Wilt Chamberlain has got me beat by the thousands, and Hugh Hefner never invited me to a party, but some people talk about my sex life when they've been drinking. I know this because of the cell phone messages I retrieved after returning to New York City from a four-night trip to Hedonism II in Negril, Jamaica...

"Hey Paul, I'm over at Who's on First and we're checking to see if your cell phone works in Jamaica. You're probably in a three-way right now and we want to know... Is it with two girls... [laughing] or two guys? Or a guy and a girl? Let us know."

"Hey Paul, I'm here with [four friends]. You're probably banging some 45-year-old fatty right now and we wanted to see how it's going. [Laughing]. Talk to you later."

Well, everyone, here it is. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. So help my tired body.

DAY 1 ARRIVAL: THE BIRTHDAY SUIT COMES OUT

The first guest I met was Belinda, a fairly attractive lawyer from Worcester I figured to be around my age (29). She was sporting big blue eyes and bigger breasts, the kind that make men stutter like Jamie Farr in Cannonball Run ("I'll have two milks.") and was having a drink at the prude beach bar with Renee, who either smokes a lot or had her vocal chords damaged in a tragic blowtorch accident.

My room on the nude side of the half-and-half resort had not been ready when I checked in, and so I still had on my khakis and Hawaiian shirt. I needed a couple of more shots of courage before going au natural, but I was by no means petrified. It was just a little nervous energy that I knew was going to dissipate. Not so for Belinda, who was making her fourth appearance to the resort and had yet to take the twins out for a walk. I pegged her as an ultra-wimp, and figured we wouldn't spend much time together. I was here to meet as many original people as possible.

A nude man and a topless woman walked up for a drink. I had read that the nudes sometimes wander over to the prude side, so I wasn't shocked. The couple was friendly, smiling and conversational. And no one was laughing or pointing at them. I wondered if Belinda was paying attention.

While walking back to the front desk, I turned down a chance to buy drugs for the sixth time. Three times upon arriving to the airport, once on the bus trip, and twice from Jamaicans at Hedo. These guys made the crews at Times Square and Cancun look like amateurs. But it was innocuous talk; they welcomed me to Jamaica with broad smiles and asked how I partied. I told them I had everything I needed.

"You let me know if you need something, mon. Smoke, coke, women. Let me know."

My single-share room was now ready, and I knew my assigned male roommate would not be there because the delay was in switching a king-size bed with two twins. (The word twins has many meanings in this report.) I could have afforded the $100 extra per night to have my own room, but this wasn't a trip about isolation, and I gathered that privacy could be found whenever it was needed. And if there was a real problem with compatibility, Hedo could switch people around.

A jovial bellhop named Tony took me and my bag into his small flatbed truck and drove me down the paths to my room. Along the way, I saw a bunch of nude people. No one was jumping out of the bushes to grope them. I thanked Tony with a five-spot and put away my money for good. There is no tipping at the bars, and nothing to pay for unless you're looking for drugs or hookers, and I wanted nothing to do with either.

One thing about going to a nude beach; it sure doesn't take long to get ready. I put suntan lotion on more spots than ever before, tossed a book (which I would never read), my iPod (which I would never listen to) and a towel into a bag, looked in the mirror. I didn't see anything worth laughing at and took a deep breath. I opened the door and took one step into the sunlight. As the door was closing, I remembered I had forgotten one thing: my room key.

I almost locked my bare ass out of the room on my first day.

I caught the door, went back in for my key, and walked down the path to the beach, where I saw maybe 50 naked people laying out. I went right up to the pool bar, which is half in the water and half out, and immediately recognized Brent from Champaign, who I'd met trading e-mails over Denny P.'s website. He was a mid-to-late '30s guy in good shape, and in one of our instant message conversations he had offered me a blowjob. Brent is bisexual, but I am not. I declined his offer, but told him I would pursue his company, because he'd been there a number of times and was a wealth of information before my arrival. He was hanging out with a couple of straight, single guys around my age (Mitch and Jesse) and we did what guys do. Shoot the shit and drink.

Brent told me to look over my shoulder, and that's when I saw a beautiful girl getting chocolate sauce licked off her fake breasts. She was sitting on the ledge of the pool with another gorgeous woman with perhaps the same plastic surgeon and a number of guys. Holy shit, I thought, and this is only 1 p.m.

I moved into the pool, while still hanging out, I guess quite literally, at the bar, where I met Scott from Allentown, a 16-time vet of the resort, and Bonnie, a pleasant older woman from Sacramento. We made the same small talk that is the norm for people just meeting: What's your name? Where are your from? Have you been here before? When did you get here? How long are you staying? I also saw the best bar sign ever: NO TITS, NO ASS, NO SERVICE.

After a few drinks, I headed for the men's room. Along the way, one passes the grotto, a small part of the pool guarded by a roof and a waterfall. Scott told me to make sure to peek in. I did, and saw three women with their heads between the legs of men sitting on the bench. I made a note to try to return to the grotto, even if it were to cost me a limb.

The liquor was starting to kick in for all, and someone yelled, "Naked waterslides!" I was invited to join an impromptu charge of around 20 people over to the prude side to raid the waterslide that starts around 40 feet high and twists and turns for eight seconds before splashdown and the eventual shooting of water up your nose if you're a first-time moron and don't know when to anticipate the splash. Like me. I hadn't wanted to script my trip by making a list of do's and don'ts, but the waterslide was something I was looking forward to you. I defy anyone to slide down it naked and not come up laughing like a kid. I really don't think it's possible.

After four runs down the slide, a dozen of us stayed on the prude side to play water volleyball. No one kept score. We even banned spiking to keep it friendly. The only ones who weren't laughing were the 15 or so prudes who watched from their pool chairs, probably wishing they had the guts to join our game, which included the two hottest women I saw all week. I wondered why the prudes had come to Hedonism II if not to join in such debauchery. Certainly there are nicer resorts where there is no nudity, and true voyeurs can do a lot better for themselves on the other side.

