We arrived at the resort around 9 p.m. The rain had forced the majority of the patrons into their rooms and the grounds were nearly empty.
An hour later, we were sitting in a buffet hall with four other couples (seated separately), all roughly in their 50's, while "Africa" by Toto played softly in the background. At approximately $900 a night for a basic garden-view room, I was legit concerned that we had wasted our funds and, more importantly, vacation time.
Fast forward twenty-four hours and a beautiful Siberian woman has her face buried deep between my legs near a hot tub. At the gentle coaxing of her hot boyfriend, she pushes a finger into my ass. Huh.
J and I had been together for just over seven years, and while we love each other very much, "The Itch" was getting real. Something needed to be done, but we just didn't know what. Being the conductor of all such relationship-type things, I took the lead on the investigation.
We had never ventured outside the confines of traditional marriage, so when friends told us of their recent experience at a Mexican swinger resort, I went online and found a luxury nude / "lifestyle" (read: swinger) establishment that focused more on nudity and bravely proposed my plan to J. It wasn't completely out of the realm of reality; we frequent a local nude beach in the summer, and one time in high school I kissed Cathy LaGuard* on the lips at an après-ski party. After a little coaxing (too little?), I got J on board and booked our next adventure.
In the weeks leading up to our departure, however, my bravery wore thinner and thinner. Anxiety seeped in as I desperately tried to draw up ground rules for a game I knew nothing about.
"Ok, but no actual sex, right? Like it's cool to make out with someone in, say, the club, but we're not actually going to fuck other people if it's all an insane orgy every day, right?" I would ask, eyes darting frenetically, searching for some affirmation in J's face.
I imagined I would be wildly batting away all kinds of dicks as they flew around my face and it was freaking me out.
"It's not going to be like that, dummy," He'd confidently responded. "The sex isn't going to be all in the open; there's no way. I'm sure it happens but it's going to be behind closed doors." Sensing my despair at the non-answer, J kissed my forehead and reassured me that of course there would be no full-on sexin' other people.
In hindsight, there was no way he could have known that. You can find restaurant menus and pictures of the accommodations online, but there really isn't explicit information on exactly when, where, and how all the sex happens. I read every review of the resort for clues to prepare us for exact scenarios to no avail.
We tell our friends and family that we are checking into the neighboring non-sex resort, and I nervously provide too many details about that resort to anyone who asks about our upcoming vacation and some to those who didn't ask at all.
You see, I'd read all the reviews for the alibi resort, too, just in case I was questioned and needed to rattle off resort details off the top of my head.
(No one questions me on the resort details.)
Finally, the day arrives. After a breezy pass through customs (we only packed carry-ons; we're going to be naked for the most part, right?) and transfer to the resort, J and I are sitting in the lobby sipping champagne, as the woman at the front desk rambles on and on about The Rules. We sign a waiver that has a bunch of stuff in it, but essentially the rules are two-fold:
#1 - No means no.
#2 - No pictures. She covers our phone cameras with a highlighter orange sticker.
We end up meeting many of the patrons over the next few days and it's clear why they put such an emphasis on #2.
Some of these folks are rich. Not just of the got-my-bonus-gonna-buy-me-a-sailboat variety, but like my company-did-a-quarter-billion-in-sales-last-year rich.
They're also older (for the most part). Although there are a few couples our age, the average age veers towards late forties. The crowd is predominantly awash with rich old white guys and women sporting frozen faces and augmented breasts, lips, and cheeks. They look fucking amazing.
The women walk around in elaborate outfits, clearly procured from fetish stores. Although there are specific theme nights, it's common to see ladies wearing just nipple pasties, or vagina-exposing wrap skirts. I brought a singular backpack filled with items from J-literal-Crew peppered with risqué pieces from Vic's Secret. I thought chucks would be appropriate footwear on account of all the hiking we were going to do (a grave error in judgment that I'm constantly reminded of with the clack-clacking of Lucite stilettos in every direction).
We meet Morgan and Svetlana, a couple from NYC just in for the weekend, at the hot tub bar. Both in their thirties, the two are the closest in demographic to J and me that we have met so far, except they're super sexy and veteran swingers. In fact, they won their resort vacation from a Halloween costume contest that Svetlana, with her flowing white-blonde hair and stone-gray eyes, won at a sex club back home (she showed me the picture; it was a solid win). Morgan, of the classic tall/dark/handsome variety, has been in "The Lifestyle" for over ten years, and recounts the various ways he has brought his girlfriends into his world. "It's the girls, man." He laughs, "The women find out about it and they always want in."
