***All characters and personal descriptions are fictional. Any relation to an actual person or place is coincidental. This is a work of fiction. But I repeat myself….***
Ariel. Tall, 5’9”. Long torso, lightly defined abs. Flowing red hair, just past shoulder length I thought; if not in a pony tail, it could cover the top half of her boobs. Long, muscular neck, nicely defined pecs; not enough to be a body builder, but they help to lift her breasts and show the definition of her shoulders. C-cup breasts, I’m guessing, natural. They sit high on her chest. But what is most catching is the flatness of her lower body. No belly at all; hip bones clearly showing an inch or two above the top of the yoga shorts she is wearing. Her body is perfectly flat and smooth from the top of her rib cage to the curve of her quads; thin, looking at her from the side, but when she turns to you there is no mistake of the flare of her hips outward, then curving down to her legs. The shorts are orange, with two black stripes on either side and a black band at the top that forms a “v” pointing down to her pussy. They fit tight, but are thick enough that her pussy lips are not evident. As she turns away from her students, one can easily see the gap formed between her upper thighs and crotch. She wears a thin, blue shelf bra – multiple criss- crossing straps on the back that show off her lats and scalenes – those sexy muscles women get from perfecting the shoulder stand. The bra is covered, barely, by a simple piece of material… not really a shirt…. maybe best described as a halter: looped over her head, tied, but otherwise totally open in the back; loose fitting in the front, and low cut. In my mind it acts as a veil, offering tempting glimpses of the treasures within. She glistens with sweat from the temperature in the room… probably close to 37C. Her skin, somewhat sun-damaged through years, I suppose, of sun-tanning, belies her age… late thirties, I guessed. I was off by almost two decades. Between the pain and the breathing, I was hoping she’d head my way for me to get a closer look.
“Focus on your breathing! One breath in, one breath out for each movement. That’s it – feel the energy in the room with your shared breath. Ignore the pain – pain is only one of many things you are allowed to feel.” This made no sense to me whatsoever. In my early fifties, and through a lifetime of fitness and competitive triathlons, I’d never experienced the intensity of the workout of this class; I’d already spilled out of the “urdhva prasirita eka padasana” (standing split) twice. Ariel caught me admiring her cleavage through the mirror; smiled, winked. I fell out of the pose again. “Focus… this is a time to turn your gaze inward to your own energy… perhaps leave, for the moment, earthly images so pleasing to eye to their own devices and see instead the beauty within you.” Sweat was pouring off my body… from my neck into my eyes, and down my now-soaked running shorts, along the hamstring and calf of the leg I was standing on, soaking the mat and making balance even more difficult. Ariel came over to me. Never losing contact with the rest of the class, she touched the big toe of my extended leg. “Feel the energy flow from your core, out through your extended leg… breathe in.. extend… breathe out, compress your body into your lower leg…..” With the touch, something quite extraordinary happened – the burn in my hamstring subsided, and the tremblings of all those little foot muscles I never knew existed that provide balance ceased. For the moment, my body relaxed and the pose was achievable. I opened my eyes, saw Ariel bent over, looking at me. My eyes grazed across her torso… her boobs spilling out of her bra, flat belly leading to that marvelous pussy gap at the top of her legs…. again she smiled, and let go of my toe. The pain and trembling re-appeared almost immediately, and again I fell out the pose. Another 20 minutes of balances, stretches, core exercises, and it was finally over. And I was a sweaty, broken mess.
“Take yoga,” they said. “It’ll be fun!,” they said. Right. After namaste, Ariel made a couple of announcements.
“OK yogis! well done! Remember, there’s a ‘couples’ class coming up for Valentine’s Day, vino included for afterwards! And, if you want to join me for my private class, let me know!” Someone in the room giggled and made a comment I could not hear….. “Yes,” Ariel acknowledged, Saturday classes at my home do in fact require clothes.” Several knowing laughs… the rest of us were clueless. Ariel had this great lilting voice accompanied by the curious emphasis on unexpected syllabols not uncommon to girls in Northern California – I always thought the practice very flaky… but with her it added to her considerable charms. She approached me after the announcements.
“Nice work. Steve, right?”
“Ya – that’s me. Thanks for the encouragement.” I looked into her green eyes.. full of mischief, laughter. I continued… “But what I really appreciate bursa escort bayan is your attitude. Your energy is infectious.” Ariel smiled. “But,” I continued, “what really amazes me is your touch.”