Upon returning to the pool, I saw Belinda chatting with another young woman with a killer trim body. She had made good on her promise to at least shed her top this week. I took a seat at the end of her chair and made conversation. One of the older guys from a large group (identifiable by a banner on one side of the pool; they also wore matching hats) also had met Belinda and came over to joke with her. The girls tried to introduce me but he didn't even look in my direction. I don't know if this was his regular way of "greeting" single males, but I didn't envy his manners.

Belinda got up and I stayed and continuing chatting with the other woman, Vanessa, a nurse who worked within an hour of NYC. I was shocked to learn she was 38 and had two teenage kids at home. It wouldn't be the last time I would underestimate someone's age. She was not married. I was just happy that it was this easy to meet single women.

The sun was setting, I made plans to meet Brent at the main dining room bar at 8 p.m.

When I went back to my room, my roommate had already moved in, but he must have been milling about the resort. On the counter were his smokes, a bottle of rum and a normal assortment of toiletries. There were no sex toys or porno mags, and that was a bit of a relief. I didn't care what anyone did outside, but I wanted the room to be a bit of a haven from the madness. Unless it involved five women.

There are no TVs in the rooms at Hedo II, so I guess I was reading a book when Gerald walked in. It didn't take him long to share that he was a 54-year-old lawyer who took a bullet in Vietnam, got divorced over 20 years ago, lost a longtime girlfriend of cancer last year and loves his daughters very much. I couldn't imagine what it must have been like for this sensitive man to have lost another 17-year-old daughter in a car accident.

This was all a new experience for me, but not for Gerald, who was very familiar with nudism and swinging. He was easy-going, pleasant, talkative and intelligent. In my mind, I had hit the jackpot. The last thing I wanted was to room with a nervous 20-something who thought they hand out blowjobs with the room keys.

DAY 1 NIGHT: I GET MY TICKET PUNCHED

Having just arrived from New York, I hadn't yet adjusted to how everyone moved slower. I had thought the bartenders at the nude pool were flakes, never paying attention to who had empty glasses, hardly ever looking anyone in the eye or saying "you're welcome" in response to my universal "thank you very much." The service at the main bar was the same, and I kinda wished tipping was allowed, if it led to better service.

I met up with Brent and his crew, and we headed to one of the eight-person tables. Before we sat down among the fully clothed crowd, a group of women stopped me for a "meat inspection." I had thought it was just to see if any dumbasses were wearing underwear. I pulled down my pants and they left a big blue "approved" stamp with their own initials to replace USDA.

I think there may have been only one woman sitting with us. I had expected a ratio of 5:1 of single guys to single girls, and it got a little slower meeting them after a quick burst in the beginning. I also had confidence that I was going to rank a bit higher up on the food chain than most of the single guys there, all things considered.

The buffet dinner has a fun dynamic. There was conversation, of course, and a lot of scoping around the room for people already met and those we wished to meet. I ran into Vanessa and told her I would see her later at the Pajama Party in the disco. She said she had brought something special from Victoria's Secret and I looked forward to seeing it. Because of the racy nightware that would be worn, cameras were banned.

After dinner I went back to change into what would constitute my pj's. I had looked online for fun men's clothes, but most of it was too S&M for my tastes, and so I went with a t-shirt depicting a picture of Gary Colemen above the word "Strokin!" I also threw on boxer shorts and sneakers, because I didn't feel like dancing in flip-flops. I felt like a total idiot.

I was an early arriver and hung at the bar. I looked ridiculous, but I fit right in. There was Naked Man in a cape. Others wore animal underwear, with a parrot or elephant's head covering their genitals. The crowd get larger, and I danced with god knows whom till I ran into Vanessa. She was wearing a white, lacey bodysuit and was looking hot. I quickly outdanced whoever else was hitting on her. I'm not a great dancer, but this was like a wedding; 29-year-olds are going to look pretty good on the floor.

The place heated up quickly, and I suggested we cool off with a naked waterslide, which Vanessa had not yet done. Neither of us had a problem stripping nude. We slid down a few times, and has to climb back up the stairs on front of a group of fully clothed visitors from another resort. Their jaws were on the floor, but I couldn't care less. I was having a lot more fun than they were. Vanessa and I had been a little bit flirty, but things weren't progressing as quickly as I'd hoped. I asked if she wanted to go to the hot tub on the nude side, which I had read and heard was a place where everything goes late at night. She ran into her travel companion, another single woman named Anita, but neither showed much interest. I had put too many eggs in that basket and was off on my own.

I went to check out the hot tub anyway. Some of the trip reports I'd read knocked single guys for going there to gawk. The problem was that there wasn't much else to do. There's a much better chance of having some kind of opportunity in the hot tub than by staying in the disco, which I had gotten tired of anyway. There were about 20 people there, some groping going on, mostly just hanging out. The only woman I recognized was Bonnie. I did not intend to do anything with her, but I wanted to pick her brain for the right way to act in the hot tub.

She sat down next to me, and I expressed my fear of being disrespectful or doing the wrong thing, which was a bigger concern of mine than getting an erection in public, getting my penis sunburned or going home without getting laid.

She said that single guys are very welcome by many people, and that I had nothing to worry about. That calmed me a great bit. So did her agreement with her husband: they can be with whomever they want when they're at Hedo. He was sitting on the other side of her, and I shook his hand when she introduced me. He looked like one of those guy who collects Civil War memorabilia, not because of a romantic feeling about the Old South, but because he may have served in the damn thing.

What was not calming was the threesome right next to me. Bonnie told me to look to the right, as if I didn't already know that one woman was getting pleased orally while giving another guy a blowjob. I told Bonnie that I was glad it was nighttime so no one could see what was going on below my waist. I think she grabbed me down under in less than half a second. I wondered what they called this planet I just landed on.

The next words out of her mouth were, "Do you want to go to my room?" I agreed and she gave me the room number and an order to wait five minutes. I guess it's a little more discreet that way, and this way I had time to chat more with her husband. Which I did not do, of course.

I brushed my teeth and headed over. I recognized something in Bonnie's room: me. Ceiling mirrors are standard. When we were done, I lied and said I was going to pack it in for the night. She lied and said she was going to sleep. We saw each other 10 minutes later in the hot tub. I saw Brent and chatted with him for a bit before leaving. On the way out I saw a woman with long, distinctive hair going down on a guy who was sitting on the edge of the hot tub. I made a mental note to look out for that girl during the week.

