Step Twelve of The 100 Steps to Sexual Enlightenment stated:
> "Breath is the bridge between the body and the erotic. Learn to master your inhale, and your exhale will master you."
Maxie underlined this and added a note: Sounds like a riddle, possibly horny.
Fresh off her tantric yoga misadventure—and with a bruised thigh and two singed bras—she wasn't sure she was ready for another group activity. But her libido had the momentum of a runaway camel.
So she signed up for "Sacred Breathwork for Carnal Clarity," a workshop led by a man named Cael Wind.
He had a man bun. He had a flute. He had no shame.
Maxie was intrigued.
---
The Setting: A Dome of Desire (And Patchouli)
The breathwork session took place in a yurt. Of course it did.
Maxie arrived wearing linen pants she stole from an ex and no bra, because enlightenment apparently required maximum airflow.
Inside the yurt, there were floor cushions, flickering candles, and a gong large enough to double as a dinner plate for giants.
Cael Wind stood barefoot in the center, wearing only harem pants and an aura of smug calm. His abs had names: Persepolis, Carthage, and Athens. Maxie named them herself.
He welcomed everyone with a voice that felt like it had been dipped in honey and rolled in tantric literature.
"Today," he said, "we breathe not as mortals, but as divine engines of pleasure."
Maxie wasn't sure what that meant, but it tingled in her belly.
---
The Warm-Up: Breathing Through the Chakras
They sat in a circle, legs crossed, eyes closed.
"Inhale through your root chakra," Cael instructed.
Maxie tried. She wasn't entirely sure where her root chakra was, but she figured it was somewhere in the pelvic district.
She inhaled.
"Exhale through your heart."
She exhaled.
"Now breathe through your sacral chakra like you're whispering secrets to a lover in a thunderstorm."
Maxie choked slightly.
Across the circle, a woman moaned softly. Another began humming. Chad from yoga was also there, wearing a sarong and nothing else.
Maxie focused.
Inhale. Out. Moan. Humm. Sigh. Pant.
Soon, the yurt sounded like a spa that got raided by horny ghosts.
---
The Build-Up: Rhythmic Ecstasy and Heavy Exhalations
Cael had them lie on their backs and instructed them to breathe in a steady rhythm: deep in, quick out, deep in, slow out.
Maxie complied, but soon found herself sweating in new and mysterious places.
Her chest rose and fell like she was being chased by both desire and poor decisions.
People around her started groaning in unison. One woman cried. Someone shouted, "YES, GRANDMA!"
Maxie wasn't sure what spirit had been summoned, but she respected it.
Cael began playing a flute. With his hips.
Maxie wasn't sure how. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. But it was impressive.
As the breathing intensified, the yurt transformed into a furnace of sacred panting.
Cael chanted, "Let go, let go, LET GO!"
Maxie, who had been holding in a particularly intense inhale, let go.
Loudly.
It was a moan. A big one.
A theatrical, Oscar-worthy moan.
It echoed. It vibrated the candles.
The room went still.
And then it erupted.
---
The Climax: Collective Euphoria (and Accidental Orgies)
Something happened.
The moan unlocked a gateway.
People began to writhe. A woman clutched a pillow and declared she was birthing light. A man rolled into a fetal position and whispered, "I forgive you, Denise."
Maxie could only lie there, caught between hilarity and high.
Cael whispered, "Breathe into your climax."
The room began to pulsate. Literally. The floor vibrated. Someone set off a singing bowl with their thigh.
Then, one by one, the room came alive.
Maxie wasn't sure who initiated the collective orgasm, but by the time it hit her, she was crying, laughing, moaning, and quoting Shakespeare.
"My kingdom for a damp towel!"
---
The Aftermath: Sacred Snacks and Awkward Glances
The session ended in silence. Damp, heavy silence.
People lay in sweaty heaps of spiritual fulfillment and minor muscle cramps.
Cael passed around slices of watermelon and gluten-free brownies.
Maxie accepted both. She'd burned approximately one thousand calories via synchronized pelvic vibrations.
Chad approached her again, offering an herbal tea and a hopeful smile.
Maxie replied, "I'm spiritually full, thank you. Also, I saw your soul. It's got a man bun."
He backed away slowly.
---
Her journal entry that night:
> Step Twelve: Breathing is hard, orgasms are louder in groups, and Cael Wind may be part flute.
I transcended something today. Maybe my own shame. Maybe my underwear. Either way, I vibrated on a frequency only dolphins understand.
Enlightenment smells like patchouli and sounds like synchronized moaning.
---
And so, Maxie Langford took another breathless, hysterical step toward erotic elevation.
Tomorrow's step? Sacred Sensual Sound Healing.
She packed earplugs. Just in case.