Originally written April 17th, 2011 I’m transferring everything from my old blog, no matter HOW cringe-worthy the writing AND the content are, to my current blog which has better archive abilities; that said, please enjoy :

The Yoga Instructor, Part 2: Santa Clause is Coming, but Not Necessarily to Town!

Brought to you by: Cous’n Hemp’n Ent.

Cous’n Hemp’n Ent., What’s a ‘Yoga’?

 

This past Christmas Eve saw me on a 2nd date with the beautiful Yoga instructor. I’ll explain how the evening came to this in a moment as I’m sure you’re all saying to yourselves ‘but didn’t the yoga instructor ditch you after your Halloween Date?’, but first I want to spin some mea culpa. I know that most of you are used to me putting people, places, and things down or ‘in their place’. HELL, I enjoy DOING it, because fuck people, places, and things. But in regards to my, aforementioned ‘date’, I don’t really have any negatives to spill regarding her…yet. However, I feel VERY comfortable discussing some of the bit players and my own neurosis throughout the evening of December 24th, 2010.

 

After hearing about my Christmas party from a few weeks ago, some people who didn’t make it called me to express their regrets. They heard that it was a great event, and someone suggested that because Christmas wasn’t here yet…I should throw a SECOND Christmas Party. I wasn’t crazy about the idea because I have to work so much this time of year, I didn’t really have the extra cash to throw behind another bash, and there IS the ‘one party per year’ rule to consider. From YEARS of experience at throwing parties, I know that you can ONLY have one successful party per annum. I throw a Halloween, Christmas, and New Year’s party because I don’t know WHICH one will be the good one. However, ONE of them always is.

 

This year it was the Christmas party, so I put the thought of having a SECOND Christmas party out of my head. Who needs to go through all the trouble for a party that would probably suck anyway? Then I received an unexpected phone call from someone who I didn’t think I’d hear from again. It was the yoga instructor. I hadn’t talked to the yoga instructor since our date on Halloween. I figured that she didn’t have a good time OR I was a shitty kisser, but in any case when a girl doesn’t contact me I just leave her the fuck alone. What am I gonna do? Stalk her? Yeah, I romanticized the events of that evening, but I got a feeling like she just wasn’t that interested in me…so I never bothered with a ‘follow up’ call.

 

One of my dating rules is that I don’t initiate contact with a woman UNTIL she initiates three times. After that? I figure that I’m in. I don’t know if it’s that I don’t CARE, or that I’m just too stupid to see the signs, but I usually can’t tell if a girl likes me until her hand is on my state of Florida. Besides that, one of my biggest fears in life is being called a ‘stalker’. I never want to invade someone’s space to the point that they get sick of me, and I never want to seem desperate…even when I am. So, if a woman likes me but is as stubborn as I am? Well we find ourselves in something of a Mexican stand-off, don’t we?

 

Plus, if I’m being honest, although she was one of the most beautiful women I’ve gone on a date with in a long time, she was a tad narcissistic. I like a little bit of humility in the people that I associate with, especially the girls. Confidence is fine, but full blown self adoration can be intimidating AND annoying. It’s hard to tell if a chick likes you when she constantly talks about how wonderful SHE is, and never throws you a compliment bone. Personally, I prefer to date hot chicks with low self esteem because I’M fucking ugly. I don’t have ‘good looks’ to fall back on but I can USUALLY impress a woman’s panties off simply by pitching some amazing woo. One of my strongest attributes as a date is my ability to make chicks feel good about themselves, and even though I may not sound like it from what you’ve read, romance is something of a specialty of mine.

 

So, when a woman compliments her looks before I can, I find myself stumbling for something to say. But, I thought that perhaps the yoga instructor would make a good friend, and ever an eye towards the future…I thought that maybe if I played my cards right, she might set me up with one of her hot yoga students. THAT’S social networking.

 

During our conversation, I invited her to the Christmas party that I had already decided NOT to throw. I told her to bring some friends AND that I have a friend I’d like her meet. This was actually true. I have a friend who is an artist. He sells his work in galleries in Illinois and New York. He’s a hard cat to nail down, but I’m always pushing him for more information about himself. The general feeling is that he’s gay, but I can’t get a clear answer from him.

 

Because I know SO many Jims, I call this one Artsy Jim.

