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A non-swingers experience at Hedo III (before they closed)

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Hedo III Trip Report 2007

First of all, I'm not going to bore you with every detail. Let it suffice to say that we rode a plane, we rode a bus. We ate good food, we drank good drinks, and we slept in a clean room, blah de blah blah. Let's get down to business.

Saturday

We didn't get in until around 5:30 p.m. and our surroundings looked typical enough at check in. Beyond the lobby was an outdoor area featuring a large square tile bar. People stood or sat around the bar drinking and conversing. Some were in swimsuits, others in resort wear. Nothing unusual here, I surmised. Once we got situated in our room, I urged P to get back out on the grounds so we could get the lay of the land before it got dark. She obliged and we walked around to get an idea of where the restaurants were. That didn't take long, so we returned to the aforementioned bar for a drink and began to wonder about dinner. Alas, it would not be served for another hour so we ventured towards the nude area, which our room overlooked. The hot tub was chock full of people, all naked, most of them dancing to the piped in Jamaican disco music. A young clean shaven blonde was particularly visible, waving her arms over her head with more of her body being out of the tub than in. Okay, maybe this place is not so ordinary.

After dinner we headed back to the same area and found things had settled down quite a bit. We stripped and got in the hot tub, which now contained only three other couples. They were all engaging in sexual activity of one sort or another. One pair of couples managed at least three combinations of partners in the 20 some minutes we were in there. While P explored the possibilities offered by different placement of her feet in and out of the tub, one of the woman fixed her gaze upon me, her face devoid of expression as her husband (or his friend) worked her over. Their routine almost seemed choreographed, as if they were re-enacting a scene from their favorite adult film. It made it hard to concentrate…almost. That was the closest we got to group sex.

It was time for a shower. Either it was a little humid, or the plane ride had let me feeling sticky, or the thought of vastly diluted love juices of a dozen or so people on my skin made the shower now seem mandatory. The shower possessed the velocity of a power washer. How appropriate, I thought as I lathered while watching the continuing love-fest from the knees-to-ceiling shower window. Whether they were watching me bathe, I do not know and do not care, but I guess that is the point of the window.

Now cleansed of our sins, we headed back down to the Dining/Terrace/Main stage area and got our first look at the entertainment crew (E/C). They strutted their stuff one by one on stage, giving everyone a healthy shot in the libido. The men were muscular and limber and the women were of several physical types, from the sleek slender curves of a Nubian Princess, to the well rounded curves of an "I like big butts" style music video girls. They were all appealing in their own way, the men being a little more indefinable than the women…even to P. There was one male entertainer that was easily identified as a complete diva, kind of a muscular version of Miss Jay on America's Next Top Model. Very gay. Something for everyone I suppose.

Then it was off to Karaoke at the Piano bar, where P enthralled the crowd with her hit "These boots" and I warbled a little Barry White. P's performance garnered more praise than mine and rightfully so. I was just getting warmed up. It was, after all, only our first night.

When things began to settle down at the piano bar we ventured out into the night and managed to find our way up to the disco after some consternation concerning its entrance. Once inside we encountered a lingerie clad mob undulating to the pulsing beat. Four women wearing next to nothing were putting on a show on top of the bar to the enjoyment of the other patrons. Their actions were being meticulously recorded with a camera by a man in their company. More about them later. I leaned over to P and exclaimed "We have just been dropped into the jaws of Hell!" It was quite a scene.

It had been a long day, so we didn't last long there. We bedded down for the night with the sounds of a nude pool party below us (lingering until around5:00 a.m.by P's account). I slept through it all. Our first seven hours were eye-opening to say the least, but my eyes were going to be shut for awhile.

Sunday

After breakfast P reserved the last two chairs in the nude pool area. They were the farthest from the pool and would be in the shade of palm trees all day. Not the best of situations. I asked about the nude beach area "Packed," she replied. So we got our towels and headed for the "prude pool" also known as the quad pool because it is surrounded by rooms in four buildings. We were thrilled to see a combination of nudes and prudes there, and not many of either; a much better environment than being packed onto a patio like a can of nude sardines. This is where we would swim and sun for the rest of the week, as well as make the acquaintance of many non-swingers. Just good old naked and non-naked folks like us. Single guys, girls, and couples of all ages, and most of them friendly. We managed to miss all the day's activities somehow, although we did look them over on the schedule handout.

