The Hub is gone…

March 5, 2016

I had many great times on the OM Hub, met many OM partners and had some fierce arguments and regret to learn that it has been closed down.

Always, that first touch on my pussy

February 26, 2016

This is a post by Valerie Spinner to the now-defunct OM Hub:

Always, that first touch on my pussy. Always that charge that awakens me, gets my immediate and full attention. I love that sensation, icy hot zing on my clit, that travels through my entire pussy up, my spine to the back of my bottom front teeth, inside my right ear and through my legs, out of the tips of my toes.

This time, too. These next strokes are not quite on the spot. I go with it to see if I can transmit the request to move higher, higher, higher still, and to the right, just a hair. It’s transmitting although, slowly, and not fully. Breath, feel, notice. What does my desire want?

Ouch. Shards. Breath into it. Release. The shards subside. Still not the spot.

What does my desire want? A hair diagonally up and to the right. The request is barely audible to me as it comes out of my mouth. Adjustment is made.

Noticing, noticing, something is off. Another request. Another adjustment. Something is off. What is this? What does my desire want?

I’m noticing a numbness. The spot is buried under the numbness, the numbness that is encompassing, oval, wider, longer, deeper.

Breath into it. Feel, notice the point of contact. So distant. Like a spongy cushion blocking or muffling. Like insulation that cut through wiring.

What does my desire want?

Should I say something or just breath and notice?

“My pussy feels numb. It’s just numb.”

He breathes, and I feel an energetic pause, while his brain computes: numbness, what course of action to do? ah yes.

Ever so slowly he lightens the pressure from the tip of his stroking finger. The stroke becomes stillness.


Ever so slowly, so lightly, such a delicate stroke. The stillness is replaced.

What does my desire want?

This stroke draws me out. I feel this opening, melting, budding, blooming. Slowly. Craving, desire is building, building, building as I unfold.

This loving present stroker keeps on stroking. I’m going up. No. I’m expanding spherically in slow motion, a star exploding. There is also a ball of energy between us on my right side, it fills the space between the left side of his chest, arm pit. It is white, light blue, light purple, white, a hint of whitish gold.

I keep opening and unfolding. My voice deepens as involuntary sounds emanate from somewhere deep inside. This place is dark, so very dark. It is a mouth that opens wider and wider, it yawns awake. It grumbles as it senses the light shining on it.

It roars. It is hungry. So very very hungry.

What do you want desire?


Wave after wave of a thick, heated, molten pure electrical power spreads through this vessel. Gasping.

What do you want desire?


What is happening? Just feel. (shallow breathing)

The waves keep on while deeper and deeper I go. Desire takes me deeper. and deeper still. There is growling and roaring from the deepest places as the waves continue.

What do you want desire?

Two minutes….




My stroker, bless him, adorn him with flowers and love.

He knows how to ground me. It took many months to learn as I fly too close to the sun. But, I’ve never been here before. This is not near the sun. This is the opposite direction. Gravity is losing its grip. The grounding strokes do NOTHING.

I am expanding more, up to the heavens, towards the outer reaches of the universe and deep into my soul. I cannot stop. I am entering ancientness itself. I find it difficult to breathe as she gulps.

There is nothing my stroker can do. Desire is clear. She wants to be fed. She will be fed. She expands, ever more. Breathing, deeply yet quickly. How?

My stroker must further adjust the grounding strokes to help bring me back for I am gone and nothing else is working. I am grateful for his skill, his finesse, his vulnerability. His willingness to be present with me in this unfathomable moment, and bring me back.

Bring me back… I don’t want to leave this place. We just met. I am frightened by her. I am in awe of her. I want to feed her. I want her to lead me, to take me, to open me further. There is desperation to not leave her behind. She is still so very hungry.

Grounding pressure. Liquid starts to build in my eyes.

I whisper, “more up pressure”.

I get what I ask for.

It brings me back some. In this moment, there is nothing that will make me fully let go of her.
Yet, my body, regretfully releases, not fully, but enough to let go of the bear hug grip that we’d had on each other.

Don’t leave me I feel her say.

I promise to feed her. I promise to not leave her.

Can I keep that promise?

Stroker, towel stroke, towel placement. I need a squeeze. He knows and acts.

I am still not back. I need to be back. This life calls.