She smiled. “Pardon?”
“You touched my toe, and the pain left my hammy, and restored my balance. How is that possible.”
“Do you not listen to me during the session?” Yes. Every word. Buncha marketing crap if you ask me. Chakras, energy, Mudras. Rubbish.
“Sure Ariel, I listen. But I don’t understand.”
“You mean that you think its crap. Yet here we are. I touched your toe, and you did something you didn’t think possible. SO…. you gonna believe what happened, or your own preconceptions?” She had a point.
“Fair enough. Forgive my skepticism… I’m an engineer, not a poet. But I know what I felt, and have always kept an open mind. Can I buy you a drink, and we can discuss?”
She held my gaze for a minute, assessing my sincerity, I suppose, then smiled. Green eyes flashing. “Sure – I’ll meet you in the lounge in 10 minutes.”
The health club was part of the hotel, integrated in the first floor with the hotel’s lobby, bar, restaurant, and coffee shop. Pretty nice setup really…. and the club itself was pretty sweet. Yoga was one of many classes offered “free” (i.e, built into the rather substantial monthly fee) for local members. Everything was top shelf… great facilities, pool complex, locker rooms duly appointed, and, it seemed, all the ‘beautiful people’ of the community were members. I didn’t complain, but the obvious abundance of manicured flesh did nothing to hinder my cynicism regarding NoCal society. And, yes – I know – my own presence here might betray a hypocrisy….. by my own measure, I was one of the ‘haves.’ But, I rationalized, I relocated here by circumstance, not choice. And the club was in fact awesome, if not cheap… and the women here by and large all beautiful… and Yoga? Well, it was a means to an end. I fancied myself a competitive golfer at the club level, and years of bad lies, not to mention a military career that had its share of bumps and bruises (multiple tours in Southwest Asia), left parts of my body in measurable disrepair. Massage and PT can do only so much: so, when a friend suggested yoga, I figured it was worth a shot. Three sessions with Ariel had, until today, accomplished nothing but pain, notwithstanding my mounting sexual frustration induced by the scantily-clad hardbodies of the community participating in her classes.
I cleaned up, ignored the posers (really weird idiosyncrasy of this club… lots of naked guys in the locker room just kinda hung out there, for 20-30 minutes at a time, in front of mirrors. What IS it with this place??), put on some shorts and a polo, and headed for the hotel bar. The perky server stopped by almost immediately. Big eyes, short hair, petite build. Pixie-ish, very cute. I ordered a couple of chardonnays and she bounced off to fill the order. I couldn’t help but admire her ass as she left.
It was fun watching Ariel approach. Hair still wet, splayed out across her shoulders and back, perhaps in an effort to let it dry. Sandals, with sparkly straps. White sun dress. Skin-tight bodice held in place by spaghetti straps that accentuated her pecs. Built in bra that lifted her breasts above the square-cut top, suggesting their fullness. Pleated skirt that ran to mid-thigh, highlighting the strength of her quads. There’s something about a beautiful woman crossing a room. Some flaunt it; she did not, but her humility did not distract from her beauty. Guys aren’t supposed to stare, particularly if they are in the presence of others… bad form. Unless you’re the reason they’re crossing the room.. then it’s not only allowed, but expected. Its good to be that guy. I followed her all the way from the entrance to our table, and watched the admiring glances of all who caught her eye.
I stood, smiled: “Ariel – I’m the luckiest guy here tonight.”
She took my hand. “And what makes you think your getting lucky tonight?”
“You misunderstand. Perhaps. I don’t think I’m going to get lucky. I already am. I get to enjoy your company, your wisdom, for the price of a glass of wine. Maybe lucky was a poor choice of words…. happiest?”
She released my hands, never breaking her gaze. “Lets go with happy. I like that.” She settled into her seat, and leaned into me. “Now then, whats on your mind?”
“Your touch. How’d you do it?”
“You won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“I channeled my energy through one of your gateways to revive your hamstring and the flexor digitorum brevis. When I saw you oogling my breasts, I released you and you fell.” She took a sip of her wine, sizing me up.
I returned her gaze and deadpanned: “I don’t believe you.” She got the joke, and laughed. The surprise of the joke made the laugh that much louder; a delightful sound in my opinion, and attracting the attention of the others in the bar.