After getting good and sweaty, we retreated back to our room and made occasional forays back to the nude pool area for food and drink. Every time we would go through, a sexual act of some kind was in progress. We began to check out the action occasionally from the picture window or our shower to find out what they were up to now. The area soon became known to us as the "erotic aquarium"; like having one full of really horny fish in your living room.

We wandered around the complex some more, ate, took some sunset pictures and eventually ended up back at the Terrace, where P participated in the "Battle of the Sexes" contest. I was nursing an injury and declined, fearing there would be some physical aspect that I would not be able to perform (or strip naked on stage, which I was not ready for either). During the course of this show, P got hit on by a teenager (who was there with his dad???) that ended up following her around for the next two days. She also had to grab the crotch of an Italian Stallion looking guy, who was wearing a t-shirt and underpants and appeared to have a football sized package. P had to simulate as many sexual positions as possible in 15 seconds with a third guy. They lost. 

But overall, I think she did walk away with a bottle of Rum, the first of five to be snagged this week.

 Then it was back to the piano bar for sing-a-long night. Packed with people with some interesting outfits, but the entertainment was kind of boring. We drank up and headed back into the disco, where it was “leather and lace night”. Most interesting was a leather clad female leading her mate around with a leash. She carried a whip and a smug smile; he had a spiked collar and not much else on. We took it to the nude pool and got some drinks to go and called it a night.

Monday

Another day at the pool. Started to see some familiar faces, a group of women who were there without mates and with suits on, A quiet guy that just laid in his lounge chair alone, a nude couple that sunned on a deck far above the pool that would climb down the steps into the pool and share a raft every hour or so. Fairly quiet Jamaican disco played from the swim up bar. I would periodically fill our sports bottles with water and talk to the bartender, who was always dancing to the beat. She was adorable.

For lunch we both tried Ackee and Saltfish, which is the National Dish of Jamaica. After a few bites I reasoned that the national after lunch pastime is picking fish bones out of your mouth. P wouldn't eat hers at all. We found out a little later that the Nude Beach Grill had the best food. Who'd a thunk it?

We had a little interlude at dusk in a lounge chair at the nude pool. I enjoyed a cigarette while P enjoyed something else. A nude woman walked by and stopped to say; "I just wanted to tell you that you two are hot!" Instead of the customary "Would you like to join us?" we simply said thank you and she moved on to greener pastures. That was the closest we got to a threesome.

Later on we watched a steel band at the Terrace. I watched them set up with dread, I can't stand this genre of music. It always sounds out of tune to me. However, the front man for this group played like a jazz artist. He had a deft touch and played with great confidence and flair. He was an older guy that reminded me a lot of…well, of me.

After the show we watched the Hedo III circus, which consisted of four guys, a white guy that was very good and three Jamaicans who were not so good. They did balancing, juggling, and trapeze work. There were party games afterward, pass the grapefruit, bowling pin, etc. after that. Our team one and we received two more bottles of rum.

Later at the short shorts party at the disco, P fulfilled her fantasy of being trapped in a cage with a wild half-naked island native. I was pulled onto the dance floor by E/C girl Ivory, who gave me a booty shaking upright lap dance, Jamaican style. Wasn't a fantasy of mine, but it didn't suck either.

Not long after, we had sex with the two of them on the dance floor. Our bodies moved rhythmically to the throbbing Disco beat as the crowd encircled us chanting and cheering. Or maybe we went back to our room and fell asleep. I can't remember which.

Tuesday

Tuesday featured an erotic body painting contest, but it didn't happen at the scheduled time so we only saw the results and were not painted ourselves. The theme for the evening was "pajama party" and the E/C put on a lingerie fashion show that was entertaining and erotic. One guy came out with a giant rubber "tool" that was a hit with the ladies. It was toss-up who was hotter on the ladies end; Ivory, Chardonnay, or P of course.