And he's right. It is the women. The sexually-charged atmosphere begins when the women emerge from their rooms, confidently baring it all: old, young, large, small, stretch marks, surgery scars, all of it. There is little, if any, judgment in this setting and everyone looks hot as hell.
Morgan goes on and on about his experiences as a swinger, while Svetlana, who hails from Russia and speaks very heavily-accented English, pays little to no attention to the conversation, flitting around the hot tub (which is now empty except for us; most people have made their way back to their rooms to prep for the nightclub) until she finally explodes. "Morgan, will you shut up? We are all bored as hell and you are giving me a headache."
It's a little awkward, because, honestly, it was getting a little boring, but I can't stop asking questions because otherwise what are we supposed to be doing? All the veteran swingers we have met so far have one thing in common (well, aside from the polygamous sexin'): they love talking about it. Similar to veganism or CrossFit, the topic of The Lifestyle consumes the conversation. Everyone has their story and will talk about it to anyone who will listen, to a point where it becomes difficult to imagine them doing anything else other than looking sexy and acting sexual. For example, there's zero fucking way Svetlana and Morgan have ever Netflix'ed all night and exclaimed, "awww whhhaaaatttt?" over Frank Underwood's political savvy. In my mind, they met at a sex club, have sex all day, and then meet other people at night to have sex with. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Speaking of lather, let's head back to the hot tub.
Luckily, I don't have to take action because Svetlana is a pro. The tiny bird-like waif comes up behind me and swoops me into her arms like I'm a baby. She laughs and flutters around the hot tub, holding me, and I'm put at ease, because, quite frankly, the scene is hilarious. The guys have started talking about real estate in our respective cities, and Svetlana is dragging me around as I kick my legs and try to break free, shrieking with laughter.
When I do break free, the next scene is straight out of a porno. We both collapse under the water, and emerge wet and warm, the previous laughter now sedated giggles. Svetlana quickly kisses me full on the lips before I know what is going on, darting her tongue into my mouth. It's weird, but nice, and I don't pull back like I imagined I would.
The guys take notice and come closer to get a better look. I hear Morgan ask J if we've done anything like this before, and J respond definitely not. I back away onto J's lap, and we start making out. Svetlana joins us, and since Morgan is just sitting there by himself, I swap kissing partners.
I tell J to do some things to Svetlana. Morgan tells Svetlana to do some things to me. We do all the things together (without doing The Big Thing), and it's all really, really fun.
Throughout the rest of the week, we do normal people things like scuba diving and playing bocce ball. One day, we take out stand up paddle boards naked, and a booze cruise from a non-sex resort slowly passes by us. Neither of us are good at it, so our knees are bent and we're hovered over while trying to keep our balance. We definitely do not look like those sun-kissed blondes from Sky Mag advertisements (which is what I envisioned), and a booze cruise full of clothed tourists are gawking at us as we dig our paddle boards into the ocean with shame.
The Hot Tub Incident satiates our curiosity and we don't go seeking more experiences throughout the remainder of our vacation. It happens here and there, but, like shoplifting or successfully flipping an omelet, nothing can match the rosy giddiness of the first time.
Was it weird? Fuck, yeah. One time, I saw a middle-aged woman with giant fake tits angrily jerk off her husband on a sunbed while making constant direct eye contact with me. I would look away embarrassed, and every time my curiosity would draw me back, there she was, looking right into my soul. Kind of weird.
Would we go back? Totally! A week at the resort is a little long, though. It's nonstop action, similar to Vegas or New Orleans, both of which I loved but could only handle for a few days before wanting to crawl into my own bed. If we were to return, it would be to party for the weekend and then spend the bulk of our vacation vegging out in a quiet beach town.
Since returning, I've recommended the resort to some of our more open-minded friends who have reached similar stages in their relationships. I can't say it's a perfect fix because I don't think anything was broken to begin with; monogamy and marriage are just kind of hard in general and require some work. It did provide a pretty satisfying scratch for that itch, though.
Also, in addition to all the physical closeness we shared, we've started to talk about a lot of things that we hadn't talked about before (having been through this secret adventure together). We walk around our place naked a lot now.
The other day, J and I went out with some people from his work and a colleague eagerly asked us how the entertainment was at the (decoy) resort. As it wasn't something I could confidently lie through, I deferred to J on what he thought. The nightly entertainment piece that sticks out in our minds was the time a naughty schoolgirl stripper pulled an unsuspecting young woman from the audience and gave her a lap dance that, with her permission, ended with an enthusiastic 69'ing amongst loud cheering from the crowd.
J shrugs and murmurs something about the entertainment being status quo for a resort, and I smile as he squeezes my hand under the table.
* all identities have been changed.