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The clitoris is pretty cool. Its the only organ in the human body made solely for pleasure, but despite it's incredible powers, it's unfortunately often overlooked.

But, why? One French filmmaker is just as confused about it as we are, which is why she made a video to call attention to the VIP of human pleasure.

The educational and adorable video reminds us not only what exactly the clitoris is, but also why we should be paying more attention to it. The answer?

Because we can. The clitoris is an organ which is dedicated solely to giving you pleasure — it has no other purpose. You might be familiar with the to part of it, the spot nestled inside your labia that can bring you to orgasm, but there's actually way more to our little friend than meets the eye.

It functions kind of like a penis, swelling when it's aroused, but it's actually way more sensitive than a penis meaning it can make you feel way more awesome.

A clitoris has double the amount of nerve endings than a penis. Despite all that potential, Lori's video points out we don't give the clitoris enough attention — and that's a problem we've had throughout history.

Over the course of the conference, nearly every guy who asked me to OM—the collegiate startup cofounder, the burly acupuncturist, the weaselly something from Austin, the dashing cognitive scientist, the white-haired yogi—would suggest it within 60 seconds of our first meeting.

A couple of times, the request arrived before they even gave me their names. In this regard, the Jimi Hendrix reference was only the opening act.

If she was Hendrix, half the people in the room wanted to be guitarists themselves. The other half of us were there to be guitars.

I first heard about OneTaste in March, at a breakfast meeting with a venture capitalist who had newly moved to New York from San Francisco.

She hadn't felt compelled to try it herself, but she had a friend who worked at OneTaste, who would OM if she was nervous before a big meeting.

They had lingo for the men who'd perfected the craft: "Master stroker—that's what it's called! Genital stimulation in a professional context seemed transgressive, even for hippie-hedonist San Francisco.

But she said, "If we have employee problems, we're like, let's OM together. Yeah, if two people have a discrepancy, we say: OM together! This is where the company hosts therapy sessions and OMing classes.

But its spiritual center is a nearby clay-colored, three-story residence at Folsom Street, down the street from Sightglass Coffee, the epitome of retro-futurist craftsmanship and a mandatory scene for magazine profiles of Twitter cofounder Jack Dorsey, whose mobile payments company, Square, is headquartered nearby.

Not all of the 55 people who live at work for OneTaste. Some would-be residents sign up for the waiting list in search of a plum location and affordable rent.

But at every weekday, the building hosts a group session, closed to the general public. Many employees maintain multiple "research partners" simultaneously.

Ratnathicam, a half-Swedish, half-Sri Lankan former software-company business development manager, has been a resident of for three and a half years.

Daedone, meanwhile, has been accruing the trappings of a daytime personality, building a lifestyle brand along the way. Van Vleck, who launched a menswear e-commerce company that was acquired by the cofounder of Bonobos, told me that she had been working as head of marketing for OneTaste for months before she agreed to try OM.

I was ultimately scared. It's vulnerable. I just wouldn't. Her smile was infectious and her complexion dewy.

Every time she talked about stroking, she would stick out the index finger of her left hand, straight as a ruler. She curled the tip of her other index finger and rubbed it back and forth, along a centimeter's worth of the ruler, like a DJ scratching the world's tiniest record.

OMing, she said, was fuel. It's like eating breakfast. That's what we eventually hope: Instead of a latte, women will have an OM.

Because that's what regulates your body. An orgasm for breakfast, you know? I was on my second iced coffee and third interview of the day, eyeing my iPhone in the middle of the table in fear of whatever news I might be missing online.

I felt like she was talking about me. The notion of a therapeutic female orgasm has its roots in the pelvic massage, a cure for hysteria recommended by Hippocrates and a catalyst for empowerment prescribed by Austrian psychoanalyst Wilhelm Reich.

But its current iteration originated in the '60s at Lafayette Morehouse, a self-described "intentional community" in San Francisco's East Bay suburbs espousing a philosophy of "responsible hedonism.

The Rick A. Ross Institute, an online forum about cult education, has devoted pages of commentary connecting Daedone's work to Baranco's.

A post by OneTaste's cofounder Robert Kandell from tells a different story, saying Daedone had "spent the last seven years devoting her energy to the work of Dr.

Victor Baranco. On stage at TEDxSF, South by Southwest, and even at OMXperience, Daedone prefers to tell a more cocktail-friendly anecdote about how she, a former Buddhist nun-in-training, once met a guy at a Buddhism party who introduced her to the practice.

