibachi Experience"—which is like if Bob Marley met Benihana in a smoky alley and said, “Let’s wing it.” The food? Solid. The knife tricks? Ehhh...Not much of a blade ballet. Still, tasty is tasty.
Tonight’s big shindig was Glow Night at the main pool—but we pulled a plot twist and stayed in to host our own private bed chasing party with several friends. Less neon, more moaning. Sticks were required, but they didn't glow. Mr. Happy and Mrs. Kitty had a full itinerary, and afterward, so exhausted we couldn’t even crawl to the hot tub. We passed out like glow-worms after a rave.
Tomorrow? The saga continues. More naughtiness, nakedness, and porn-themed gymnastics that would make a Penthouse Pet blush.
It’s just another terrible, awful, no-good, filthy day at Hedonism II—and we love every indecent second of it.
Jacquie is back on egg duty and her hot, fluffy creations had us moaning louder than the hot tub crew at midnight. Toss in a table full of friends and it was like breakfast at a nudist Cheers—where everybody knows your everything!
We waddled down to the dive shack like sunburned penguins ready for adventure. First stop: Mike’s Reef—aka the aquatic version of a ghost town. We log our dives and this spot’s never been the hotbed of marine life. Unless you’re into sand...lots and lots of sand. The next dive, The Caves, had potential. But let’s just say so many divers turned the seafloor into a snow globe. Judy and I said “nope” to getting face-kicked in a cave. Still, we spotted a golden spotted eel (somewhat rare!) and a lobster or two playing hide-and-seek. Puffers were pouting around us like emo fish—adorable.
Lunch! And hallelujah—the roasted chicken took the day off! BBQ chicken strutted in like Tina Turner and steak strips danced across our plates like Magic Mike's guys were here. Culinary redemption. We're calling it a win win!
Then it was back to the nude pool where Party Marc had the music, mic and madness in full swing. Today’s event: Naked ladies with basketball hoops around their waists trying to catch a swinging ball. It was like basketball met burlesque and everyone won. Tatas flying, balls bouncing—ESPN should pick this up. It would be a huge ratings win! Poolside snorkeling was everywhere, and so was the pie eating. Meanwhile, in the corners of the pool, “two-person jumping jacks” were happening. Use your imagination. Just remember, people—NO DNA IN THE POOL!
Dinner time with new friends joining us on our Egypt scuba trip. The plan was to talk pyramids and the Nile... but we ended up diving deep into our sexual escapades instead. Turns out we know much more about naughtiness than King Tut. The couple was lovely and possibly still recovering.
Nighttime brought us back to the heart of Hedonism—the piano bar—where the fabulous Michael made his glorious return. The crowd? Wild. The lyrics? Naughty. The vibe? Like Vegas got drunk and started stripping. Michael owns the piano bar like it’s a proabition speakeasy, and the guests? Let’s just say they sang like no one was watching… and laughed like everyone was.
We skipped the late-night spa playroom's naked naughtiness and the sexual moans from the nude hot tub. Why? Because 8am dives wait for no swinger, and my sexy mermaid wife needs her beauty sleep.
But don’t worry, folks—tomorrow’s another chapter in our erotic comedy of wickedness. So tune in again for more laughter, lingerie, lasciviousness, and the kind of oversharing that makes Facebook's bots nervous. Stay naked, stay hydrated, and gentleman, keep your snorkel clean!
Morning madness began, as usual, with the sacred hunt: Jacqui’s eggs! It’s like Easter with a hangover—scrambling around hoping for protein and forgiveness. We found ‘em, hallelujah! So the day started sunny-side-up and our cholesterol’s probably a little smug about it.
Enter friends at breakfast—smiles, laughs, and that warm fuzzy feeling that might just be the rum bleeding out of our pores. Either way, it’s beautiful.
Then we’re off to the dive shack—because nothing says “vacation” like strapping on dive gear and pretending we’re Jacques Cousteau on a mission but with less grace and more neoprene wedgies. First dive: Sands Club. Yep. Sand. All sand. Just us, grains, and a deep spiritual connection with beach towels.