DAY 2: WAR WOUNDS

By the next day a lot of my Hedo questions had been answered, but a new one came up: Where the hell did these matching black & blue marks on the insides of my forearms come from? I almost convinced myself they were from dangling my arms along the hot tub wall, but they must have come from Bonnie. Several people noticed the war wounds in the upcoming days and I had to deny all use of handcuffs.

I chatted with my roommate a bit, asking the standard daytime question: Did you have fun last night? In the English-to-Hedo dictionary, this translates to, Did you get any action? He said, "Yeah, do you know that woman Bonnie?" I laughed my ass off. This place was unreal. I wondered if she also reminded Gerald, like she did to me, that she's be here all week and to let her know if I wanted to get together again.

I went back to the pool, ordered one of my many coconut rum & Cokes and chatted with Jose, a diminutive, funky spirit from Daytona Beach who has an advantage over other guests because he gets his sex toys at wholesale from a friend. I don't remember how I learned he is bisexual, but it stayed in my head. I told him he was a tri-sexual: he'd try anything.

Reports of guy-guy stuff was a lot more prevalent than I had imagined, though it was not public. That kind of action doesn't have the same social acceptability as straight or lesbian sex.

I saw Vanessa and Anita close by in the pool. I wasn't sure if Vanessa thought I was coming on too strong the previous night, but I got the signal to come on over. I hung out with them throughout the day. At one point, Brent yelled over, "Hey you're hoarding! There's two single women in this place and you've got one of 'em!" I guess that was good for my ego.

Vanessa and I headed for the nude beach, where we jumped on two small rafts and floated under the Jamaican sun. It was like stress never existed. While on my back, I followed the Rise & Fall rule. If my penis were to rise off my stomach, I'll fall the fuck off the raft before anyone could see it.

Upon returning to the pool, I also overheard a group of guys talking about a restaurant called Greasy Nick's. I imagined it had to be the same one that's a two-minute walk from the house I grew up in. Typical vacation story: travel 3,000 miles, meet people who live right near you.

I chatted at the pool bar with Brad from Knoxville, who was down at Hedo with a buddy of the same name. He was obviously new (pale as I was), and I'm not sure how comfortable he was talking to another nude man. He spent parts of his life in Tennessee, Alabama and Georgia — not exactly a trio of sexual liberation — but I guess he was down here (and without his girlfriend) for a reason. He opened up a bit more when I ran into him subsequently. And I could swear on my last day he left the hot tub with a blonde who was servicing him in the dark. He seemed a bit nervous then, too.

Everyone asks about pictures. One thing to know is that Hedo II is not a paparazzi scene. People come with the same attitudes about life, and they look out for each other. It's a friendly group, and anyone who violates the rule of "ask before you shoot" is going to be confronted. One man with a waterproof camera on the nude side was Tim, a personable 73-year-old beachcomber who was no stranger to Hedo. He said people don't have to worry about him posting pictures online because he doesn't know how to use the Internet. I give him credit for even knowing what a computer is.

Just like the day before, Brent asked if I wanted to join his group for dinner. I said I would appreciate a spot, but he didn't have to guarantee me one. I wasn't sure what Gerald's or Vanessa plans were, and plans could change on a dime around here.

On the way back to the room, I was walking close to a nude woman. She commented on how I needed to work on my tan. I said, "I don't tan well. I guess you can't be good at everything." She looked straight at my dick. I'm going to remember that line for a long time.

DAY 2 NIGHT: WHERE ARE ALL THE WHITE WOMEN AT?

Brent had an extra seat for me at his table, but I didn't want to leave Gerald alone. There are some simple gestures you can make that go a long way in life. Look out for a friend sometimes, even if you don't owe him anything. Knowing that I was petrified of spending too much time alone in this new environment, I tried to make sure not to leave anyone in a similar position.

We had a couple of drinks at the bar and sat down. They announced that it was Pimp 'n Ho night at the disco. I wish I had known. I have a lime green pimp suit, but I left it in New York.

I also ran into Kevin from Brooklyn and Rich and his wife from Tempe, with whom I'd exchanged e-mails before the trip. I was excited to meet them, because they had played the biggest role in convincing me to come. They had made a combined 30 trips, many times as single males, and I told them I was in the same situation and having a blast. They didn't have room for Gerald and me at their table but I told them I would catch up with them at Veronica's piano bar, which opened at 1 a.m.

Dinner was uneventful, and then I headed to Veronica's. I love live music, and I adore Pat O'Brien's, the lively piano bar on Bourbon Street, but this one was a lot more loungy. Dave the Peanis plays the notes and some of the longtime guests belt 'em out. I didn't see anyone I knew, so I headed to the disco.

I wondered if there was something going on at the resort that I didn't know about. I couldn't find anyone I knew. I took my friend's position (just give me a ball of yarn and I can have fun) and just drank and enjoyed the music, which wasn't bad. "It Getting Hot in Herre" ain't a bad selection down there.

But everything gets a little tiring, so I split for the hot tub, thinking maybe my friends were there. Along the way I saw four naked people (Carl from Cleveland, Abby, Jill and Jill's husband, Leonard), near the small prude pools. Abby asked me for a match, and I happened to have had one. She thanked me by shaking my hand and pulling it between her legs. I chatted for a minute and asked if I could join them. So I stripped down and talked about New York for a bit. Leonard mentioned how he'd go piss in the adjacent small pool rather than find a bathroom. I considered that to be incredibly selfish. I wanted to piss on Leonard. The very drunk women then went back to the disco; I continued to the nude side to see if I could find anyone I knew.

I was bored. The hot tub was dead. The piano bar, filled with the resort's older population, was closing down at 1 a.m., and discos have never been my favorite places, especially this one since this one attracted plenty of prudes, and I can hang with those people at home. I needed four days of stories and experiences, not something I could get at an Irish pub.