Now, Artsy Jim is a good looking guy, he looks like John Hamm from ‘Mad Men’, and even though the yoga instructor is only 22 while Art Jim is pushing 40…HE’S the kind of good looking guy that I imagine a girl like her would dig. Plus, because she’s going to college for Art history, works at an Art Gallery, and is a tour director at a Frank Lloyd Write house besides her yoga instructing duties…I figured this would be a helluva match.

 

The yoga instructor was a bit taken aback by the invite, but told me that she would come. Great, NOW I have 3 days to prepare a party. I called everyone and started the invitation process. I told Art Jim that I had someone I’d like him to meet, and although he wasn’t happy about being ‘set up’, he agreed to come as well. Maybe he’s NOT gay.

 

I made sure to tell everyone that this would NOT be the big event that it was earlier in the month. This would be a more laid back party because I couldn’t get the same guest list together as I had before. Mike was coming with his girlfriend Jess, some people from work would make it, and a few others.

 

The Saturday before Christmas came and about 6 people showed up; Mike and Jess, Gordon, Babatunde, Art Jim, and of course…the yoga instructor. The Yoga Instructor arrived soon after Mike and Jess who were the first ones there. After only ten minutes, you would have thought Jess and The Yoga Instructor had known each other their whole lives. The two of them were yentering it up on the couch together, as Mike and I talked in the kitchen. At one point the yoga instructor took me to the side and told me that she wished I was trying to set her up with Jess, because she likes girls, and Jess was just her type. Ain’t nuttin wrong wit DAT.

 

Art Jim was the next to arrive and I immediately introduced him to the yoga instructor. That’s just how I roll. When I plan a ‘set up’, I try not to give EITHER party time to think. I just THROW them at each other and let the private parts land where they may. Art Jim said ‘Hello’…and then the two of them didn’t say ONE fucking word to each other the entire evening. Ok, maybe he IS gay.

 

As the festivities progressed, Jess made me go out on the balcony with her to have a cigarette. While we were out there she told me that the yoga instructor had told HER that she was interested in ME and that’s why she came to the party and that Mike wasn’t sure if he was gonna take her to homecoming and that her mother had tore down her hello kitty poster and her teacher was a real slave driver and she REALLY didn’t like her job at ‘Jr.’s Hotdogs’ but her boss was really cute and played Kid Rock on the overhead speakers even though he cussed in his songs and that ‘Twilight’ was the best book she ever read but Mike didn’t like it because that’s not how vampire’s are supposed to be but how does HE know how vampire’s are SUPPOSED to be and maybe I had some more cocaine?

 

Jesus. My point is: I hate ‘he said, she said’ crap. High school sucked for me, I don’t need to relive that shit. Plus, hear say is inadmissible; you want the dick? You ASK for the dick. You don’t have someone else ask for the dick FOR you.

 

Don’t get me wrong, I love Jess’ enthusiasm in trying to get me laid, would that ALL of my friend’s girlfriends took such interest in the affairs of my cock, but I had to consider the fact that Jess was maybe reading too much into something the yoga instructor might have said. After all, she was WAY hot, and she didn’t really need my sappy romantic compliments. Plus, she blew me off after our Halloween date. THAT was a hint and a half for my ass.

 

The evening passed, without incident, I’m sorry to say for those of you who enjoyed the exploits of Matt and Rob with the Canadian Moose after my last party, but the next day…the yoga instructor called me again. She told me that she had a great time and that she was WAY too hot for Art Jim. Any lingering doubt that I may have had regarding her interest in ME, vanished when she said that, because if she thought she was too hot for Art Jim? Well, he’s WAY hotter than I am. Like I said; He looks like John Hamm, I look like fucking John HamBURGLER.

 

Our conversation soon turned to her favorite subject…her, and JUST when I was starting to feel the weight of ‘the friend zone’ crushing me underneath it’s twat-less foot…the yoga instructor asked me out on a date. SHE asked ME out…and she CALLED it a date. I have to say, this is one confusing bitch.

