I tried not to stare at the seven nude male backs I saw on their yoga mats as we entered the shadowy dungeon. Smells of wet concrete, sweat and years of torture accosted me and my two naked-yoga cohorts as we walked through the hidden rainbow door in the warehouse district.
We crinkled our noses, shrugged and muffled giggles into our hands. As we completed the paperwork under our pseudonyms, Goddess told us that we’d be practicing yoga “in the dungeon.” But of course, yoga in the dungeon.
This evening was months in the making. Hung had asked me a few months ago if I wanted to try it. I hemmed and hawed for a month before conceding that I might want to try it. Then there was the period issue. How did someone practice naked yoga with a tampon in? So I skipped yoga that time.
Finally I got up the gumption to do it. I’ll admit that I had ulterior motives. Hung was not someone I was going to sleep with. A) He was married and his wife had no idea that he regularly screwed other women. B) He has fucked A LOT of women—so many that he can’t keep track. C) I’m not certain he always has safe sex. No need to expose myself to that risk.
But… that’s not to say I am not turned on by the thought of it. His seduction has tempted me over the past few months. After messaging on an online dating service, we first met at a coffee shop before I had seen his picture. I eyed the door as unattractive folks streamed in. Finally Hung walked in and I was relieved to see that he was not only attractive, but magnetic to me.
We shared a cuppa and immediately discussed sex--what he wanted to do to me, etc. I blushed and squirmed, which added to his fuel as he continued to seduce me. I felt high from being turned on by a complete stranger. We went for a walk and then made out in his truck before going our separate ways.
Over the next few weeks we flirted and played online. He told me that his GF had measured his junk and that it was over eight inches long. Tempting. Yes, tempting. But, but, but, I chickened out. I came to my senses, much to Hung’s and my own desire’s chagrin. I told him that I couldn’t do it—see A, B, C, above. But we’ve continued to flirt and play online. So when he brought up naked yoga again, I figured it was a safe way to check out his package—and for him to check out mine. So I said yes.
As yoga day approached, I got a little nervous 1) about bearing all my square inches to a yoga class and 2) about practicing yoga in the dungeon. Isn't yoga sacred? Can I actually become yogic in the dungeon?
But usually when I feel that adrenaline rush, it means I’m going to get a fabulous and natural high from the experience. So Hung and I messaged each other yoga day—encouraging each other, talking about what happens if Hung springs a stiffy--the usual. Then he surprised me by asking his GF to join us. Sure. I’m open to that--more the merrier and all that.
So there we were, fully clothed in a room of naked, frumpy middle-aged, hairy white men. We awkwardly found space for our mats and unrolled them. We three eyed each other as we stripped. We'd never seen one another ala birthday suit! Vroom that was it--drop the clothing next to our mats. My mat was situated in front of them. Sigh. Great, now both of them will stare up my walnut.
Good thing I’ve practiced yoga for more than a decade. I knew that my form was good. Goddess, instructed us to lay in shavasana for relaxation to begin class. I did not have a good view of Hung and his junk. Damn! All I wanted to do was spy on everyone in the room, laying naked on their mats. Damn I was lying on a cold concrete floor in dungeon surrounded by naked strangers. Damn I was getting off on it!
Thankfully for me, we didn’t do too many ass-in-the-air postures. In down dog though, I felt exposed to my cohorts behind me. I knew they were taking a gander at my ass in the air. And more damn, I don't have a good view of any of their asses! After a few naked-yoga minutes, I actually felt really exhilarated by doing naked yoga. I was no longer embarrassed by the nudity. In fact I felt really freed by the lack of restrictive clothing!
Goddess told us which postures were good for having sex—downward facing dog and bridge. She told us which were good for floggers—those postures that strengthen the shoulders. And she graciously told us that relaxing in yoga is similar to submission in BDSM. Of course, because we were practicing yoga naked in the dungeon.
Finally we found Warrior II pose and I got a lovely view of Hung’s junk—hanging down to mid-thigh. Nice. I think that he was telling the truth about more than eight inches. And I checked out the GF too as I sent my gaze over my right fingertips. Also lovely. And then I looked out across the entire dungeon room—pudgy, caucasion nudity everywhere. Hurray I realized that this event was a huge and total success!
Yes I’ll admit I wanted to see Hung naked and that he wanted to see me naked. Maybe even I wanted him to see me naked. In the end, the yoga wasn’t all that great. The dungeon was very cold and the naked co-practitioners weren’t all that hot. But I came away with something greater than a peek at a fine looking cock. I came away feeling OK in my skin. What’s to hide, right? I came away with a greater respect for the human body and its capabilities and the way it looks—across all sorts of people. I came away wanting more naked yoga. I came away wanting to teach naked yoga.