 It was apparent to me by now that at least a dozen men were hopelessly in love with P, including some of the staff at Hedo III. She was frequently stopped by men who complimented her on her outfit or beauty, the wives of some of the guests would repeat their husband’s admiration to me, and the staff photographer who easily sees over five thousand women per year there admitted his love for her. This could be attributed to her remarkable god-given physical attributes, but the smile in her eyes, her outgoing and uninhibited nature, and the absolute absence of any pretense whatsoever in her manner has much more to do with it than her physical beauty. The first mentioned quality was a surprise to me when we first came together, but these others qualities are what drew me to her as a long-term relationship.

Later on at the Disco, P got her dance groove on with a couple more black men, including the Diva Spike. It was pajama party night. The outfits on the guests and staff were pretty delightful.

Wednesday

An interesting day to be sure. I dropped out of the pool volleyball game, due to a pulled stomach muscle and P filled in for me. After a few games, the entertainment girls showed up with a PA and hosted a booty shaking contest. Ivory and Chardonnay did their thing on a tile table with a fountain at water top level, followed by P and a couple other guests. P was nude and straddled the fountain at one point, diverting and strengthening the fountain in such a way that it appeared she had swallowed a fire hose and the torrent of pressurized water was now shooting out of her rear end. I think it is safe to say her southern end was clean as a whistle after that dance. Sorry, no picture. I didn't want to bring the camera into the pool.

Body shots at the swim up bar followed with the girls going first. They sat on the bar and leaned back as the men licked the booze off their skin. Some of us were more thorough than others. When it was the men's turn, P was most meticulous in getting every drop of booze off of every part of me. Her attention to a particular area prompted the emcee to say "No eating of the sausage!" I looked around and saw that I wasn't the only one getting the special treatment. Ivory, who was next to me helping a single guy participate started smacking me in the arm over what P was doing. I shrugged it off, telling her it wasn't my idea. When the girls dismounted, Ivory splashed water from the pool on me to remove the already removed booze and perhaps calm down the sausage. I told her I would be alright in a minute or so. If there was a moment where we could safely say we had become true hedonists, I believe it would be that one.

The theme for the night was Pimps and Ho's. P was a memorable Ho, but being too cheap to invest in a pimp costume, I chose a Mexican theme similar to Harvey Keitel's outfit in the movie "Taxi Driver". This prompted one staff member to inquire whether I was a pimp or a ho. Oh well…at least I saved a few bucks.

P elected not to participate in the Pimps and Ho's competition, saying she didn't want to go through all the physical aspects or strip down for the crowd. The guests that did participate were narrowed down to one man and woman, who were asked for their last task to cross dress into the other's character. The Pimp made a bee-line for P and asked her for her top and boa. So much for not stripping down. P obliged and gave up the articles and watched the conclusion of the show topless. The guy won by a landslide.

Later on at the piano bar's second Karaoke night, I rapped "Getting Jiggy Wit It" from memory. This impressed many of the guests and staff. Although P's rise to fame had been meteoric, my own ascent to fame would rely on talent and time. I felt like my own star was finally beginning to rise. At one point I went to the bathroom and when I came back to my seat I found P now standing on the piano singing "I'm a Soul Man" (of all things). Apparently Chardonnay had felt badly that "These Boots" was already taken and dragged P up to sing a song that Chardonnay felt P could cover. And cover it well she did, although it was a bit strange watching a well endowed woman in a see-through top singing the line "I'm a Soul Man" over and over again.

It was very warm in the disco that night, so we retreated outside where P skinny dipped in the Terrace area pool while I chatted it up with the 5 women that had been at the quad pool with us every day. Sufficiently cooled down, P and I returned to the disco where she danced while I stood at the bar watching. P never bothered to put her outfit back on.