 

She felt bad that she hadn’t gotten in touch after our first date, which she really DID enjoy. But the demands of school, 4 part time jobs, AND being a single mother…were such that she just didn’t have the time. I accepted her apology, her reasons, AND her invitation to dinner. Because of demands on BOTH of our time…she set the date for Christmas Eve. She didn’t have school the next day, her ex-husband was taking their child that week, her parents were out of town, and I got off of work at 6. Fuck it, what was I gonna do? Go to Aunt Jill’s and risk another Roast beef incident? Plus, this was guaranteed ass. Obviously she WAS interested, and the way she WORDED some of her reasoning, left me to believe I was getting a round trip ticket on the pussy express.

 

She kept saying things like “My ex will have the kid both days, so WE can sleep in on Christmas morning”. REALLY? ‘WE’ can? Ain’t nothin’ double about THAT entendre. “When we go back to your place after dinner, where can I leave my car for the night?” Well now, let’s just…”I’m going to put your penis in my vagina” OK, Jesus, take it down a notch. I mean, at least PRETEND like there’s going to be a little romance, some subtle sexuality, intimate word play, SOMETHING…I’m not a piece of meat after all.

 

It just seemed so…I don’t know…robotic, the way she ASSUMED the dick. But then as I thought about it that evening…I started to feel fussy about the whole arrangement. Truth be told, I didn’t really know this chick that well. SHE was acting JUST like I had been ACCUSED of acting when I was younger. Like pussy was a conclusion, already reached, before the night even started.

 

Even with her forceful suppositions, I still looked forward to this date. I found her to be kind and attractive, plus my friends seemed to like her a lot. Perfect girlfriend material. I should know by now that if it looks too good to be true? It fucking well is.

 

Christmas Eve arrived, and I was in NO way prepared to go on a date. Let me give you a little exposition leading up to the evening in question. As you know by now, I am a manager of a big retail store in Chicago. I have not had a day off of work since Thanksgiving, and I’ve worked 10 to 16 hours every day since then. (I know: “Waaaaaaaaah”, right?). At this point my vision is like first person point of view in a fucking zombie movie.

 

In the past week, I’ve had about 6 hours of sleep. I have to take ‘west coast turn-a rounds’ like a junkie truck driver hauling ‘Pabst Blue Ribbon’ from Boise to Indio, every 4 hours just so can I keep some semblance of wakefulness throughout the day in order to deal with self loathing, ignorant, cry babies who think that giving someone a shitty 10 dollar gift is gonna make them any less of an asshole. Jesus people, put some fucking effort, care, and THOUGHT into your choices of gift. Maybe if you buy little Timmy a fucking BOOK, instead of a Wii, he won’t end up having his asshole searched for contraband at Cook County Jail when he’s 18 by a guard with fingers so fat he has to use a monster truck tire as a wedding band. Sorry, I got off topic, but I’m fucking tired.

 

So why did I agree to this date? On the ONE night I could actually sleep in since November? Simple…cause I like this girl. She makes me feel like a slow song and a glass of expensive brandy at 2 in the morning in a dimly lit, vaguely smoky jazz piano bar. I’m instantly comfortable talking to her. I don’t feel like it’s something I have to work at. Not to mention that she’s a total knockout. And not just ‘cute’ either. She’s the kind of woman who actually makes me have to rethink my entire definition of beauty.

 

So, even though I wasn’t in any kind of top form, we went out to a Japanese Sushi Place on Christmas Eve. I have a vague recollection of that dinner, and I’ll try to recall it for you here. But just know that I was so fucking tired, that I ACTUALLY nodded off on the bar when she went to the bathroom at one point. Luckily the Japanese lady bartender smacked me on the head to wake me up.

 

We went in, and were the ONLY people there besides the very busty, but NOT very attractive waitress who was limping at a 45 degree angle for some unspecified reason. She was either practicing for her acting workshop, trying to garner sympathy for more tips, or since she talked so damned much, someone told her to ‘shut the fuck up’ a little too hard…in any case this was the WORST limp I’ve ever seen. Not in a ‘Awww, you poor thing’ kind of way, but in a ‘C’mon, cut that shit out’ kind of way.

 

Behind the bar stood the 40 something year old Japanese lady who reminded me of Sam Malone from ‘Cheers’. She was sassy and had a quip for every topic. She was very helpful in steering us in the right direction regarding our food. Neither I nor the yoga instructor had ever been to a sushi place, but when she suggested it to me, I didn’t fuss because I know that raw fish is good to eat before fuckin.