Mechanically, it works like so: The stroker prepares for the session by massaging the subject's legs with "grounding pressure," while the stroker's gaze is focused on her clitoris, or at least the general area.

After that is the "noticing" phase, in which the stroker is supposed to narrate what's being seen, using "non-value" terms, as though a woman can listen to her vagina being described aloud without feeling judged.

The subject is encouraged to give "adjustments," detailing if she wants the stroker to move a little to the left or to apply less pressure. Don't apologize, just ask, after which the stroker is supposed to say "Thank you.

You can watch a session, filmed for Deepak Chopra's YouTube channel, below. Why do men sign up for an exercise that tells them to keep it in their pants?

After some confusion about the upside, OneTaste addressed the question directly last year. Left unsaid is that immersion in the OneTaste community also offers proximity to lots of sexually liberated women.

I thought I might be able to get away with watching from the sidelines. Once I got to the conference, though, it was clear that the only way to witness the Group OM was to participate.

That meant sitting through a training session to get a bracelet—one of those colored ones they give out at concerts with a sticky white tab at the end.

Green indicated the person had been OMing before the conference. Red meant you were a noob. I still hadn't known what to expect when I walked into the Regency on Friday afternoon.

A tweaky, happy energy bounced around the walls, the kind of anticipation that goes with knowing that half the people in the room are liable to take their pants off.

All around me, people stopped to engage in close, meaningful embraces. And sure, there was the Steve Wozniak doppelgänger in a knitted Pokemon hat, and a year-old nurse with a walker.

Good-looking people abounded, however. Well-dressed people, even. There was a stylish young couple, carting a newborn in a baby carrier, who showed up each day looking runway-ready say Heatherette for her, Burberry for him.

There was more racial and ethnic diversity than your typical tech conference, and a wider income range.

Gender-wise, it seemed split down the middle, avoiding any prospective imbalance between undersexed woman and willing male fingers. Coffee—the one freebie guaranteed at every conference—was nowhere to be found.

The small beverage stations were tea only. Yet everyone seemed energized. Seated next to me was a cognitive scientist who does research for a major retailer, dressed in all-white like a cricket player on his day off.

The retail scientist, who also leads a biohacking meetup in the Bay Area, told me that he learned about OneTaste after he heard a talk by Dr.

Sara Gottfried, another oxytocin enthusiast who was also speaking at the conference. I expected a PowerPoint of the female anatomy with a laser pointer beamed at the clit, or at least one of those weirdo.

But the session offered little anatomical specificity. The hosts were fully clothed: Justine Dawson, a petite blonde Canadian who used to be a social worker, and Ken Blackman, a former software engineer for Apple, with the air of a competent accountant.

The presentation focused on the steps in the process, and on the etiquette. Among us students was Naomi Wolf—author of Vagina: A New Biography , due out in paperback this holiday season—in the same tight blue dress she would wear during her evening presentation.

I tried to suppress a laugh as Wolf scooted up to the side of the stage and squatted down to take pictures. Maybe she too was hoping for some cheat sheet.

Laid bare at the training, OM started to sound retrograde, quaint even. The most far-out aspect was the unapologetic emphasis on female pleasure.

The day before, we'd begun with the intimacy workshop. Audience members were instructed to find a partner and ask each other a series of questions: Who are you?

Tell me a secret. What do you want? The queries get repeated, relentlessly, in a way that strips off whatever varnish of professionalism or privacy you were trying to maintain.

For each set of questions, you were paired up with a stranger nearby. For one exercise, I partnered with a computer security manager at a Fortune company who said he liked to watch his wife get fucked and uses ropes.

I did not doubt him. My next sharing buddy was a sweet, soft-spoken engineer from Alameda, who looked like an Amish Paul Bunyan.

He made soulful eye contact as we asked each other Who ARE you? Who are YOU? In short bursts, we shared how other people perceived us versus how we wanted to be seen.

Those long, meaningful hugs started to seem less dopey. I raised my hand, but, truthfully, I'd held back. As disarming as the workshop had been, I was here to report, not because I believed.

Now here was Justine Dawson, my orientation host, in a slinky periwinkle dress, slipping out of her underwear and climbing atop a massage table in the ballroom.

Daedone came back out wearing a black apron over her own gray dress, creating a Dr. Frankenstein vibe. I had been given a seat in the second row, next to a certified hypnotherapist named Clyde, who runs an academy in Los Angeles for ex-offenders.