I was on a mission to at least stay out till 4 a.m., when the bars close in NYC. I wasn't too drunk and sure wasn't ready for bed. There was just no way I was going to bed that early when I could be home at Yogi's six blocks from my apartment.

So I ordered a beer at the nude pool bar, which is open till 2 a.m. Reggie, a Reno casino bartender, swam up and sat a couple of stools away. He struck up conversation with me. He was flamboyant as hell, but I appreciate the company of characters. I told Reggie I was just here to soak it all up and didn't have expectations, though I was now getting a little bored. He told me his plans were simple, as well. "I wanna fuck a man. I wanna fuck a woman. I wanna smoke a big cigar," he said. It was clear that Reggie wanted to smoke my cigar. I told I planned to only be with women, but had been offered more sex from bisexual men than chicks. He fed me a line about being "well hung" and said if I ever needed a great handjob I should let him know. I laughed.

At 2 a.m., Reggie asked if I wanted to go over to the hot tub and see what was going on. Definitely, what the fuck else am I gonna go? Plus, maybe we'd meet a couple where Reggie could get the guy and I would be left with dessert. Instead, a foursome broke out right near us. One guy was behind a girl, who was getting it on with another girl. I think the fourth guy was petting. When they were done, one girl extended her hand to the another and said, "By the way, what's your name?" Reggie and I looked at each other and almost fell over. Thank god I didn't; he may have tried to mount me.

As he did in the pool, Reggie inched closer toward me. It was getting too close for comfort, and I thought it was just stupid and rude. So I moved. Soon, the entire place had cleared, and I had the whole damn hot tub to myself. I looked at the stars, which are not visible in New York because of light pollution, and a whole Jimmy Buffet CD was playing. As crazy as the hot tub was, and as often as opportunities arise, I had hoped nobody would come in.

After maybe 20 minutes two couples came in. They started having sex rather quickly. I tried not to look too much (and apparently some people really want you to look), but I felt like if I got out of the tub every time a couple wanted to get amorous, I'd have nowhere to go after 1 a.m. Anyway, the session lasted forever, especially after the girls got together, and then I saw the greatest thing ever. One of the men got out of the hot tub, apparently having not remembered that some people fall ill to excessive exposure to the heat, and puked his guts out along the side. His girl seemed to be blocking the view so that I wouldn't see him in this extremely personal and compromising position. That, my friends, was the best view of the week.

Still too early to go to bed, I grabbed a pool lounge chair and sat there for a while just observing the people walking in and out of the area. Plenty of prudes come over, violating the resort's nude-only rule on that side. They always chickened out after taking a look. Among the most consistent complaints I heard was the disappointment in the prudes, who would come over and stare like we were zoo animals. I didn't care much. I felt sorry for them that they are so attracted to a lifestyle yet too bottled up to at least try it.

The hot tub was out of my line of vision, so it didn't matter where my eyes roamed. If I had had the same seat the next night, I'd have had a good view of the biggest outdoor sex romp of the week.

4:05 a.m. Yogi's is closed. Time for bed.

DAY 3: THE SOUND AND THE FURY

By noon, I'd awoken, showered and headed to my favorite spot: Delroy's nude pool bar. Same shit, different day, but this was Thursday and it was a promising one. A bunch of people showed interest in joining me on a clothing-optional cruise to Rick's Cafe, a popular bar/restaurant where the staff puts on cliff-diving exhibitions of up to 75 feet. Plus, it was Toga Night, and I thought the combination of a boatload of wasted vacationers and sexy dress-up with just a bed sheet would make for a wild night.

While waiting for Robert to cook me up a grilled cheese sandwich at the nude snack bar (I never ate lunch in the main dining room), I met an extremely friendly couple from Vancouver, Randy and Lynne. I recognized Lynne's hair, but not her face. That's because it was buried in her husband's lap two nights ago in the hot tub. At least I think it was. These people were so nice, I couldn't even imagine them being at Hedo. But then again, I'm nice... mostly. Lynne complained about the service, and I agreed with her. She said she couldn't get any attention from the staff, which I found to be odd, because I had a staff that was more than eager to help her.

Randy and Lynne had also planned to take the 3-6 p.m. sunset cruise, and I had convinced Gerald and Vanessa to join me as well. While waiting to pay, I introduced Lynne by the wrong name, which happened to be Gerald's deceased swinger girlfriend's name. It threw him for a loop, clearly disrupting his thinking for a while, and I made sure to never broach that topic again, even if by accident.

There were maybe 15 people on the cruise, and it was clear most of them were prudes. This put a damper on my plans. I had hoped it would be not only clothing-optional but condom-optional and position-optional. It was not to be.

In the rear was a group of 4-5 20-something males, a true mini-frat. I hadn't seen them before, so they must've been prudes, because packs of young guys on the nude side stick out. I wouldn't suggest Hedo as a great vacation for groups of dudes. You're not gonna run into packs of single women, and it's probably harder to bullshit some chick into thinking you really dig whatever size breasts she has if your buddies are laughing at you from close range.

Vanessa and I were the only ones who stripped down, and we had to do it at the front of the boat. A party this was not, though I hear plenty of ganga was being token up in the back. I didn't even finish one drink on the trip out to Rick's, but I was having a good chat with Vanessa, and I was tanning on a boat naked. Just one more thing to cross off the "I Never" list.

We had to transfer from our larger boat to a smaller powerboat in order to get closer to Rick's dock. The two boats were really bouncing and I knew this wasn't the safest leap, drunk or not. Gerald and I made it safely, but Vanessa fell backward and her side fell hard into the small boat's bench. Make so mistake, this was a full-fledged thud. Two thoughts went through my mind: 1) we have to get a hospital; and 2) there goes the animal sex I was planning.

Vanessa swore she didn't need to go to the hospital. With her being a nurse and Gerald having been wounded in Vietnam, there wasn't much I could offer that those two couldn't figure on their own. So after getting her some ice for her side, I grabbed a Red Stripe tried to get away for a few minutes. Gerald was worried that he was moving into my territory and I told him not to worry about it.