There was a guy in the disco that had a full blown shit fit when I took a picture of him dancing on top of the bar with Ivory. He was in a complete panic, demanding that I delete the picture immediately while he watched. I tried to explain to him that the switch was broken and my wife could manage to flip it with a safety pin, but I was unable to do so myself. He stormed away and sent an E/C girl over to me who I explained the whole process to again outside the door. She tried to flip the switch herself for a couple of minutes, then asked me; "Is your wife the one dancing naked on the box?" I said yes and she told me she would tell the guy I had erased the picture. We looked at the picture back in the room and the guy was pulling Ivory's top away from her skin so he could get a better look at her breasts. This did not seem like an adequate reason to throw a shit-fit, so I came up with three other plausible theories:

1.      His wife was asleep in the room and didn't know he had left.

2.      His wife was back home in Iowa, believing he was on a week-long golf outing in Florida with his buddies.

3.      He is wanted by the police in at least one state.

After all the pictures taken by dozens of people of women and men wearing nothing or next to nothing, I never would have thought that that one would get somebody so upset. Poor Baby! I feel sorry for whoever it is you're screwing over.

Thursday

On this day we learned how to make a toga outfit and I rehearsed with the band for that night's Staff and Guest Talent Show. The rest of the day was spent at the pool where we talked with the single girls some more, along with a guy who's wife had left him when he booked the trip and another guy who was spending most of his time smoking pot and sleeping in his room.

After considerable effort and modifications, we managed to assemble our togas and headed down to dinner and a show at the Terrace. During the toga contest, the emcee called us "Mom and Pop". I guess the eyeglasses didn't help much either. Not very Roman.

There were three guests who participated in the talent show. I was first, and sang and played "Mustang Sally". It hadn't occurred to me during the rehearsal that I would later be performing in a toga. I spent the whole song wondering if my testicles were hanging out, I could feel the breeze blowing down there as I played and sang. The audience cheered at the end of my guitar solo. That may well have been the first time I got an audience response in mid song. (besides getting up and walking out). That took my mind off the testicular ventilation.

There were two other guest performers; a drummer from New York that always wanted to play with a real reggae band and a female singer, who was one of the four posers that kept popping into places for revealing photo ops and then quickly leaving. She had the emcee warn the crowd that there was to be no videotaping or photography during her performance. This made little sense to me since she had been flashing her boobs and butt all over the place all week. She sang a ballad that started out pretty well, but one of her "bodyguards" stopped the Hedo photographer from taking pictures during her first verse. So she isn't going to sing naked…. She thinks she's Celine-F*cking-Dion. As she got farther into the song it turned into something you normally hear from an American Idol contestant that is about to be shown the door. She appeared quite miffed when the audience did not react with wild enthusiasm over her performance. Sorry Celine…I smoked your ass. That's show biz baby.

P won a bottle of rum for doing something on stage that can't for the life of me remember. We came in second at the toga contest, but that means very little since there was only one other couple on stage with us.

P expressed discomfort with her toga, so I quickly modified into something more to her (and everyone else's) liking. Boob cradling ropes is the best I can describe it.

Next stop; the piano bar (getting a sense of the routine now?). We did a lot of talking with the other guests and found out the 4 wannabe vixens were from a girl on girl introduction website where the guys can only watch. That "club" must have accounted for 50% of the guests that week. Gee, what a surprise to find out these photo ops are actually staged. I'll give up the name of the website on request if anybody is willing to pay to see if P turns up on it. I am not willing to do so. We have our own pictures.

Later on, my slave girl performed pole dances on top of the bar in the disco. I have pictures, but am keeping them to myself. They were meant only for her Master.

Friday

We had breakfast with David, one of the E/C crew who described in great detail how to make porridge (as if I'm going to run home and make some orange colored oatmeal). He was very nice and only a little gay. He recalled P's second toga from the night before with fondness.

P declared we would spend the whole day in the sun by the pool which we did. I wore a t shirt over my chest, which was getting pretty crispy by now.

We left the pool only to watch the wet t-shirt contest at the Terrace stage. P got dry humped by Ebony despite being only a spectator (her skirt pushed up to her chest in the process), but we left before its conclusion. One of the web vixens told us she won and probably rightfully so. She possessed a fine set of ta-ta's. It was difficult to say whether they were God given or not. P said fake, I said real. P was done participating in events by then.

After dinner, I was forced onstage to participate in a reggae dance lesson/contest. I suck at dancing and this style was no exception. When that ended, David told me to stay on the stage and sit down. Five other guys were rounded up ranging in age from mid-twenties to around fifty and the emcee announced the Hedo Ultimate Hunk Contest. Now this was going to be a tough one. The contest consisted mostly of questions, which worked in my favor, being a smart-ass and all. I also had the advantage of being the last one to be asked to say or do anything each time.

