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I watched as several of the couples immediately started to communicate about which positions they’d prefer.
“Once you have decided how to sit, I want you each to place a hand over your partner’s chest and sacral region. Yes, Reggie?” I asked when a hand went up in the air.
I just barely managed to keep my tone pleasant and my eyes from rolling.
I didn’t usually get frustrated with clients. I understood how foreign and strange these classes could be. Especially for people who had been raised to think of sexuality as something taboo or shameful.
But Reggie had been a thorn in my side since the moment he stepped into my class. He asked me to repeat myself a lot, questioned the ‘science’ behind my claims instead of trying the exercises himself.
He was a tall, rake-thin man with pin-straight posture and these slightly off-putting green eyes.
“Who is that?” he asked, gesturing toward Rowe on the couch.
“That is a friend of mine,” I supplied, then immediately tried to move the conversation on before he could dig in his heels. Like I knew he would do. “Now, I want everyone to understand that this exercise may or may not invoke sexual feelings for you. It isn’t right or wrong either way. Some of you might just feel a deeper connection and intimacy. Trust me, the sexual sensations will come eventually. But we are early in our train… yes, Reggie?” I asked, exhaling hard.
“I don’t think I like him just sitting there staring at us.”
“He is not staring at you,” I said. And I knew he wasn’t because I could practically feel his discomfort from halfway across the room. I doubted his gaze was anywhere but on the floor or ceiling.
“How do you know? You’re not even looking at him. I didn’t think this class was for creeps to watch us. I thought it was about everyone participating.”
“Reggie, I think we are focusing on the wrong thing right now,” I said, shooting his wife Lizzie a small smile, knowing his outbursts were a source of embarrassment for her, judging by the way she studied the floor when he spoke.
I hoped I was wrong, but I sensed two years tops for their relationship. They seemed incompatible both emotionally and physically. I never wanted to bet on the end of a relationship. But a part of me thought Lizzie might actually be happier without him.
“After all, I will not be participating in couples exercises either,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, well maybe I’m not comfortable with that either. I wouldn’t trust an art teacher who couldn’t show proof of their work either,” he said, and the condescension in that nasal voice of his was making my blood pressure actually start to rise. “Right, guys? This is inappropriate,” he declared, trying to get everyone up in arms.
It could go bad fast. And then they would all request their money back. I didn’t like to have to think about finances, but it would be a big hit to have to refund all of them for a month-long class. It would hurt to even refund just a few of them.
“Okay, Reggie. We will participate as well,” I said. Because, well, what other choice did we have?
“What?” Rowe asked, voice tight.
“It’s fine,” I said in a low voice as I moved toward the couch.
“The hell it is,” he whispered back, so low that I only knew what he said by reading his lips.
“Obviously,” I said, turning back to my class, “my friend here has a pretty serious injury, so we will be modifying,” I told the class, getting head nods and small smiles from my more open-minded clients. And a distasteful glower from Reggie.
I’d never fired a client before, but he was tempting me.
The only reason I was hesitating was his poor wife. Who’d likely booked the class as a last-ditch attempt to save their relationship.
“Everyone please get into positions,” I said as I turned my back on the class to face Rowe. “Please just play along,” I asked, and I know there was silent pleading in my eyes. “I need the money from this class,” I added, seeing the spark of understanding in his gaze.
He’d completely changed his entire life plan and joined an outlaw, gun-running MC because of financial reasons.
He understood that struggle.
“You don’t have to actually do the breath work,” I added, kicking out of my shoes. “Just pretend, okay?” I asked, voice as low as possible so pain-in-the-ass Reggie didn’t overhear.
Unlike my class, I didn’t have the loose, flowy clothes that would make long periods of time in a straddling position comfortable. My jean shorts were going to bite into my thighs.
And I went ahead and tried to focus on that instead of the fact that I was going to be straddling Rowe.
I’d fantasized of this exact thing so many times. Too many times to count, really. And my body seemed to remember all the pleasure in those intimate moments between me and my hand or vibrator and the images in my mind.
