the L word
Briefly, in college, I was a lesbian. I was just experimenting; it was nothing serious or permanent. I mention it now only because in the past two weeks, I have been approached and hit on by multiple women, and I just feel like I need to get it out there for all to know. [But mainly, I say this here because it’s not like any of you reading this would tell anyone who matters, namely Kara’s friends. They would eat me alive, but then again, I could just dish out the dirt on Kara’s former college self - but I refuse to stoop to that level. I am sure, though, that if the socialite of highest standing was found out as a lesbian, that the other women would probably just copy her tendencies - no, I am not bitter. More on that later, I promise.] The subject of my past sexuality is not something that I would ordinarily share with anyone because it has never been an issue. I am an attractive young woman, and I certainly have no problem getting the guys to run after me. But it seems that I am also a magnet for past situations to come back and slap me in the face - quite literally in this case.
On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, I do yoga at this lovely studio called Le Dharma. Yoga is simply amazing; does wonders for flexibility and such. Perfect relaxation technique for those days when Kara calls me and talks my ear off during a sparse lunch at her latest restaurant obsession. Going to yoga is the only time that I really get to forget about everything else and let go. All the rest of the time, especially going for a regular workout at the gym, I must keep up appearances. I never know when I am going to run into someone from Kara’s circle or someone from high school or someone from work, or a guy that I’ve once dated, so I must make sure that I am looking my absolute best: fashion-wise, body-wise, etcetera. This is why I picked Le Dharma as my yoga studio. It is hidden away on a side of town that no socialite would be caught dead in. The studio itself caters to older ladies, so I have no problem with looking better than they do; age itself does the trick, and these ladies are not the type to even think about plastic surgery. It’s just not their thing. They like iced tea on porch swings and quilting parties, rather than the hippest new restaurants and the most fashionable cocktail.
My favorite yoga instructor is Daisy McLeod, the nicest, friendliest, and most flexible 78 year old I have ever met. She is my mentor and inspires me incredibly with her drive to learn the art of achieving inner peace. I love her to death. But last week, she fell ill - too ill to continue her classes at Le Dharma. When I first heard the news, I ran straight away to her little house to see her (after getting properly dressed, of course - ever keeping up appearances, *sigh*). I was immensely relieved to find that she is still in working condition, though frail and terribly fragile looking - a stark contrast to her usual vivacity. I confessed my concern about the studio to her, but she said that she had personally worked with the new instructor and that she is a wonderful woman. I left the house mildly relieved, though still distressed about Daisy’s health. At any rate, I decided to give the new instructor a try.
The next day, Friday, I walked into the studio as usual, in my yoga clothes (Danskin pants in a pale blue and a cami to match), yoga mat in hand (extra thick cushion in also in a pale blue) and took my place on the floor - front and center, so that my view of the mirror is unobstructed. I unrolled my mat and did some light stretching, and as I was reaching for my toes from a seated position, the new instructor walked in. She was young, enthusiastic, and a bit loud, compared to Daisy. I got this strange feeling that I knew her from somewhere, and when she began to introduce herself, I who she was.
“Hello, everyone. My name is Melissa, and I am going to be taking Daisy’s place as yoga instructor. First, I’d like to say that Daisy is an amazing woman and much more accomplished at this than I am. In fact, I was a student of hers, and I owe so much to her…”
I neglected to listen to the rest of her introduction. I knew that I knew her from somewhere. Melissa. Melissa Adams - from sophomore year in college. The one lesbian escapade of my entire life was standing before me, about to teach me how to become more flexible. I began to panic. She hadn’t recognized me yet, but standing front and center, she was sure to notice me sometime, and then remember that whole thing from college. And then she would go all crazy on me. As she walked to the corner to turn on the soothing music, I grabbed my mat from the floor and ran to the back of the room - as close to the exit as possible, so that once the session was over, I could run out not giving her enough time to confront me. But then I realized that I had left my bag at the front of the room. I suffered through the hour of yoga without achieving the least bit of relaxation. My breathing was all wrong and I couldn’t hold the balanced positions for the full breathing count. I was so off balance that I looked like a beginner. At last we began the final “visualization” exercises that usually put me to sleep, and I saw my chance to make a run for it. I quickly rolled my mat while Melissa led the breathing counts and I ran to the front to retrieve my bag. But Melissa’s exercise was much shorter than I had planned, and the length of the room seemed so much longer this time. I got to the front just as Melissa finished. I tried avoiding eye contact, but it didn’t work.
“Jamie? ‘You’ll Never Tame Me-Jamie’?! Oh. My. Gosh! I haven’t seen or heard anything about you since college! How have you been? Give me a hug!”
She then hugged me - hug, squeeze, squeeze, kiss on either cheek, squeeze. And she didn’t let go right away. I smiled hugely.
“Melissa! I wasn’t sure it was you when you walked in, but it is! What a crazy coincidence.”
“It sure is! I would love to catch up with you - see what’s going on with you after all these years, but I have another class right now. Why don’t we meet for a drink? I’ll get your number from the registration desk, and I’ll give you a call. You look great, by the way.”
“Sure, just give me a call,” I said reluctantly. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, bye,” she said, with what I thought was a wink.
