Five years ago, I was at a contact improv class, a type of improvisational dance, when I saw a guy with the energy of an exuberant Buddha. I’m unsure how I recognized this within him, but I was sure I was right. I recognized his energy as something I was nostalgic for.
I approached the man at Contact Improv to find out how he had become so awake, joyful, and okay with the combination. He told me about Orgasmic Meditation. It sounded too weird, so I didn’t ask any more questions. A few weeks later, another guy walked into contact improv, emitting a similar intense confidence. I joked with him, “Have you been stroking someone’s clitoris?” He laughed and said, “How did you know?” Woah, I thought. There must be something to that. I decided to pursue learning the practice. I have never stopped thinking of it as weird, but that became part of the attraction—that it would never be routine. It would never dilute into business as usual.
In my first OM—Orgasmic Meditation, my partner—the strokee—could enjoy the experience, even while giving plenty of adjustments. I thought I would find the adjustments uncomfortable, but instead, it was a great learning experience for me. I had spent most of my life avoiding feedback from others, working as hard as possible to conform to the expectations of others so they wouldn’t disapprove. If they did disapprove, it would confirm my worst suspicions. I would know for certain that I wasn’t lovable.
I wasn’t acceptable as I am. However, in the Orgasmic Meditation, the adjustment was different. It was like being given a user manual to connection. Every time I was on the spot with the highest sensation, I felt enjoyment, and her directions on staying on that spot as they shifted increased the sensation and enjoyment. Instead of causing disconnect, the adjustments expanded our intimacy. It was a real shift. It felt like I could move away from relating to others from a place of fear and inferiority and instead move towards a future of continuous improvement through connection.
My parents had taught me that the world was not a safe place; the trick was to pay attention and conform. Failure to do so would lead to rejection and mistreatment. For instance, when I was younger, my dad wanted me to learn tennis. I asked why, and he told me that in the future, I’d need those skills to fit in. My mother could not accept any expressed dissatisfaction directed her way. She would respond with anger and irritation and say things like, “Don’t make me feel guilty.” I was a sensitive child, but I numbed that part of myself out in pursuit of being a “good kid.” All to please those two.
As an adult, instead of sensing what was right for my relationships, I practiced the art of "game" so that I could anticipate the expectations of those I felt attracted to. If I could anticipate and conform, I had a better chance of avoiding hurt. I had even grown afraid of being too sensitive. If I felt too much, I could be taken advantage of. If I said, “I love you,” or shared something vulnerable, it could be used against me.
Instead, I sought control over my emotions and attempted to manipulate others through techniques emotionally. I was just so afraid of being manipulated myself. After all, as my parents insinuated, the world was a dangerous place. It was no place for a subtle man who enjoyed writing poetry like me. What would happen if I surrendered to my emotions and allowed myself to be touched deeply? Would I lose touch with myself? Sacrifice some level of self-awareness? Until I began to OM, I feared being judged as not man enough, not virile enough, and I became preoccupied with feeling safe in the world.
Orgasmic Meditation restored a sense of safety to me. The container felt safe, for one. Also, practicing Orgasmic Meditation amplified my sensitivity, meaning I could feel more with others. Soon, I felt much more relaxed. It’s like I could feel into what to say or do next without relying on my techniques or the expectations of others.
Recently, a partner began crying while we were alone together. Rather than panic and worry that I had done something wrong, I instinctively held her in my arms for 15 minutes in silence. Only then did I ask her about her feelings. Not once did I fear that I was the cause of her sadness and anger. I knew I was not and was, therefore, able to stay present. It was a beautiful moment.
Sensing what to say or do in each moment feels like a superpower. Orgasmic Meditation (OM) has given me the power to be present in what’s there and the steady confidence to remain open for adjustments simultaneously. When I say superpower, I really mean it. Sometimes, my experience of the practice is nothing short of mystical.
Coming face-to-face with the rawness of desire, I have also learned to ask directly for what I want instead of allowing layers of mental chatter to get in the way. Instead of wondering what my desires mean and how they will affect my current relationships or how I should communicate them, I simply do the vulnerable thing and ask. Then, there is no confusion. If the answer is no, it is a no to what I want rather than some version altered by excuses and judgment.
For me, Orgasmic Meditation is a practice of mindfulness and desire. Learning to be present to sensation, I have discovered that I only ever move my finger because I want to—because it is, in fact, my desire.