 

And then there was the older Japanese ninja sushi chef (Say that 5 times really fast). This guy was AWSOME. He had on a red silk shirt with Japanese symbols on it, and just stood at the bar cutting fish all night with a look on his face like he KNEW something that he wasn’t gonna tell us. NOT trying to sound racist, but THAT’S how I like my older Japanese men to look. He and the bartender occasionally shouted at each other in Japanese, and when they did? I knew I found my new favorite place to eat.

 

Since there was nobody there but us, we decided that we would sit at the bar. This is where I made the first in a SERIES of mistakes that evening. When presented with multiple seats, as a man, you have to make a split second decision as to where your relationship with this woman is. If your relationship is intimate? Then you sit right next to her. If the relationship hasn’t hit the fuck point yet, but you HAVE made out? You sit ONE stool away, but MOVE the stool that’s between you. If it’s a first date and NO intimacy has been had? You sit one stool away and DON’T move the middle stool. And if she’s a pig that you’re not interested in? You either don’t make it to the seating situation at all, or you sit across the fucking bar from her.

 

Well, my sleepiness caused me to fuck up this simple dating etiquette. Because there were so many stools, crammed together around the bar, I sat 2 stools away from the yoga instructor and instantly regretted it. From the look on her face I could tell that I had, once again, made the wrong decision just as I did when I tried to ‘set her up’ with Art Jim. Later in the evening, she threw this poor choice of seating in my face, but in a good way.

 

We ordered everything that the Japanese lady bartender suggested; seaweed soup, sake, four different plates of sushi rolls, and some Japanese beers. We ate, we laughed, we drank…good times. I’ve gone out on a ton of dates in my life, you win some, you lose some, but as simple as this date was…it was more fun than I’ve had on a date in a long time. That ‘comfortable’ vibe that you get from certain people really adds a lot to any situation you find yourself in.

 

As we left several hours later, I got the SECOND hint that something wasn’t quite right with this woman. The first hint was her complete lack of humility. This one came as we walked out to the car and, I being a tad tipsy and a lot tired, felt comfortable enough with my companion to say ‘Dude, that was some good fucking food’

 

Suddenly, I found myself in the 23rd year of a marriage that was starting to get stagnant. “Did you just call me ‘dude’? What kind of a man calls a woman ‘dude’?” She said to me in a snippy tone. I laughed it off thinking that she was fucking around with me, then she said, quite seriously “Don’t ever call me ‘dude’ again.” Jesus. I apologized and we drove silently back to my place. The entire ride I felt like I was in the fucking doghouse. Lucky I didn’t call her ‘cunt’, she might have shot me.

 

When we got to my place, we had a short conversation in the car that brought the mood back down to something civil. I was running on fucking fumes, and how I managed to stay awake is beyond me, but apparently my charms don’t diminish with the rest of my faculties in that state of exhaustion. Maybe it was the sushi, but at that point I was also so fucking horny that I thought my dick was gonna jump out of my pants and start singing ‘Wang Chung’.

 

Anybody else out there get that? You’re SO tired that you fear you’ll pass out while standing, your body almost feels like a fucking puppet that’s being held up and moved by strings, and suddenly a BURST of horny rushes over you and you HAVE to have some release. THAT’S when people start experimenting with cutting holes in a pumpkin and warming it in the microwave, sticking your dingus between 2 couch cushions, or greasing down your pinky and shoving it up your ass while you dry jerk NOT because you’re gay, but to see what the big deal is. It’s like the governor on your masturbation inhibitor breaks down and a REGULAR jerk off just won’t do. After you cum though, just before you pass out like a fucking bear about to hibernate, you think to yourself ‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’ Well sir, there’s NOTHING wrong with you, we ALL do that shit. It’s a helluva burden sometimes to walk around with one of these things.

 

But if you have a girlfriend and she’s around when that slap happy, experimentation, uber-horny rushes over you? Fugetaboutit, she’s about to have some of the best sex you’ve ever made on top of her.

 

However, much like when Popeye eats his spinach…that feeling passes so you have take advantage of a ripe vagina if there’s one in the vicinity. NOT in a rapey way either. So, I invited her up to my apartment for a nightcap like I was some detective in a shitty dime store 30’s noir novel, and to my surprise she actually said ‘yes’. Even though she made previous dick assumptions earlier, I didn’t really expect ANY thing beyond dinner and I assumed after I called her ‘dude’, she was gonna squeal the fuck out of there. Three strikes, right? Art Jim, the stool, and the dude incident.