Thankfully, The Arches came to the rescue—nature’s underwater cathedral with built-in fishy choir. We spotted puffers looking like the anxious introverts of the reef, a spotted drum doing its jazz hands, and a tiny octopus peeking out like, “You rang?” Weirdly comforting. We like our sea life a little voyeuristic.
Lunch? Back to the buffet, where grilled chicken is always on standby like your mom’s tuna casserole. But wait! Plot twist! Grilled pork chops *and* fried chicken! That’s not lunch—that’s a greasy love letter to our arteries. We devoured it like people who’ve never seen meat before.
Afternoon delight? To the nude pool, naturally. Marc’s spinning beats and tatas are bouncing like Jell-O at a trampoline park. We missed the foam party, which happened over at the clothing optionsl pool near Flame—because apparently, they don’t trust us naked folks with foam. Too much risk of disappearing mid-thrust like a naughty magician. “Abraca-gone!”
Dinner? Pastafari, our safe zone. It’s our comfort food date night. The main buffet was doing Chinese night, and we gave it the ol’ “meh” nod. Winston’s dancers came out again—flashy, fabulous, and more flexible than our morals—but we’ve seen the routine so often we can practically do it in our sleep, blindfolded, while holding a piña colada.
Piano bar? Michael tickling the ivories again like Billy Joel with a rum buzz. Judy wasn’t 100%, so getting her out was like convincing a cat to take a bath. But she rallied like a champ, soaked in the music, and we called it a night early to give her voice a fighting chance.
And now… tomorrow is Friday, also known as “let’s see how far we can push the human body before it files a formal complaint.” Expect public displays of affection, full-throttle naughty shenanigans, and the usual mix of naked hugs and cocktail-fueled chaos. If you’re feeling that dreaded DIF (Damn Island Fever), just know that we’re out here living it for you.
Until next time… keep your tatas high and your inhibitions easily thrown away!
It’s Hedonism II… where Groundhog Day meets Fifty Shades of Naughtiness! That’s right folks, we’re back again for another episode of Breakfast with Tiffany's Tatas. Of course the true breakfast stars are Jacqui the Egg Wizard, Camilla the Burrito Queen and Doreth, whose smile is so bright it tans your nipples at 20 paces. I mean seriously, these ladies aren’t just slinging eggs—they're breakfast enchantresses! One wraps it in a tortilla, the other beams over bacon like a proud pork fairy. Somewhere in this breakfast orgy, I’m pretty sure a baked pear winked at me.
And nothing, NOTHING beats breakfast with friends. It’s like being a kid again at Grandma’s house, if Grandma had body glitter, a sex swing, and served hash browns with a side of morning-after stories. Pure nostalgia… with nipples.
Then it's off to the dive shack, where we don neoprene like wet superheroes and plunge into the deep. Today: The Planes! One shallow, one deep—kind of like your exes. And while Negril’s wrecks aren’t exactly a marine life rave, we still saw some action. One brave, topless diver even tried to lure a shark with her glorious flotation devices. And wouldn’t you know it? A nurse shark came out for a look! That’s right folks, even the sea life at Hedo appreciates a good pair of tatas.
Lunch! Yes, the grilled chicken made another appearance—probably has a room named after it—but the pork chops, smoked and tender like they’ve been marinated in affection and whispered sweet nothings. Salad? Who’s she? Never heard of her.
Afternoon at the nude pool! Marc finished the week strong with his final soapy tatas car wash. It’s the only place on Earth where getting your butt scrubbed with soap bubbles counts as a “goodbye hug.” Public displays of affection? Try public demonstrations of gravity-defying pleasure! From pie-eating contests (don’t ask, don’t tell) to two-person jumping jacks that turned into full-on cardio-sutra. The pool is charged, the air is electric, and if you’re not catching the vibe, check your batteries.