Now, what makes your drugs better than the other drug? Clyde's biceps were immense. He said he had been through the Landmark Forum—another "personal development" company, with its own cultish undertones—and said Landmark and OneTaste were similar in "finding language that releases the inhibitions you have.

But the organizers were canny and tried to ease the alienness. The female speakers were all in cocktail attire. I didn't want anyone wearing any spirit garb," Daedone said backstage after OMX had finished—the only time I was permitted to interview her.

And the lights, they're on. Mercilessly on. Her parts. Out loud. Now he's putting his finger in something. Oh, it's lube.

Of course. Fucking San Francisco. The narration moved to Baughan's own experience of getting stroked.

If I do this, will I end up a sex addict and homeless on the street? And if I do this, I'm pretty sure it doesn't exist, but I'm gonna go to hell.

Listen to how Victorian you sound. Everything happening is perfectly OK. This is normal. And now that another presenter had briefed us, like a vadge sommelier, on the "reverent, light sensation" from the clitoral ridge, versus the "rich, deep earthy sensation" down at the base—-it was showtime.

Daedone told us about her vision of an "OM-based world," whose denizens would be "there to welcome those whose minds had been hijacked by the idea that appropriateness is somehow better than honest or the fallacy that it's ever better to pretend to be something than to actually be who you are.

Off with the underwear, on with the apron. I did scales for years, Ken did scales for years. This is the equivalent to a symphony, so you're not allowed to compare yourself, just enjoy.

God only knows what view the folks in the balcony had. The audience exhaled. I can stroke firm or deep, she'll go with me. Hendrix was really bending it now.

Daedone's face contorted like a Kabuki mask and her hips bucked against the massage table as she strummed Dawson.

At times, Daedone lowered her head toward her crotch, as if hearing some mystical hum. It was hard to tell if she was getting off on the audience watching her perform, or whether the whole thing had looped all the way back around to a complete lack of self-consciousness.

Soon, the 15 minutes were up. It's my favorite part, where I can feel the heartbeat in my thumb. Then it was time for "sharing frames," where onlookers describe a sensation they felt during a particular moment in the OM.

Men and women lined up at the microphone, letting out their inner New Age poets as Daedone murmured approval:. And there was a little soft arrow that stopped my breath.

Had they really felt any of those things? The most I felt was relief it was over. As I waited in line afterward to introduce myself to Daedone, I caught a glimpse of Dawson, so blissed out and languid-eyed, she looked ready to melt right off her chair.

The average time between first hearing about OM and actually trying it, Daedone would tell me later, is two years.

For me, it was six months. The next day, I'd be taking my red wristband into the basement of the Regency, and it would be happening to me.

Then it would happen three more times. Orgasms are good for you. No one's arguing against that. The message of OMX, though, went considerably beyond it.

On Saturday, we heard from Dr. Pooja Lakshmin, a Stanford-trained psychiatrist who does orgasm research at the Rutgers neuroscience lab, and who is OneTaste's director of science and research.

She took the stage in a form-fitting black dress, her nails done in hot pink—a James Bond casting director's vision of a neuroscientist—while Jeremiah crooned "Put it down on me, put it down me" over the speakers.

Partner-induced clitoral stimulation, Lakshmin said, has a rare ability to stimulate the limbic system—that level between the neocortex and the reptilian brain, which she said goes ignored by psychiatrists.

The only things that can match it, for release of oxytocin, are childbirth or breastfeeding. It showed areas of the brain firing in bright traffic light reds and yellows.

The notable thing about the lab is that it's run by Dr. I wrote Komisaruk, to ask if his opinion had changed. He emailed back: "I now better understand and appreciate several main claims of OneTaste I think to the extent that OM can increase those participating individuals' awareness of their bodily sensations, it can be a physiologically healthful practice.

However, I do not know whether the strictly prescribed, highly structured OM stimulation protocols are the optimal means of achieving any specific healthful objectives, as I am not aware of controlled studies comparing alternative relevant orgasm procedures.

Lakshmin told us that before she joined OneTaste, when she worked as a psychiatrist, "I would just write lots of medications.

I was kind of a drug dealer. They were fancy, they had husbands, they were rich, they had fancy houses.

The OM experience is nothing if not attentive. In the initial orientation, Dawson and Blackman had explained the importance of "safeporting," where the stroker tells the woman exactly what he is about to do before he does it: I'm going to give you some grounding pressure now.

Safeporting, Dawson said, accesses "what we call the vigilance center of the mind, which is quite a bit larger in a woman's mind than in a man's brain.