 

At this point, it should be obvious to even the mentally challenged that she kinda, sorta, maybe liked me. So I KNOW what you’re all thinking; “uh-oh, Mikesgonnagetsomepussy!”, but that’s not what I was thinking, partly because I was severely sleep deprived, but mostly because I’m an idiot. Even with my super horny on, I’m not someone who likes to PUSH the issue of sex. It goes back to the ‘never wanting to be called a stalker’ thing. Also, like a lot of guys, I kinda dig it when a chick makes the first move. Takes the pressure off.

 

When we got up to my apartment it was about 11PM, I poured us a couple of glasses of wine, dimmed the lights, and set my computer to play the romantic playlist I had set up for just this kind of situation. Little Marvin Gaye, some Dead Can’t Dance, and of course…Barry White. She didn’t like ONE song on my playlist. What kind of vagina can resist Barry White? She asked me to go get her iPod out of her car because she wanted to listen to HER slow music. Yoga music. Shit, THAT’S gonna put me the fuck to sleep. Luckily though, when I brought it back upstairs, the battery was dead and she hadn’t brought the charger. But I couldn’t put on fuck music that would only serve its purpose on MY end and not hers. So I suggested a movie that will always turn a woman on… True Romance.

 

I recently got lucky when purchasing a couch for my living room. When I moved into my apartment 2 years ago, there was a couch already here. It was a shitty ripped blue sofa with a pull out bed that smelled of pot smoke and bacon grease…but as I had no furniture of my own, I kept it. A few months ago however, I was looking for a new couch on the Craigslist when I came across a posting offering a large L-shaped couch, brand new for only 50 bucks. When I called the woman, she told me that she had recently bought it in a store but several weeks later her boyfriend asked her to move in with him. As he already had furniture, she had no use for it. So, this is my new couch.

 

The problem with this couch, and I didn’t really SEE it as a problem until I had a woman ON it…is that it’s tall but not deep. The back of the couch reaches up far past your head when you’re sitting down, but the bottom of your ass cheeks almost fall off the cushion.

 

As the yoga instructor and I watched the movie, she came to sit next to me from the left. As ALL men know, even Seinfeld…if you’re a righty, and a chick sits on your left, this can cause a bit of discomfort. Plus, because the cushion was so short, there was no opportunity for me to lay her back and make a move. When sitting on my couch, you’re almost forced to sit completely upright. In order to go in for the kiss, I would have to get down on one knee and press myself in like a fucking Greco Roman Wrestler. I pictured this from HER vantage and decided to forestall my objective. As we talked throughout the movie, I kept running the logistics of HOW to make a move from this position and cursing myself for always saying ‘When the fuck am I gonna use geometry?’ in high school.

 

I WANTED that booty SO bad, but it’s imperative to the pussy process that you make a distinct, deliberate, and confident first move. Her feeling of annoyance at my failure to act was palpable and eventually she lay down on the couch with her head on my lap. It became obvious to me that she was spending the night whether I was getting laid or not. Not because she wanted to fuck me and sleep close to me, but because it was 1AM, she lived an hour away, and she was beginning to look as tired as I’d been all evening. As a gracious, but dick withholding host I asked her “If you fall asleep, would you like me to put a blanket on you? Or wake you up so you can drive home?”

 

She looked me in the eyes as she began to sit up and said “Why do you do that?”

 

“Do what?” I replied. “Why do you put yourself in the friend zone?” I tried to stammer an incoherent answer, but nothing that came out of my mouth made any sense. “I’ve come all the way out here to see YOU three times now. I drove over an hour to meet you for our first date because I liked the way you write. I came to your Christmas party and you tried to set me up with someone else. And tonight you sat two stools away from me at the restaurant.”

