You ever notice how folks say the word orgy like it might void their warranty?

Like if you say it too loud, the walls gon’ start sweatin’, the couch gon’ snitch, and the ceiling fan gon’ spin slow like it disappointed in everybody involved?

Man, please… An orgy ain’t dangerous.

It’s educational.

It’s what happens when confidence show up before coordination. It’s too many grown folks walkin’ in moisturised, motivated, and lyin’ to themselves about their stamina – limbs bumpin’ into limbs like rush hour with no traffic lights.

It’s ego hittin’ reality face-first and reality not apologisin’.

But reality don’t soften the blow… Reality let you feel every ounce of truth you tried to ignore.

And the biggest lie folks tell themselves? They think it start at the finish. They think the climax is the moment that matter most.

Nah… It start with fourplay. Real fourplay. The kind that separate the professionals from the volunteers.

The kind that separate those who understand pressure from those who just excited to be present.

The kind where awareness walk in first and ego gotta wait outside till it learn some manners.

Because when four entities move like they got sense? The whole room shift different.

Space open up. Pressure settle in.

Everything start hummin’ like it know what’s comin’ next – like inevitability just clocked in and took its position.

But when discipline don’t show up? That’s when it get ugly. That’s when folks start panickin’.

Movin’ too fast. Reachin’ too early. Burnin’ through energy like they got a refill button somewhere on their lower back, not realisin’ stamina ain’t somethin’ you negotiate with once it gone.

That’s when belief turn into survival – and survival ain’t never been glamorous.

See, group situations don’t reward excitement. They reward control. Four movin’ together ain’t crowded. It’s dangerous. It’s synchronised. It’s pressure applied so smooth you don’t even realise you trapped until your options already gone.

Most folks can’t handle that moment. Most folks panic when the air get thick.

Most folks built like folding chairs the second pressure lean on ’em, foldin’ under weight they swore they was built to carry.

But Ram Jam? He don’t fold. He don’t panic. He don’t rush nothin’.

He let the moment marinate.

He let pressure do what it was always meant to do and reveal the truth.

While they scramblin’, I’m settin’ the temperature. While they reactin’, I’m already decidin’ how this story end.

While they tryin’ to survive, I’m conductin’ the whole experience like it got my name on the reservation.

‘Cause fourplay ain’t never about the warm-up – it’s about ownership. It’s about buildin’ pressure until the moment has no choice but to break in your favour.

And when it finally do? When confidence crack, reality settle in, and everybody realise exactly who been in control the whole time? They won’t remember who started it.

They won’t remember who showed up loud.

They’ll remember who closed it.

Who owned it.

The exact moment the truth hit ’em, everything stopped bein’ noise, stopped bein’ confusion, and started fallin’ into rhythm…

And that rhythm…?

WINK.

That’s when the Jam in session, baby.