A finger instead of a tongue; the thumb placed on the outside, providing a "symbolic connection" to intercourse while making it difficult for the stroker to feel involuntary contractions, forcing him to pay attention.

Like, why in the hell do you walk into a zendo with your left foot? Who knows?

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One French filmmaker is just as confused about it as we are, which is why she made a video to call attention to the VIP of human pleasure.

The educational and adorable video reminds us not only what exactly the clitoris is, but also why we should be paying more attention to it.

The answer? Because we can. The clitoris is an organ which is dedicated solely to giving you pleasure — it has no other purpose.

You might be familiar with the to part of it, the spot nestled inside your labia that can bring you to orgasm, but there's actually way more to our little friend than meets the eye.

It functions kind of like a penis, swelling when it's aroused, but it's actually way more sensitive than a penis meaning it can make you feel way more awesome.

A clitoris has double the amount of nerve endings than a penis. Despite all that potential, Lori's video points out we don't give the clitoris enough attention — and that's a problem we've had throughout history.

Even though we've known about the clitoris since the times of Ancient Greece and honestly, people who have them likely have known about them, well, forever , the clitoris has been "discovered" numerous times, and then forgotten about.

Since then, the clitoris has continued to be forgotten or misrepresented in literature. Many men have squabbled around the subject of the clitoris and the female orgasm.

And now that another presenter had briefed us, like a vadge sommelier, on the "reverent, light sensation" from the clitoral ridge, versus the "rich, deep earthy sensation" down at the base—-it was showtime.

Daedone told us about her vision of an "OM-based world," whose denizens would be "there to welcome those whose minds had been hijacked by the idea that appropriateness is somehow better than honest or the fallacy that it's ever better to pretend to be something than to actually be who you are.

Off with the underwear, on with the apron. I did scales for years, Ken did scales for years. This is the equivalent to a symphony, so you're not allowed to compare yourself, just enjoy.

God only knows what view the folks in the balcony had. The audience exhaled. I can stroke firm or deep, she'll go with me. Hendrix was really bending it now.

Daedone's face contorted like a Kabuki mask and her hips bucked against the massage table as she strummed Dawson. At times, Daedone lowered her head toward her crotch, as if hearing some mystical hum.

It was hard to tell if she was getting off on the audience watching her perform, or whether the whole thing had looped all the way back around to a complete lack of self-consciousness.

Soon, the 15 minutes were up. It's my favorite part, where I can feel the heartbeat in my thumb. Then it was time for "sharing frames," where onlookers describe a sensation they felt during a particular moment in the OM.

Men and women lined up at the microphone, letting out their inner New Age poets as Daedone murmured approval:. And there was a little soft arrow that stopped my breath.

Had they really felt any of those things? The most I felt was relief it was over. As I waited in line afterward to introduce myself to Daedone, I caught a glimpse of Dawson, so blissed out and languid-eyed, she looked ready to melt right off her chair.

The average time between first hearing about OM and actually trying it, Daedone would tell me later, is two years.

For me, it was six months. The next day, I'd be taking my red wristband into the basement of the Regency, and it would be happening to me.

Then it would happen three more times. Orgasms are good for you. No one's arguing against that. The message of OMX, though, went considerably beyond it.

On Saturday, we heard from Dr. Pooja Lakshmin, a Stanford-trained psychiatrist who does orgasm research at the Rutgers neuroscience lab, and who is OneTaste's director of science and research.

She took the stage in a form-fitting black dress, her nails done in hot pink—a James Bond casting director's vision of a neuroscientist—while Jeremiah crooned "Put it down on me, put it down me" over the speakers.

Partner-induced clitoral stimulation, Lakshmin said, has a rare ability to stimulate the limbic system—that level between the neocortex and the reptilian brain, which she said goes ignored by psychiatrists.

The only things that can match it, for release of oxytocin, are childbirth or breastfeeding. It showed areas of the brain firing in bright traffic light reds and yellows.

The notable thing about the lab is that it's run by Dr. I wrote Komisaruk, to ask if his opinion had changed.

He emailed back: "I now better understand and appreciate several main claims of OneTaste I think to the extent that OM can increase those participating individuals' awareness of their bodily sensations, it can be a physiologically healthful practice.

However, I do not know whether the strictly prescribed, highly structured OM stimulation protocols are the optimal means of achieving any specific healthful objectives, as I am not aware of controlled studies comparing alternative relevant orgasm procedures.

Lakshmin told us that before she joined OneTaste, when she worked as a psychiatrist, "I would just write lots of medications.

