*All characters are fictional and over 18 years of age*
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"See you next time." She bid farewell to the last group of class participants leaving the yoga studio after the Friday night 7:30 class. Looking out the glass door she noticed the darkness creeping over the summer evening, sensed the town starting to quiet. She stopped to listen and survey her domain as the last instructor of the day responsible for closing down the studio. The showers were off and the hallway was clear of mats and flip flops. The hot room was empty.
Well, almost empty. Oh my. He must still be in there relaxing in savasana.
Butterflies started to flutter through her stomach.
This can't be real. There's no way.
But part of her thought it might actually be real. She sauntered through the studio checking the hallways and locker rooms, finding no one else remaining. She turned the key to the main door, locking out the outside world.
Well, no one can get in I suppose...so that's good. But I'm not actually the only one here...
She turned to gaze past the front desk to the closed door of the hot room, hearing the faint sounds of relaxing music coming through the barrier.
I guess he's still in there.
Her brain quickly scanned her memory bank, trying to connect whether there might be meaning behind him loitering in the hot room, staying behind on a Friday evening.
Maybe he's just meditating.
Well, we do lock eyes sometimes.
She was keenly aware that, since starting at the studio, he had attended quite a few of her classes these last few months.
But that's nothing. Everyone has a preference for certain teachers.
She remembered he practiced beside her when she attended a class as a participant a few weeks ago. She always took a spot up front, and that day he walked in behind her, putting his mat down right beside hers. "Hi," was all he said with a deep voice and a big smile. But if she was being honest with herself, she remembered her stomach doing a flip flop. All she could think was
"He's so hot"
as she eeked out a "hi" in return.
I caught him glancing at me from the mirror. More than a few times. And he wasn't even shy about it.
Whatever. Everyone checks everyone out sometimes in there.
But, if she was being honest with herself, she realized she might also be flirting back.
I mean, it wasn't terrible thinking about how close his body was to me in our poses. And I might have pushed my ass a little bit higher in the air because I could tell he was checking me out when I was bent over in the poses. Which I admit, was kind of hot. And...I guess I do get a little bit giddy when he says hello when he signs in when I am teaching. His voice is so sexy!
She tried to rationalize it away.
Whatever. I probably seem ridiculous, acting like a teenager. It's not like something is going to happen between us.
But then she realized her actions weren't quite as innocent as she might prefer.
Well, I guess I have been choosing to wear tight little yoga shorts to teach in, instead of yoga pants like most of the other instructors... because there's a good chance he might be in my class. I catch him sneaking a look at my ass as I walk the room during the session!
She felt the heat of embarrassment in her cheeks even though no one was around.
This is ridiculous.
Whatever. I am hot for my age... why not flaunt it! It's not for him, it's for me!
She admits to herself she's not thirty something anymore... but all the Peloton and weight training made her look fifteen years younger, especially in the dim light of the hot yoga room where the sweat made everyone look even sexier.
Especially him. His light chocolate skin, his toned muscles, his broad shoulders, the scruff on his face, his bald head. Oh man, his piercing eyes. His flexibility. The way he moves. It's really not my fault. He's just so hot.
Then she remembered that he looked just like her favorite Peloton instructor. The one who pushed her every minute for her tight, toned body.
This is ridiculous. I am being childish. I need to lock up and get home to my husband.
My husband.
Her mind began to race.
Ya, remember? My husband? The love of my life? Ya, that guy.
Although...he's also the one who never seems to mind when I go out and flirt. The one who supports my love of being admired by men? That husband?
She looked at the closed door to the hot room, wondering what to do. Then she considered for a moment the possibility of what might happen if she crossed the threshold into the room.
It's not like I am going to fuck him.
She looked away in embarrassment.
But if she was honest with herself, she knew what she most likely would do if she went in.
She remembered a recent session of sex with her husband.
All of a sudden I got really wet when he was fucking me. Of course he noticed and asked me about it, knowing me after all these years that I was thinking about something hot. And of course I had to admit to him I was accidentally thinking about a hot black guy in my yoga class. And then he got me off really hard, like he always makes me do when I admit things like that to him.
There's no way I can go in there. I can't. I'm sure this isn't real.
But my husband is always telling me, if I find a hot black guy, feel free to use my hall pass.
Whatever. I don't even know what that means. He's not serious. Besides, I would never do something like that. I'm married. And am way too innocent to do something like that.
Fleetingly, she heard a little voice in her head admit she might be lying to herself.
Then she let herself remember what she did just 45 minutes ago in the middle of the class she was teaching.
I flat out massaged his shoulders while he was resting in child's pose in between active flows.
She knew her mind had a powerful way of blocking out flirtatious things like that. It was her strongest coping mechanism for maintaining in her own mind the allure of innocence her whole dating life.
I mean...all the teachers give massages...it's just part of what you do as an instructor in a class...it was really no big deal.
