“I took my boyfriend to orgasmic meditation – it was as awkward as it sounds”

In my head, I thought orgasmic meditation was going to be about tapping into the power of the brain for an off-the-charts O and a shared pleasure session.

The course website described it as: “A wellness practice (like yoga and Pilates) that is designed for singles and couples to experience more connection, vitality, pleasure, and meaning in every aspect of their lives.”

Intrigue. Where do I sign my boyfriend and I up?

But don’t believe everything you read on the interwebs. After three hours on a Sunday night, under the flickering iridescent lights of a community centre in Sydney’s lower north shore, I quickly realised, I was way off.

Started 15 years ago in San Fransisco, OneTaste, is now a thriving business devoted entirely to spreading the gospel of female pleasure via Orgasmic Meditation, or OM as it’s known for short. There are YouTube videos, Facebook groups, a book by founder Nicole Daedone and live workshops you can sign up to across the globe (both Sydney and Melbourne have upcoming classes).

What really happens at OM, is a naked-from-the-waist-down lady lying in a “nest” made of pillows and a blanket you have to bring from home.

Some other fully-clothed person (usually a bloke) then proceeds to stroke her clitoris up and down using only their left pointer finger and in the “1’oclock position” – gloves are optional, FYI.

As the OneTaste Sydney tutor explains, “respecting the person and the practice means circular motions are not allowed.”

Right.

This finger dance happens for 15 minutes before closing out with the clothed-OMer “grounding” the pant-less woman by pressing down on her vagina with the full weight of their body. Oh, and the goal is actually not to orgasm – though from what we saw, that can be a serious side effect.

As OneTaste’s founder/guru Nicole Daedone writes in her book Slow Sex, OM’s intention is to give women “permission to enjoy the journey, rather than pushing them ever sooner to the finale.”

The clit cult

Let me start from the beginning. When you sign up to OM dropping a couple of hundred dollars per person, you receive an email asking you to bring along the following kit: pillows, a blanket, natural lubricant like pawpaw cream or coconut oil – and it’s the responsibility of the male.

Our class opened with the teacher welcoming the 21 students, 14 male and 7 female to the course. By the end of three hours, we’ll be qualified to practice the discipline. But what exactly is it? No one can quite, er, put their finger on it. But the room buzzes with eager hope – that this is the secret to either a) finding the one, or b) have bigger and better orgasms.

What does orgasm mean to you?

We go around the room, asking “What does orgasm mean to you?” Answers include: fun, energy, electricity, sensation, release. Not too awkward.

We then practice trust. We’re instructed to turn to the person next to us – and it can’t be the person you came with – and take turns giving and receiving arm tickles. I pair up with a bloke who has a thing for loud shirts and obviously still his ex-girlfriend, since he says he’s there because she recommended it. First, we have to try light tickles, then firm.

Meanwhile, my boyfriend, thanks to the ratio of guys to girls, pairs with a 30-something Eastern Euro male who could be mistaken for being part of the cast of Taken. As I sit shoulder to shoulder with my partner and we both close our eyes, ready to receive, I feel every sort of awkward and uneasy. I thought we’d do this together.

Would you like to OM?

Next up, dealing with rejection. Again, it’s discouraged to practice this exercise together. Off I go to match up with another eager male, this time a middle-aged pest of a man, who’s obviously using this as his version of Tinder. My partner gets an Indian dude, as timid as he is vertically challenged. Over and over, we have to ask the other person “Would you like to OM?” and first round respond with “yes” using different tones and intonations – ranging from resounding yes to more of a whatever yes. Then it’s onto the more brutal “no”. I feel a pang of guilt from the satisfaction I get looking creepy-guy in the eyes and saying N-O.

Just as I think, ‘OK this could be a good life skill’, we’re ready for the next practical lesson. Nothing could have prepared us for this, as the tutor and her sidekick, step up to the perfectly eye-level portable massage table standing proudly at the front of the class.

Next minute – I’m beside my boyfriend staring down the barrel of a stranger’s naked downstairs, as the bare-bottomed volunteer is legs akimbo, in front of a room full of people she’s known for two-hours, being “stroked”.

I’m no prude, but I don’t know what was more confronting – the convulsing vocals or the vision of her electric blue heels which she’d kept on throughout the demonstration. My boyfriend would probably say both.

Now came the opportunity to practice for ourselves. We all leave the room and whoever came back (for blokes, it had to be with their “nest” in tow) was saying, I’m open to being asked, ‘would you like to OM?’.

When my plus-one legged it to the bathroom for a panic wee and to “man up” he now tells me, I slung the IKEA bag containing our “nest” over my shoulder, politely thanking the teacher and parting with the excuse “we’re more home learners.”

As soon as the car door closed, as if on cue, all those pent up emotions came out of both our mouths via a 20-second terrified-not-sexy scream and the phrase “WTF” on repeat.

We felt like we’d dodged an exhibitionist sex cult and survived, but not unscathed. It was seven days before we could bring ourselves to be intimate again. And to this day we’ve never OM’d. So much for a sexual awakening.

This is one writer’s experience of orgasmic meditation. If you’re curious to try OM for yourself check out this list of events.