Five days in the mountains of Karelia

My name is Oleg, I'm 34. I'm a clinical psychologist by training, but I've been doing field therapy for eight years now, leaving the office. I lead small groups into the mountains, the taiga, and sometimes even the Altai Mountains. I specialize in working with psychosomatics and body blocks. I've long noticed that when you take someone out of their usual context—without mirrors, makeup, or social media—something truly happens to them. Especially with women. Especially with those who've been carrying around a shell of "I'm not pretty enough," "I'm shy," and "nobody wants me" for years. The idea of creating an off-site intensive program has matured. Five days in the mountains of Karelia, offline, focusing on body acceptance and liberation. No offices, hotel rooms, or other frills. Just forests, lakes, tents, and a sauna on the shore. I called the program "Reboot." A month before the start, I launched an ad through my former clients. The conditions were strict: only women, only those who truly understood where and why they were going. No "just for company." Twelve applications, ten advance payments. As a result, on Friday morning, seven people were waiting for me at the meeting point in Petrozavodsk. Veronica, 28, an accountant, has a neat haircut and clothes two sizes too big, as if hiding. Dasha, 22, is an architecture student, tall, and slouches. Regina, 31, owns a beauty salon and looks expensive, but her eyes are anxious. Lera, 25, is a fitness instructor, slender, with an unnaturally straight back. Zhanna, 35, is a mother of two, with soft curves and a tired smile. Inga, 29, works remotely in IT, is pale, with a perpetually downcast gaze. Tamara, 40, is the oldest, divorced, has a defiant demeanor, and chain-smokes. We piled into a rented minibus. Two hours on the highway, then an hour and a half on a dirt road. While we were driving, I chatted with them about the weather, the mosquitoes, and what gear they'd brought. I didn't rush them. Let them get used to my voice. We arrived at our destination by evening. An old ranger's house, a spacious clearing nearby, and then a descent to a lake with flat boulders at the water's edge. A bathhouse was a little off to the side, already heated. The forest around was so dense that you couldn't see anything ten meters away. We set up camp. They pitched the tents themselves; I helped, but didn't do anything for them. The first test of independence and collaboration. Then dinner by the campfire—stewed meat with buckwheat, bread, and tea made with wild herbs. The girls sat fully clothed, wrapped in windbreakers, even though the evening was warm. Time to begin. “Okay, so,” I say, when everyone has finished chewing. “We’re living here for five days. There are only a few conditions. First: everyone does what they’re ready for. No violence, physical or psychological. Second: you can leave the program at any time. I’ll take you back personally. I’ll return your money. But there won’t be a second chance. Third: we wear whatever we’re comfortable in around the camp. But I want to say right away—you came here to remove your armor. The armor is left there, in the city. It’s not needed here. Fourth: you give me your phones. There’s no reception anyway, so we can use them as cameras, if you want. Any questions?” "And the bathhouse tomorrow?" asks Zhanna. — Bathhouse today. As soon as it gets dark. "Right today?" Regina raises an eyebrow. — Yes. The first day is about getting to know your body in a safe environment. The sauna is ideal for this. The girls exchange glances. Tamara chuckles. Lera shrugs. Veronica blushes and remains silent. An hour later, I reheated the bathhouse and added some juniper branches. People started undressing inside, in the semi-darkness. I could hear people whispering behind the wooden wall. I was the last one in. I left my shorts in the anteroom and entered the steam room in my swimming trunks. Five girls were on the bench. Veronica and Dasha were sitting, wrapped in sheets. The rest were in their underwear, some in towels. "Let's take off the sheets," I say calmly. "The fabric is hot, you could get burned." “I prefer it this way,” Veronica mutters. "I understand. But the rule of the sauna is that your skin breathes. Let me go out, you take it off, climb up to the top bunk, and then I'll come back." She hesitates, nods. I step out for a minute. When I return, Veronica is on the top bunk, wearing only her underwear, the sheet thrown into the corner. Dasha follows suit. The others are no longer wearing towels, only panties and bras. Tamara has full breasts, with wide areolas. Lera's are small and athletic, her nipples erect from the heat. Zhanna covers her stomach with her hand, but without fanaticism. Regina sits like a