Butterfly does Yoga

There was a time I always believed Yoga was a sorry excuse for people to sit around and do breathing exercises while checking out other people's asses. I saw it as a women’s domain while real men ran, did weights and checked out other guy’s biceps.

When Huixx pitched the idea of joining her for yoga classes yesterday, LB and me jumped at the idea. For one, yoga classes always guaranteed a satiable multitude of visual stimulants. Women in tights, men in spandex, instructors with great asses. My list would really run down the line and I’ll have to stop somewhere at licking your own crotch.

There was really nothing not to love about attending yoga with Huixx and we were positively certain that the session was going to tickle us crazy. We had it all planned. We’d attend the class, laugh our ass off at people sticking their heads between their legs and drool at the hotties. Life is great when you have a purpose.

Huixx: “First laugh is free, but I don’t want you guys making me look bad.”

We got there only for Huixx to escalate our anticipation by telling us that her REALLY hot friend Marge was taking the class with us. I must have been a great boy all week, cos everything was panning out to become the greatest yoga introductory ever. God loves me.

The instructor, as luck would have it, was this hot lady with one of the best ass I’ve seen all week. It could be the tights or the hypnotising way her hips swayed, but women at 30 seldom looked this good. I suddenly forgave LB for snatching my mat next to Marge. With the instructor at spit distance from me, I might probably have the best seat in the house yet. Life is wonderful again. I love yoga and I love being me.

Everyone started with the mandatory stretching. LB had a good seat and was smiling widely. The instructor, Jac started having us move into a position where our ass was sticking out and we were motioning as if we were slow fucking the floor. Her ass was 4 feet from me and I had the biggest grin in the room.

The coolest thing about yoga was that every pose had a name. It's usually in Indian and they sound really cool especially coming from Jac at a point where I was heavily panting and she was throwing out words that sounded like Kamasutra's siblings.

Jac arched her body forward and slowly moved her chest towards her knees while mumbling some gibberish about what the stance was called in yoga, which in my mild distraction sounded like an Indian side dish to dip in curry. I was focused only on one thing and the code word for the night was clear..

Camel.Toes.

I was half giggling, half winking at Huixx and LB until everything went from stretching novice to Marilyn Manson impossible. The moment we started on the warm up, I was almost certain my limbs were going to collapse to me. I have the flexibility of a 93yr old man with spinal injury if you really must know. If my toes itched and I wasn’t allowed to bend to scratch them, I would have them amputated. It’s that bad.

My legs started trembling, I could hardly breathe and I was partially concerned about accidentally exposing myself from the precarious positions Jac was coaxing us into.

Jac: “Now stretch your right hand out and grab your toes”

I stretched.. If I really pushed myself, I might make it to the heels..

Jac: “If you can’t touch the toes, you can grab your ankles instead..”

The ankles were looking like a distant ambition that was quickly crumbling to fatigue build up, genetic disability, past contempt for stretching exercises and endless beer sessions. I grabbed the closest thing to the floor I could muster, the knees.

Next I knew, I was perspiring like an Eskimo in summer. Yoga was no longer ticklish like I remembered it to be. I was grabbing my hands behind my back from under my legs, curling my knees to the chest and if this kept up, I might have be able to blow myself after the evening was over.

Me: “Huixx, we can’t laugh, but we’re allowed to scream yea?”

I was having a lot of problems keeping up with the posture, let alone regulate my breathing and pose decorously. And it came to a point where LB had almost entirely given up on trying and I was deliberately faulting the stances just so she would come arrest the degradation I was pulling her art of yoga into.

The biggest payoff to this was her spreading her legs and standing over me while she lifted my body up gently. I swear, this was going to be one reason why I will NEVER want to be entirely perfect doing yoga.

The finale climaxed at some breathing exercise, which had us lying on our backs under dimmed lights, cool breeze from the air-conditioning that was up again and LB slept through the whole ordeal. Everyone else was back up stretching our abs, expect LB who had entirely blended into the floor. All he needed was a mink coat and he could qualify as a rug.

Huixx: “So how was the lesson?”
Me: “It’s like falling down a stairs and having your legs wrapped over your head for an hour till the ambulance comes.”

If you think yoga is for wussies, go strap on some spandex and prepare to smell your own ass. Now, I only need to look forward to Speed Dating.