Partly because I was a married man and married men weren’t supposed to do that. And partly because . . . well, because I didn’t like the thoughts ...hat came welling up when I did. But this time I did stare. And I did fantasize. It’s the mirrors that did it. Damned yoga mirrors mean you can see every girl and every woman in there sweaty and panting and half naked. And as I tried not to look I found my eyes dancing from woman to woman, ass to ass, girl to girl and I felt a deep rumble in my chest. Suddenly I feel strong hands on my hips; an unseen stranger is behind me. Initially I vaguely wonder if it's one of my friends come to rescue me. If I was a little more sober, a little less high I would certainly whirl round to face the owner of these firm hands, however I barely even flinch. I'm completely absorbed in not only the music but the lustful vibes coursing through me that I actually welcome this physical contact. Those same hands increase their grip on my hips, their warm fingers. More

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