The Tiny Pink Lotus of My Clitoris

by Sarah Irani  Jan 15, 2016
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It was, perhaps, my 11th time OMing. I was finally going to be stroked by a particular man who I'd had my eye on. I'd felt his energy from the first moment I saw him, with his tall and lanky body, dark East Indian skin, and blackest hair in a crown of curls. King of the Snakes, his name meant in Hindi, but his demeanor was kind and humble; he was a born gentleman, and so unassuming in his own grace.

We saw each other in the parking lot, waiting for the loft to open where our OM Circle would meet. He immediately asked if he could carry my cushions for me. "It's the least I can do," he said. I smiled - chivalry is not dead.

Up in the loft, I found the best spot in the corner, and set up my nest on a sheepskin rug, with my pretty blanket and colorful cushions. If I were to lay back and spread my legs for a relative stranger, at least I would be doing it in style.

This is so strange, I'm letting a man I barely know stroke my clitoris, what will he think of how my pussy looks? Natural thoughts, to be sure. But I swept them aside and lay myself back on the blanket. With his long legs, he stepped over me, we adjusted our position, and I was in. No thought. Just feeling the firm pressure of his hands applying a grounding touch on my thighs. We had chosen to do this together, and we would be brave.

Although we connected quickly and got off to a good start, offering and requesting a few adjustments to speed, length of stroke, and location (he had started off way too far from my clit, his fingers up into the hood, but thankfully that's what asking for stroke adjustments is for) helped find the spot of most sensation. At one point, I asked for firmer pressure, and that seemed ok for a while - until it wasn't. Now it was like a dead weight on my clit. I was trying to reach up to feel something, but the pressure was so hard, I must have gone numb. It wasn't painful, just dull. A little voice in my mind kept saying: "Ask him for less pressure. Ask him Sarah, ask him." But no, said my other voice, you just asked him for more pressure. Better just stick to what you wanted, make the best of it.

Finally, after a few mental go rounds, I did ask for what I wanted. I touched his arm lightly to get his attention, and whispered: "Less pressure, please." And so he did. And in that moment, illumination! My clit blossomed upward, like a tiny pink lotus flower. Through my sensations, I felt the sweetest little petals, blooming, glowing. "A little faster, please." And from there, it was a ride.

Up and down the peaks and valleys, my back arching, my breath quick and shallow, with involuntary little moans escaping my throat. Was it pleasure? Or was it just losing control? It was definitely electric. And my relief that this wasn't about climax. I didn't have to try and make anything happen, neither to please myself nor please my stroker. This was about feeling exactly what is. This was orgasm. A building up of sensation and energy.

The rest of our OM was highly sensational, and I even wondered to myself How much am I allowed to enjoy this? This is, after all, a meditative practice! I felt like, you know, it's ok to build pleasurable energy in my body, but to really be aroused by and fully enjoying the fingertip of a man I'm attracted to? Was that ok? These are things that get riled up in an alchemical practice that uses everything for fuel.

Then time was called, the 2-minute countdown, and he let the wave complete, bringing me back to earth with firm, grounding downstrokes. After a moment he helped me sit up and we shared frames. I spoke about the easing of pressure on my clit, and the tiny, unfolding feeling that bloomed up from it. His already glowing face lit up: "Yes, I know what you are talking about! I felt that too!" And we smiled, laughed, he in a healthy state of arousal, and me, my body in a pink glow. Here, the perennial OMing question "What's in the for the guy?" was answered: Everything that's in it for me, is also in it for the guy. We are a closed feedback loop.

As comes to me naturally, I bowed my head in reverent gratitude with my hands together in prayer. He bowed his head in return and we were complete.

This is connection. This is why we OM.

(Photo Credit: Unknown)