The Retreat
"Mandatory corporate wellness weekend at a mountain lodge. The facilitator's methods are unconventional—trust exercises, partner stretches, and overnight 'bonding sessions' that go far beyond team building."
The email was non-negotiable.
"All employees are required to attend the annual wellness retreat. Transportation provided. Lodging included. Attendance is mandatory for continued employment."
Fifteen of us boarded the bus that Friday morning. Fourteen women from various departments and me—the only male in the compliance division.
The lodge was three hours into the mountains.
The facilitator was waiting at the door.
Her name was Dharma.
Fifty-five years old. Three hundred and twenty pounds wrapped in flowing purple robes. She radiated calm the way a furnace radiates heat.
"Welcome, travelers." Her voice was honey and incense. "This weekend, you'll discover parts of yourselves you've forgotten. Open yourselves. Trust the process."
"What kind of process?" asked Jennifer from HR.
"The kind that transforms." Dharma smiled. "Leave your phones in your rooms. We begin in one hour."
The first session was breathing.
We sat in a circle in the main hall—wood floors, high ceilings, the smell of sage. Dharma led us through exercises that left me light-headed.
"Breathe into your belly," she instructed. "Into your pelvis. Into the seat of your desire."
Fourteen women shifting uncomfortably.
I shifted too.
"Good." Dharma walked between us. "Now, find a partner for trust exercises. One man, fourteen women—he goes in the center first."
Everyone turned to look at me.
"Trust begins with vulnerability."
I was standing in the middle of the circle, surrounded by my coworkers.
"Fall backward," Dharma instructed. "Let them catch you."
I fell.
Fourteen pairs of hands caught me, lowered me gently to the floor.
"Good. Now—remain still. Let them explore their own comfort with touch."
"Explore?"
"Hands on his chest," Dharma said. "His arms. His legs. Feel his heartbeat. Connect."
Hands everywhere. Professional colleagues touching me like I was a science experiment.
It should have been awkward.
It was something else entirely.
"The evening session is optional."
Dharma announced it over dinner—organic everything, wine that flowed freely.
"Those who wish to go deeper may join me in the meditation hall at 10 PM. Those who prefer privacy may retire to their rooms."
"What happens in the evening session?" asked Maria from accounting.
"Whatever needs to happen." Dharma met my eyes across the table. "True wellness requires... release."
I went to bed at 9.
A knock came at 9:45.
"She asked for you specifically."
Jennifer stood at my door. Three other women behind her—Maria, Theresa, and Gwen. All of them in robes. All of them flushed from wine or anticipation or both.
"The evening session needs a focal point," Jennifer continued. "Dharma says masculine energy balances the room."
"What exactly happens—"
"Come see." Gwen took my hand. "Trust the process."
The meditation hall was transformed.
Cushions covered the floor. Candles lined every surface. Incense thick enough to taste.
Dharma sat at the center, robes pooled around her massive body. Around her, twelve other women from the retreat—all of them in various states of undress.
"Welcome." Dharma gestured to a cushion before her. "The sacred masculine completes the circle."
"I'm not sure I should—"
"You're exactly where you should be." She pulled me down. "Tonight, we heal. Together."
"True wellness," Dharma intoned, "is physical, emotional, and sexual."
Her hands moved to my shoulders. Began rubbing.
"Modern life disconnects us from pleasure. From touch. From the primal energies that sustain us." She nodded to the women around us. "Tonight, we reconnect."
"How?"
"By giving." Her hands slid down my chest. "And receiving."
My shirt disappeared. I don't remember removing it.
"The sacred masculine serves the feminine." Dharma's mouth found my ear. "All of it."
She started me with Jennifer.
"Between her legs," Dharma instructed. "Worship the feminine."
I knelt. Jennifer lay back on the cushions, spread her thighs.
"Oh God—" she gasped when my tongue found her.
"Focus on her pleasure," Dharma coached. "Read her responses. Give without expectation."
The room watched. Breathed together. Touched themselves or each other.
Jennifer came with a cry that echoed off the vaulted ceiling.
"Next," Dharma said. "Maria."
I served them one by one.
Thirteen women. Thirteen different bodies, responses, needs. Some wanted gentle. Others demanded fierce. Dharma guided me through each one, adjusting my technique, praising when I found the right rhythm.
"You're a natural conduit," she told me while Theresa shuddered through her third orgasm. "Masculine energy serving feminine need."
"I can't feel my tongue."
"You can feel enough." She pulled me toward her. "Now. The facilitator requires attention."
Dharma was different from the others.
Larger. Older. More knowing. Her body engulfed me—belly pressing against my face, thighs surrounding my head, breasts heavy enough to anchor me.
"Inside me," she demanded after I'd made her come twice with my mouth. "Complete the circuit."
I entered her while the thirteen other women watched.
"The sacred masculine penetrates," she gasped, pulling me deeper. "The divine feminine receives."
"This isn't corporate wellness—"
"This is exactly corporate wellness." She clenched around me. "Now shut up and complete the ritual."
I came inside Dharma at 3 AM.
The room had become an orgy hours ago—women with women, women with me, combinations that would make HR spontaneously combust.
"The energy is balanced," Dharma pronounced, still holding me inside her. "The retreat is complete."
"We still have two more days—"
"The scheduled programming is... flexible." She kissed me. "We'll find ways to fill the time."
Sunday evening
The bus ride home was silent.
Fifteen colleagues who'd seen too much of each other, shared too much, crossed lines that couldn't be uncrossed.
Jennifer passed me a note:
"Monthly follow-up sessions. Dharma's private studio. You in?"
I wrote back: "When do we start?"
Six months later
I've been promoted three times.
Not because of performance reviews—because Dharma knows every executive in the company. Her "wellness retreats" have been running for twenty years. Alumni include the CEO, half the board, and most of senior leadership.
"The network takes care of its own," she explains during our weekly private session. "You served. Now you receive."
"Receive what?"
"Everything you want." She pulls me toward her. "Now shut up and serve."
I serve.
It's the best career move I've ever made.