It’s 6 p.m. on a Sunday and I’ve just emerged from a wild weekend where I listened to strangers orgasm beside me, watched a live, ahemanatomy exam, got tied up with ropes while a man growled in my ear and had my nude body decorated with crystals, fruit and flowers.
Oh, and I watched someone get very hands-on with a woman — if you know what I mean.
I spent the weekend at a three-day orgasm retreat. Yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like.
Back to the Body caters only to women, who shell out upwards of $15,000 to learn how to orgasm at its retreats, this one deep in the Californian desert.
I can’t tell you the exact location — the organizers of this retreat are serious about privacy — and surprisingly, so am I now. Far more than I thought I would be when I first found out I’d been accepted to attend.
$15K to orgasm? Naturally, I had questions. Who’s forking out that kind of cash to find the Big O? I was prepared to scoff. I mean, I’ve got a $50 vibrator that gets the job done — efficiently, I might add.
But I was wrong. So very, gloriously wrong.
I forgoed the $15,000 7-day retreat overseas and settled for the three-day $750 introduction one. Good lord, if that was the starter, I can’t imagine what would happen on the whole shebang.
This wasn’t just an orgasm retreat. It was a full-blown sexual awakening. Not just for me, but for the 16 other women there. They weren’t all exhibitionists like I (shamelessly) assumed. These were women from all walks of life, all different ages, and with one shared desire: to feel sexual again.
Newsflash – despite the ongoing narrative, women don’t just wake up one day and go, “Yep, that’ll do.” We crave sex. We miss it when it’s gone. But sometimes due to age, life circumstances or plummeting hormone levels, we lose the tools and the confidence to find our way back to it. Thankfully, this retreat offered one hell of a roadmap.
Pamela Madsen, the self-proclaimed “erotic genius,” and her team at Back to the Body promised certified somatic sex educators, erotic play, hands-on workshops, tantric meditations and even live demonstrations. Think: teasing, receiving, show-and-tells, fantasy enactments, rope play… and decadent meals in between. It was like the sex ed class of a horny teenager’s dreams — or, in this case, a suburban mom’s.
It’s a women-only retreat, except for one glorious exception: Court Vox, a male practitioner who you’ll hear more about soon. Trust me, he earns his place.
It all kicked off late Friday afternoon when I pulled up a dusty desert road to a stunning retreat nestled amongst cacti and Joshua Trees. The vibe was instantly warm and welcoming, and the charcuterie board made by the retreat’s Personal Chef Amber Linder, was outrageous. Meghan Markle’s fruit platters could never.
But before I could even devour a slice of cheddar, Pamela stopped us and asked us to observe how we approached the feast. Did we hang back politely? Or dive in and claim what we wanted? I thought my greedy approach would land me in trouble — but no, Pamela applauded it. Women, she explained, are so conditioned to take what’s left, to make do with scraps. It was time to push forward and take what we desire, whether it’s the last piece of prosciutto — or mind-blowing sex.
I didn’t expect my first sexual “aha!” moment to come from a plate of meat and cheese.
After dinner, we gathered in the “temple,” a cozy room lined with cushions, and shared our reasons for being there. I won’t betray anyone’s privacy, but let’s just say: these women weren’t there for kicks. Many were healing from trauma. Some hadn’t felt sexual in decades. It was raw. It was bonding. And it set the tone.
The next day, the sensuality really ramped up.
We started the first session in robes and underwear, though it didn’t take long before many of us shed our layers and embraced the vulnerability. I wore a floaty pink floral Camilla set to feel feminine again — something I sometimes lose touch with in my career. But inspired by the women around me, I soon swapped silk for my lace underwear and felt more like myself than I had in years.
One early exercise was the “Lotus Lift.” We sat back-to-back with a partner, one hand on our chest, the other cupping our vulva, swaying in sync. We answered three big questions: Who am I? What do I want? What’s getting in my way?