When the emcee asked why we thought we should be named Ultimate Hunk, I replied: "I have no idea what I'm doing up here right now".

When she asked a question about Jamaican history I guessed an answer correctly (we missed that lecture).

Then they brought a woman up from the audience for us to use our best pickup line on, the first guy was incoherent. He had been drunk at the pool five hours before and was in even worse shape now. He was also the only guy within two decades of my age. Anyways, my pick-up line was: "I am Jon Bon Jovi's road manager". That one even cracked up the emcee.

When asked to imitate the sounds of an orgasm, I borrowed a line from Andrew Dice Clay: "Uhhh. Get out!" The emcee responded: "That wasn't very nice!" through her laughter.

Then we had to do push-ups with E/C girl Ebony lying on top of us. Some guys were impressive, managing twenty or more. She took one look at me and got on the floor to do the push-ups herself. I told her I was injured and would not be able to do any, so we clowned our way through that one.

The last part required us to put on a show of some kind individually (this usually involves getting naked and dancing). The drunken guy whipped off his clothes and threw them into the crowd. When it got to my turn I took off my shirt and made some muscle poses until a trick came back to me from long ago. I grabbed my inner left thigh in two places around ten inches apart and moved the muscle rhythmically. It took the crowd a few seconds to realize it looked like I was holding on to a 12 inch by 3 inch wide penis. David lost it completely, running up to the stage and collapsing on it in a fit of laughter. I then turned and jiggled my bare buns for a few seconds, the obligatory skin show without the full frontal (I didn't want to destroy the illusion I had just created).

When the crowd cheered me into victory at the judging, it occurred to me that I had a rooting section of all the people we had met over the course of the week. In the six days prior we had become a neighborhood, a subdivision of non-swingers who had conversations and learned about each other while the swingers were off to the group gropes at the pool or taking touchy feely pictures of each other in suite parties.

We went to the piano bar for a little while, and then had one more round of nude pool whoopee in public before calling it a night.

We dragged our exhausted but happy bodies off to the bus and airport the next day at eleven a.m. It had been one hell of a week.

For those of you reading this that have religious convictions and find our behavior too heathen, you are welcome to pray for us. Indeed, we were very naughty, but not nearly as naughty as we could have been. Perhaps we both deserve a good spanking. We will administer one to each other tonight in penance for our deeds.

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Orient Beach, the setting for Happy Bay did not make the cut. Odd.
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Book Excerpt Cole Bay Band

From a personal standpoint, Lori was disappointed in the lack of camaraderie offstage with Jimmy’s musical group. Although their love for performing together was obvious and infectious to the audience, the quintet divided into factions during the day. Jimmy partnered with Junior nearly every day in his song writing sessions and Cici was spending most of her time at her home rather than the villa. This left Sam, who Lori was welcome to tag along with on day trips around the island. She was relieved Sam had gotten over her failed advances towards her.

Sam had little problem taking it in stride, as she made new friends every day on Orient beach. She would walk the length, clad only in a G-string or tiny wrap, armed with postcard-sized promotional band pictures to hand out to tourists. This was an excellent tactic, as it brought customers to their performances in droves. Sam’s propensity towards hooking up with single guys and couples during the day left Lori frequently stranded, though, so she eventually limited her time with Sam to the car ride there and back.

Although she was lonely, Lori found comfort via a ferry boat that carried her to Pinel Island. The conversations she would have with tourists on the short trip were enough pedestrian interaction for her. She would hike around the tiny landmass, exploring the nearly deserted beaches in favor of the largest one at the ferry’s dock. In was in these places that she could enjoy body freedom without recognition or interruption, contemplating her future and reflecting on her past. She found solace in the peaceful rhythm of the surf and the tranquil sky above. She was a regular for lunch at one of the two restaurants on the main beach. The wait staff all knew her by name, but was not aware of her growing island fame. Lori was grateful for the anonymity; she was glad she had proven Jimmy wrong, but attributed her personal success to being just another cog in the wheel that was the Cole Bay Band. Plus there was always the fact she was really only a big fish in a small pond.