“Let your bursa anal yapan escort own experience be the judge.. I know you felt the pain release from your leg, and your balance restored.”
“OK – the energy flow, or whatever you call it, worked. For me, in this instance. But not common. Not like one can buy the book on amazon, or get a prescription. Why?”
She smiled. “No one believes in faith healers either, so they’re not likely to buy the book or get the FDA to approve the ‘medicine.”
“You’re a faith healer?”
“No silly, I’m a yogi. So are you.”
“I cannot do what you do.”
She grinned and sipped her wine. “Yet.”
“But.. How? Forgive me, but I’m both engineer and cynic. Call me doubting Thomas… let me feel the holes in your wrists.”
“We all have many forms of energy. I’ve learned that it can be shared, grown. Usually in a group; with some individuals and specific intents, it can be done with touch. Thats why I touched your toe. By the way, you’re out of balance.”
I responded with my best line: “Huh?”
“Your energy is out of balance. You – we – have many forms and centers of energy. Your dominant form is sexual. You are out of balance.”
Ariel is nothing if not direct. I like that, if not the criticism. But, I committed to keeping an open mind.
“Please explain.”
She smiled. “Look – we’re about the same age. I know what it means to hang on to youth.. a youth that is so typically expressed by beauty and sexual prowess. The irony is that if the balance of all energies is not maintained, both are lost before their time.”
I was confused about the age remark… I had her pegged at late-thirties. “What do you mean ‘we’re about the same age? How old do you think I am?”
She responded: “How old do you think I am?” She smiled….
I was figuring 38, but gave her the benefit of the doubt. “35.”
“Nice try. Im 58.”
‘Ya. Right. And I’m the Easter Bunny.”
She was not amused. “Would you care to see my Driver’s license? Passport perhaps?”
More apologies were in order, extended, and accepted. I needed to figure out not only the game being played here, but its rules if I had any chance of surviving the evening. Ariel went into some detail about energy balances, aided by diet – no, she wasn’t a diet nazi – all things in moderation, all things to be experienced and enjoyed in keeping with ones principles…. But, yes, she was 58, and other than a little makeup, her body was all hers. Her particular practice of yoga, with its itinerant energy flows, did much to repair damage to the body’s organs, including skin and damage associated with the aging process. It was extraordinary.
She continued: “Your sexual energy is out of balance with your other energies. As a result, they all suffer.. You have ED. Don’t blush… I felt it when I touched you earlier… it pretty easy to feel, pretty easy to fix. Want to see?” I had nothing to lose.
“Sure. What did you have in mind?” My eyes dragged across her breasts….
“Eyes up here, Sailor.. This is a family restaurant.” With that she took my hand and placed her finger tips at a couple of points on the palm of my hand and wrist. “Close your eyes. Breathe in, breathe out.”
In a couple of breaths, without warning, my cock grew hard. Really hard… like ‘first lay in high school’ hard. Ariel released my hand and smiled. Well?
I was still suspicious. “Well, coulda been.”
“I know your hard now. I felt the energy.” She looked down at my shorts and smiled….. “Seems your friend there is betraying you.” She held her gaze on my lap for maybe just a beat or two longer than might have been necessary to validate her point, moistening her lips with her tongue.
“Ya. But your’e the sexiest woman here. And I haven’t been laid in months. And the way you just touched me….hardons happen… even to old guys. And besides…” She, uncharacteristically interrupted me:
“OK – fine. I’m going to put a fantasy in your head… actually – no – a desire. Maybe one you’ve never had before.” Again she took my hand.
I looked her in the eye, then dragged my gaze across her breasts, flat tummy, thighs, down to her feet. Her legs were crossed, and one leg dangled over the other, the sandal of her left foot hanging from the toe strap, exposing the high arch of her foot. They were small. Size 4, maybe. A bit too small for her frame. Toes delicately manicured, pastel green, and a toe ring on the third toe. All I could think of was those perfect toes, that perfect arch, enveloping my engorged cock. The thought of her feet in my lap, wrapping her toes around my cock head… holding the tip with one foot while stoking it with the other…… christ… I was just about to start touching myself…..
“Steve. Steve!!” I looked up at her and came to my senses. Embarrassed. Pre-cum had made a small spot on my shorts. She smiled mischievously and sipped her wine. “So – no foot fetish, bursa rus escort right? At least,” she giggled, “not till now…. Yes.” She had me.
