I lay supine in that blissful space between utter consciousness (ears pricking at every soft sound in the room, mind racing through every corridor of thought) and complete otherworldliness, where my subconscious ran rampant and I was on the cusp of deep sleep. I knew enough to keep my breath steady—filling up my chest, my belly, pushing it slowly, soothingly out through my mouth. My hands lay face up, open to the world, my feet slightly splayed out, my muscles tensing, then suddenly giving up, each in turn falling flat against my purple mat.

A soft smell lingered near and I knew she was starting with me. Maria, studded with tattoos across her svelte arms, her tiny waist and round hips contorting an awkward Supta Kurmasana or Bakasana into a graceful flow of raw energy and passionate flexibility, feet cradling the ground, hands gripping various limbs with such an elegance… Maria straddled me, leaned over my unconscious body. My eyes were closed. Her thick brown curls curtained my face and I caught a strong citrus scent. Lemon, my favorite.

My nerves snapped and popped as the warm pads of her fingertips met the smooth skin of my forehead. Slippery with essential oil, they closed around my temple, soft pressure, slow circular motion. She matched her breath with mine, blew her air into my slightly parted mouth, and I delighted at the thought of her deep red lips brushing against mine. My body hummed with anticipation—I craved her touch against my torso, hands running down my chest, leaving a trail of oils on my nipples and hipbones, twisting and pulling my body into Upavigha Konasana, Tittibhasana until I moaned with exhaustion.

One last cohabitating breath and she was gone. The parquet floor crackled, as if her feet still graced my presence. My shoulders trembled, my hips gave one last spasm of tension—then my muscles relaxed, fell flat against my mat, and my mind gave way to darkness.