I hadn’t done yoga in ages, and the thought of getting back into it made me oddly nervous, like I’d forgotten how my own body was supposed to move.
It didn’t help that I’d been feeling a little pent-up lately—like all the tension from not having any real physical connection in a while had just settled into my shoulders and hips.
I found myself overthinking everything, especially what to wear, trying on different outfits and checking myself in the mirror longer than I’d like to admit.
Part of me was definitely hoping the instructor would be good-looking—not that it should matter, but the idea of someone attractive guiding me through all those slow, deliberate movements added a little extra motivation.
When the instructor, Chris, walked in, I thought he was really hot—effortlessly so, in that way that made it hard not to stare a little too long.
My nerves suddenly shifted into a different kind of anticipation, a mix of self-consciousness and curiosity. I became hyper-aware of myself, of how I was standing, how I might look.
Part of me couldn’t help hoping he’d notice me too—especially the way my yoga pants fit after all the time I’d been putting in at the gym lately.
As he started speaking and setting up the class, I suddenly realised we were alone. It wasn’t scheduled as a private lesson, but nobody else was here…
As we moved through the poses, I found myself paying extra attention to how I held my body, angling each movement with a bit more intention than usual.
Finally plucking up the courage, I tried to make it a bit more obvious that if he wanted to make a move, I would welcome it.
He said to get into downward dog position, and I moved slowly onto all fours, adding “where do you want me?”
My voice softer than I meant it to be, edged with nerves.
For a moment I wondered if it sounded strange in the stillness, but he just glanced over briefly, distracted, and gestured vaguely without really focusing on me. I felt a flicker of embarrassment, like I’d built the moment up too much in my head.
With no one else around, every little interaction felt amplified, and I quickly moved to a spot on my own, trying to shake off the awkwardness while my heart kept beating just a bit faster than usual.
I felt a restless, pent-up energy building—it had been a while since I’d felt that kind of spark with anyone. I leaned back slightly and said, “If you’re that good, show me.”
My eyes lingered on him, taking in the way he moved, the ease in his posture. That quiet, insistent attraction kept growing.
I complimented him on his incredible flexibility, letting a hint of admiration soften my voice as I spoke. It felt natural in the moment, like an easy way to bridge the space between us.
Without overthinking it, I reached out and lightly touched his arm, curious more than anything else. The contact lingered for just a second longer than it needed to, but something about it shifted the atmosphere instantly.
He didn’t pull away—instead, he leaned in slightly, and before I could second-guess myself, that small moment of contact unfolded into a kiss that caught me completely off guard.
It was intense in a way I hadn’t expected, the kind that makes you forget where you are for a second.
The anticipation I’d been carrying all along seemed to crest in that moment, leaving me a little dizzy, a little breathless.
When things started to escalate and he drew his pants down, I felt my excitement suddenly falter, and I struggled to keep my reaction from showing.
He was undeniably attractive—fit, confident, the kind of guy I’d been drawn to all term—and that had definitely sparked something in me earlier.
I tried to recover, to focus on what I had liked about him—he was still charming, still good-looking—but the mood had changed for me.
Part of me felt a little guilty, knowing he hadn’t really done anything wrong, it just wasn’t clicking the way I’d built it up in my head.
He was still clearly very eager, which only made the whole situation feel more awkward for me. I tried to keep things easygoing, and decided the least I could do is jerk him off, given his little baby dick was already in my hand.
It ended surprisingly quickly—almost impressively so—but it also left me a bit taken aback.
I wasn’t quite sure how to react, caught somewhere between sympathy and secondhand embarrassment, trying to stay kind without letting my disappointment show too much.
I’m just glad he didn’t get any of his load on my outfit.
He asked for my number as I was getting ready to leave, still hopeful, like maybe this could turn into something more. I hesitated for a moment but then told him it wasn’t going to happen.
He looked a bit confused and asked why, and I kept it simple—just said I didn’t feel that kind of connection with him.
It wasn’t meant to be harsh, just honest. There was a brief pause, that slightly awkward silence where neither of us really knew what to say next.
I gathered my things and headed for the door, aware of him still standing there, probably replaying everything in his head.
As I walked out, I carried myself with a bit of confidence. The sun was shining through the windows and I made sure he got a good look at my ass.
An ass he’ll never touch. I’m sorry, I just can’t catch feelings for someone with a baby dick.
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