I was kind of a drug dealer. They were fancy, they had husbands, they were rich, they had fancy houses. The OM experience is nothing if not attentive.

In the initial orientation, Dawson and Blackman had explained the importance of "safeporting," where the stroker tells the woman exactly what he is about to do before he does it: I'm going to give you some grounding pressure now.

Safeporting, Dawson said, accesses "what we call the vigilance center of the mind, which is quite a bit larger in a woman's mind than in a man's brain.

A finger instead of a tongue; the thumb placed on the outside, providing a "symbolic connection" to intercourse while making it difficult for the stroker to feel involuntary contractions, forcing him to pay attention.

Like, why in the hell do you walk into a zendo with your left foot? Who knows? It's just weird. But you know what? You do it and you discover, something new opens.

The Group OM sessions—there were eight of them on the schedule—were held in the venue's lower level, "perfect for corporate receptions, banquets, product launches, and tabletop trade shows," according to the Regency's website.

Before each one, the rotunda was crowded with people looking for their intended partners, or trying to find one.

Friday night, after the demo, Van Vleck had introduced me to a startup cofounder, preppy and chestnut-haired, who said he'd learned about OneTaste at a tech event.

He looked like he'd stepped out of an admissions catalog. He asked if I wanted to OM, and I'd said yes. But he was almost too good-looking.

This was too wackadoo; I wanted someone wackadoo to do it with. I was relieved when our schedules didn't match. Once I watched a spiky-haired older woman haplessly pleading with a jittery-looking guy, who read as gay to me, to tell her whether he wanted to OM.

Shortly before one of the Saturday sessions was about to start, I met Ryan the acupuncturist. He was tall and blonde, with hipsterish glasses, and built like a defensive tackle.

He wore a green wristband. Short story shorter: I made like Molly Bloom. I entered the doorway. Some OMers had chosen to personalize with a colorful scarf or blanket.

The giant room was divided into two parts. I was assigned a spot in very last row of the smaller part, which, I hoped, would minimize the number of people who would see me doing this thing.

Holy fucking shit, I need to shut down all the Wifi in my hometown because I am about to do this unspeakable thing.

All around me were number of unexpected couplings: a man who looked like Kevin Garnett with an older white woman with dimpled thighs; another older white woman and a fellow red bracelet she had to instruct, heavily, through the process.

The grounding pressure helped. Everyone was told to begin at the same time. OneTaste instructors walked around the nests offering adjustments like it was a yoga class.

Afterward, I wandered around the Regency from panel to panel, delightfully faded, with an occasional tingling sensation in the back of my legs.

Is this what Trudy and Sting feel like all the time? I just knew I wanted to try it again. And so I did, an hour later with the cognitive scientist. During one session, a woman wailed through the entire 15 minutes.

Happy sobs, or cathartic ones, I think. At registration, everyone had been given a red card to hold up if they ever felt uncomfortable.

I never saw anyone use it. After the 15 minutes were up, the cognitive scientist told me the group OM topped that time he'd asked a cabbie in Tahoe to drive him somewhere weird and ended up at the Bunny Ranch while Marilyn Manson was visiting.

I just nodded. Speaker after speaker, through the weekend, traced a path from despair to enlightenment, guided by the power of orgasm.

The energetic and self-assured Van Vleck talked about how she had formed an elaborate plan to commit suicide before discovering OneTaste.

Lakshmin recounted a failed marriage to husband who'd looked like J. Crew male model, and her subsequent self-discovery. Her Meetup.

At one point on Saturday afternoon, though, the immersive optimistic mood took an unwelcome turn. The speaker was Robbie Richman, the former Zappos culture strategist.

Tony Robbins is among his other clients, so I expected light-hearted platitudes. The organizers played "Blurred Lines" for his intro, and he sang along, rigidly rolling his head: "Maybe I'm out of my miiiiiiiind.

He followed up by phoning one of the OneTaste coaches. The coach told him, he said, "We gotta get your beast out.

We gotta get the beast out, and in order to do that we gotta turn up the heat, we gotta heat up the system to get that beast out There wasn't a hesitation, I didn't even know what they were gonna charge.

I just said, whatever she's gonna say, I'm gonna say yes. He'd been in therapy for anxiety for years, he said. But then he recounted his OneTaste experience, which began with his arriving at Folsom and turning over his clothes, cell phone, and keys.

They sent him "to the edge" of his comfort zone, he said, sending him out to the Tenderloin to talk to homeless people. Then came the "beast exercise": "It wasn't sex.