Soon thereafter, the disco version of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" was playing. I've seen this song elicit some strange reactions, mostly bleeding ears and nausea, but it drew tears from Gerald. Turns out it was his and his gal's song. He excused himself and apologized. I told him not to worry. Later that evening, he said the episode shook him up a bit, and he was feeling guilty for chasing after one of the black girls who was friendly toward him. I told him he had nothing to be guilty about, and that he should go after all the black girls he wanted, 'cause the only girls I had met were white. Hey, I can be sensitive, too.

I treated the three of us to a cab ride back instead of taking the long return boat ride. I thought it would save Vanessa some back pain from the rocking boat, and I could get back to the resort quicker during the daytime hours, which were always the most fun for me.

When we returned, Gerald told me that Vanessa had called me, "quite the gentlemen." I reminded him that that only goes so far. For these four days I'd rather be a labeled a jerk with a big penis.

There was a little sunlight left, and this was my favorite part of Hedo, mingling at the pool bar after a few hours of drinking and the sun wasn't too hot. I hung out with Bonnie for a while, telling her that I had just tonight and one more left before returning home. She asked how my time was and I told her I don't regret for a second that I came, that being a single guy made things a little tough at night but that I came to experience something different, and I was certainly getting my money's worth. She told me, in no uncertain terms, "I still want to screw you before you go home." I told her I appreciated that, but in the back of my mind I knew that wasn't going to happen. She said all I had to do was give a signal, like a pat on her ass, and we could go somewhere. Now why can't it be this easy at home? I guess for some people it is.

Vanessa returned from checking in with her roommate, and she finally decided to join me in the hot tub, which is also a popular hangout in the pre-dinner hours. I'm not saying I wanted her to be influenced by anyone's actions, but if a 100-person orgy broke out, I wouldn't have been disappointed. That's when she dropped the biggest erection-killer this side of computing long division or trying to name the Presidents in order: she asked if I could "just have sex" with the women in front of us, as if it that situation would present a moral conflcit. Of course not, I explained, some of their men are here and they may not like that.

I think she was looking for something else. Now I was looking for someone else.

It was getting dark as I walked back to the room, and I passed the jacuzzi in the nude pool, where I could swear I saw Randy kneeling behind Lynne and playing a game of hide the salami. Again, I couldn't believe it. This nice couple doing that in front of people? Maybe I was just seeing things. After all, it was getting dark.

DAY 3 NIGHT: THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

Thursday night was the Toga Party, and I had no idea how to tie one, but in the end it worked out OK. One bed sheet and a pair of adidas flip-flops. Just like Julius Ceaser himself.

Gerald and I headed to the dining room, where I ran into Lynne and Randy again. A guy with a camera asked to take their picture. They obliged — Randy posed with his hand on her left tit — after the photographer insisted that the pictures would not end up on the Internet. (98% of the world is online, but apparently no one who goes to Hedo knows how to use a computer.) Lynne had said that she didn't want her kids to see the photos. I thought maybe they had a couple of tykes running around, but she was soon to be a grandmother, even though she was yet to turn 40. I told her she was a soon-to-be-GILF, hoping she'd understand the "I'd like to fuck" inference. Alas, I had to explain the acronym — in front of her husband.

I told Lynne that being a single guy was a little tough, that more men had offered me sex than women, and she boosted my ego quite a bit by looking directly in the eye and saying, "Oh, I can't believe that." Naughty thoughts ran through my head rather quickly.

As we ate another so-so buffet dinner, Gerald spotted a couple of attractive females sitting at an adjacent table with a few of the annoying Italian guys. When they went to the bar, he told me to go up there to get a drink and strike up conversation. Being the ever-willing wingman (with an agenda of my own) I obliged.

Their names were Lisa and Laura, both apparently married, and both staying at the neighboring sister resort, Grand Lido. They had purchased guest passes for the night, which anyone can do to stay on the Hedo II grounds from 5 p.m. - 2 a.m., just enough time to sample the craziness and decide if a full-fledged vacation there was something one could handle. They were friendly and quizzical, but perhaps a bit judgmental for my tastes. They seemed to perceive the crowd as weird, as opposed to just different from them. Lisa told me that one of the Italians, Guiseppe, had followed her into the women's room. That was the only time I was truly angered to hear about someone's actions. Nothing is more prized at Hedo than freedom, and too much aggressiveness can kill the entire environment.

Next to our table was another 30-something couple. The woman was attractive, and there was no doubt was was on their minds: find a chick to join them. Their eyes followed every good-looking gal in the room, and were transfixed on a tight-bodied young chick whose toga did not extend past her waist, where a g-string covered the rest. I never found out the basis of their relationship, but they hardly ever talked, and rarely smiled, although I did see the woman beaming later in the disco when she was dancing with one of the local Jamaican hotties. They were going to have a good night, for sure, but not without company.

After dinner was a talent show, where the bravest guests got on stage and entertained. One of the nude-side vets sang "Walking in Women's Underwear," (sang to the tune of "Walking in a Winter Wonderland") during which six of his male buddies did just that across the stage. One of the guys who refused to acknowledge me a couple of days early strutted on stage in crotchless panties. I think it was a present from god himself. Another man sang a song called "Nobody's Business But Mine," which included these lyrics: "If I don't find something to stick my dick in/I'm just gonna have to jerk my chicken." A fist-pumping motion accentuated the song.

I summized that I did not have enough talent to compete with these guys.

Gerald was still reeling from the reminder of the his ex-girlfriend and confided in me that was getting soaked in the booze. I told him not to worry about it, and I made a mental note to look after him if it was getting too much for him.

I saw Anita and Vanessa at the dining room bar after dinner, and they had found a couple of guys to keep them company, and I was happy for that. I didn't want to pursue that any longer, but Vanessa said she still had my sunglasses in her room, because I had left them in her bag when we went to Rick's Cafe. Normally I would consider that a stoke of luck, but I went back with her to her room and just picked up the glasses, then back to my room to change out of the toga for clothes more appropriate for the disco.

