Part 1: The Meet
The sun is setting and the sweat is falling. Exhaustion, relief, anger, calm, fear, love, peace... it's all usually felt within a session of vinyassa yoga. But this night was different. Not that those feelings didn't come up... of course they did! It's hard doing yoga! But, that said, the light just shone brighter on our way, my wife's hand in mine.
Our love was, and still is, very real, and the warmth of it can been seen in the soft words spoken before class began, the kind glances at each other during even the most strenuous poses, and the hand held after the class ended. We are perfect as we are, and nothing need be added, sweaty or not, tired or not, alone or not. That said, perfection can never be beat- but it sure can be spiced a little differently, depending on the day and mood. Like an already perfect day, topped off with an ice cream sundae. Tonight was just like that. A little extra.
Before class, we introduced ourselves, as required, to a new person in the room. Ease usually called for it to be those immediately next to us. A woman to our right, whose name I still try to recall but can't, and a woman directly in front of the both of us. She held my hand in hers as she said her name and repeated ours, her eyes beaming attention and focus on you, and she did the same with my wife. She and my wife look at each other a moment, asking some sort of pleasantry. To be honest, I was distracted by the fact that they were still touching, smiling and talking a few seconds longer that one would usually expect these forced introductions to go.
Vanessa's shoulder tattoo, an ornate black spiral, could easily be seen through her purple camisole as she warmed up in various positions in front of the both of us. I couldn't help but notice her movements, but, as I always do, I remind myself that she, like all people, is beautiful inside and out and that it is disrespectful to glance a moment too long. I avert my eyes, right to my wife's.
"Stop," my wife playfully mouths to me. I just shrug my shoulders, as if to say "Who, me?" My beautiful wife and I look at each other again, a bit bashfully, and smile. I take her palm in mind and tickle it, leaving her with a playful smile. "Te amo," I mouth to her. Her smile beams and softens in response. That smile I love so much, the one I want to see every day for the rest of my life- however long that may be. "Yo a ti" she mouths back to me. And with that, we are asked to begin in a seated meditation.
Now, being someone who gravitates to this kind of thing, I'm not averse to noticing errant thoughts running through my head when I should instead be "just chilling." Some thoughts, though, latch on and latch on hard. My wife's hand, Vanessa's hand. Vanessa's hand, my wife's in hers, greeting each other, but something more. Did my wife think the same thing? Was I just being a typical guy, reading into any female attention as something sexual? Okay, just thinking. That's just a thought. Feel my breath- all my attempts to label my thoughts and move on.
More thoughts. My wife's smile, a slightly upward curve to her lip, the kind she gives when she's flirted with. The realization that someone's attention is on her, and her alone. Jealousy- mine. Wait, why? What's going on? Breathe... stop being such a guy!
Ah, yes. The breeze of the A/C, thoughts of an evening meal before bed. My wife's knee so close to Vanessa's. A made up mental image, vivid as if real and in front of me- Vanessa biting my wife's lip. Stroking her back. Me behind my wife, right behind, about to...
The thoughts are interrupted by the teacher's prompting, which I immediately disregard to continue thinking. Okay, this is testing me. Some meditator I am, right? How do these monks supposedly acknowledge and then deny their sexual urges? All I can think about is when I can't get home and be alone...
Upward, downward, child's, upward, downward, warrior, etc. Flow, flow. Getting more difficult with each round of sun salutations, I forget the whole thing prior. Sweat is beading down my face, my wife is apparently in better shape than I am and needs (much) less rest than I do. Damn, she looks good. She even looks a little calm, through all that sweat and contortion. Can't say how happy I am to be married to her. These thoughts are again disappearing and cycling back as the class' difficulty waxes and wanes.
Moving through the poses, Vanessa needs no rest and, like a lot of the others in the room, she looks entirely focused or entirely lost in thought- I can't quite tell. But whatever it is, it's complete. It's all encompassing, and she doesn't look like she could care a thing about what's going on outside her. For this reason, I was completely taken aback and surprised to look up, stretching and rolling my neck in downward dog, to see her looking back, through her legs, directly at me. Smiling at me, briefly, before throwing her leg between her hands and setting up for warrior one.
What the hell? I thought. Now she's just being goofy. That "white woman from Boulder" kind of bliss, where she's just beaming through the most difficult poses. That's what it is...
Another pose, another, and another. Next round, I see her peaking down through downward dog, right to my wife. No, not just looking. Staring. Her eyes staring, then glancing leftward to mine, then through to her mat as we again set up for warrior again.
Okay, I have to admit. I've done plenty of bored or strained looking in yoga. Sometimes to avoid the discomfort, or worrying thoughts, or because of attraction. But they're fleeting, and, like I stated before, I quickly come "back" out of respect for myself, the others I might be seeing, and, incredibly important to me, to my wife and our mutual respect for each other. These looks she was throwing at us, though, were not so obviously out of boredom. They were playful, yes, but damn it if I didn't read a bit more into it. There go those thoughts again.
I looked over at my wife, our last round of sun salutations to go, and mouthed "what's going on?" She just smiled and shrugged, as if to say "What?", like I did those eons ago. Surely she couldn't have been oblivious to the constant looks Vanessa was giving her and I, in all the variety of positions she found herself in to look back at us. I've either got the mind of a hormonal sixteen year old or I'm right- those looks over hers are more than idle glances.
-
After some unbearable ab work, the lights turn down. Savassana, peace, quiet. Finally, I could get over all this. I'm being silly. It was nothing, Vanessa is just a nice and smiley person, a complete heterosexual, maybe even an asexual yogi, with eyes only for enlightenment and maybe an herbal tea.
My wife was completely unaware of anything going on, precisely because there was nothing to be aware of. I was reading into it, my fantasies running wild, and here I am, all sweaty and tired and confused. I can go home, make love to her and only her, forever happy. Must I think such thoughts? Why should my mind go to those far out, albeit enticing, places?
Her hand, my wonderful wife's, grasps mine as we are guided awake and led in a final "om" to complete class. There is that smile of hers that I love so much.
Vanessa was first to get up and get out after the final bell. Surprise surprise, right? Here to seduce my wife and talk us into a threesome afterward or something, sure... There she goes, leaving first, without even an acknowledgment to her new yoga buddies. Guess our introduction was forced after all. Thankfully, because that would be an awkward conversation to have. See... I'm just thinking again.
We all wipe our mats down, said good night to the instructor, and my wife and I walk out hand in hand. The air just outside the studio feels so cool and crisp on our drenched and heavy bodies, ready for rest. Ready for a meal, some playful banter (how could she not notice I had something on my mind?), and a good cuddle.