About ten years ago, I spent my favorite Saturday night ever in “The Cave,” discussing with a group of bright, clever entrepreneurs how to sexually please their wives. Even preparing for it was a euphoric romp that reminded me how much I loved my so-called job. During my prep, I had no idea who these men were going to be, or in what kind of venue we’d be meeting.
I worked on occasion as a consultant to The Berman Center, a high profile couples counseling office. A mutual friend had the intuition to introduce me to Dr. Berman, a Chicago media celeb, and we clicked. Two therapists split off from Dr. Berman’s staff, and we kept in touch. A year later, one of the therapists, Molly, asked the other therapist, Kim, and I to help her lead a retreat in Santa Barbara. The retreat would be on a farm, she explained, in the barn, but it would be a lovely barn, she said. The compensation was crazy high, but beyond that, the weekend just sounded like fun.
The west coast chapter of a club composed of men who had become millionaires before they were 40 was having a couples’ weekend. I’d be teaching morning yoga twice, and I’d spend a couple hours Saturday evening with the men. Molly felt a little bad foisting the men upon me, she said, but I was thrilled. After I enthusiastically accepted the “job,” I called my tantra mentor, Richard, an enlightened yet completely normal grandfather from Ohio who is not quite old enough to be my father and who had seen me in every possible light, from a pool of weeping vulnerability to an empowered, embodied goddess. He and his wife honored me as a sexual being and physical manifestation of the Divine Feminine. I loved that about them.
I asked my teacher what he’d teach these men, if they were his for the night, and he instantly offered four great ideas for my consideration. Then, a few days later, I spontaneously asked my yoga client, James, what he thought all those men wanted to know. “Ugh. The age-old question that all men have about the mysteries of the female body,” he replied. “How to please a woman. All women’s bodies are different, and complicated. Knowing how to please one doesn’t translate over into how to please someone else.” I agreed with him on the complexities of women’s bodies, based on my experience with richly complex women.
Knowing that he’d enjoy this question immensely, I then asked another yoga client, Tom, what he thought all those men wanted to know. “Ohhh! That all women’s bodies are the same!” he replied confidently. “That there’s no mystery. Once you understand one woman’s body, you understand them all.” I was impressed. “All women come when they’re with me,” he rhapsodized. “I love to eat pussy. I love the taste, the smell, I love everything about it. I love it. I love women!”
In the ensuing days, when I repeated Tom’s answer to my friends, they all wanted his number.
I was finished with my research. I had my topic. I would also offer some tantric principles for sustaining erections, whether the men asked for that information or not, because Molly had told me that that a third of their wives had mentioned erections as an issue on their pre-retreat questionnaires.
On the flight to Santa Barbara, where we would be co-leading the retreat, I left my seat and stood in the aisle to talk to Molly and Kim, the two therapists. We had a lively, detailed conversation about sex and also discussed the two prevailing, though opposing, points of view in contemporary couples counseling (total bonding with zero boundaries versus setting boundaries, ie, owning your own stuff and doing your own work). After the flight, we laughed wondering whether our unsuspecting plane-mates were either trying not to listen, seat-belted in, or trying to listen, over the drone of the engine. Molly and Kim were exhausted, having been up late preparing power point presentations every night for the last month, looking at research, choosing images for the power point, and studying the seminal texts (pun intended) about sex and couples counseling. I sympathized with their exhaustion, but I wasn’t feeling a bit guilty about my half page of handwritten notes that took a mere ten minutes of preparation to come up with.
That evening the three of us had dinner in Santa Barbara, during which we talked about…well, you know…then laughed about how the diners in the surrounding tables had to listen to our deep dive about other people’s sex problems. After dinner, we drove 35 miles straight into paradise. Once out of Santa Barbara, we entered a land of small independent California farms that grew grapes or apples or plums or, I’m not even kidding, lavender. Who knew? We three city girls had never seen a boutique farm. Right after we saw a deer-crossing sign, a real live deer sauntered gracefully across the street. We were in heaven. I wanted to move there.
