Orgasmic Meditation and OneTaste
Controversy, legacy, and what we stand to lose
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Orgasmic meditation (also known as OM or OMing) sounds like an oxymoron—until you learn what it actually is—a structured, 15-minute partnered practice in which one person gently strokes a specific spot on a woman’s clitoris with a finger. Despite its name, the goal of orgasmic meditation isn’t climax, but rather heightened awareness, deeper connection, and expanded sensation. It’s a very precise mindfulness practice.
Most people have never heard of orgasmic meditation. Those who have often link it to OneTaste, the controversial company that popularized the practice in the early 2000s. At its height, OneTaste was a global community (some say a cult) led by its charismatic cofounder, Nicole Daedone. But the heyday ended when whistleblowers revealed abusive company practices, and federal charges were brought against Daedone. As I write this, she and her former head of sales are on trial in New York for conspiracy to commit forced labor. Federal prosecutors allege that between 2004 and 2018, they manipulated vulnerable individuals—often those with prior trauma—into providing unpaid labor and coerced them into sexual acts under the guise of empowerment. The indictment details intimidation and psychological abuse.
OneTaste has since restructured under new leadership and now operates as The Institute of OM.
These days, the organization emphasizes the science behind orgasmic meditation. In partnership with researchers at Thomas Jefferson University, the Institute of OM has funded studies showing that the practice activates areas of the brain tied to emotional regulation, self-awareness, and even spiritual experience. Early findings—both from clinical studies and participant surveys—suggest OM can ease symptoms of PTSD and induce mystical states on par with those reported in psychedelic therapy.
I’ve experienced orgasmic meditation firsthand. The method deserves to be seen apart from the controversy—for the power of the practice itself. Without dismissing the real harm caused by the organization, I want to offer another lens.
My introduction to OMing didn’t come through OneTaste—it came through Robyn, my sexological bodyworker. When she suggested we try it, we’d already awakened my skin through sensate sessions and explored the “box of old photos” stored in my vulva. Robyn had earned my trust, and I was listening more closely than ever to the quiet intelligence of my body.
I lay on the table in Robyn’s studio, the scent of essential oils in the air, the soft sheet cool against my skin. We began, as always, with breathwork.
“Imagine the breath pooling low, like warm water in a bowl.” Robyn’s fingers moved in slow circles over the sheet, just above my pelvis. “Now imagine your pelvic bowl is filled to the brim with orange light.” This, she’d taught me, was my sacral chakra, governing sexuality, desire, and creative energy.
She pulled the sheet down slowly, guiding my thighs open to rest on soft bolsters. In orgasmic meditation, the “stroker’s” left hand rests palm-down on the “strokee’s” thigh, grounding and anchoring the connection. With the right hand, the stroker uses a lightly lubricated index finger to gently caress the clitoris at the 1 o’clock position. The right thumb may rest lightly on the mound or labia for stability, careful not to add pressure or distract from the stroke. This protocol is so precise, it makes you wonder if aerospace engineers and gynecologists teamed up to create it. Check out the tutorials on the OM app.
When the stroke began, the first touch startled me—too direct, immediate. I was used to a little warm-up before tapping the button of 8,000 nerve endings (more than any other part of the human body). Despite the breathwork, it took a moment to settle into the sensation and relax.
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