Yoga With Holly

Yoga With Holly                      
                        
     One evening Fatima and I are inside the yoga studio. The class ends and the sweaty people disperse. My sweetheart Fatima and I linger in the room. We face Holly who stands resolute.
     A strange sensation erupts in me. I tell Holly that my legs are pulling apart. She wants to go with this phenomenon. I let my legs split while Holly gives me a boost from behind with her right-hand perineum lift. She grips my thigh with the womanly strength of her left hand. My primal moan grows with the widening spread of my legs. Energy surges from my schism. Fatima watches and says “Oh my God!” The crack in my being finally closes in exquisite pleasure.
     Fatima says, “Look, you’ve coaxed him to stretch into a source of shame for a male during yoga class.”
     Holly says, “Girl, he sure looks like he’s shaping up.”
     Fatima replies, “He is toning up into a fine young man.”
     Holly says, “He has grown in spurts before our very eyes.”
     Fatima says, “Enough to make any snake proud. His pant is a sure sign of his endorphin rush.”
     Holly says, “Let’s do a breathing exercise, John. I’ll set your pace with some kissy face.”
     Holly’s lipstick paints my cheeks like an autumn blaze. Her fingers untie the knot of my sweatpants which she says, “Binds you like a marriage.” The waistband is held up only by the hook of my tent pole. My modesty hangs by a thread, but a robust one. Her fingertips graze me with the calculus of her cunning.
     Holly says, “Lookie there. His pinky is making its debut appearance here. See it poking out of his undies. Maybe it will perform for us.”
     Fatima replies, “Don’t demote it to a little finger. It is at least a thumb.”
     Holly says, “I’ll use his drawstring for a ribbon to tie it into a bow as a gift just for you, my Fatima.”
     Fatima answers, “Christmas was never this fun. With a summit that majestic the rest of his purple peak has me desirous of more than a peek. Holly, you were a matchmaker.” Holly winks.
     Holly says, “Yoga heals the body, mind, and spirit. You two have been practicing mainstream yoga here for over a year. Would you all be interested in learning kundalini yoga with an emphasis on the tantric principles of sharing energy?”
     In brazen defiance of the class rules regarding displays of affection, I hold Fatima’s chin in my hand. Fatima looks up at me while my fingers splay along her throat. My fingers fan out around her jaws. Fatima says, “Hey I won’t tell. Besides John and I are crazy who’d believe us?”
     Fatima slips my sweat pants down just enough to make my heart skip a beat. She slips her thumb between my lips as though corking a wine bottle for later drinking. She makes love to my mouth with her thumb. She pulls out long enough for me to speak.
     I tell Fatima, “You are my apocalyptic angel.” She pushes her thumb all the way into my palate. After a quick thrust, she releases me once more. Suddenly she pulls my pants all the way off not
neglecting to remove my fruit of the loom.
     Holly intervenes, “The walls in here are soundproof. I’ll just lock the door and dim the lights. But as your yoga instructor, I will be your guide in this soiree. Now the position you two will assume is that commonly known as 69. And just as
I held John in the midst of his leg parting my touch will in an integral part of this oral love to be made.”
     Fatima tells Holly, “Oh la la. I’ll have to dress for my part which is to say naked as a jaybird. So let me slip out of these sweaty clothes and bestride my stallion who is John.”
     I am supine upon the mats made for stretching. Fatima is astride my face with the tickle of her fleece. She lies across me with her face seeing my, until now, hidden treasure as she grasps my hips in her womanly embrace. Her lips roam down onto my burgeoning tool of taboo with her tongue following in hot pursuit. My reflex is ungovernable as my spear becomes rock eliciting moans from deep in my flesh. Her breath is hot upon my rod and my pulse races.
     She says, “I’ve always dreamed of being a sexual evangelist.” She makes love to me with her tongue.
I lavish her with lush licks to taste the mélange of her female flavors. Her lurid sensations set me free to relish her opulence. The embrace of her thighs grows tight with her hunger.
     Holly smacks her buns and says, “Fatima, you’re clenching too hard. Relax a little and give him room to breathe. Here I’ll massage your derriere to relieve your tension just enough. We want John to deep breathe but not block his air passage. Here, let me squeeze your gluts. Just go with the rhythm of my strokes. This job takes two hands. Now you’re getting in the groove. Hover, close enough for his tongue to do its job on you but don’t be smashed on his face. Crouch like the tigress you are. Trust me your miniature stick of dynamite will detonate with an even bigger bang than his. Now, I’ll use acupressure on your buns to untangle your emotional knots.”
     Fatima tells Holly, “Your tush rub and John’s licks, my mind is in meltdown. Oh, my stars!”
     Holly says, “Don’t be afraid, Fatima, this kind won’t hurt you. You have to trust me, give into the experience. Listen, I’m going to dig my fingernails in just a bit to give your nexuses a pop. I’ll start off light and go deeper. You tell me if it is too much.”
     “It feels like a hot shower, with the steamy water beads opening my pores. But now I’m about to cry. It is ok. You can go deeper. I need this.”
     “The time has come to teach you a trick. Just follow my moves while I hold your hips.”
     Fatima rolls her petals across my tongue like surf crashing and then receding. Yet through Holly’s guidance, Fatima keeps her flower in close reach of my lips but not so near as to seal my mouth. Fatima dips to kiss me with her wild rose just long enough for our mutual enjoyment. My school of tetras hides in kelp strands only to burst out with the seaquake triggered by her tongue.
     Fatima says, “John, I blossomed and you sprouted. Now I know what enlightenment is like. You took me down the path to heaven.”
     Afterward, we sit on the floor with Holly. We word paint impressions of each other. I think Fatima is a yuppie. Fatima jokes “Well I can be.”  This moment of intimate sharing between me and the two women helps coax me to rejoin the human family. The room hums with the healing vibrations of an earthquake receding into oceanic quiet.