Finally, I’m ‘getting’ The Big O

ORGASMS. For some they’re as elusive as the Holy Grail, for others they’re as commonplace as yawning.

Either way, they feel awesome. But they’re a pale imitation of the full-body ‘O’.

If that catches on it could well be the tantric catalyst that sees the clitoral climax consigned to the novices’ corner of the sexual playground.

Sting became the face of tantric sex following an interview in the 1990s when he mentioned he was an aficionado, but his partner at the time, Trudie Styler, has since revealed that reports of the length of the couple’s bedroom sessions were greatly exaggerated. Nature abhors a vacuum, so when Diane Keaton recently talked tantra on Ellen de Generes’s TV show, she also became associated with that sensual art.

The mysteries of Tantra must be experienced, since they cannot be explained. Or so they say. With that in mind, I met with Vesco from Tantra Ireland. A highly experienced instructor, he runs weekly classes in Cork.

We met in a room which contained a high narrow table that reminded me of those used for intimate medical examinations. I thought it too clinical a prop upon which to experience tantric ecstasy in the company of a stranger for whom I felt no passion.

It’s not that I’ve anything against table-top ecstasy, per se. But this was business, not personal, and while wild horses wouldn’t have got me onto that table for the purposes of tantric instruction, I kept my reservations to myself.

Gesturing to a chair, Vesco invited me to sit. We talked about Tantra, spirituality and healing. A well-educated man from Bulgaria, with the calm demeanour you might expect from a man of his profession, he told me he’s no stranger to three or four-hour tantric sex sessions. I took his word for it. He suggested we try the energy (full-body) orgasm. Reminding him that we’d agreed the meeting would take only two hours, I left for another appointment.

Agreeing to meet again to try the practical session, we said our good-byes. Vesco must have sensed my table trepidation at our first meeting, as for our next session, he prepared a floor mat draped in cloths and cushions. We decided to work from there, with no preliminary chat.

He handed me a towel, presumably because he thought I might go ‘au naturel’, but spoil-sport that I am, I kept my lingerie on.

We began by sitting cross- legged, facing each other. Dressed in t-shirt and sweats, he instructed me to focus on my breathing, to concentrate on exhaling, letting go, clearing my mind. Then, to inhale deeply, breathing in love, light, joy. As we breathed together, I became increasingly mellow.

Vesco explained that while Tantra is a hugely complex field, part of it is about experiencing sexual energy throughout the body, and breathing exercises help to achieve this. He encouraged me to close my eyes but he kept his open (I checked). His breathing was much louder than mine. Yet, surreal as the situation was, I felt no desire to laugh.

Vesco asked how inhaling deeply made me feel. I said it brought pain between my ribs, something I’d never experienced before. He explained there was energy there which needed to be shifted. Being unused to sitting cross-legged for prolonged periods, I lay on my back and continued the breathing exercises. Vesco stayed at my feet.

At one point he picked each of them up and kissed them. Apparently, the worshipping of women as goddesses is at the centre of tantric practice. Next, he spent a few seconds lightly touching the outside of my legs, which felt okay.

He then took up a position behind my head. He touched my forehead, eyelids, cheeks, mouth and neck. This did nothing for me, so I was relieved when he turned his attention to my arms.

His feather-light touch sent me deeper into relaxation, so I zoned out and thought about my favourite man.

Just then, Vesco pressed down on the space between my ribs and in doing so, delivered a full body orgasm which set every cell in my body vibrating in ecstasy. This was some accomplishment on his part, given that there had been no intimate touching and precious little touching of any other sort.

Vesco doesn’t work on men, but women wishing to experience his instruction should form an orderly queue, to avoid a stampede.