A Different View on Sunday

So remember how I shared my Hot Nude Yoga experience (if you don't, go back to the post called "Boner Free" and catch up)?

Well, I decided that maybe it wasn't something I was just going to do once to blog about. Maybe I'd try it again and see how things look in the daylight.

And the truth is that they look old.

I guess it's a different crowd who didn't go out last night, meth out and wake up next to someone strange who they feel deeply ashamed about, but don't want to be impolite and kick them out of bed. So the whores and drunks are still asleep at 10 AM on a Sunday while the coupled ones and the fogies are wide awake, well into their second cup of coffee and maybe even back from church at this point.

Well, we all migrated to the Nude Yoga house and stripped down. And even though I'm not making much out of it, I must say that I took off my pants and started to get a boner. This was strange. It didn't happen on Wednesday, with all the hot guys with the muscled asses and the candlelight and the incense. Do I have strange tastes? Am I just looking for a hot daddy or even a non-hot, but reliable one? Well, as soon as all of these questions creeped in my head, they feel back out when I started my practice.

My yoga teacher got things going with hellos all around. We hugged, we smiled--there was way more interaction this time around.

And by interaction, I mean touching and adjusting and realigning. And while it's nice to be touched and have certain body parts grazed, it reminded me of my college dance classes when the professor would come up to me and tell me that my hips weren't square and I wasn't holding my stomach in or that my alignment was off, or he'd just look at me and say:

"There is a whole lot going wrong here."

Then he shook his head--not my college professor, but my current yoga teacher, who happens to be kind of well known for this sort of thing. It was one thing when he made us all put our hands up against the wall and press with our arms spread out. It was like getting searched by a cop. And that was hot as he stood behind me adjusting me. But then it got into familiar territory and there I was again, the kid who needed to be adjusted, toes in, arms tight, face forward. He manhandled me, but only to correct, not caress.

Who knew Hot Nude Yoga was going to bring some of my college aged insecurities back? But I just stared in front of me at the guys shaved balls and trimmed pubes. He smiled. I smiled. Then the teacher came over and fixed me again. And the guy in front smiled even bigger. Not a smile of serenity. But a smile of relief. A smile of "thank God it's you, not me. I know what I'm doing."

Well, that's not very Yoga like. But that's West Hollywood!

I just focused on my breathing, did my best and let him come by and adjust me if he needed to. What the hell? At least I'm getting my $20 worth.