I had heard that hookers come into the resort at night to pick up business, but I had not seen any until this night in the disco. It was obvious to me that a tall, wiggly, attractive Jamaican gal with an exposed thong was a pro, but bells weren't sounding in whatever brain was in the head of the muscular, tattooed trailer-park trash dude dancing with her. They were grinding quite a bit, and he was admonished a couple of times for trying to kiss her. You would think he would have the sense to know that an overly aggressive chick who no one had seen before might be a working girl, but I really don't think he would have understood even if she was wearing an "I'm a Hooker, and I Cost Money," t-shirt.

A while later, I saw them at the disco bar, and she dropped the bomb on him. He threw his head back in shock and giggled in that, "Oh man, I can't believe I fell for that," look and quickly joked with the bartender that, "she broke my heart." I was standing a few feet away and it took her two seconds to rub up against me and say hello.

"I know what you're going to ask and the answer is no," I said with as much of a smile as I can muster for people who are disingenuous. She smiled and walked away.

Gerald pointed towards an older woman in the corner and said that if I was looking to get involved in a threesome that I should talk to her. I would rather have had a threesome with suntan lotion and a jizz rag.

I ran into the hot pocket rocket who was wearing the g-string at dinner. She was fit as a fiddle and said she had just arrived that day with a group of co-workers. (You have three seconds to guess what industry.) She was an "exotic dancer" (I have never said those words in my life) and danced like a champ on the floor; not slutty, just with great rhythm. The problem for me, a non-club-type who could outdance just about every older while male on the grounds, is that the disco was heavily populated with local Jamaican men who have no body fat to speak of and moves that put me in my proper place. Diagnosis: no shot.

I went down to the hot tub and chatted with Brent. I said that even though I was wildly interested in the whole Hedo scene and was generally interested in talking to as many people as possible, I wasn't having as much fun at night, when people starting passing out and shacking up and the single-male ratio thinned out the opportunities. And I don't mean just for sex. The sheer interaction of people wasn't as prevalent as, say, a NYC dive bar, because there's something about naked straight men talking to other naked straight men in the dark that just doesn't make for easy conversation.

After a bit the hot tub was thinning out and Gerald came in to sit in an opposite corner. This was the part that was so boring, wanting to chat with someone close by but not wanting to ruin his — or your own chances — of meeting a woman. Soon a pretty, young black girl came to sit next to him, and again it was clear to me that she was a hooker. They chatted for quite a bit and left after maybe 30 minutes. I didn't care how he chose to spend his money, but I didn't want him to be disappointed. I talked to him the next day about it, and he said he knew the whole time and was just having fun seeing how far he could get. Doesn't sound like much fun to me, but to each his own.

The night was starting to resemble the previous one, me generally bored, but trying to look on the bright side: naked in a hot tub under the stars in Jamaica. I've been in worse spots, but I still longed for home.

Off in the distance, around 75 feet away and not too visible except for shadows, I saw a group of people having more fun than me. Resort-wide reconstruction of Hedo had ended recently but there was some drilling doing on near a tree. A woman was on all fours between two guys and they were giving it to her with all their might. No sooner than they get started than seven other people gathered in a circle within 10 feet of them. Some people don't appreciate gawkers, but if you're gonna have group sex by a tree in the most sexually charged area of the resort, you're gonna attract and audience, and I guess that's why you do it.

I stayed put, having absolutely no experience in these matters, but I observed the scene. One Italian guy pulled up a chair and sat akimbo as is he was watching a movie. I didn't see where his hands were and I didn't want to know. This went on for quite a while and, while I wasn't certain, I figured there had to be plenty of trading off. I learned the next day — all details spread the next day — that three men had sex with the woman and that a fight almost broke out between her husband and an overly aggressive male who assumed he was invited to join. I don't know what kind of arrangement was made with the others.

Closer to me, just outside the hot tub were a couple of Jamaican girls dressed in togas and two men in regular clothes. They were already violating the rules of no clothes on the nude side, and they weren't talking to their men. Hookers, I knew. One of them came over to me and asked if I wanted some company. "I'm not going to pay for anything," I said. She asked me why I thought that of her but I spared her the long list of obvious clues — makeup at 3 a.m., nearby men to serve as protection, never seen her before, wearing clothes — but she left rather quickly with her crew.

I had an hour to go before making good on my promise to not go to bed before the bars closed back home in New York. A couple of Italian guys made sure I didn't enjoy the outdoor experience that long. They came into the hot tub area and circled, perhaps hoping someone would say hello or call them over. Then instead of situating themselves in the empty corner, they sat apart from each other within 10 feet of either side of me. I looked straight ahead and shook my head to try to ward them off, but when I did glance at them, they were looking right at me. Bed time. I wasn't about to spend a half-hour trying to convince these guys I wanted nothing to do with them.

DAY 4: LET IT RIDE

Being in a new environment, I had been nervous all week long about committing a faux pas that would label me a leper for the rest of the stay. Now I was looking at my last full day on Planet Hedo (there's no way this place exists on earth) and I had a little more courage.

After showering, I went to the Internet Cafe to post on my message board an update of how things were going. I knew that while my friends and coworkers feigned interest in my trip, they were salivating for details.

When I returned to the room, Gerald produced a package of Sweet & Low with a phone number on it. Seems he got more than coffee on his trip to the dining room for lunch. He met a woman who said she was getting divorced in two weeks, and she wanted him to call her, but for now she had just one message: "Ignore me."

I gotta hand it to Gerald. He's 25 years my senior, carrying more baggage than an Airbus, and he's coming up with better stories than me. And I hadn't even mentioned the woman who rolled down his condom with her mouth. Unfortunately, I never got to see how Gerald worked his mojo. I was hoping to pick up a tip.

I saw Vanessa just before she departed from New York. We didn't talk much and didn't exchange contact info. I would have never predicted that a couple of days earlier, but the spark was totally gone for both of us.

I was totally geared up for another day at the pool bar, where I was determined to mack it up with any new single females who may have happened to stumble upon this Jamaican playpen. It turned out that I would have the most fun with some new couples, Brenda and Mason from Nashville and Suzie and Butch from Reno. Brenda was a Hedo friend of Bonnie — they're in the same group that returns every year — and she stood next to me perky as can be at the bar. We shot the shit for a bit, stalled at times by Mike from Hartford, a total nerd with bad teeth who was standing on the opposite side of Brenda. But each guy gets a shot, so I can't fault anyone for trying.