 

What could I say? I mean really, she was absolutely right. The Yoga instructor was the REASON why I started internet dating in the first place. I hit the fucking jack pot with her. I’ve never been like that with ANY girl that I’ve dated before. Reticent, stalling, unsure. Was it her beauty that stood my cock? When she brought it into the light like that, I was forced to really look at my inaction. Was I tired? Hell, I’ve never been too tired to fuck. Was it the couch? I fucked a girl on a tree branch once. Was I allergic to pussy? Fuck it, I had Benadryl in my medicine cabinet. To be honest with you, it was almost as if something…DEEP inside me was keeping me at a penile distance. I couldn’t put my finger on it but it was almost like a warning that I couldn’t HEAR…but I could feel.

 

I told her “I just don’t get a VIBE that you like me like that” Now that I think back on it, all the vibes WERE there, but for some reason my magnificent seven inches just wasn’t paying attention. Hell, at dinner she was twirling her hair with her fingers. What bigger hint is there than that? If a woman twirls her hair around her fingers she’s either in a mental institution and pulling it out, or YOU just struck a clitoral bonanza.

 

The yoga instructor looked at me for a moment…processing what I just said…and then her gaze softened into something sensual. She lay slowly down on her back, stretched out on the couch, put her hands behind her head and said “VIBE…right here”. I felt like an idiot. I stood up, kicked the coffee table out of the way, went down on one knee and kissed her.

 

I’m not proficient in many sexual endeavors, but I’m a great fucking kisser. I never use too much tongue and I’ve been told that my lips are great to suck on. I keep telling myself that it was because of the position and my shitty couch…but I did not kiss her well. It seemed forced, put upon, and ham fisted. It could have been that I was tired, it could have been that I was self conscious because I’m SURE that my breath smelled of cigarette’s, brandy, and raw fucking fish, or maybe it was that needling voice in the back of my head, but in any case, rather than drag it out I stood up and helped her to her feet. “Fuck the couch” I said “take off your top and get in my bed.” She raised an eyebrow, kissed me on the cheek, and did a runway model walk to my bedroom while taking her top off in that sexy way that women do, with the arms crossed and pulling it up from the back. Hello captain pants tent!

 

My bedroom is at the end of a hallway, and JUST to the right of my bedroom door is the bathroom. I made a quick pit stop to brush my teeth and spruce up my junk like when you fluff a pillow or make sure that a rose is properly opened before presenting it to a woman. When I came into the bedroom, she had lit the candles that hang in sconces from my wall and put the Sirius radio on the ‘Spa’ channel. She was laying on her stomach on the bed wearing nothing but the tiniest pink panties. Oofa.

 

I’d never seen a body quite like that outside of porn. It was soft Italian music. It was as if I were looking at something beautiful, yet forbidden, like when your mom tells you not to look directly at an eclipse, or your dad makes you wait outside the tent at a carnival on a warm summer night while he goes in to see ‘Lydia: The Tattooed Lady’ and you go around to the back of the tent and peek through the tear. It truly felt as though I was looking at a naked woman for the first time. THAT…that was an incredible feeling.

 

The way the candles lit her made her look like a 17th century oil painting. Her shoulder blades just showed underneath her smooth skin and the curve of her flank ran down perfectly into her soft hips like a lazy parenthesis. Her ass was the tight ass of a woman who takes care of her body, and the muscles in her legs told the story of a woman on the go.

 

She looked back at me and said “take off your pants and come give me a message…my neck hurts”. Don’t have to ask me twice. My pants came down quicker than Clint Eastwood draws a gun, and I mounted her like Everest.

 

As I gave her the patented and famous ‘Hempen Massage’, she made the sexiest noises of appreciation. I’m sure she could feel my hard on pressing on her ass as I gave her a thorough rubdown and after a time I lay down on my back and eagerly waited for some reciprocation…that never came. She moved in close to me and spooned herself into the crux of my arm. She felt SO…I don’t know…right? In my arms like that. But really, what woman doesn’t. It was really the highlight of the evening for me. What in heaven, or on earth, feels better than a beautiful naked woman in your arms?

 

She talked to me and lazily ran her fingers across my naked chest and stomach. I kept waiting for her to find her way down to the foothills of my mountainous belly but my anticipation was always cut off as she lightly made her way to the band of my boxer/briefs and then moved back up to my chest.

 

At this point, it was 2:45AM, and I chalked HER unwillingness to unleash the dragon up to the fact that she was probably really tired, so I wasn’t going to force the issue of a sexual encounter. Plus, I was inconceivably tired myself. I thought that maybe this was a good thing. Rather than do it poorly while we’re both tired, not doing it at all may be the better road to take. And if there IS a 4th date, I’ll fucking well know to start THIS shit at around 6 so we can fuck like Bengal Tigers on Cialis trying to repopulate the species. However…I fear that what happened next will forestall a fourth encounter.

