in: Dating & Relationships

Orgasmic Meditation: Get Your “OM” On

Have you heard of orgasmic meditation? Our resident mating expert did a little research—and a little experimentation—to fill us in.

Out in the middle of a meadow where birds softly call and the breeze gently blows lies an older couple on thick plush blankets. They have thick lines in their faces, soft, pale and full bellies, with beads and feathers in their long graying hair, the couple is naked getting “in touch,” with each other’s heart centers.

At least that’s where my limited imagination led me when I first heard of orgasmic mediation. It was something those weird tantric people do. Something that could not possibly work or be of service in my own sex life. I could not ever be one of those “tantric” people. They were too much. 

To me they always come off as the kind of people who’s open, public love seems both corny and false, and maybe it’s because they’re just more vulnerable and more mindful than others or maybe they’re just a bunch of weirdos who call each other “smooglyboog” and “big papa bear” and mean it in a endearing way that makes no sense to anyone else. 

And that’s the beauty of it; it doesn’t necessarily have to make sense to anyone else. As long as they are finding meaning in their existence, who cares right?

So I kept hearing about om-ing, mostly from people who rolled their eyes while discussing it. I wondered, could these skeptics be right or are they scared of trying something different from the normal bedroom sexercises? Is the upper left quadrant of my clitoris that much better than the other quadrants? Can another person really stroke the same small space for that long? Can I actually just lie there and let go? My inner curiosity led me to finally say, F it, I’m going to give it a whirl. It’s 15 minutes of my life. Not a big investment. 

Luckily my partner was dto (down to om), and we got to work.  

My How-to Encounter with Orgasmic Meditation 

Now I am not an expert, no one first starting out at anything is; but here’s how our orgasmic mediation experiment unfolded. 

First, we found a how-to video on the internet.


Yeah, the video was kind of annoying. I remember turning to my man-friend wide-eyed with wtf? written all over my face. But we powered-through.

After deciding to om, the next step was to set up what they called a nest. I like the concept of moving away from the bed and creating a specific space for this practice, calling it a nest is something I could live without as I am not a giant bird, but alas, together we built it. No we did not find broken tree branches, scrapes of old scarves or pieces of used foil to build this nest. Instead, we put a blanket on the floor, set up pillows for my head and a cushion for him to sit on. We also put a hand towel, a timer and lubricant in the nest with us (make sure to use a quality lubricant, specifically one not made with animal glycerin as they can cause infections). 

The woman in the video talks about how it’s good to have sex in the light and though I agree with her, it’s a little jarring to create an entirely new space for this practice and then lie down in the brightness with my legs open wide, which was basically the next step. I got to keep my shirt on, but my entire vulva region was spread for the world to see—or just my boyfriend, but that’s almost nearly as intimidating. 

Here’s the deal. I’m great with sex. I could potentially be a professional sex-haver, but I am terrible with vulnerability. Opening up my “feelings,” is like the last thing I want to do with my day. Being calm, grounded and connected with someone else while my hoo-ha is hanging out was scary and very, well, exposed. 

After we got into the proper positioning my partner then told me what me nether regions looked like (I do own a hand mirror, but it is always nice to get a second opinion). He wasn’t too creative the first time around basically repeating exactly what the guy in the video said, “it’s pink.” I couldn’t help but laugh; duh, I responded, duh.  

Then I closed my eyes and let him get busy stroking my clitoris’s upper left quadrant. It was pleasant. It wasn’t blowing me away or anything, but it felt nice. I was almost relaxed too. It was only when my leg started involuntarily shaking, like when a dog has her belly rubbed, that I fell out of my zone and started laughing. I felt like Baby in Dirty Dancing, when Johnny sweeps his hand along her armpit and she cracks up over and over again, then he gets annoyed because it’s supposed to be a serious sexual situation. 

I mean how can one really take the first time seriously? I was lying in a nest half-naked having a dude stroke my upper left quadrant while my leg was having a sporadic spasm attack. 

I was not a dog. I was not Baby from Dirty Dancing. But, was I going to make it through the 13 + 2 minutes and be able to talk about it? I sort of wanted it to end. I was sort of freaking out. 

But then I just let go. I decided if my leg was going to freak out, so be it. I wasn’t going to think anymore I was just going to feel. 

No, I did not climax. Most women don’t. I did feel pretty sweet sensations flowing through my body though. I think that if I did it a few more times I could totally have one, even though having one is not the point. The point is to “pay attention.” 

Paying attention actually led to paying more attention to feelings, sensations, touch during regular sex. At least it did that day. My partner claimed it was more intense, the sex was better than usual and we were more connected. 

Perhaps that’s the underlying beauty of the whole thing. It’s not necessarily about coming but about slowing down and just being with each other, fully present. Om-ing gives license and opportunity to do just that. 

Would I do it again? I mean, it only takes a small percentage of time out of the day, so probably. I wasn’t in love with the practice, but I didn’t hate it either. Plus, the sex afterwards was excellent, so that goes to show what a little bit of vulnerability, exposure and grounding can really do.  

Maybe I will turn into a long-haired wrinkly old hippie after all. 

There are worse things. 

[image: via WillVision on flickr]

About the Author:

Krystal Baugher

Krystal Baugherlives in Denver, Colorado. She is the founder of Go Eat a Carrot, a website dedicated to exploring the worlds of pleasure and politics. Find her on Instagram to stay up to date with all of her shenanigans.


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