queen, her legs tucked under her. Inga is huddled in the corner, her knees tucked up to her chin. "Excellent," I splashed the stones. Steam rose to the ceiling. "First exercise. Breathe deeply, into your belly. Place your palm where you feel tension." “I have tension everywhere,” Tamara grumbles. "So, we put it everywhere," I smile. "We start with the solar plexus. That's our fear center. We warm it up." We spend about ten minutes just breathing. Then I add the second part: find another participant with my eyes and silently thank her for being there. Without words, just with my gaze. The tension in the steam room slowly melts into something else. Zhanna catches Inga's eye, and for the first time that evening, she smiles slightly. We make our third visit to the steam room after a dip in the lake. The water is icy, and the screams fill the forest. They run back, laughing, their embarrassment forgotten. Veronica lost her bra somewhere along the way, only noticing it in the dressing room. She blushed, but Zhanna waved her hand: "Oh, come on, it's nighttime, no one's here." And Veronica suddenly burst out laughing. I'm the first one to wake up the next morning. There's a fire, porridge with dried fruit. The girls crawl out of the tents one by one. Lera and Zhanna come out as agreed—in their underwear. The rest are fully clothed. Inga even wears a hoodie. "Good morning," I say, placing the bowler hat on the table. "Yesterday's agreement about 'armor in the city' still stands. If you're not ready, I warn you: the first practice session is at 10 a.m. It requires minimal clothing." “I’m not ready,” Inga says immediately. "Me too," Tamara purses her lips. "At my age, people don't jump around naked in the fields anymore." "At your age," I take a sip of tea, "women either completely forget about themselves, or finally give up on themselves and start living. What stage are you at?" Tamara glares at me. The others freeze. "On the second," she exhales unexpectedly. "But I'm not taking off my sweatshirt yet." — Agreed. Inga? “I’ll try,” she whispers. After breakfast, we head to the lake. I spread out sleeping pads on the flat boulders. The sun is already hot. I ask everyone to strip down to their underwear and lie on their backs. Inga takes off her sweatshirt last, remaining in a simple cotton set. Lera helps her lay out the sleeping pad. Zhanna and Regina are already braless; they exchanged glances and took them off simultaneously, as if on cue. Tamara took off her top, but covered her stomach with her sundress. "Today we're working on the theme of 'they don't want me,'" I say, sitting down on a nearby boulder, also shirtless. "Almost every one of you thinks your body isn't good enough. Small breasts, big breasts, a belly, cellulite, stretch marks, scars. The list is endless. But here's the important thing: a man doesn't see a single detail, but an image. You, as a whole, are already an image. Now tell me, who among you has ever told a man directly what he wants?" Silence. Lera raises her hand: — I did. But they said it was "too pushy." "So, not your man. Okay, let's put it another way. Who's ever masturbated in front of their partner?" Silence. Dasha covered her face with her hands. Zhanna chuckled. Tamara whistled. — Got it. So, it's practice. I'll lie down next to you now, on the sleeping pad next to you, and close my eyes. Each of you, in turn, places my palm where you want to be touched. No sex. Just contact. To listen to your body. Who's first? The silence lasts for about thirty seconds. Then Regina stands up, comes over, takes my hand and places it on her waist. “Here,” he says quietly. “I think I have fat here.” "What if it's not 'fat', but 'feminine'?" I ask without opening my eyes. — I don’t know. But here you go, I like it. A minute later, Dasha comes over. She's trembling. She takes my hand and presses it to her collarbone. "I want to be kissed here. But no one..." - Breathe. Everything will be alright. Next comes Zhanna. She places my palm on her lower abdomen, where the stretch marks are. She doesn't say anything, just holds it. I hear her sobbing. Tamara comes last. She takes my palm and presses it to her chest, right to her nipple. Firmly, almost roughly. "I want them to be tweaked. Hard. And not just looked at like exhibits." “Okay,” I answer. “Remember this feeling. This is your desire. Not someone else’s. Yours.” By midday, the atmosphere in the clearing had changed. The girls were no longer huddled in the corners. Zhanna and Tamara had gone topless for a swim. Inga was applying cream to Lera's shoulders. Veronica, who had been shivering in her sweatshirt this morning, was sitting on a boulder in just her panties, her small, shapely breasts exposed to the sun. After lunch, we head into the forest. I've prepared