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Book excerpt from Cole Bay Band

“Give him your shoes,” Jimmy said.

“Are they going to be here when I get back?” she asked warily.

Both of the men laughed. Lori reluctantly handed over her hundred and fifty dollar designer running shoes and looked up to see Jimmy already trotting towards the shoreline. She set off after him, but he was a good ten yards ahead of her by the time she got there.

The beach arced in a broad crescent. It looked to be at least a mile in length, at least as far as she could see. There appeared to be beach umbrellas far off in the distance past a slightly imposing rock jetty. She hoped that would be the extent of their run; the sand was not particularly soft, but it did give way under her feet as she trod along, trying to lessen the distance between them.

She was sweating profusely by the time she reached the jetty and understood the shoe removal request/order when she watched Jimmy run into the water to get around it. She glanced at the small Plage Naturiste sign as she ran by it. Lori knew what plage meant; it was obviously a beach. But a natural beach? Aren’t they all natural?

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Class-ism and a tolerance for murder

Let me begin by saying I believe we live in possibly the most hypocritical society on the planet.

This country was founded on the principal that all men are created equal; that we would gladly take in those who felt persecuted and betrayed by the limitations imposed on them by uncaring and self-serving bureaucracies.

As a government, we have failed to meet that promise, but as a society we have failed on a much deeper level. Democratic policies are not taking us down. Republican policies are not taking us down.

Class-ism, isolationism, and an increasing tolerance for murder is taking us down.

We spar over who deserves to live here while Wall Street pillages our investments.

We battle on abortion while the government hands even more of our money to the thieves in the name of keeping the ship afloat.

We fret and worry if we will make enough to survive, while others have simply given up.

There are people out there that want to take as many of us as possible into the afterlife. To them,  they are bestowing the gift of eternal freedom from this hell they believe we all experience on some level.

The rich count their coins as we load our bullets. The former know they will never be touched. The latter seek to protect themselves from their own neighbors.

And when wars become boring, we gather round the television to gape in astonishment at the unspeakable horrors perpetrated on the innocent by individuals who never have, nor ever will hold any value to human life.

Class-ism at its very core. Barren of soul, driven to madness by media, and completely unrelatable to other human beings, they huddle in basements and rent their U-Hauls in a twisted attempt to say to the world: “I know I am nothing. This is what I think of the rest of you.”

I know a self-made millionaire who used to say: “I’m a no better than you. You a no better than me”.

How many of us think on that level anymore?

There are far too many of us thumbing their noses at the drivers of 15 year-old cars, convenience store employees, and street musicians. Just surviving isn't good enough for us anymore. We are on a much higher plane of existence than this subspecies.

You people may serve us, but do not for a minute think we are equals in any way.

Think of the Roman gladiators sacrificing themselves in a celebration of gore in order to entertain the great unwashed while the wealthy watched with smug satisfaction, knowing the audience was, at least temporarily, diverted from the wretchedness of their existence.

Today, we have taken it a step further. We gather around the television to watch the latest slaughter of the innocent. We shake our heads in disbelief that men could stoop to this level of inhumanity. The network gets ratings, the sponsors sell more product, the owners invest in lobbies and campaigns, and the politicians puff out their chests and posture for the best sound byte to serve their master’s cause.

Our tolerance for murder is becoming far too great. As predictable as an approaching summer storm.

We spend too much time wondering how people can become this way and not enough time wondering if we are contributing to the problem.

And the problem is; we are looking straight into the eyes of unspeakable evil. And we feel powerless to stop it.

To find the true source of this evil is the first step towards eliminating it.

Look inward first. Did you flip off a driver on the road today? Did you admonish a bag boy for smashing your bread? Did you consider the wearily quiet and oft-ignored coworker might just be at the end of their rope? Did you brush against someone on the street today, and not bother to say "excuse me" because their clothes were from a resale shop?

For any of these people could be the one that wakes up tomorrow and decides they have had enough.

And God help you if you are in their path tomorrow morning.