Please, I need a smack on my pussy. Done. I am smiling. I have tears in my eyes.

Still not really back. One more. done.

WTF? What just happened? Where is this? WTF? I am so hungry. I am so hungry. I have no other words in this moment.

My stroker says, its ok to cry if you need to cry.

Shuddering. I am so hungry. My desire is infinite. I cannot ever be satiated. At least that’s what I think in this moment.

Where did I go? The beginning of the infinite depths of my being. The beginning of the other side, through the depths. How is this possible? Breathe, feel.

Tears and snot are streaming.

Welcome home.

I am told there is more. I cannot fathom that, and yet I know it is true. I went to an inner chamber or just opened the gate to my personal heaven. Maybe both. But I have not gone to the inner chamber of this chamber or all the other inner chambers, nor have I seen all of this heaven.

For now, right now, this very instant, I am taking in the view with every sense with every breath, that is, when I remind myself to breath through the awe. My desire wants to be fed with attention, to be fed with pleasure, to be seen, felt, tasted, heard, lit up. My desire is ancient. She is an ancient Priestess.

OM isn’t a pleasure practice

May 13, 2015

The journey of the strokee is to experience the truth that any stroke can be gotten off on. Anything.

OM isn’t a pleasure practice. Pleasure has diminishing returns. It feels good, sure–but after a while it alone isn’t very interesting. It’s like having only one movie that you ever watch. Even if it’s a great movie.

OM is the practice of feeling what’s here, all the way. No matter what it is. And get off on it.

This morning in an OM I felt incredibly frustrated. He wasn’t on my spot. I didn’t even know where my spot was! Nothing was working. My skin was burning, my jaw was tight, hot lines stabbed though my body.

In any other context this would have been “bad” and a problem. He wasn’t on my spot!! I was upset!! Bad!!

But in OM, it’s one place where good and bad don’t exist. It’s just sensation. It’s just another thing to feel that is valid, true, and worthwhile. And something that can be gotten off on.

So I started to feel it and savor it. I let the lines stab and my skin burn. I ached. I hated. I just let it happen–because it’s what was happening!

Despite my story it was a actually just sensation. And quite a rich and intense amount of it. No different in value than the kind that I judge feels “good.” So I just felt and I turned all of those stabbing lines into enjoyment, I saturated myself with them. I let them in and said yes to them.

That is how strokees get free in OM. That’s how I’ve gotten free.

Bez Maxwell

OM Music

July 15, 2014

From Vapor to Concrete – Please Dissolve Me

May 30, 2014

From age 0 to 4, there was no sense of “I”

At age 5, “I” had a playground incident with “Ramon”. But the rest of kindergarten there was no “I” or “other”… I dont even remember being around.

At age 6, “i” had an incident with “Michelle”. And later “I” had an incident with my teacher. But the rest of 1st grade was a haze. Evidently “I” was around, passing tests, going to and from school. But I dont remember any of it.

Fast forward to age 45, during the waking state, “I” am constantly having incidents with “others”. I remember them all. I blog about them, make YouTube videos of them. I analyze them and philosophize about them. I come up with strategies to assure I can handle these incidents better in the future. I am convinced there is a separate me who needs to interact with others in order to survive and be happy. I hold onto this way of acting every waking day. I have had many pleasant OM experiences . I am new to OM. But this one woman dissolves me. Instead of “I” doing an OM with “another”, something else happens. She wants more of that from me and I want more of that from her. I can just taste the second OM now. I can see those pussy lips glisterning, opening and inviting, like a flower to the morning sun. I can only apply the precise technique as instructed and allow the etheric thunderclaps to blindside me.

So the advaita vedanta crowd is right about the “I” being a sickness. As Arunachala Ramana used to say: “The first cause of all suffering is the thought I am this body.” With OM I have a chance to dissolve this concrete lump of flesh back into blissful vapor.


After the OM, new life, new joy

May 20, 2014

Blood surging through unknown channels in my cerebral cortex.

New life, new joy.

Heart pulsing strongly. Female orgasm feeds both parties again and again.

New life, new joy.

During the OM, I noticed sensations with bare attention.

No goal, no thrills.

Energy work later in the day was profoundly stronger.

New life, new joy.

If only I could relax more during the OM. If only my left elbow were directly in line with the pussy, I could do perfect up and down strokes.

New insights for next time.