So he busted my lip. I’ll explain….
It was so unintentional, this make out session with a seriously attractive and attentive practitioner. Seriously.
Yes, I chose to ignore the opportunity to stop his advances on several occasions over the past three years.
Yes, I didn’t pull away once he thrust his hands around my well exposed nape post class while pushing me up against the wall in hallway to take my lips into his.
Yes, I agreed to let him follow me home to continue the tongue swapping secretly joyous while playing it cool, that indeed I relished in the sensations of his fingers as they ran across my legs, my back, my hair.
Yes, I had every intention of staying fully clothed once we made our way to my sexy round bed. It sleeps four, in case you are wondering.
The universe knows me better than that though and decided to make sure I stopped dead before this tryst got too far out of hand.
“Are you okay?” he says, to me after my head dives straight against the edge of my nightstand. “Shit. I need ice.” Breathe in, breathe out I say to myself. God that sounds awfully condescending. I think and wonder why I have yet to have a student throw a prop at me when stupid shit like that comes pouring out of my mouth. I’m in pain—acute and not funny.
Puppies are aggressive when excited and as he lifted to turn me over the trajectory of my jaw and lower lip were in perfect harmony with the hardwood table I scored last week on Craigslist for my new apartment.
That’s right, new apartment post breakup. It’s like a perch high above the flood plane where gracious floors and lots of light assist me in my daily musings. It took a week to move one carload at a time—once I wrangled a few boys with muscle to assist with the heaviest items. I was then able to unpacked and set up shop for the next chapter of my evolving life. I’ve already taken two men home! I had tried for a third, but he rebuffed me for another woman. Oh well, can’t win them all.
I know them both, the two I scored. First is a man who I am very much attracted to but have unfortunately already trained him to only expect me naked once a week post shower and the student…well, let’s just say I did not plan that. I have rules about that. We all have rules about that. Rules are important right, to keep us all out of trouble and in order to protect the practice of those that trust us to lead them.
I liked it though. Wouldn’t you? Smells of sweat and salt as mouths intertwine for the first time to tunes emanating from my iPod dock and the giggles seeping past heavy breaths as bodies pressed and candles flickered. I’m not so sure I was the one in control really. All our wires got crossed and the boundaries seemed to have shifted underfoot. That was unexpected.
I woke up to teach my morning 6:00 a.m. class after less then four hours of fitful sleep. My bed was warm however, since I allowed him to stay and cuddle me. I was practicing Ahimsa after all, couldn’t chuck him out on his ass after all that.
Lonely can be prevented with the wave of a hand, three glasses of wine, two piles of cheese and a well placed glance across the bar.
Throwing out all the rules, I chose to play and the sweet sassy Universe had made sure I spent the day thinking about what I had done. There are consequences for every action we take. Sometimes, they are immediate. For me, the consequences are especially fast these days. I feel like a manifesting machine. I thought about that all day as I drained my lip twice and put salt on the wound.
There is this odd convergence of events I am experiencing. Having exited a relationship that had turned stagnant I have realized that I am a super charged sexual creature and the more yoga I do, the healthier I am, the more in touch with my inner voice I get it turns out she’s screaming at the top of her lungs, touch me touch me touch me! Famished. It’s in my star chart, I checked. I’m like a 16-year-old boy. Dirty Thirty is right.
How do we then go about healthy explorations of our sexual nature while navigating social standards, the pitfalls of sharing our DNA with the wrong type of person, while engaging in a spiritual practice that is very much physical and for me extremely effective at igniting my passions without wholly fulfilling them, and with the maturity to undertake all of this with humility and grace.
Perhaps it is time to connect with a new teacher. To seek instruction on how to manage this voracious appetite of mine. Surely I am not the only one. Maybe they were right not to allow women or householders to explore this yoga. Perhaps we can’t in fact handle its outcomes.
In the meantime, I will meditate on these experiences and work toward being clear with my boundaries and honest about my desires. My student will have to find a new teacher, I will need to make amends, and I’ll put a quarter between my knees and tape over my lips the next time I go out. Perhaps, it’s a good time to start painting again. Throw that iPod on and instead of spinning my head in space with another man I shall sling paint, spread glitter, and hit the pillow injury free at the end of the night.
If it were satisfying, that would be priceless.
~Editor: Colleen Simpson