We arrived at the farm and were introduced to a candlelit table of 30 fab young couples enjoying dessert--actually we each introduced ourselves, and I decided--during my intro--that for the future, a pre-scripted intro would be an asset. Then the therapists led the group in an icebreaking game about sex, during which I observed how quick and articulate these beautiful people were, quite witty actually; the wine had already broken the ice.
The next morning, I taught outdoor yoga with a little tantra mixed in, both experientially and philosophically. I hadn’t known what to expect, but I quite liked the group. They were friendly and grateful and open to my unique approach to being Here Now. After morning yoga, it was essentially a free day for me, spent sitting on the most green and velvety lawn I’d ever sat on--clearly the best grass money could buy. The farm hosting our retreat grew premium organic alfalfa for premier racehorses, and the whole property smelled like good health.
During a break in the therapists’ long afternoon presentation, I spontaneously offered a 20-minute partner yoga session. I love to watch couples in their partner yoga positions, because it’s almost always a metaphor for their relationship. I partnered with one of the wives, Grace, when her husband Tim had run off to do, or fix, or call—and I sensed that that was a microcosm of their marriage. As it turned out, he was the owner of the alfalfa farm.
Later that evening I had dinner with the therapists again, and we talked about…well, you know. During dinner, I called my daughter and had her recite some Ke$ha lyrics so the curious therapists could hear a sample of what kind of sex messaging girls that age were getting. Then I told them how much I loved hanging out with people who didn’t consider me a freak for talking about sex so much. They empathized emphatically.
We made it back to the hotel by 9, which was 11 Chicago time; but, as it turned out, our group was still only on their salad course and not at all ready for us. It was long past my bedtime. Not a night owl, not even a person who likes staying up late every so often just for fun, I sat down in the lounge and tried not to fall asleep. Finally, at 10:30, the retreat participants began to filter through the front doors. The men were directed into “The Cave”—the wine cellar of the elegant boutique hotel where they were staying. It was cold and late, 12:30am Chicago time.
As I entered The Cave, it was roaring with men’s voices. Suddenly I was wide awake. How would I calm these guys down? But when I sat down at the head of the long table, I felt like the chairman of the board as they quieted immediately. “What a treat!” I said, meaning it, looking briefly at each enthusiastic guy, as we became present together.
I savored a deep breath. They waited silently. After years of yoga teaching, I had learned to center, connect, and breathe before launching. “So…this is my power point presentation,” I said, holding up a quartered piece of paper.
This was met with laughter, as I had hoped.
“We can use it or not use it. I don’t want you guys to feel like I have an agenda.” Some of the men immediately launched in with their questions, while a few said they wanted to hear what was on my paper power point. I could tell I had a few advocates, a few protectors in the group, a few guys who quieted the others down. But even when they were interrupting me and each other with their witty lines and wine-fueled puns and accusations, I felt respected. Their questions were almost exclusively about pleasing their partners and making sex last longer.
I told them that after I’d accepted this assignment to gather with them in the Cave—while, incidentally, their wives were buying sex toys sold by the two therapists--I’d asked my tantra teacher what he thought men wanted to know, and then I described how Richard had been married 40 years and has tantric sex every single morning, that he ejaculates only once a month, that he uses the sexual energy as fuel for enlightenment, that for him—and for me—tantra is a spiritual path, an enlightenment path. I said that Richard has breathed sexual energy into his third eye for clarity of vision every day for the past twelve years, and that all of his cells absorb it, so he embodies youthfulness, vigor, and curiosity. I told them Richard had shared some great ideas, one of which was that we begin by “Having you guys cup one hand over your genitals and use the other hand’s fingertips to encircle your nipples. But you guys lucked out. We are not going there!”
I was grateful that they laughed. Again. Then I told them about my two male yoga clients’ opposing theories.
“So, what do you think?” I asked. “Are women unique mysteries, like James says? Or, if you know how to please one, do you know how to please all of them, like Tom says? Who’s right?” No one really wanted to answer…and they had apparently run out of hilarious quips. They were silent.
