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Amie nodded but didn’t slow her pace as she led him past the waiting area and through a small hallway. There were double wood doors at the very end of the hall, on the left a long window pane. He could see a group of women huddled in conversation.
White doors lined both sides of the hallway. Amie ducked her head behind one of the doors. “You can change in here. I’ll wait for you.”
Before he had a chance to argue, Amie pushed him through the door and shut him inside. The stink was worse inside the room. Soft light illuminated from the ceiling. Milton rested his bag on the massage table and changed into his shorts and t-shirt.
When he emerged from the room Amie was talking with an older woman, her brown hair sat on top of her head in a bun. She had a bright smile, something like Amie’s.
He cleared his throat, and the two women quickly stopped talking. When they looked over they had the same look in their eyes–guilty.
“Milton, this is my friend Maggie.” She gestured to the woman. “Maggie, this is Milton. I’m introducing him to yoga today.”
“You’ll love it. You two have fun. I’m going to go so I can get a spot in the front.”
“We’re not sitting in the front, are we?” Milton blurted.
Maggie laughed and walked away. It would be humiliating enough being in the room, let alone being in front where everyone could see how ridiculous he looked.
“I’ll be nice. We can stay at the back.”
Milton let out a sigh of relief.
“Come on, Campbell. Let’s see how well that body bends.” With a grin Amie walked away, her hips swinging from side to side, a magnetic sway that pulled him forward against his will.
Amie grabbed mats for them from the side of the studio and Milton placed his right behind the woman in front of him, blocking himself from the long mirrored wall.
As if this wasn’t humiliating enough, from the side door entered a familiar face. A pregnant familiar face. Martina. She walked into the studio, ethereal, glowing, angelic in her features and gait. An angel dressed in black, skin tight clothing.
“What is Martina doing here?” he asked. Despite her beauty, he just wasn’t okay with another person laughing at him.
“Martina is teaching the class.”
“But she’s pregnant,” he said. A little too loudly. A few women turned and gawked.
“Do you know there are yoga classes specifically for pregnant women? Martina is a professional. Even better than me.” She winked and took a step onto her mat.
“Namaste.” Martina’s voice carried from the front of the room.
The entire room answered in a singular sound. The group of woman sat on their mats at her command, cross-legged, hands palm up on their knees.
Twenty minutes into the session, sweat dripped from Milton’s forehead as he posed his body–tried to pose his body–into some kind of porpoise position.
Beside him, Amie flawlessly moved from pose to pose, not a lick of sweat anywhere on her body. Of course she wouldn’t sweat. She was a yoga instructor, after all. And her body was perfect, tight and toned. Her limbs able to bend in abnormal ways. Her legs the most flexible he had ever seen. Turn away. A boner during yoga class would be inappropriate.
“Put your feet flat on the floor.” Martina’s whimsical voice came from behind him.
Milton grunted as he reworked his footing on the mat.
Martina grabbed his hips, and he tensed. Not good. Friend’s woman’s hands on your body. Not good. She pulled his body back, straightening his legs. Milton felt the pull in his hamstrings.
“You’re doing very well, Milton.” Martina rested her hand on the small of his back. “Pretty good for a first timer.” She leaned over closer to his head. “Pretty good for a man.” She chuckled and walked away.
Perfect. She was laughing at him. Was he crazy for agreeing to this? Was he disturbed for liking the idea of a woman taking charge of his sexual pleasure–taking charge of his life outside of work? Was he crazy for agreeing to let the woman from the store window take him under her wing?
Milton watched the women around him change their positions, and he followed suit. Jumping up to his feet on unsteady legs, his head spun from the blood having collected at the top of his head. He grabbed his foot and lifted his leg–more like scrunched his leg up to his body. Surely she’d give him credit for trying though.
Score! There was a woman who couldn’t get her leg straight. He wasn’t alone. Crap! She was just taking her time. Milton watched as the redhead used her arm to pull her leg up and out as she balanced on one foot.
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