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“I think maybe you understand. Based on something you said last year in Utah.”She furrowed her brown in confusion.“That the taboo turned you on. You know ... of playing with the kids.”Beth blushed and then nodded.“So I thought maybe you could help,” Chris concluded.Beth grimaced in thought. “I ... I don’t know exactly what to say. Susan’s much better at this than I am. Have you thought about talking to her?”“I don’t think I could tell her about getting turned on watching my wife and daughter have sex.”“Oh,” Beth said with one of her warm laughs, “I think she’d understand.”“Why—?” A light dawned. “Has she... ?”Beth shook her head. “No. At least not that she’s told me.” She took a deep breath. “But she knows about Paul and me.”Paul? What happened with Paul?Beth saw the question in his eyes and nodded. “Paul and I ... um ... sort of fooled around.” She followed up quickly. “It was several years ago, and it hasn’t happened since that summer.”Chris blinked.“Please don’t think less of. She didn’t seem to notice us: it was as if we were viewing her own private ritual. I stood at the back of the class and stared unashamedly. The whole hour, I gazed at her, willing my miserable self to copy her effortless grace. I took in every detail, drinking her in. The stark bones at her collar and wrists, the arch of her spine, the firm, pink nipples that grazed her t-shirt. She barely spoke as she moved: her few words sounded like a lullaby. “Deep breath…suck your belly in…drop your shoulders, relax your neck, your face, tilt your pelvis…” I did all she told me: willed my limbs to mirror hers. Week by week, they started to respond. I barely noticed. I only watched her. But she saw it, saw me, and started to smile at me now and then, when I skipped through the door, when my limbs lengthened, my spine flattened, according to her demand. At the end of each class she turned the lights off for five minutes and instructed us to relax, breathe, meditate, feel the weight of the floor.
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