Chapter One

Jimmy turned from his eighty-eight key music synthesizer and squinted through the sunlight pouring from the screen door of his Echo Park apartment. He had chosen this neighborhood in haste, and it had seemed like a good idea at the time. The area was renowned for its history of creative residents, and the current inhabitants took great pride in maintaining a positive image for Los Angeles as well as the rest of civilization. Of course, criminality was a factor, as it is in any urban area, but Jimmy felt relatively safe most times. He hoped the spirits of Steve McQueen, Art Pepper, and Frank Zappa would guide him in this new environment and spur him on to success.

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Book signing in St. Martin this April.Official Website

Book excerpt: Cole Bay Band

Her stomach churned as they drew closer to The Tarmac. Even though it was only 7:30, the bar seemed to be near capacity. They rolled the equipment onto the large stage unnoticed at first, but as they began to assemble the gear, the crowd took heed and began to whistle and chant. Lori saw an artist painting women’s breasts with a brush to make them look like swimsuit tops or large, colorful tattoos. The ladies were lined up in anticipation, all sans-top and eager for their own turn. Husbands and boyfriends watched from the bar and welcomed them back to pose for photos in groups.

“Thinking about changing your outfit?” Jimmy asked, tilting his head in their direction.

“In your dreams,” Lori replied. She wondered if Jimmy could see she was shaking and was trying to lighten her mood.

By the time setup was completed, the crowd was getting riled and anxious. “Go, Go, Go!” they chanted in unison as the band placed their instruments on stands. Jimmy went to the bar to get the lowdown on this group; he had been told Wednesdays were generally quiet here. He called a quick meeting in a corner of the stage.

“These people are all together for the most part,” he explained. “They’re called the CBL club.”

Junior nodded. “Cupecoy Beach Lovers. Their group gets larger every year. They come for two or three weeks and only go to Cupecoy…and here.”

“Well they took me by surprise,” Jimmy continued. “So I’m afraid I’m going to have to call the first set. Cici, you can access the tracks quickly, right?”

“Oh yes,” she assured him. “They are all on one screen.”

“What about you?” he said, addressing Lori, “Still dependent on those notes?”

“I can flip to them fast enough if I need to.” Lori’s heart was sinking and her stomach was doing the Macarena. She thought about running to the bar for a quick shot to calm her nerves but was pretty sure it would come right back up and out. Now her entire body was shaking as she opened her guitar case.

The monitors were much larger than the ones used in rehearsal, and Jimmy and Junior quickly repositioned them so the girl’s dance moves would not be partially hidden. Lori squinted as the semi-darkened stage suddenly became ablaze with spotlights high above her head. She felt like a deer, frozen on railroad tracks staring at an oncoming train.

Go! Go! Go! Go!

The crowd at the bar was continuing to chant for them to start. Jimmy eyed his watch and made a decision.

“We need to get up and running ASAP,” he shouted over the growing din. “We’re doing the first set on the fly. I wasn’t expecting many people on a Wednesday.”

Lori placed her amp on a stand and positioned the two effect pedals behind her mic stand. Fighting the urge to throw up, she did her best to avert her gaze from guys approaching to ask her questions and their topless wives slowly breaking from the bar to follow them. She ducked away and went back for her acoustic guitar still in its case.

“Leave it! You won’t need it this set!” Jimmy yelled from center-stage. She looked over and saw he was ready to go: guitar on, amp light glowing, pedals placed. Her head was starting to spin. She dropped to her knees and placed both hands on the case to steady herself. Jimmy motioned his head towards Sam, who grabbed Lori’s electric guitar and brought it over to her.

“Pray later,” she said. “It’s show time, baby!”

“Pretty Young Thing! PYT!” Jimmy shouted, turning his head as he spoke to cover everyone like an errant garden hose. Anxiety was pushing the air from Lori’s chest and she fought to bring it back in. She strapped on the guitar, plugged it in, and ran forward to drop her binder of notes where she could see them.

“I have to tune up!” she said, turning her head to the side in the hopes Jimmy would hear her.

Go! Go! Go! Go!

“Do it during the first verse!” Jimmy yelled back at her. He looked quickly to his left, where Sam was at the ready, and raised a hand in the air; confident Junior and Cici were also prepared to start.click to order Cole Bay Band

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