Brenda charmed my pants off — or she would have if I had been wearing any. She was very impressed with job and my guts for coming down here, and she was shocked that I didn't have a girlfriend. "Boy, if you lived in Tennessee, you'd have 20 girls all over you." I told her I was going to check on airfare as soon as I got home.

I started a conversation with Butch about his 9/11-related tattoo. He was a former New Yorker, now married and living in Reno with Suzie, who said she got her clit pierced as a surprise for her husband. They also had children at home, and my mind was flooded with how much the suicide rate would jump if all these kids knew that their moms and dads were fucking their brains out in public and showing off their pierced genitals for anyone with a smile.

Butch wanted to do a shot. I hadn't seen anyone do a shot all week, but if this guy wanted to get drunk and pass out and leave his wife lonely, that wasn't going to be my problem. I agreed to do Jack Daniel's with him. In fact, I agreed to do three with him, but called off the dogs after that. This guy was flying, though. I'd never seen anyone laugh so hard after I described one woman as a Butterface ("She's got a nice body, but her face..."), which I thought as an old joke. I told him that a Butterface is the same as Cleveland Brown or a Penn Stater ("Nice uniform, ugly helmet").

As expected, this crew started to get frisky. Suzie was giving Brenda a massage, and Brenda later got her breasts massaged by Bob's and Jose's tongues. (Jose was as ubiquitous a presence at the pool bar as I was.) I didn't partake in any of the sucking. Not because I didn't admire Brenda's funbags but because there was no way I was going to sop up either Butch's or Jose's saliva. And besides, Lynne and Randy were sitting next to us, and no one was better company all week. Plus I wanted to look at Lynne's naked body one last day.

An older couple moved in to the Touchy Feely Olympics, including an older man whose bare ass was squeezed to within an inch of my arm. Randy and Lynne politely moved over one stool for me. Interesting, there was almost no bar stools at Hedo, presumably to make it easier to get a drink. And thank god, considering how hard it was with the shoddy service. Well, shoddy compared to the fast-paced world of NYC bartending, but I found the service to be not just slow, but rude.

With all this sharing next to us, Lynne and Randy told me that they only did things together but described themselves as exhibitionists. I had to find out once and for all if it was them I saw boning in the pool jacuzzi the day before. I think I said something vague like, "I thought I saw you guys in the jacuzzi yesterday, but I wasn't sure." They denied it as pleasantly as one can after just being asked if you were fucking in front of 20 people.

At this point, I was really starting to fly from the booze. I didn't care, though. It was my last full day and I was going to burn out rather than fade away. Still, wanted stamina for the night, so I retired to the room to rest before dinner. Only I didn't return with my sunglasses; they had been stolen off the beach chair where I left them.

Gerald was hanging out and he saw me taking notes for this report. He was always willing to share information, like the way he heard one woman describe her husband: "If you don't feed him at 1 p.m., he gets cranky. If you don't let him eat you out at 1 a.m., he gets cranky."

I may have been surrounded by people 15 years my senior, but at least they had a sense of humor.

I told Gerald that while everyone was drinking all day, there weren't a lot of people getting out of the pool to go to the bathroom. "You don't think they're all pissing in the pool, do you?"

"Oh, I wouldn't be surprised a bit."

Fuck, not the answer I was looking for.

I also got a little history lesson in swinging, how AIDS almost killed the lifestyle, and why safer nudist camps popped up all over. He mentioned Plato's Retreat, a legendary swinger's club in New York and said that a lot of Hedo stuff goes on at a place called Sunny Rest, open only during the summer, in New Jersey.

DAY 4 NIGHT: I GET THE STORY

Gerald and I joined Brent and his crew for dinner, where I sat next to Nikki, a, Eastern European gal who lives in New York. I had not met her, but I recognized her name. She was beautiful, maybe even younger than 30, and a lot of guys had put in time with her. And for at least a couple of them, their time paid off. I didn't find her very easy to talk to. Her English wasn't the best, and her answers were too short. I like dialogues, not interviews.

Dinner was followed by a circus show, which wasn't bad, but I've seen Cirque de Soleil, so that's a pretty high bar to clear. Afterward, it was more of the same: disco and piano bar. I was tired of both, and I decided that I would spend my last night in my favorite spot, the nude pool bar.

Even though it was cool and empty, I didn't mind sitting by myself, in the water, away from the couples, away from the "working" of the few single females on the grounds. And, for a change, it wasn't hard to get a drink. Bonnie walked by and came in the water to have a drink with me. This was the first time in my life I was sitting next to a woman, both naked, who would have sex with me at the drop of a hat, and I wasn't interested. But, truth be told, Bonnie was much older than me, though I don't know the numbers and care not to know.

I was really interested in finding out where Brenda was, but I didn't want to be rude by asking Bonnie about the whereabouts of another woman. So I just asked where "the crew from before went." She confirmed my biggest fear: they'd spent themselves during the day and were probably asleep.

Butch and Suzie came to the bar, too, just to get a drink and head to the hot tub. They had fallen asleep, too, but rallied to come back out at 1 a.m. Butch was still wasted, and he did another shot. God bless alcoholics. I didn't sense that Suzie was too friendly to single guys, so I didn't join them.

2 a.m. arrived, and the pool bar closed, but I still wasn't going to bed that early. So I went back to my room to put my clothes on and see what was going on in the disco. Not much, really, and again the locals dominated the dance floor. I was walking around the grounds and recognized a woman I had met on the prude side earlier playing pool alone. She was high as a kite, could barely communicate and was a shadow of her somewhat friendly self that I had met before. We played a game, and I was eager to get out of there, and she was eager to go pass out or throw up or whatever she was gonna do.