 

We both drifted off to sleep in the warm glow of burning candles and the soft music of the spa channel. I dreamed of African drums beating a foreboding rhythm, coming from the shoreline of a jungle. I was on a boat that was being rocked vigorously in a storm and I knew that my only chance of survival was to steer towards that horrid and frightening sound. As I came closer to the beach, the distance would seem to double like the hallway in ‘Poltergeist’ that seemingly gets longer and longer as you run towards the door. This went on for hours, days, months, and then years. There was no relief and I was trapped between the certain death of the storming ocean, and the unknown perils of those jungle drums.

 

And then I slowly woke up to the yoga instructor beating on my chest and shouting in my ear. My face was wet and sticky, and I groggily looked over at the clock. It felt like I had been asleep for days, but the clock told me that it had only been 3 fucking minutes. The yoga instructor told me that I was snoring so loud she couldn’t fall asleep. She tried to roll me over but I was too heavy, she tried to wake me but I wouldn’t budge, then she splashed the glass of Dr. Pepper I had by the bed on my face and started beating on my chest. Fuck. This was embarrassing.

 

I sleepily sat up and told her to lie down and relax, I’d go sleep on the couch. As I stumbled out to the living room…the fucking sushi finally caught up with me. And not in a ‘horny’ way either. I felt a wave crest in my stomach and the sound of gurgling disruption filled the air around me. I had to take a Christmas shit. I looked back at my bathroom…and then to the open bedroom door RIGHT next to it. This was gonna be a fucking loud one, and the smell was sure to filter into my bedroom. No courtesy flush was going to stave off the odors that were brewing inside of me.

 

I quietly made my way back into the bedroom and grabbed my pants off the floor, there was nothing for it. I had to make a run for the gas station. I tip toed back out into the hallway, clenching my ass cheeks together which only made the farts that DID slip out squeakier and louder. When I bent down to put my pants on, the need for release hit its peak and I knew that time was too short to break for my car. It was either shit in MY bathroom, or risk shitting my pants as I made a ‘ Smokey and the Bandit’ run for the Speedway. Ho, Ho, Ho, I GOTS TA go!

 

I dove into the bathroom and quietly shut the door behind me. THEN I turned on the lights. With any luck, the yoga instructor was already fast asleep and would have no knowledge of my late night craptacular. I turned on the faucet in the sink, just in case, and spread my ass cheeks as far apart as I could as I sat down on the bowl. If I had a pair of salad tongs or a fucking jaws of life, I would have used them to pry my asshole open so that what was inside of me could POUR out quietly instead of spurting out loudly like it did. I was mortified, she HAD to have heard that. I flushed the toilet as soon as I was done and sat in the smell for several minutes. My hope was that it would dissipate before I went out into the hallway.

 

All seemed quiet. I turned off the lights, went out into the hall, and quickly but quietly shut the door behind me. In my bedroom, I could see the yoga instructor firmly asleep under my blankets. Whew…I’d gotten away with it. I made my way back to the living room and just as my head hit the pillow on the couch…I heard the bathroom door open. FUCK! I JUMPED up and ran down the hallway. The yoga instructor stood, in her panties in the door way to the bathroom. Under her sleep filled eyes, her nose was crinkled up in disgust. She looked from the bathroom to me and said “what the fuck?”

 

I grabbed for the first excuse that hit my mind: “What had happened was, the dog had shit in the living room and I JUST now threw it in the toilet.” The words flowed out of me as quickly as I thought them up, and my dog looked at me with a shameful expression, shook her head and just walked away. “I have to pee, but I’ll wait. You should get your dog checked. What do you feed that thing?” she said stumbling back into the bedroom. “You are absolutely right, I will take her to the vet directly tomorrow. That’s a good idea” I said in a comforting tone.

 

She told me that she wanted me to come back to the bed, but I should sleep on my stomach. I did as she asked, but I’m not really a ‘stomach’ sleeping guy. I only sleep on my back or my side, but never my stomach. However, I was so fucking tired, I didn’t really care. I woke up five minutes later to the sound of the yoga instructor yelling at me again. Apparently I had rolled over on my back and started snoring again. Jesus.

