2
WE START OFF WITH some Tai Chi stretches. Oscar winks at Irma as he reaches in her direction. Irma is about eighty and has three cats — that’s all I know. She smiles wide.
Next, we’re into sun salutations, and everyone is down with their butts up in the air as I demonstrate downward dog. Oscar wiggles his butt in an exaggerated motion and Irma laughs.
When we’re into the strength exercises, Oscar does his best Zoolander impression, and I roll my eyes, trying to ignore him. When we move into balance poses, he’s hard to miss as he’s the one toppling over repeatedly.
He’s serious when it comes to abs and core work. While all the ladies in the class struggle with this part, Oscar kills it. He’s solid as steel. When he’s not here, stepping on my last nerve, he’s at the boxing ring.
We finish with more stretching exercises, and finally, ten minutes of meditation. Oscar always chooses happy baby pose — he lies on his back, grips his feet with his hands and smiles at the ceiling like an idiot. I’m surprised he doesn’t actually coo. I complain, but it always does make me laugh.
Everyone exits the room after meditation. A few thank me, a few wish me a good weekend, and Oscar lingers behind. Another good class.
I swipe a towel across my forehead. “Don’t you have better things to do than hang out with old ladies?”
He laughs. “I have the day off, and there are a lot of hotties in your class.”
He’s not wrong. The class is a mix of old and young, all shapes and sizes.
He inches closer, towering over me as he wraps an arm around my waist. It’s just the two of us in the dark studio. It’s quiet — the music has been turned off. “What are you up to now?” he asks with that familiar twinkle in his eye.
I smile. “FYI… it’s impossible to turn me on when you’re dressed like Richard Simmons.”
He laughs and pulls me in closer. “You don’t like the leg warmers?”
“You look like an idiot.”
“But they keep me warm. It’s cold outside. You wanna borrow them?”
“You need to go, Oscar,” I tell him. “I’ll get in trouble.”
He squeezes my ass hard, and turns on his heel. He waves bye as he struts off. I can’t help but grin as I watch him go. “Meet you at my place,” I call out.
He shoots me a wicked smile. “I’ll be there before you, naked in your bed.”
I smile. I’m not crazy about his yoga class outfit, but I do love his birthday suit.
Following a brief shower, I quickly blow dry my hair and slip on some cozy sweats. I dash to my car, and utter expletives when it’s covered in snow again. I pull out the brush and curse the Gods of winter. I’m horny and wanting to get some, and it feels like I have to jump through hoops. I just want to get there, in my bed, on top of Oscar.
Heat wraps me in a warm hug when I finally get into the lobby of my apartment building. I tap in the code to get in, and dash up the two flights of stairs. I struggle with my boots, not moving fast enough.
When I finally make it to my room, Oscar is lying on my bed, wearing nothing but a wicked smile and a glorious erection. “Get over here,” he says.
I drop my bag, peel off my gloves, scarf and my heavy winter jacket. I slither onto the bed, still wearing my winter toque, and straddle him as I press my lips on his. Oscar is good in bed; gentle at times, rough when he needs to be. And he’s always fun. He tugs my hat off, and nibbles at my bottom lip as he pulls at my hair. “God, I love your hair.”
I slide the palms of my hands down his smooth torso. He’s so warm and soft. I travel down lower and tease him.
His smile is lost against my mouth. “I missed you,” he mumbles.
“It’s only been six days,” I point out. I know this because I’ve been counting.
We had another one of our tiffs again. I told him I wanted him out of my life, and he replied, “Gladly. Nice knowing ya.” We always fight — it’s what we do. But we always end up back together. I never make the first move. I always make him come to me, and I never wait longer than a week. Sometimes, I wonder if he’ll ever get sick of this game we play. One day, I’ll be waiting for him to come back, and a week will pass, and then another. And he won’t come back. Maybe one day he’ll find someone else.
I try not to think about it as I get lost in the sweet taste of his mouth. He slides a large hand up my torso and pulls my knitted sweater over my head. My hair is wild. I throw my head back. “Take off my bra… I want your mouth on my tits.”
He quickly obliges, and as soon as his hot mouth wraps around my breast, a warmth fills me and I feel myself getting wet for him.
His hard-on presses against my sex, with promises of an amazing orgasm. I reach for the band of my sweat pants, and slide them over my ass — Oscar is not moving fast enough for my liking.
