Last year, an actress friend of mine asked if I wanted to join her at her meditation class. Sure. I'm onboard. I like classes in just about anything. Give me something to do. I once even took a cheese class when I was lactose intolerant.
She referred to it as her "OM" meditation class, which I presumed was the vibrational mantra one performs at the beginning and end of a yoga class.
Turns out I was wrong. "OM" in this case is O.M., an acronym for "Orgasmic Meditation".
She instructs me to meet her at 8:30 PM, but not to arrive any earlier. Had she just told me the time, I would have arrived as instructed. Actually, I'm never late and probably would've still arrived 10 or 15 minutes early.
The space on North Fairfax avenue was a storefront. The windows were blacked out with Duvetyne. I'm surveying the space and notice a small gap in the draperie. I peek in, and at first glance it appears to look like a yoga studio, which is what I was expecting. On closer inspection, I saw there were two person teams, like what I would expect a Lamaze class to look like.
Squinting, I notice that all of the women are either not wearing pants or have their dresses hiked up. Their legs were splayed open. The soles of their feet touching and the men over them were wearing a single latex glove and touching their vaginas with a single outstretched index finger.
My phone rings. It's Sophia, the actress that introduced me to this actress. She's Latin, Catholic and conservative.
SOPHIA: Hey. What're you up to?
ME: Hey. I'm about to walk into Salma's (No, not her) meditation class. Do you know anything about her... practice?
SOPHIA: She's a hippie. I'm sure it will be nice.
ME: Um, I'm looking through the window and these women are all naked from the waist down and appear to be getting fingerblasted by guys.
SOPHIA: Scott Nathan, what the hell are you talking about?
ME: I'm telling you. This is what I'm looking at with my own two eyes.
SOPHIA: That is DISGUSTING! What kind of sick, degenerate thing is this?
ME: I'll let you know...
The clock strikes 8:30. The door unlocks and a few people walk out to the sidewalk. Out walks Salma looking... dewy.
SALMA: I'm so glad you made it. Come in. I'll introduce you to everyone.
She makes some introductions and asks me to help her assemble some folding chairs into a circle.
The room smelled like a sex shop. Latex, water based lube and (sorry) pussy. 15 or so people form the circle. Most were there before I arrived. A few were newcomers like me. The women were mostly 40's & 50's. The men were awkward. 20's & 30's. A strange, rather horsey looking blonde woman was staring at me intensely. I looked up a couple of times and finally gave her a pleasant smile back.
I won't go into a lot of detail about the practice, but it's basically edge play. The men, collectively referred to as "The Strokers" are taught to, with the tip of their index finger, gently rub the upper left hand quadrant of the woman's clitoral hood. Only that spot. The women are known as "The Strokees". The explanation is through this high, sub orgasmic vibration benefit both parties and everyone else in the room. This organization has events globally. Sometimes with as many as a thousand people taking part. I try not to judge, but have little interest in further exploring this, nor touching (gloved or not) a sea of middle aged, divorced office manager vaginas. Still, I politely listen.
After the talk, the blonde equine woman with the disquieting stare approaches me. She's wearing a black, ill fitting dress with pet hair all over it. She's unkempt with messy hair and bad skin. She's late 30's.
EQUINE: I couldn't help notice that you were trying to get my attention.
If by trying to talk to get your attention, you mean avoiding eye contact, then yes.
ME: Um. I thought you were trying to get MY attention, so... Anyway. I'm just here with my friend Salma.
EQUINE LADY: (aggressively) Would you like to sign for our mens introductory class or not? It's $375.00 for 3 hours and you'll get to stroke someone at the end.
I'm uncomfortable and at a loss for words. When people try to aggressively sell me anything, I shut down.
ME: Um. No thank you.
EQUINE LADY: (Rolling her eyes) Ugh!
She storms off in a clippity cloppity clumsy canter and I can't wait to get the fuck out of this thing.
I didn't know what to say to Salma. My tendency is to joke about anything that makes me uncomfortable.
SALMA: So, what did you think?
ME: It's... interesting, but if you wanted a handjob, all you had to do was ask. Not sure if you know this, but Nathan means "Giver" in Hebrew.
SALMA: Funny, but it's not about sex or orgasms. It's about connecting with people and reaching a higher vibration.
I couldn't care less. I don't even like groups of people who are dressed. I'm just not a groups person.
ME: I'm gonna walk up to Canters and get some average soup. Talk to you soon.
And scene...