a "sensory trail" there: ropes of different textures—bark, moss, stones, warm fabric—stretched between the trees. We walk barefoot, blindfolded. I lead each of us in turn. Dasha clings to my shoulder, but when she takes off the blindfold, her eyes shine. "I felt every muscle," she says. "It was like I was getting to know my body all over again." In the evening, a sauna. Today, no sheets. At all. Zhanna, entering the steam room, simply took off her panties and sat on the bench. Tamara did the same, but also spread her legs wider, looking into my eyes. A challenge. I accept. I sit down opposite her, also naked. My penis is semi-erect, I don't hide it. Lera comes in, assesses the scene, and silently sits down next to Tamara. "Can I touch it?" Regina asks, looking at my groin. — You can. Just ask yourself: do you want to touch me or understand what you're allowed to want? "Both," she comes over, squats down, and takes my cock in her palm. The others froze. Regina slowly moves her hand up and down, looking into my eyes. My cock hardens completely. She licks her lips. “I want you,” she says. “Not because you’re beautiful. But because I allowed myself to.” “That’s what a reboot is,” I answer. Regina leans down and takes me in her mouth. Slowly, experimentally. I run my fingers through her hair. Zhanna reaches out and kisses me on the lips. Tamara, without thinking twice, positions herself behind me and licks my back, moving lower. Lera and Inga exchange glances and begin kissing—at first timidly, then with increasing passion. We don't stay in the bathhouse for long—it's hot, and the space is tight. We move to the clearing. Night, a fire, sleeping pads. Regina, now without inhibitions, sits on top of me, guiding bukvoeb.run's cock into her. Wet, hot. She moves smoothly at first, then speeds up. Zhanna lies down next to me and asks Lera to caress her. Lera, herself extremely aroused, does it skillfully—her knowledge of anatomy is evident. Zhanna moans and digs her fingers into the grass. Inga watches from the side, but I see: her fingers are already under the elastic of her panties. I call her over. She approaches as if hypnotized. “Sit down,” I nod at my face. “I want to taste you.” Inga hesitates for a split second, then pulls down her panties and lowers herself. Her taste is salty, fresh. She shudders at the first touch of his tongue, but immediately begins to move her hips. Veronica and Dasha, who had been hovering on the edge this whole time, finally join in. Veronica kisses Dasha on the shoulder, and she responds. Their hands intertwine, sliding down their bodies. Regina cums loudly, shuddering and scratching my chest. I'm still inside her, feeling every pulse. Zhanna is already on all fours in front of me, begging: - Now me. Please. I pull out of Regina, put on a condom, and enter Zhanna. She's soft, deep. I grab her hips and set the rhythm. Everything around us is already a jumble: Tamara is caressing Veronica, Dasha has grown bolder and is kissing my spine, moving lower and lower. Lera and Inga are entwined in an embrace by the fire. The night is full of sounds. I cum inside Zhanna, but almost immediately I feel Dasha wrap her lips around my cock, cleaning it, and then immediately take it back into her mouth, achieving another erection. Young and greedy, she wants it all at once. And she succeeds. Five minutes later, I'm hard again and entering her, while Tamara whispers something dirty in her ear. We finish well after midnight. Some are sleeping on sleeping pads under the stars, others have crawled into the tent. I cover them with blankets and sit down by the fire. Tamara comes over, sits down next to me, and rests her head on my shoulder. “You know,” she says, “I thought you just got us together to fuck.” — And in reality? "And actually, for the first time in ten years, I'm not embarrassed about this," she runs her hand over her stomach. "Thank you." The remaining three days were no longer about overcoming, but about reinforcing. We practiced tactile contact, learned to express our desires to our partners, and held "days of silence" with only nonverbal communication. And of course, there was still plenty of intimacy—in various combinations, at our mutual discretion. By the end of the program, all seven of us were walking around the camp naked, unaware of it. They were no longer hiding. Not from me, not from each other, and, most importantly, from ourselves. As the minibus was taking us back to Petrozavodsk, Inga suddenly said: "I'm going on a date tomorrow. With a guy from the chat room I've been afraid to message for three months." “Write right now,” Lera suggested. And she wrote. The others applauded. All seven of them sent feedback, which is rare in my practice. Apparently, mountains make people more honest.