The Thong Also Rises by Jennifer L. Leo Read Free Book Online Page B

comfort, wewent to inquire with the hotel owner about the river boats. The owner sent us down to the river, but mentioned that she didn’t think that the boats were running this time of year. We checked out the small town. Small houses built of wood with thatched roofs, animals running around, and beautiful vegetation. Not a tourist in sight. We were lucky there was a hotel there. With Barbie sheets no less.
    â€”Joanna Popper, “The Back of the Bus with Mom”

JENNIFER COX

Hot Date with a Yogi
    She was dripping with sweat but beset by a wardrobe malfunction.
    N ATHAN TAUGHT B IKRAM YOGA , THE I NDIAN DISCIPLINE of yoga in a room heated to 100 degrees (the idea being that it relaxes your muscles, releasing trapped toxins and allowing you to efficiently sweat them out). I’d been put in touch with Nathan through my friend Kate at the Australian Tourist Commission in Sydney.
    Our date was tonight, but in his message Nathan suggested I come to his class that afternoon, then we could go straight on to our date afterward.
    Unfortunately, I’d had my phone switched off. Date Protocol: I felt it was bad form to take a phone call from your next date while the current one was still in progress— and now it was already afternoon. I stuck out my arm and hailed a cab downtown.
    I arrived at the Bikram center with five minutes to spare. As I dashed up the steps, I caught sight of a completely gorgeous man disappearing into a room, steam already condensing madly on the windows. He was followed by agroup of star-struck women (and a couple of men). If that was Nathan, I could see why the class was so popular…and why the classroom was hot and steamy. (I’m always happy to embrace my inner shallow .)
    But I’d been in such a rush I hadn’t given any thought to what I was going to wear. The bra I had on was O.K., but no way was anyone going to see me going lotus wearing a thong.
    I went careening over to the woman sitting at the reception desk (so far, yoga was proving anything but relaxing) to see if they had a spare pair of shorts I could borrow. No, but “go to Gowers on the corner,” she told me shortly, looking with disapproval at her watch. “They’re real cheap and you’ll pick up some shorts for nothing. Once the class has started, you can’t go in, though, so quick go, go,” she shooed.
    I raced across the street to Gowers, but all I could find cheap was a nasty pair of men’s gray Y-fronts. I held the packet at arm’s length and examined it speculatively. Nathan was gorgeous and these men’s briefs were ugly, ugly, ugly. But I’d never wear them again and they were only nine dollars, so sod it, I was in a hurry. I shoved some cash at the sales clerk and dashed back to the center. In the changing rooms I ripped the knickers out of the package, and, without stopping to inspect them, shoved them on, pulled my top off, grabbed my bags, and bolted for the yoga room.
    I got to the doors just as they were locking them. There wasn’t time to introduce myself, so I quickly walked into the class, past mats full of limbering ladies to a free spot at the front of the class, and sat down.
    Nathan stood before us, lithe and muscled to the point of being edible. As he walked us through the first positions, I attempted to bend my upper body over my extended thighs.As I strained downward, I caught sight of my pants for the first time.The thick gray flannel was so stiff that the Y flap at the front was poking straight out in a disturbingly suggestive manner. Embarrassed and trying not to draw attention to it, I quickly reached down and pushed the flap back into place.
    But it was having none of it and sprang straight out again, veering purposefully like the rudder on a sailboat.
    It was horrible. I tried another tack: Leaning into my stretch, I surreptitiously attempted to pin the protruding piece of material flat with my elbow. But it was impossible to