“Can you do this with anyone? What is it – like hypnosis? Are they aware of what you’re doing? What if its against their will? And how do you know about my energies, anyway?”
“So many questions Steve! They’ll all be answered in time. No – I cannot with anyone, and no, its not hypnosis… not really. My practice is very meditative, and, with the help of some oils and other scents, along with a little touch here and there, I can both sense and influence the energies of others. In a room thats focused on my practice – like class – I can get students to share energy. Tell me – how did you feel after class. I mean, other than physically – what was your state of mind?”
“I felt really good. At peace. Exhilarated.”
“Is that normal for you after a hard workout?”
“Sometimes… depends… no – not really. Not like this.” She smiled, appreciating the honesty.
“When a room is focused on a particular mudra, I can focus it and share it. You probably benefited more than the others. Like I said – you’re out of balance.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Think of your energies as a basketball. Each form of energy makes up one panel of the ball. If they all grow equally, the ball gets really big, and all the energies, measured by their surface area, get really big. In balance. Your sexual energy is very high – you influence others with it, even if you are not aware… you certainly influenced me!” She stopped and smiled at me again. And her nipples were hard. “But,” she continued, “only one panel of your ball is growing.. the rest ignored. Not a very good ball, overall.”
“And you can help with this?”
“Of course!”
“Why me? That took her aback….
“Hey – you’re the one who’s buying the wine!” Bright smile.
“Ya – but there were 50 yogis in that class. You singled me out with your touch.”
“Like I said, your sexual energy is strong. You attracted me to you.”
I considered this. “But I never touched you. How did my desire for you to come to me pass to you?”
“I don’t know. It’s normal for a group’s energy to flow without touch, but for something so specific as I felt with you….” Her voice trailed off as she considered the implications of what she was thinking, then altered the direction of the conversation:
“You were unaware, but it was there, and I’m sensitive to it. Others in the class were also unaware, so if they felt something, they would not have been privy to the source, or what to do about it.. But you probably affected them, too.” She laughed a bit… “so ya – probably a buncha happy boyfriends tonight. Or toys, if no lover to be had.”
“And you?” She blushed for just a second, took a breath.
“Well… no boyfriend, and I’m painfully tempted to drag you out of here by your cock and fuck you in the bushes outside. But then you’d make a lousy student, and me a lousy yogi.” With that, she finished her glass and started out. Before leaving, she left a card with me. “The nude class is at my home on Sunday Mornings, 9 AM. See you there.”
I shouted after her: “Hey – one more thing!” She turned and came back to the table, leaning over, exposing her cleavage, and whispered in my ear. “Yes?”
“How long is this hardon going to last?” She laughed out loud. “Let me know, OK?” And she was off.
***************
Sunday Morning, 8:45 AM.
I parked outside. Ariel’s house was a few miles off Camino Pedro, really in the middle of nowhere. I drove 20 minutes off the main road, convinced that only hermits or gold miners would bother to find a place so isolated. From the front the house was unremarkable. Appeared to be a simple craftsman, but well out of place from the tracks of similar homes further down the mountain. I parked, and entered. There were a couple of bicycles and cars in the area. A simple sign greeting all comers, and an open door. Another sign. directing the entrant to a spare bedroom to deposit clothes, keys, towels and such, with directions to slip on one of the robes provided and proceed out to the patio.
The view was breathtaking. A view of a mountain stream, hills in the distance, and the bloom associated with a late season rain. Ariel’s ‘studio’ consisted of a teak deck, maybe just shy of 40 square meters. Her house formed the west side of the space, with open views to the east. The north and south walls were lattices covered with a variety of species of flowers, herbs, and vines, providing a familiar, but unidentifiable scent to the space. A small Buddha statue ordained one corner of the space, and in its opposite corner, a water fountain. The splashing of the water in the fountain provided the only noise. It was perfect. Ariel was wearing a short emerald green silken robe, tied off at the waist. Her breasts, clearly defined through the thin fabric, moved freely as she approached me.
“Steve – I’m so happy you made it! You have no idea what this means to us!”
“Us?”
“Yes! Us!” She introduced me to the other yogis. There were six, all women. Based on my experience with Ariel, I’d not hazard a guess as to their ages. “Yogis – this is Steve – the one I was telling you about!” I was warmly greeted by each in turn.