My Soft Core P— Yoga Class

Yes, I know… I’m completely defeating the purpose of yoga. But I can’t help it! Rocker Yogi is killing me! I’m quite sure it’s all happening in my imagination, but let’s say for the sake of this entry that it’s not.

Today, I switched my mat placement, but no matter… the music went on and I was the first to have his hands on me. Today I dressed for the occasion, with my black Gap yoga pants which fall low on the hips and make my butt look perky and tight. On top I had the Fila black sport top, which is smaller than a bra, and reveals lots of cleavage when bent over or should I say when one is in a forward fold and then asked to come to a flat back..

So when his hands pressed on my back for our first child’s pose, it was his cool hands on my warm back.. and waist.. he has very large hands, so they cover a lot of territory.

Now yoga is supposed to be a clearing of the mind, a moving meditation if you will, but this class is turning into soft core porn for me. There is no clearing of the mind, there is only anticipation when his footsteps are near. Is he coming toward me? Am I about to feel his hands on me?.. (pant pant.. I’m supposed to be breathing not panting!) Oh, those footsteps are torture! I will him closer and closer and sometimes, just sometimes I get my need fulfilled.

I was lucky today. Four times. The first was as I said, right out of the gate. The second I didn’t have to wait too long for… he adjusted my downward dog. He must be a perfectionist, because I’ve got that one pretty nailed, but I didn’t mind him behind me pressing and pulling one bit.

Then there was a long lull. During that lull there were yoga terms used that of course coming out of his mouth just sounded dirty, like “There is strength in the length.” I wanted to whisper in his ear, “Prove it” but that would have been so non-namaste! Then he had us go into table top pose and told us to thrust up our pelvis and be proud of our gender. The comment made me laugh out loud, but apparently I was the only one because he said, “That was way funnier than your reaction.” If he wants reaction, he should just stand next to me the whole class. I’ll stroke his ego and anything else he needs…

Third time, he made me wait, but it was so worth waiting for! It was the last pose of the class before savasana. He had us put our right foot on our left knee and then twist to the left with our right arm and head falling to the right. I usually close my eyes in this pose, but I heard the footsteps… he sat down and took my right arm in his hands, then straddled my arm so I had no where to look but straight into his crotch. Then he took his foot and pushed my hip until my knee touched the floor. But who noticed? My face was less than a foot from his crotch. This was cruel! This was torment! This is my favorite frickin’ yoga class ever!!!! But it didn’t end there, oh no, my lovely readers… we had to switch sides, so I got to stare at his crotch from the left side view as well.

And then savasana. Remember last time I was hoping he’d slip his hands down my top… that would have been inappropriate. But this time, I was barely wearing a top, and I believe I mentioned he has big hands, so he couldn’t help but graze my cleavage with his fingertips as he worked his way back to my upper chest and shoulders for a final push…. oh lordie!

As he went around the class in his hypnotic surfer voice (I know, it sounds like an oxymoron, but in his case it’s hot!) he was telling us to clear our minds for the final ten minutes. Clear my mind? He’d just touched my boobs, there would be no mind clearing! My mind hadn’t been this busy since I was with FWB! And the footsteps! My ears were on high alert! Would he possibly come back for seconds? Had he held my hand during the final twist because he was checking for a wedding band? Because there isn’t one, and I have no tan lines to prove it. Yeah. These were the thoughts going through my head when my head was supposed to be clear.

I am supposed to leave yoga relaxed not needing a cold shower. I have to face facts. I have four other yoga classes during the week that provide relaxation and meditative vinyasas. This class will be serving a “higher purpose” and while I’m such a cliche, I totally want to have sex with my yoga instructor! Hey, give me a break.. in my decade of doing yoga, he’s the first one I ever wanted to do… granted all of my hot yoga instructors have been gay up until now.  How am I going to maneuver this? I will ponder it and decide on a strategy!


This entry was posted in Chick lit, romantic comedy, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to My Soft Core P— Yoga Class

  1. Page Turner says:

    You are SOOOO getting it on with your yoga instructor, you might as well just give him a nickname now and add him to your list of characters, make it official and be done with it! Yoga is all about releasing tension isn’t it?! (You have your mind set on it and I know how you get when you hone in on something – even if you don’t know it yet).

  2. AdventureBiz Babe says:

    Oh my…I need a cold shower just reading this! Now that’s a way to spend a yoga class!

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