A Weekend in Eden
Unexpected lessons from my first time at an intimacy retreat.
*Please feel free to skip this part and go straight to the story below :).
A Note To My Readers,
It's been exactly one year since I first published this blog. Initially, I released an essay every week, but over time, I slowed down, eventually stopping publishing altogether. Before asking you to follow my now erratic publishing schedule, I wanted to share a bit about what’s been going on with me.
There were a few reasons for the pause. One was my desire to improve how I write about sex. A primary objective of this blog is to remove the taboos around sexuality. I wanted to create a space where I could write about sex as explicitly as possible—not because it’s entertaining or voyeuristic (though it can be, and there are plenty of others who write erotica better than I do), but because it is part of the human experience. I believe there should be no part of the human experience we’re ashamed to talk about in plain, open language. However, I began to feel that many of the sex scenes I described were sounding repetitive, and I wasn’t giving enough of a voice to the other characters—especially the women I was having these romantic experiences with in my stories.
Another reason for my pause is that I've been working on some exciting writing projects that I can’t wait to share with you. It may take a few more months before I can talk about them publicly, but these projects are taking up a lot of the time I used to allocate to publishing stories on *The Black Coat*.
That said, I really loved writing stories here and interacting with all of you. It was incredible to hear how much these stories resonated with my small but mighty group of readers. I’m also so grateful to those of you who bought a paid subscription and kept it going even during my break.
I’m still figuring out what to do with the blog, but I’m leaning towards going public with who I am and starting to share a greater variety of stories. Some will be about the romantic adventures I had while transitioning out of my life as a rabbi, and others will be more current, like the story below. If I go public with who I am, I’ll be able to interact with you more directly, in a way that aligns with how a traditional blog operates, rather than being limited by the format I was working with before. This will also allow me to share more freely and flexibly, reducing the time needed and leaving less room for procrastination.
All in all, I’m super excited to be writing on The Black Coat again. I hope you enjoy this piece, and as always, I’d love to hear your comments and feedback.
Much love,
The Black Coat
*****
We stood waist-deep in the crystal blue watering hole, standing in a semicircle as if in a ritualized formation. A couple was positioned a few feet ahead, where the water meets the grass. She stood in front, back arched, pivoting at the waist, allowing him to reach her from behind. She had the same focused look of pleasure from the night before, while we were lounging on the couch, mid-conversation, helplessly distracted by his rhythmic thrusting. Every so often, we’d catch a glimpse of his impressively thick cock, silently rooting for the consummation of this act, as though it were ordained by nature itself.
We were on Native soil, accessible only to locals like our hosts, Lola and Ber. Behind us, a raging waterfall carved a path between smooth stone, like we were in a pristine national park. We watched him fuck her, with only the water separating our naked bodies. Nala, Lola and Ber’s snow-white husky, observed from above the waterfall, panting.
I wasn’t thinking about how I looked or that my body wasn’t in an ideal fat-to-muscle ratio. The people around me were as beautiful as humans could hope to be. Our skin glistened in the sun, and an uncharacteristically cool August breeze rustled our hair. If someone asked me to design a scene from paradise, this would be it.
Fourteen of us had gathered for the weekend at Lola and Ber’s home, tucked away in the Catskill Mountains, for an intimacy retreat—a three-day program designed to foster deep connections between participants exploring various forms of intimacy, sexual and otherwise. Some were experienced couples in the “lifestyle,” while others, like myself, were singles just dipping our feet in the water.
Ber is a strong, yet gentle guide, charismatically maneuvering the multi-layered dynamics within the group. He is tall and broad shouldered, softening his impressive build with an innocent, almost boyish grin. Lola is at once mother hen and sexual muse. She balances the energy in the group while still being playful at all times. It’s impossible not to feel her presence; an exotic European beauty, with matching intellect and sophistication.
When I left my life as a Hassidic rabbi in 2016, I knew I wanted to explore as broadly as possible. I dated people much older than me, was in an open relationship for nearly a year, and had sexual experiences with other men.
Until my first intimacy retreat in January, I hadn’t had a sexual experience in a group setting. Beyond my desire to play with multiple partners, I was drawn to a utopian fantasy of sexual freedom, without inhibitions. I wondered if it was possible to create a container for such an experience in a safe setting with a pre-selected group, centered around intentional activities to foster healing, connection, and boundary expansion. The retreat, aptly named “What If,” promised to do just that.
As we hiked back to the trailhead, I scampered ahead, barefoot, Nala in tow. The lime-green moss beneath my feet protected me from the slippery rock. A persistent ball of anxiety churned in my belly. In a few hours, we would gather for the penultimate activity of the weekend: each of us would receive affection in any way we desired. Some would ask for hugs, some for affection without physical touch, and some would say, “No boundaries. Use me as you see fit. Play with me; let your imagination run wild.”