Now, I’ll admit, I’ve never spoken to my vulva before, but with Pamela’s calming voice and the right music, I felt tingles. Real ones. This was an erotic ritual, yes, but also a deeply emotional one. I let go of my hang-ups about cellulite and wobbly bits. I stopped overthinking. I just… felt. Oh lord, I’ve gone woo woo and I’m surprisingly not mad about it.
Pamela called the room a “pleasure hub.” And weirdly, it was. A room full of women tapping into desire without shame or societal pressure? Powerful stuff. She reminded us that our vulvas are wired for pleasure — fun fact: they are filled with serotonin, dopamine, the works — and with over 10,000 nerve endings in the clitoris alone, we really ought to put them to better use.
You could feel the energy shift. There was this buzz in the air, like we’d just collectively remembered who the hell we were. Power to the p – – – y! Ok, I’m getting carried away.
Then came the kink.
We lay blindfolded on mats while the practitioners used feathers, shells and soft touches to arouse our skin, all timed to deep house beats. I wanted to stop mid-session just to shazam the music. Then came the ropes. Court tied me up, pinned me down (respectfully), and growled in my ear. That’s when I discovered I like rope play. A lot.
Who knew?
As Pamela later explained, the retreat is designed to demystify what is on offer for us in the sexual world, whether that be spanking, ropes or edging – we don’t know what we like until we experience it.
Well, my name is Jana Hocking, and it turns out I like ropes.
Next was the adoration ritual. Our bodies were covered in fruit, flowers and crystals. Sounds silly, I know. But when the blindfolds came off, I’ve never felt more feminine — or more beautiful. As I looked around the room and saw the other women of all shapes, sizes and ages beautifully adorned in similar objects, really feeling magical, I actually started crying. It was a room full of women reclaiming their naked bodies — and let me remind you, these weren’t extroverts. These were women you would see at the local café or supermarket, really stepping outside of their comfort zones. It hit me in the feels.
Who even was I anymore?
Sunday morning, we were greeted by Dr. Maria Uloko, a firecracker of a urologist on a mission to destigmatize women’s sexual health. She was fierce, funny and deeply informative.
Top takeaways: labia shrink with age (hold off on the cosmetic labia surgery — it’s happening naturally, ladies), clean your bits and ditch any doctor who tells you to “just pour a glass of wine” to get in the mood if it’s feeling painful to have sex. Apparently, that remedy is told to far too many women. “Would you say that to someone having a heart attack?” she asked. Fair point.
Then things got very real.
Dr. Maria gave a live anatomy lesson using Pamela as her model. Yep, pants off, spread Eagle on a table. It was confronting, but honestly fascinating. I learned more in that one hour than I ever did in high school sex ed.
That night, we were treated to a rope show where Pamela was hoisted into the air by Court using advanced Shibari techniques. It was erotic, artistic and oddly moving. I sat front and center. (Note to self: find a man with rope skills.)
But the pièce de résistance came the next morning — literally: a live sexological bodywork session. No penetration. No oral. Just Court pleasuring Pamela, slowly, intentionally, in front of us all. Yes, there was nudity, yes there was insertion and yes it ended it an orgasm, but surprisingly it didn’t feel pornographic, more educational.
It was a lesson in receiving. In drawing out the pleasure. In riding every curve on the wave to climax, not just rushing to the end. It was sensual, intimate and, weirdly, at one point, I got a little… bored? (That’s how normalized everything had become.)
We chatted about it over lunch — as you do — and then came the final act: fantasy play. This time, Pamela and Court acted out a teacher/student scenario. Touch, teasing, and words — the most underrated sex tool of them all.
By the end of the retreat, I was exhausted. In the best way. I’d stepped so far outside my comfort zone, I couldn’t even see it anymore. But I left empowered, inspired by women taking their pleasure seriously and reclaiming it on their own terms.
And if there’s one thing I learned: women don’t lose their desire with age. We just lose access to it. But as Pamela reminded us: her own mother had her last orgasm at 96.
It only gets better.
