AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Now, we go almost every week. It’s our ritual—first yoga, then we grab croissants and other goodies from Ruthie’s to negate all the calories we just expended, then we go back to Nicole’s apartment and watch an episode of whatever reality TV show has caught her attention. This month, it’s a dating show where the contestants don’t see each other before they get engaged. I don’t know how people come up with this stuff.
I’ve been really enjoying the class. It stretches out all the muscles that get so tense from hovering over a wheel all the time, and there’s something emotionally relieving about how I feel when the class is over. It feels like a form of therapy, but for my soul instead of my mind.
My actual therapist back in college recommended yoga to me as a way to manage some of my emotions that seem to burden me physically, but I wrote her off. Clearly, I was wrong.
“So you slept with him once, and then what? Are you going to keep sleeping with him?” Nicole asks as we toe off our shoes, her voice—thankfully—quiet enough that I think the other ladies can’t hear her.
“I don’t know, Nic. I haven’t thought it all the way through yet.” Though I’ve definitely thought about what might happen the next time we see each other.
I head into the main room, a large open space where several women are already laying out their mats and chatting quietly with each other. Once I’ve grabbed a mat from where a few dozen are rolled up and piled in the corner, I find a spot that works for me and get set up, taking a seat with my legs crossed.
Nicole drops her mat next to mine and sits as well, her voice hushed. “Well maybe you should think it through.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” I ask her, bringing my feet together and bending forward, stretching gently. “I’m talking to you about it, aren’t I? I’m trying to figure it out.”
Thankfully, that seems to shut her up, at least for a few minutes, and we continue stretching in silence as the room fills with other yogis. Eventually, class begins, and we collectively move from child’s pose to cat-cow, through puppy, and then into downward dog in silence.
During our three rounds of sun salutations, as we stop in sphinx pose, Nicole starts whispering to me.
“How was it?” she asks, and when I look at her, she wiggles her eyebrows up and down.
I grit my teeth, returning my attention to the front of the room and trying not to laugh.
“Did he get better?”
When I remain silent, trying to focus on my breaths, she gasps.
“Oh my god, did he get worse?”
I can’t help but giggle, though I do my best to keep it quiet.
“Alright, moving into downward dog, now,” our instructor says, and everyone begins moving. “Lengthen your back and let your head hang heavy. Then trace the shape with your breath. Imagine your breath entering your nose and then traveling through your body.”
Sometimes, the things the instructor says don’t make complete sense to me, but still, I try to focus on what she’s saying instead of Nicole’s question. Even so, I find myself remembering what it was like to go to bed with Bishop. The weight of him on my body. The strength of him under my hands.
He’s not the boy he was when we were teens. His muscles have toned, his body has lengthened, his prowess grown. I could barely breathe as I came down on top of him, could barely think as he brought me to the brink, could barely move once we were done.
Unable to help myself, I let my head hang heavy between my arms and use the angle to glance at Nicole. Her eyes find mine.
“It was the best I’ve ever had,” I whisper.
Her eyes widen. “Even better than the bar guy?”
I nod. “Way better.”
Our instructor chooses that moment to walk by, and we both return to our positions, but again, my mind struggles to stay focused on what we’re doing. ‘The bar guy’, as Nicole likes to refer to him, was a one-night stand from those early days when I was searching for a way to heal from the pain of my breakup. He’s been the gold standard for the past few years when it comes to sexual ability, and in my mind, he’s been officially bumped to silver.
Part of me just assumed maybe my memory was bad, or that, because I was young when we first met, my idea of who Bishop was might have been overinflated in my mind. Nothing could be that good, as good as I remember it being. Right?
Now, though…now I’m not so sure. Now that Bishop and I have had sex, I’m reminded of those very real things I felt before.
Feeling seen. Wanted. Consumed.
On its own, the sex was incredible, but part of what makes it so incredible is that it’s more than just sex. It’s all those other things, too.
But that makes it just as intimidating, too. Because when it’s more than sex, and feelings are involved, people get hurt.
I get hurt.