The thought of fourteen people, in varying degrees of nakedness, showering me with uninhibited affection, love, and desire was one of the most wonderful things I could imagine. And yet, at my last retreat, my body didn’t respond sexually at all. The sensations from the touch and attention were almost mystical. Feeling the desire of fourteen people clinging to me as if their lives depended on it was as stimulating as I could imagine. But my dick stayed as soft as it was in the ice-cold watering hole.
It would be one thing if my intention was to remain in a sensual or erotic state and not to react sexually. However, I wanted to fully revel in their desire for me, for my body. I wanted to respond as sexually as possible and receive the pleasure they desperately wanted to give me.
There was a time when my existence was a complex hive of cognitive dissonance. I married someone I wasn’t in love with, yet feverishly wrote about how much I loved her. I taught people to observe the minute details of my religion and cried when I led them in prayer, all the while knowing, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I could drop it all without looking back. I loved pleasing people and making them feel heard and cared for, but then I’d walk away so exhausted that I needed hours alone to restore my energy. My body knew what I needed, but my brain had a different agenda.
Over the past eight years of healing, I’ve shed the need to live in a fractured reality. There are fewer discrepancies between how I actually feel versus what I expect myself to feel.
But on that day, I was confronted with this duality again. My brain was saying, “Yes, I want all the naked bodies, all the touching, and all the fucking,” while my body was saying, “Absolutely not.”
Why? What was I resisting?
As we left Eden, where we witnessed our very own Adam and Eve, I hoped for a breakthrough before the evening exercise. That my body might catch up with the messages my brain was sending. But as evening drew near, I sensed that wouldn’t happen. My body remained as neutral as it had been all weekend. I was still having a great time, soaking in the love and joy we shared, but there would be no sexual pleasure for me.
When evening fell, we gathered on sheepskins and soft carpets, leaning on cushions and on each other. In my medicinally assisted state, I meandered from person to person, bonding with them, drinking in their words, their faces and touch. One person shared their recovery journey while I caressed his arm, feeling his hairs brush over the softness of his skin. I crawled over to another, held her from behind, looping my arm underneath hers, and rested my shoulders on hers. She caressed my face as she listened to another participant share their story. The light was dim, the temperature felt cool and soft on my skin, and the sounds in the room were like gentle jazz notes, rising and falling at random, consistently delightful.
Then I heard my name. “Elie, it’s your turn.”
I moved to the center, taking in the gazes directed at me. A couple sat on either side of me. He, a tall Adonis, with a beard and long curly hair. She, a sculpted beauty, with eyes that pierced and melted at the same time. She held my hand, while he massaged my shoulder. I didn’t turn to look at them, for in that moment, they were an extension of my limbs, of my being.
Then I spoke.
“I am afraid. I want to be turned on, physically. Yet, for reasons I can’t fathom, my body won’t respond. It sucks. I want people to experience giving me pleasure because I know how much I love giving pleasure to others.
During my years as a rabbi, I learned how to cultivate intimate, yet strictly platonic, relationships with both men and women. I wasn’t the type of rabbi who avoided eye contact with women when they spoke. Despite being a Hassidic rabbi, I reveled in my ability to form authentic, multi-layered connections with everyone I met. Perhaps my body needs time to adjust to the idea that it is okay to experience sexual desires and sensations in public.
However, as much as I want that, I realize that in this moment, I could choose to let go of these thoughts swirling in my head. If I do that, I wouldn’t be lacking anything at all. The sensations I am feeling right now in my body could go on forever. I feel at peace with myself and my surroundings, with no thoughts of the past or the future.
Isn’t this what we all strive to achieve at some point in our lives? The ultimate state that we center all our energies and pursuits around, hoping that if everything worked out, we would eventually taste a semblance of this? Isn't this the fantasy we all wish for the world but have resigned ourselves to the reality that it might never actually happen?
Isn’t this what religious rapture is all about? A pleasure-soaked union with the Divine and creation? Isn’t this what we seek from sex? To achieve an ecstatic union with oneself, with a partner, or with many partners?
Something in me clicked just before the exercise began, somewhere between Ber’s soothing voice guiding us through a meditation and Lola expertly dosing the medicine. I was already in the state that the sexual sensations would eventually lead to—like right after climaxing. A liberated, light sensation, the kind you hope will last longer than the fleeting moments we usually get.
So, I concluded, “I won’t let my body’s resistance take up any more space. I will rejoice and have plenty of time to be confused later. Because for now, I finally discovered the utopia I was looking for.”