Back to the hot tub. Bonnie was screwing her husband. A couple of Jamaican fellas aggressively swam up to the few couples were came in. They didn't seem to be having much luck, and I thought none of us was going to have much luck if they kept doing that. But what did I know? Three nights of experience does not an expert make. One of them chatted with a black couple that didn't seem too interested in his company, but they sure weren't pushing him away. I wasn't sure how that situation would turn out, but I figured it was either going to be with a violent argument or a violent three-way. I didn't stick around to find out. I headed back to the room to chill out, with the intentions of returning later to find a new crowd.

Our room was empty when I returned around 2:45. I really didn't see a helluva lot of Gerald, outside of dinner, during the week, and I wondered where that dog was. Wherever he was, I wished him luck. So I just read my Gene Simmons autobiography, a frivolous read, but more than appropriate for this trip.

At 3:30 a.m., I headed out for my last nude hot tub shift. Come hell or high water, I was going to make it to 4 a.m. and call it quits. To my dismay, the Jamaican guys were still there, and so was the black couple. There were maybe two or three other couples sitting together.

Shortly thereafter the black couple was having sex across the way from me. The guy was behind her, and I was too far away to hear anything, so I don't know if one of the Jamaican guys got a verbal invite or what, but he jumped onto the hot tub's ledge and made his dick available for her mouth. She accepted it with open jaws. No one seemed to mind, lest the guy who brought the girl there. That went on for 5-10 minutes, at most. Afterward, the three left and the remaining Jamaican also left, perhaps distraught at his bad luck.

That left me, two couples and a Swedish guy who was a pure voyeur. Instead of hanging against the rail of the hot tub, minding his own business, he would swim around to get the best vantage point of the action. None of the couples cared, and I guess they would retreat to their rooms if they did.

One platinum blonde chick was playing with herself on the ledge, so I knew this party wasn't dead yet. Her and her husband came out of the hot tub and when they returned, they sat right next to me. Mind you, the whole tub was free. Something was up. Things happen quickly down there, and so I don't know how one of the women was caught between her husband's love muscle and the platinum blonde's breasts, but that's where she was, moaning as if she was giving the resort an early wake-up call.

I was sitting on the ledge, in part to cool off from the hot water, and in part to strike a sexier pose than sitting under water. I didn't get aroused, but it wasn't easy to prevent it.

When they were done, the women kissed and one of the couples left. The other got out of the pool and went to the pool chair directly behind me. This left me and the voyeur, and I was ready to leave, but I thought I'd give to remaining couple one more time to get freaky.

My back was to them and that's when the husband came crouched down next to me and said something I don't often hear: "Would you like to join my wife and me?"

I didn't even practice what kind of answer I would give in this situation, but I responded, "Well, I only go with women."

"No, no, no, me too. I don't go that way at all," he assured me. That the verbal contract I needed: I'll play, but not with some dude.

He introduced himself as Aaron from Tallahassee and he brought me over to his wife, Corrine, where she gave me the ground rules. I could touch anywhere but one spot and she would give me something in return. Vito Corleone himself never made an offer this good.

We had our own little audience. The Swedish voyeur was still lurking in the pool, and he was looking straight at us. One of the Hedo II security guards halted his walk through the grounds to get an eyeful. My leg was shaking a little, and I don't know if it was from being cold, nervous or just being in a Twister-like position. I'm going with the cold, because my leg stopped shaking when I walked back with the couple to their room.

From there the ground rules were dropped. And I learned that they don't do anything like this at home. (Something about the kids.) Two roosters and one hen till 6:30 a.m. Lots of breaks for them to have cigarettes and do coke. I did not partake in any drugs down there; couldn't figure out why someone would need something unnatural to get high in a land of, well, hedonism. I did learn of the effect coke a man's ability to perform, and I had to do most of the work. I'm not complaining about it. I excused myself long after the sun rose to go back to my room, just a few doors down. That was one of the oddest feelings in the world. Gerald was sound asleep.

DAY 5: Departure

My bus to the airport didn't leave till 3 p.m., so I had a few hours at the nude pool to chill. For the first time all week, I wasn't looking to hook up. After the night before I couldn't do anything even if I tried. I hung out with Brent and traded stories. He had a 2:30 p.m. appointment with two gay men, Frank and Ricardo, and Gerald had a 3 p.m. appointment with Bonnie. What a world.

This day was all about relaxation, and so I got a raft and floated on the ocean naked for 20 minutes. Back home my coworkers were slaving for a media empire, and I was in total euphoria. So was a guy on the beach who was getting a blowjob from his girl.

Later I was having a drink at the pool bar with Brent and I asked how the rest of the single guys did on the trip. "Well," he said. Everyone got laid." Good for them, I thought.

I also ran into Brenda, who told me that she and her husband live in a nudist community and that they have an open relationship, although they must tell the spouse before doing anything. She said she especially likes to watch him with another woman.

Before I left, I told Brent my summary of the trip, pointing at the 400 square-foot hot tub and saying, "If this whole place blew up except for that hot tub, people would still come from thousands of miles away just to be here." He thought that was a dead-on observation. He also told me he was 52 and I laughed at misjudging his age by 15 years. I promised him I'd put that in this report.

At 2:45, I started putting on my clothes, violating the nude-only rule for the first time all week, but I was sporting long pants and so it was clear I was about to board a plane. I said a long, friendly goodbye to all the people I'd met, handing out business cards and promising to send them this report when it was done. I had met so many great people, and I was sad that they lived in other parts of the country. They were wonderful people and I told them so.

Everyone asked if I would come back, and I told them I would under the same situation, but I was looking for a girlfriend back home, and my definition of a couple is not what I experienced at Hedo. I was also spent after four nights and was really looking forward to returning home. I have no doubt, however, that there will be plenty of moments in NYC where I would wish I could transplant myself in front of a rum and Coke at the nude pool bar and talk with the most original and friendly people I have ever met.

QUICK STATS FROM THE TRIP

Median age of people met: 42
Percentage of women who shave their privates: 50
Percentage of men who shave their privates: 20
Women I saw who would classify as truly hot: 3-5
Number of times approached by a hooker: 2
Number of public sex acts seen: around 15
Items stolen: Digital camera ($400), sunglasses ($50), safe lock ($50)

COMMENTS? QUESTIONS?

E-MAIL ME YOUR THOUGHTS