We have plans for drinks at an Irish pub on Thursday night. I have two more yoga classes with her before we go out. Would it be too obvious if I suddenly switched all of my yoga classes to different days at obscure times? oh-em-gee. She is going to hate me. She is going to hate me. She is going to hate me - because I lied to her. Not a little white lie, either. In order to break it off with her, I told her that I was transferring to college in another state and that I was still into her, while in reality, I just moved across campus, and got a boyfriend. This is not good, because I cannot lie to her again. At least I cannot maintain an act this big while there is still the possibility that I may run into her ever at all. *sigh* What’s a girl to do?
//kisses, lovelies
KiLL
On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, I do yoga at this lovely studio called Le Dharma. Yoga is simply amazing; does wonders for flexibility and such. Perfect relaxation technique for those days when Kara calls me and talks my ear off during a sparse lunch at her latest restaurant obsession. Going to yoga is the only time that I really get to forget about everything else and let go. All the rest of the time, especially going for a regular workout at the gym, I must keep up appearances. I never know when I am going to run into someone from Kara’s circle or someone from high school or someone from work, or a guy that I’ve once dated, so I must make sure that I am looking my absolute best: fashion-wise, body-wise, etcetera. This is why I picked Le Dharma as my yoga studio. It is hidden away on a side of town that no socialite would be caught dead in. The studio itself caters to older ladies, so I have no problem with looking better than they do; age itself does the trick, and these ladies are not the type to even think about plastic surgery. It’s just not their thing. They like iced tea on porch swings and quilting parties, rather than the hippest new restaurants and the most fashionable cocktail.
My favorite yoga instructor is Daisy McLeod, the nicest, friendliest, and most flexible 78 year old I have ever met. She is my mentor and inspires me incredibly with her drive to learn the art of achieving inner peace. I love her to death. But last week, she fell ill - too ill to continue her classes at Le Dharma. When I first heard the news, I ran straight away to her little house to see her (after getting properly dressed, of course - ever keeping up appearances, *sigh*). I was immensely relieved to find that she is still in working condition, though frail and terribly fragile looking - a stark contrast to her usual vivacity. I confessed my concern about the studio to her, but she said that she had personally worked with the new instructor and that she is a wonderful woman. I left the house mildly relieved, though still distressed about Daisy’s health. At any rate, I decided to give the new instructor a try.
The next day, Friday, I walked into the studio as usual, in my yoga clothes (Danskin pants in a pale blue and a cami to match), yoga mat in hand (extra thick cushion in also in a pale blue) and took my place on the floor - front and center, so that my view of the mirror is unobstructed. I unrolled my mat and did some light stretching, and as I was reaching for my toes from a seated position, the new instructor walked in. She was young, enthusiastic, and a bit loud, compared to Daisy. I got this strange feeling that I knew her from somewhere, and when she began to introduce herself, I who she was.
“Hello, everyone. My name is Melissa, and I am going to be taking Daisy’s place as yoga instructor. First, I’d like to say that Daisy is an amazing woman and much more accomplished at this than I am. In fact, I was a student of hers, and I owe so much to her…”
I neglected to listen to the rest of her introduction. I knew that I knew her from somewhere. Melissa. Melissa Adams - from sophomore year in college. The one lesbian escapade of my entire life was standing before me, about to teach me how to become more flexible. I began to panic. She hadn’t recognized me yet, but standing front and center, she was sure to notice me sometime, and then remember that whole thing from college. And then she would go all crazy on me. As she walked to the corner to turn on the soothing music, I grabbed my mat from the floor and ran to the back of the room - as close to the exit as possible, so that once the session was over, I could run out not giving her enough time to confront me. But then I realized that I had left my bag at the front of the room. I suffered through the hour of yoga without achieving the least bit of relaxation. My breathing was all wrong and I couldn’t hold the balanced positions for the full breathing count. I was so off balance that I looked like a beginner. At last we began the final “visualization” exercises that usually put me to sleep, and I saw my chance to make a run for it. I quickly rolled my mat while Melissa led the breathing counts and I ran to the front to retrieve my bag. But Melissa’s exercise was much shorter than I had planned, and the length of the room seemed so much longer this time. I got to the front just as Melissa finished. I tried avoiding eye contact, but it didn’t work.
“Jamie? ‘You’ll Never Tame Me-Jamie’?! Oh. My. Gosh! I haven’t seen or heard anything about you since college! How have you been? Give me a hug!”
She then hugged me - hug, squeeze, squeeze, kiss on either cheek, squeeze. And she didn’t let go right away. I smiled hugely.
“Melissa! I wasn’t sure it was you when you walked in, but it is! What a crazy coincidence.”
“It sure is! I would love to catch up with you - see what’s going on with you after all these years, but I have another class right now. Why don’t we meet for a drink? I’ll get your number from the registration desk, and I’ll give you a call. You look great, by the way.”
“Sure, just give me a call,” I said reluctantly. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, bye,” she said, with what I thought was a wink.
We have plans for drinks at an Irish pub on Thursday night. I have two more yoga classes with her before we go out. Would it be too obvious if I suddenly switched all of my yoga classes to different days at obscure times? oh-em-gee. She is going to hate me. She is going to hate me. She is going to hate me - because I lied to her. Not a little white lie, either. In order to break it off with her, I told her that I was transferring to college in another state and that I was still into her, while in reality, I just moved across campus, and got a boyfriend. This is not good, because I cannot lie to her again. At least I cannot maintain an act this big while there is still the possibility that I may run into her ever at all. *sigh* What’s a girl to do?
//kisses, lovelies
KiLL