This lull would have been a great time for me to interrupt my question to partner them up and have them touch each other’s cheeks, an idea that had come to me earlier that day. I wanted them to stop and feel, not to try to create an effect on the other person’s cheek, but to feel the essence of that person through his cheek. And I wanted the man who was being touched to experience being felt. Would they feel awkward? Gay? It was the perfect exercise for these powerful guys to experience male awkwardness and vulnerability—and to get them into truly and actually feeling.
But I didn’t partner them up…because one of the men suddenly had the answer: “Oh! it’s not about whether women are mysteries or not, it’s about the approach that Tom took: he loved what he was doing!”
“Yes!” I agreed. “THAT is what the woman feels! A woman lying there in the most vulnerable position ever can feel everything. If you are truly taking her in, she will relax. And “taking her in” requires you to open up to your own feminine, receptive side. The masculine side, well, that is your doing side. To some extent you are doing, yes, you are “doing” her, but at the same time, truly receiving what she has to offer will help your partner feel trust and connection and potentially open to the mind-blowing orgasm you want her to have.”
Now would have been my second chance, if I were to live my life over, to have them stop and touch each other’s cheek--I really wanted them to touch each other’s cheek! They were so accustomed to being in charge and in control and doing doing doing. But at the same time, I was loving the energy flow and participation, and I didn’t want to interrupt it to do an exercise that could so easily go wrong. And I was likely the only person in the room who wanted these guys to touch each other’s cheeks.
Then a tall, thin, otherwise quiet guy asked me a personal question about my own orgasms, which I answered. Someone else followed up: "So, in that scenario you just described, were you having sex with a woman or a man?" These men were wanting full disclosure! It occurred to me how much Molly and Kim, traditional therapists, would decry my lack of boundaries. But as a tantra teacher, I could be as candid as I wanted, while still directing the group dynamic. And what happens in The Cave stays in The Cave. I did want them to know that I was, kind of, one of the guys. I love being the only girl in the room. “I was referring to being with a man, just then. But yes, I have also been with women.”
I saw two guys exchange glances; apparently one of them had just won a bet.
“The world is shifting, and men have to learn to embody more feminine energy,” I said. “It no longer needs to be seen as a weakness. And one of the places men can really come into contact with their feminine, receptive side is in bed. With a bit of awareness, receiving and giving can merge into one.” They sat with that.
“What is the very best way to please a woman?” one man asked, and suddenly the table was buzzing, inquisitive, practically demanding I share my tips, so I did.
When I finished, one man had a question—it was Tim, the husband who had left yoga early to take a phone call, while I partnered with his wife. “But what about my wife?” he asked. “Sometimes whatever I do doesn’t seem to work.”
“Oh, your wife,” I answered. “Your wife’s sexuality is like porcelain. Exquisite and finely made, but also very delicate, almost brittle.” I explained how to approach a woman whose sexuality was brittle and delicate. How her g-spot, despite medical science barely acknowledging its existence, actually holds memories, and how each women’s g-spot is armored, protected in its own unique way, including mine. They were riveted, until I finished, and then eight hands immediately went up.
“What about MY wife?” asked all eight guys in unison. I was overwhelmed. “Hold on, guys,” I said. “I don’t even know whose wife is whose! I only know about Tim's wife because I did yoga with her. Let’s set something up tomorrow, at lunch, when you can come to me as a couple, and I can get a feel for your wife’s unique sexuality.”
They loved our secret plan for consultations. And I loved being in on their wife-pleasing intentions. The following day, couple after couple approached me to make small talk in a sweet little high-end tent. With each couple, as soon as I could, I segued into the heart of their sex lives. I was thrilled by how much progress we could make in brief, 20-minute sessions when each partner was fully invested in making a shift.
I left that whirlwind of a weekend inspired to market myself to men’s groups. But because I didn’t have half the ambition of the young entrepreneurs who had made their million before turning 40, I never did pursue that avenue.
