Upward bow... up to a handstand, legs up... then slowly opening to full split... twist... up again... and slowly, slowly down into lotus.
I felt absolutely serene. I was aware of the sunshine, of the grass beneath me, of the breezes on my bare body, of the sounds of leaves and surf, but it was as if I was floating above them, outside of their world. I was incredibly aware of my heart beating, of the air flowing in and out of my lungs, of the position of every part of my body. Blissful, utter calm.
After a while, I opened my eyes to see him sitting on the porch. Seeing me coming back, he came down the steps with a glass in his hand. Kneeling, he gave me a quick kiss and handed it to me - iced peppermint tea, water beading on the sides. I took it from him and had a sip. Such a kindness . He must have finished his katas early.
"Oh," he said. "Forgot something." He got up, went back up to the veranda and fiddled briefly with our camera, which I now noticed was set up on a tripod.
"What are you filming?"
"Was filming." he corrected. "Your routine."
So he'd filmed 45 minutes of me doing yoga in the nude... Meh. I knew he wouldn't share it without asking me. And I had taken enough clips of him in what most people would describe as 'compromising' situations that I couldn't object. I was mildly curious, but too peaceful to deal with it now.
"Shower?" he asked gently.
I smiled. "Yes, please."
He helped me to my feet and we walked, my hand on his arm, up to the outdoor shower on the upstairs veranda.
With a frame of shiny, wrist-thick copper pipes, it was big enough for eight - not that we had that many people around here. Massive shower heads allowed monsoon-level water flow across the full area if we wished it. Standing in it, one could see our little slice of the Pacific Ocean over and between the palms. A bamboo privacy screen could be lowered on the water side if somebody sailed in close. Presumably it worked; Lord knows we never used it. Let them look.
He turned on the water in the centre, adjusted the temperature, waving his arm into the downfall, then offered me his hand and escorted me under it.
I walked in, let the flowing water run over me, then raised my face to the warm 'rain'. He'd installed two sets of soft web loops long before, just at the right height to support me in a standing position with my arms above my head. Nothing more kinky than a passenger strap on a city bus, they allowed me to stand upright to be washed without having to worry about balance; I could just enjoy.
I slipped my wrists through them and held onto the straps above. I lifted my face to the warm water and relaxed. For me, there's something about flowing water as primordial as there is about fire. People can sit for hours watching an open fire; some say we've been conditioned by 10,000 generations of keeping cave bears away. Most people, I think, feel the same way about warm water flowing gently over their bodies. I certainly do.
He waited patiently for a couple of minutes. There was no hurry; 12 hours a day of tropical sun solar fed a hot water tank the size of a politician's ego. Eventually, he turned the water off. I could hear him pumping soap onto his hands.
He started low for a change, washing my left foot, then up the calf, then the thigh. His thumbs brushed lightly against my labia before he started on my right leg. He lingered over my feet, knowing how much I liked his efforts there. I often wondered where he had learned to be so attentive.
Finished with my legs, he rubbed gel over and into my bum, hips and lower back. His strong fingers usually turned a shower into a minor massage and today was no exception. He kneaded and pressed as he washed upwards onto my back, strong thumbs sliding along my spine, stiff fingers spread out and trailing on either side.
He leaned in against my back with a hug. I could feel his manhood between us and shifted my hips from side to side to give him some pleasure back. His hands glided along my flank, fingers slipping in between us to cup and fondle my cheeks. What a wonderful feeling from a man I loved.
He stepped back and began washing my shoulders and neck. Again the bath gel became massage oil as his fingers stroked and manipulated my muscles.
Even with my eyes closed, I could feel the glow of his love for me as he walked around to my front and gently washed my face. He turned the water back on for me to rinse soap out of my eyes, then turned it off and returned to washing me. His hands slid down my arms, stripping them at the end, then my shoulders, which had received a pretty good workout. I hung supported by the straps, glowing in the pleasant feeling of his loving hands moving over my skin.
His hands moved down over my breasts. He wouldn't have been my man if he didn't salute them properly in passing and he did. Such amazing feelings he gave; I could feel my nipples pop to attention as his palms moved over them. Give him his way and I'd have the cleanest boobs in the world.
He lifted them and caught my nipples in the V between thumb and forefinger. Clasping them there, he pulled and stretched them as his hands roved.
Looking down, I could see he had an erection. The pleasure was clearly not all one-way.
He pulled his hands downwards, soaping my ribs and stomach. Bring washed by your lover is wonderful; having done with their bare hands is heavenly. Washcloths just get in the way of the love.