It wasn't sexual. It was, we went to a room, and I had this desire to just like rip her limbs off, and it was interesting because I felt it all, and she felt it all, just screaming.

But the interesting thing was, I was barely touching her. The approval had drained out of the room. You could hear the folding chairs creak.

Sadism, it appears, was too off-brand for OMers. After all his self-discovery, Richman's stiff smile still looked like a mask that was about the crack.

At the end of the conference, the white-haired yogi would tell me that when he witnessed these transformation stories, he could see both people at once: the one the speaker wanted to become, and the one they were.

Richman concluded with a grand pronouncement: "It was this feeling of religion And as a person who studies culture like me, that's one of the highest echelons, because religion involves the full body, the full spirit experience And it's got its articles of faith, the principles of OM, that blow my mind.

Principles that apply to life, not just orgasmic meditation. And this lifestyle I was starting to see, it resembles a monastery Except rather than deprivation, it's to acceptance.

It's to desire. It's to pleasure. It's to freedom. It's to connection. It made me appreciate how charming and skillfull Daedone is.

Daedone was unavailable for interviews till the very end of the conference, after they'd handed out glow bracelets and insisted that everyone "agree to come down pleasurably.

She stammered a bit, then opted for frankness: "If I were a person out there, and I heard about a group of people who were living together and were doing this practice where they were stroking genitals, I would probably think the same thing.

Because I wouldn't have any context to understand. Because there IS no context for connection in our culture. There's no context for any kind of female pleasure.

There's no kind of context for sexuality within a rigorous practice. Any time it's been explored, it's been sort of on the fringe.

And that's one of the reasons why I absolutely wanted to bring it into the mainstream One of the reasons why I wanted to bring it into the mainstream was so that there were checks and balances.

Really, the model is Wikipedia, where everyone gets access and everyone puts their part in. Like the speakers she brought to the stage, Daedone has her own twisted road to enlightenment to share.

When she was in her mids, her father, who had always been a distant figure in her life, went to prison for molesting two girls. She said he never behaved inappropriately to her; they had long been estranged.

At 27, she learned that he was dying of cancer and only had hours to live. Her desire now is for OneTaste "to go into the belly of the beast and begin to heal this trauma about misused sexuality.

There's this beautiful idea in somebody white's book—the idea that your darkest spot is actually what becomes your purpose. The mainstream seemed, to many of the people I met at OMX, a bit out of reach.

They also had something in their past that they were trying to work through, or some unnameable need. Jeremy, a skinny twentysomething from Austin, told me during one dinner break that after his first OneTaste experience, "this complete reckless behavior kicked in all of a sudden.

He weighed maybe a buck twenty. Did it feel like the company was a front encouraging some kind of sexual deviance? The OM itself is kept intact If it's shady, it's as little shady as you're gonna get.

Its only probably the right place to play if you're an adult. The normalizing effect of being surrounded by these people in a hyper-sexualized environment had warped my boundaries.

The final comedown, after I exited the Regency for the last time, was brutal. It felt like Suicide Tuesdays after a drug binge, and I hadn't had anything but that lone Klonopin all weekend.

In my Airbnb, I turned off all the lights, huddled under a blanket, ordered chicken soup on Seamless, and trolled Netflix for a romcom. I was torn between a heady sense of liberation and an unease about why their spiel had worked on me—for the weekend, at least.

The book chronicles aspiring writer Nathaniel P. There were moments at OMX where I thought those female characters could use some time in a nest.

On the other hand, the thought of describing "the container" at some book party in Brooklyn made me jump up and yank the blinds closed to block out the last gasp of the afternoon sun.

Next morning, I headed over to Folsom Street. But when I got there, there was a young woman crying outside, as her friend comforted her. One of the OMers I ran into as soon as I walked inside was on his way to Harbin, the nudist hot springs a couple hours north.

The comedian had invited me to drop by , but as soon as I arrived, I was micromanaged by OneTaste employees.

Dawson and Ratnathicam flanked me on the couch. After a few minutes, Ryan, who had been volunteering at the conference, sat down at the far end.

Awkward introductions were made before everyone figured that we had, ahem, met twice. I could barely look him in the eye. I talked to the coaches about the swirling anxieties as soon as I left the Regency.

But even her face, now blank and guarded, looked different from the melting woman I saw after the demo. Still there was something comforting about being around people who had been through the same strange trip.

Who else is gonna listen to you share frames?

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