Maxie Langford was lying on a bamboo mat in a candlelit room with six strangers and one suspiciously limber instructor named Kai. Everyone was barefoot, breathing deeply, and already two oohs and one ahhh into a guided moaning circle.
"Let the sound vibrate through your sacral chakra," Kai said, running his fingers through his man bun as if he'd been waiting his whole life to say that. "Feel it in your root."
Maxie had no idea where her root was. But her core had just let out a gurgle that sounded like a dying possum, so clearly something was vibrating.
She had come here because of Step Five:
> "Moan with intention, not shame. Let thy sounds be sacred. Let thy voice be thy pleasure made audible."
At first, she assumed it was metaphorical.
Then she found a flyer for "The Erotic Voice: A Workshop in Sensual Sound Expression", hosted by a tantric breathwork guru who looked like he moisturized with melted candles and raw oats.
Maxie couldn't resist.
She needed to learn how to moan… but with dignity.
Or at least rhythm.
---
"Now, everyone repeat after me," Kai purred, standing at the center of the circle. "We start with the basic breath—inhale pleasure, exhale tension."
Maxie inhaled. Tried to exhale.
Choked on her own spit. Coughed violently.
The woman next to her—who smelled like sandalwood and crushed velvet—rubbed her back gently.
"Let it out, sister," she whispered.
Maxie nodded, recovered, and focused. The group began a chorus of "ahhhhs," like a choir of sleepy porn stars.
Maxie tried.
Her "ahh" came out nasally and sharp. Someone flinched.
Kai smiled at her gently. "Open your throat chakra, dear. Relax your jaw. Moan like the world is listening."
"Isn't that the opposite of what we want?" Maxie whispered.
Kai ignored her. "Now moan from your womb."
Maxie wasn't sure where her womb was exactly, but she clenched her abs and gave it a go.
"UHHHHHNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGH!"
Everyone stopped.
The sound echoed.
One woman burst out laughing. Another gasped.
Maxie turned beet red. "I think that came from my pancreas."
Kai tilted his head. "That was... raw."
"Was it intentional?" Maxie asked.
He paused. "Maybe. Let's try a group moan. One breath. One voice. One orgasmic intention."
They all inhaled.
This time, Maxie let herself go.
She didn't try to be sexy. She didn't worry if she sounded like a donkey going through a divorce. She just moaned.
Soft at first. Then louder. Then deeper.
"Ahhhhhhh…"
"Uuuuhhhhhh…"
"Oooooooooooooh…"
Someone groaned. Someone giggled. Maxie felt warmth spreading through her. Her spine tingled. Her scalp buzzed. Her thighs shifted. This is weirdly working, she thought.
Until someone behind her let out a high-pitched wail that sounded exactly like a goat in labor.
Maxie's eyes shot open.
"Was that me?" she whispered.
The sandalwood woman gave her a thumbs-up.
Kai looked near tears. "Such raw sound. Such animal truth."
Maxie smiled weakly, trying not to laugh.
---
After class, as everyone sipped herbal tea and politely avoided eye contact, Kai pulled Maxie aside.
"You have a rare vocal energy," he said, brushing an imaginary leaf off her shoulder.
"Is that a compliment or a warning?"
He smiled. "Both."
Maxie sipped her tea. "Did I really sound like a goat?"
Kai placed a hand over his heart. "You sounded like yourself."
She sighed. "Myself sounds like a barnyard accident."
"Then let it be the sexiest accident the world has ever heard."
---
That night, Maxie practiced moaning in the mirror.
She tried long, slow ones.
Short, sharp ones.
Breathy ones.
She giggled through half of them, but one—one particular low, rolling "Mmmhhhhh"—actually made her toes curl.
She felt it in her belly.
She felt it in her thighs.
She felt it in her root chakra (wherever the hell that was).
And for the first time in a long time, she turned herself on. Not with a vibrator. Not with a fantasy. Not with some imaginary lover with good hair and bad judgment.
Just with her voice.
She threw herself back on the bed, still laughing.
---
She scribbled in her notebook:
Step Five: Moaning is magic. Even if you sound like a ghost with bronchitis, it still counts.
Then, in parentheses:
(But maybe avoid farmer's markets for a while.)