Nicole Daedone - Slow sex: the art and craft of the female orgasm

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ISBN 978-1-60941-898-4

For more than a decade, Nicole Daedone has been leading the slow sex movement, which is devoted to the art and craft of the female orgasm. OM is the act of slowing down, tuning in, and experiencing a deeper spiritual and physical connection during sex. SLOW SEX reveals the philosophy and techniques of Orgasmic Meditation and includes a step-by-step, ten-day OM starter program, as well as OM secrets for achieving ultimate satisfaction. It also includes exercises to help enhance readers regular sex lives, such as Slow Oral for Her, Slow Oral for Him, and Slow Intercourse.

This book is the argument for daily intimacy, and for paying attention as the foundation of pleasure, all with a focus on the female experience.

Daedone makes her arguments persuasively, with clear instructions and a knack for the just-right analogy or phrase. This is not another tantra book OM practice should give many people a fresh and satisfying conduit to deeper sexual intimacy. Recommended.

Library Journal

SLOW SEX is the real deal on pleasuring a woman. For any guy who wants his fifteen minutes of sexual fame, Daedone offers practical and inspired guide to the orgasmic big leagues.

Ian Kerner, sexuality counselor and New York Times bestselling author of She Comes First

This book is dedicated to the orgasm.

May each of us find ours now.

W hen I first tell people I make my living teaching the art of Slow Sex, I get to watch as an entire weather system crosses their faces in a matter of about five seconds. First I see surprise, then curiosity, then embarrassment about their curiosity, then fear that I can see their embarrassment, thenfinallythe courage to proceed.

What exactly do you mean by Slow Sex? they venture, so carefully youd think they were carrying a piece of fine china across a tightrope.

Ah, sex. As soon as you say the word, we all get a little wobbly. Were just so used to keeping it in private that when I come along and start talking about it publicly, everyone is caught a little off guard.

I teach a practice called Orgasmic Meditation, I say as calmly as possible. Its a way that any man can bring out the orgasm in any woman, in just fifteen minutes.

You can imagine the response: surprise, then curiosity, then embarrassment you know the drill. Its not like Im lyingeven though its called Slow Sex, Orgasmic Meditation or OM does show men how to make any woman orgasmic in just fifteen minutesbut its not as big a deal as it sounds. Yes, it can be life changing. Yes, it turns everything weve ever learned about sex on its head. But what I teach people when I teach them OM is really no different from what my Uncle Bob taught me one summer afternoon when I was twelve years old. That was the day he taught me how to really, truly taste a tomato.

I grew up in suburban Los Gatos, California, hardly a hub of modern agriculture. But it was the 1970s, and because all of the old structures seemed to be crumblingand probably in part because everyone wanted to start growing their own marijuanalots of suburbanites convinced themselves they were farmers. Mrs. Calder put a Love Your Mother bumper sticker on her Lincoln Town Car. My friend Sheas family made plans to buy a dome house in Grass Valley. And in the backyards of our cul-de-sac, Mrs. Farrier grew corn, Mr. Slocum grew strawberries, and my uncle Bobwho always set an example because he worked for Rolling Stone magazine and had the longest beardgrew potatoes, beans, snap peas, and sweet, glorious tomatoes.

I remember the first basket of heirloom tomatoes that my overall-wearing uncle presented to my mother in our gold-and-avocado-colored kitchen.

Jesus, Bob, they look deformed. Are we really supposed to eat them?

Bob, not to be insulted, picked up one of the deformed tomatoes and took a bite out of it, as if it were an apple. This I had never seen in my decade-plus on this planet. Tomatoes were to be sliced and carefully arranged on a plate, not bitten into haphazardly in the middle of the kitchen so that the juices dripped down your chin and into your very long beard.

Bob smiled broadly and offered the tomato to my mother.

My mother, not yet having succumbed to the seventies back-to-the-earth ethos, still using hair spray with fluorocarbons, wasnt sure what to make of it. She leaned hesitantly over the sink to protect her minidress, and took a delicate bite. When she looked up at my uncle, the expression on her face was pure bliss. In slow motion, she turned and handed me the tomato. I looked up at the two of them, a bit nervous. I felt the way I would later feel when someone handed me my first joint. What would happen to me if I ate this tomato?

But I bit in and I understood. Rich, earthy, dense. The taste of minerals. Where previous tomatoes had been porous, spongy, commonthis tomato was pure saturation. It was as if the tomato itself had a built-in speed limit; it was not possible to eat it quickly and forget about it. There was a there there. This tomato took command. There was no mistaking it: this was a tomato!

My uncle asked me what I tasted.

I couldnt speak. I didnt want to break the spell.

What do you taste? he prodded, as if he were a blind man asking me what I saw. I wanted to sound very smart, to impress him. A difficult task when what youre describing is a tomato.

It tastes warm? And a little sour.

Yes! Yes! He gestured for more.

Its kind of like when you lick a penny. It tastes like metal and you feel a sort of jolt.

Yes!

But at the end, it makes your mouth water. Its sweet, but not candy sweet. Sweet the way skin smells. Soft.