Dinner was the Gala Buffet—its May so the lobsters are right off shore enjoy their naughty Hedo vacation, so tonight it's grilled shrimp. Sat with Joe and Shelly from Topless Travel, who are delightful and know all the best ways to pack light and party heavy. Great convo, even some that didn’t involve body parts or customs declarations!
Then… monsoon! Rain! Liquid sunshine falling sideways. The walkways turned into slip-n-slides, and every lady with a Brazilian wax nearly became a figure skater. But hey, after a week of glorious weather, it was time for the sunburned tatas to cool down anyway.
With the piano bar closed and the rain finally quitting, we went spelunking in the spa playroom. It was a little quiet… maybe the storm scared off the orgy? Or maybe everyone’s naughty bits and bobs needed a break. Either way, we still had our own fun. Because at Hedo, even a quiet night is spicier than a jalapeño in lingerie.
One more day, my fellow heathens! Time to squeeze the last drops of debauchery out of this Jamaican paradise. So lube up, strip down, and remember: today’s forecast calls for 97% chance of shenanigans… with a strong chance of moaning.
Saturday at Hedo—where the eggs are hot, the pool is nude, and the superheroes wear thongs instead of capes!
It’s the last day of Jacqui’s eggs—*cue dramatic weeping*! That woman’s smile could fry a dozen eggs with just one glance and warm your soul at the same time. She’s off tomorrow, so we savored every last yolky, joyful bite like it was a farewell tour.
Today, it was Bon Voyage Central as we said goodbye to a parade of new friends, hugging and reminiscing like we were at the end of a reality show reunion episode. And yes, plans were already being hatched for the next great escapade—because Hedo never really ends, it just naps between trips.
Now, the last two dives of the week: first up, Mike’s Reef—usually as lively as a nap convention. But wait! What’s this? Two spotted eagle rays gliding by like synchronized ballerinas with gills! One behind the other, doing their majestic aquatic drive-by just as we were prepping our safety stop. Naturally, we hit pause on safety because... EAGLE RAYS, BABY! Worth the nitrogen bubbles!
Then over to **Clark’s Reef**, a place we hadn’t seen since disco was still seen thing. Today, we remember why. Even the tata lady couldn't entice any marine life to suckel her breasts, and trust us they look delicious! Hats off (or fins off?) to the same Trimaine, Richard, Derrick, Tavon, and Orean—the *Avengers* of dive crews. Seriously, these guys are the standard—we rate other crews by how close they get to this legendary league. Spoiler: most don’t.
Lunch was a showdown: the main buffet had grilled chicken giving us the *finger*, but the rest of the buffet looked like it was phoned in. So we made a break for the Prude Beach Grill—where the burger, grilled cheese, and fries whispered sweet nothings to our tastebuds. *Mmmm, greasy unhealthy love.*
The nude pool? Ghost town. Just wet tumbleweeds. Most of our tribe had headed home, and a new crew was trickling in—**Rachel’s Rebels**, lovely folks with a vibe more "naked limbo and body shots" than the Silvers "let's see how many naked bodies we can get on one bed without damaging body parts" feel. Wishing them a magical week.
Dinner? Pastafari! Some love Flame for the steaks, but we’re here to say it—Pastafari’s got the real filet game, and air conditioning! That’s right, we like our meat medium rare and our dining rooms *refrigerated*.
Post-dinner? A quick sugar dessert rush at the coffee bar, where Winston’s crew was staging a hostile takeover of the stage—sexy show as usual.
Then we checked out the spa playroom—but the vibes were more “Netflix and nap” than “Fifty Shades of Oh My.” So we pivoted like horny ninjas and headed to the piano, where tatas pop out like prairie dogs on Red Bull. Michael’s at the piano, probably wondering how he got this gig and how he can *never leave*.
And then? A final look at the spa playroom… nah. Instead, we chased each other around our bed like hormone-fueled teenagers. BEST. DECISION. EVER
Next Naughty Trip...Egypt...Stay young at heart, naked when you can, and just naughty enough to keep life interesting. Because—that’s the way the way you really want to be!
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