“Close your eyes and take a deep breath,” he says.
I am sitting on the floor with crossed legs, following my yoga teacher’s instructions. The new age music transports me to a faraway exotic place. In addition, the soft scent of lavender essential oil burning produces a feeling of peace within me and it makes me realise just how stressed I was before the class began. With each breath, I travel even further away from my day to day reality. Well, at least that’s my intention when I come to yoga class every week.
“Now, go on all fours, hands beneath the shoulders…” is the next instruction.
I obey. This is the ideal position for a lazy fuck, I think to myself as I assume the asana. I mean, when missionary becomes overwhelming and I just don’t have the strength or the stamina to go on top.
I imagine that I’m providing the person behind me with a fantastic view of my derriere and my intimate parts. Especially given the fact that I’m wearing a new pair of leggings that I bought in the sales. I smile to myself as I remember that moment in the changing room when I tried on about seven pairs of leggings. The criteria was how well they accentuated the curves of my buttocks. The ones I’m wearing now were by far the most impressive. As I recall that moment, I can hardly contain my satisfaction.
“Raise your hips,” the teacher says.
Next, I get into downward dog position. My gaze goes straight to my crotch. Even though my leggings are dark, the outline of my labia and the mark of my wetness is evident. And there are even more scandalous poses to come. This is just the warmup.
All this repetitive opening and closing of my legs causes my leggings to wedge between my labia. I’m gettng very turned on as a result. I confess that I’m struggling to control the scandalous thoughts racing through my mind during the class. Especially during the cobra pose, when I feel my pubic bone press down hard against the mat, stimulating my clitoris. I’m tempted to grind frenetically against it to accentuate the sensation. I only wish I could feel a different kind of hardness, in much more intimate circumstances. And I don’t mean in a soft and zen way, but in a spiritual warfare kind of way. I desire sweat, scandalous sex sounds and rhythmic thrusts that provoke an effect and reaction throughout my entire body, mind and soul.
Instead of releasing tension, it is clear that I am accumulating it. I think I’ll have to masturbate when I get home. It’s the only thing that will give me the sense of tranquility and relaxation that I long for. Because yoga has caused the opposite effect. Despite this, next week, I’ll still be back for more regardless. Namasté.