 

She told me that she had gotten a text a few minutes ago and had to leave. I knew it was bullshit, but I just wanted to fucking sleep. I walked out to the living room with her and she gathered her things from the couch. She came over to give me a kiss, and what happened next snuck up on me and surprised me JUST as much as it surprised her.

 

From the deep recesses of my rectum came a breathy fart that exhaled like a windy moan coming down a long cave. It sounded as if someone were slowly ripping a silk sheet lengthwise. I tried to clench my ass together to impede its long hollow tone, but all I managed to do was force the flow up under my balls which turned the trumpeting declaration of my ass into a series of short loud pops coming from the FRONT of my pants. The yoga instructor stood before of me…horrified. And as the putrid aroma wafted up and warmed the air between us, I knew that there was NO mistaking that it was the same smell from the bathroom…I simply said; “That was the dog?”

 

And she walked out of my apartment without a word.

 

What are you gonna do? Look, I know I blew a lot of chances with this one, but truth be told; pussy is not the end all and be all for me at this point in my life and it’s NOT all that I’m looking for anymore. I want someone to surprise with breakfast in bed so I know she’ll have a good day. I want someone to send flowers to while she’s at work cause I KNOW she’s gonna light up like the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center when the other office chicks look all jealous. I want someone who will ‘meow’ and loudly ask inappropriate and dirty questions about what kind of shoes the delivery boy will be wearing when he drops off the Chinese food I’ve ordered for us.

 

The yoga instructor simply isn’t looking for these things from a man. She doesn’t WANT to be tied down and from what she’s told me of ex’s…I’m simply NOT the type of guy she talks about being into (and I think she’s in love with my best friend’s girl). Plus she’s told me in a not so ‘tongue in cheek’ way that she just got out of a relationship with a guy she was in love with partly because he was hung like a stack of tuna cans…I am NOT hung so. I know how I am, nothing good will come of this. Sure I could have gotten some ass, but then I would have caught a feeling for her, and she would have just bailed like Indy jumping out of the plane in ‘Temple’.

 

Even though she seemed to have wanted the dick, that’s ALL she seemed to have wanted. She told me flat out that she wasn’t looking to be in an exclusive relationship right now and if she wants to date other people, more power to her. I won’t get into what her normal dating preferences are out of respect, but she’s used to dating rich guys and I can barely afford to BUY her a fucking stack of tuna cans. But if that’s the kind of man she prefers, who am I to judge? Although I appreciate her honesty, it’s her candor in telling me everything that I’m NOT…which may have stayed my hand.

 

If I’m a freak for simply wanting to date a girl who only dates me? So be it. But if I fucked her, if I let myself be drawn into her in THAT way, I know it would have only led to feelings that wouldn’t have been returned. And THAT….that feels like shit. That’s a road I’ve been down, and on occasion, it took me awhile to hitchhike my way back to the self confidence diner.

 

So bottom line? I like the yoga instructor. I’m NOT in love with her; I’m NOT predicting a future with her, whatever happens, happens. But I’m not gonna fuck her just so I can high five all my friends and then never talk to her again. It ain’t that kinda party. Partly because I actually respect her, and partly because I’ve just never been wired that way. I can work with A LOT of stuff. Kids, distance, school, work, I’m just not THAT guy who’s ok with not caring who someone’s fucking just so long as I’m getting mine. Deal with it.

 

Since the future is MOSTLY unpredictable, we’ll just have to see what happens next. Although, I have a feeling that there’s a better chance of Carrot Top winning an Oscar For his portrayal of Don Corleone the third in ‘Godfather IV’ than there is of me hearing from her again. But it’s cool. At the end of the day people, we have to live with ourselves AND our decisions. Although my decisions might have been different had I been well rested and better prepared, I’m fairly confident that I did the ‘right’ thing by being a gentleman…

 

Jesus…I shoulda fucked her.

 

To Be Concluded…

The End

of: The Friend Zone Episode 5: The Yoga Instructor Part 2: Santa Clause is Coming but Not Necessarily to Town

but The General will return for more Douchebaggery in:

The Friend Zone Supplement: A Resignation from a Dating Website

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