So I (30 years old gay and proud male) teach gentle yoga twice a week in this tiny studio in the northeast of France. It’s usually quiet, mostly older ladies or stressed grad students who look like they haven’t slept in months. Nothing dramatic ever happens there… until he showed up.
And by “he” I mean Mason aka “the human space heater” as I mentally call him now.
Big dude in his thirties, stupidly handsome, sleeveless hoodie in December (while everyone else is dressed like normal people during ). He walked in all smiles like the cold just politely moved out of his way. I swear steam could’ve risen off him and I wouldn’t have been surprised.
He had short brown hair, slightly messy like he’d run a hand through it a hundred times that morning, and a thin collarbeard that somehow made him look both rugged and soft at the same time. His jawline was stupidly nice. Defined but not sharp, like his bones were doing me a favor by not being too intense.
He introduced himself like we were about to spot each other at the gym instead of doing yoga. I guess he was new to this the moment I laid my eyes on him. He had no idea what yoga actually meant:
“Hey man, nice studio. I’m super stiff right now. Can’t touch my toes. I hard yoga could fix it,” he said, shrugging like this was a normal opener for a first class. “Guess I had to pick the easiest course since everyone says it breaks you in a good way.”
His voice was a little raspy, but cheerful. He talked like someone who got up at 6 a.m. to go to the gym because he genuinely thought it was fun.
Anyway, I tried to stay professional and told him to grab a mat. And that’s when the first sign of chaos appeared. The dude grabbed a rolled mat, snapped it open like he was about to attack a ghost, and actually smacked himself in the face with it. A loud, echoing thwack came out.
He didn’t even look embarrassed. Just blinked and went:
“Okay. Didn’t expect recoil.”
I almost laughed in his face. Almost.
He put his mat right in front of me, like the most perfect top student in the class, but it was more a bad case of zero social cues.
He had these huge arms, the kind that come from heavy lifting but also from constantly carrying things. His biceps pushed against the edges of his hoodie’s armholes, and every time he adjusted the strap of his sports bag, the muscles in his forearms shifted like they were flexing just to show off. His chest? Even under the hoodie, you could see how broad he was. His pecs lifted the fabric slightly.
We started with cat-cow, something literally designed for beginners. And his version of it… Listen, I love this man but he moved like a confused Labrador in slow motion. His hips weren’t synced with anything on this planet, his spine did this weird zigzag thing, and every time he exhaled it sounded like he was giving birth to something.
Still, he tried so hard I felt myself getting fond of him way too quickly.
At one point he whispered to me, “Is this right?” while being visibly stuck in a weird position. I let me a few second to admire him in his most vulenrable state before helping him relax his back. Dude clearly had maxxed the upper-body stats but had left the rest pretty much untouched.
And all I could think was:
Lord help me, this is adorable.
I walked behind him to adjust his back, just a light touch, nothing inappropriate, and he jumped like someone had poked him with a cattle prod.
“Oh! Sorry man, didn’t expect touching that place. Feels stiff in that place.”
I tried to reassure him, telling him that he should probably pay attention to stretching properly and also work his back during his training sessions. Patting him on the back again, I added that we would focus on this part in the future.
Several times during the session, while we were practicing simple postures, I noticed him frequently readjusting his balls, or even the rest of his gear. And then I finally glimpsed, in the folds of his shorts, the enormous shape of a penis. Shit. This guy seemed truly gifted.
Of course he was.
Toward the end of the class, we were doing a seated breathing pose. Simple. Calm. Zero risk. And this man, this goofy giant who could probably carry me under one arm, suddenly lost his balance and fell sideways.
“My core just gave up,” he muttered, half-laughing with the rest of the class.
I said it was fine, because it was fine, but also I think I had one of my best laughs in a while. I mean it happends, people get relaxed, they forget to properly balance, but this was even funnier giving the dude's reaciton.
When we finished, he stretched his arms like he had just come out of a fight scene.
“Damn. She was right,” he said.
I asked, stupidly, “About what?”
“That yoga was gonna kick my ass.”
Then he grinned at me like he genuinely enjoyed being there, and I swear I felt thos damn butterflies ruin my belly.
When stretching was over, he came to me, a large smile on his face, and I felt his erection brush against my knee as he moved closer to shake my hand.
"Okay, you got me convinced man. When do I have to come back?" He asked.
Oh Lord, forgive me.
So yeah. That’s how I met a ridiculously hot, very kind, completely clueless gym bro who does yoga without sleeves while it's (sometimes) snowing outisde, clueless about turning my brain off with his hot body and attitude.
And this was only the first class.
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