For some, the jury’s still out on orgasmic meditation; but one of our writers set out to get to the bottom (no pun intended) of this OM’ing experience.

I tried Orgasmic Meditation—also refereed to as Om’ing—a structured practice of clitoris stroking with a partner. I signed up for a private lesson because the idea of doing it in a group is just profoundly not my thing. I brought a friend for the lesson and enrolled another friend in practicing with me, that way I had two “strokers” as they call them, lined up to do the orgasmic meditation practice with.

My friend and I had our private lesson and went about practicing a couple of times per month; he thought the practice was one-sided and all about the woman… and I agreed. Together, we decided to switch it up a bit and to also do the practice to him that he was doing to me. Not at the same time or immediately before or after, but at separate times altogether. We did this for about three months total. His experiences were much more interesting than mine in many ways, but that’s another story.

I also went to one of the group stroking meetings, even thought I was determined I wasn’t going to participate. It was beautiful to see and feel the room, with approximately 60 clitorises being stroked at the same time; and I remained very clear that I did not want to have any of the people present touch my clitoris.

But I digress, back to that first private lesson.

It took place in a converted garage behind a small bungalow-style house in Santa Monica. We walked through the house to get to the garage space in the back. The house was clean, light, and airy.

To begin, our instructor told us about the practice and answered all our questions.

Next, I’m lying on a blanket on the floor thinking about how many other bottoms have rested on this same blanket. I’m not a germ-o-phobe, but I couldn’t help wonder how much lube and pussy juice might have been left on the blanket under my rear end. I’m dressed on my upper body and I have socks on because the room is chilly. My partner in this adventure is sitting on a little pillow next to me, somewhat uncomfortable because it’s an unusual position for him, and he can’t straighten his lower back or legs properly. Our instructor is sitting on the other side of me. I can smell the lube, a company-made concoction of natural oils and waxes with essential oils in it. It smells good, like something I could eat. My partner has put on a latex glove and is dabbing a glob of the lube on my clitoris. It feels warm, smells good, and yet… it’s somehow too much. Our instructor has told him how to spread my labia and pull back the hood on my clitoris, and I’m asking myself why the hell am I hereWhy am I doing this?

He makes contact with me and while it’s intense, it’s nowhere as intense as I thought it might be.

The instructor tells him to rest his finger and feel the contact, and not do anything. I begin to relax and I can breathe deeply again. I’m taking in the contact, the warmth of the lube and his finger, but I definitely can’t handle any movement of the finger. Just the thought of that makes my clitoris contract into a tiny pea that has all but disappeared up into my body.

We stay in that position for a long time—just his finger barely touching me, and me swinging between edgy anxiety that he’ll move his finger and I’ll hate the way it feels to a trepidation of relaxation that I’ll never fully trust ,never fully surrender. A situation in which I’m simply too sensitive physically and too vulnerable emotionally.

I’m wondering why anyone would do this voluntarily and frequently.

As we move through the hour-long lesson, the instructor starts to explain how (in the clitoris) to make contact, describing the quality of the stroke etc. I finally relax enough to say “I think I’m ready” for him to touch me with a super gentle—the gentlest possible—stroke my clitoris.

He does it… it’s okay. I haven’t exploded or slid out of my skin, but I can’t say I’m enjoying it, per say. I describe it as “tolerable”—it’s okay and, little by little, becoming almost pleasurable. Almost.

To read the rest of this article go MeetMindful where it was originally published



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