I took a lunchtime yoga class to help heal my not-so-stretchy self. B. the instructor is pretty cute -- we flirt shamelessly when we see each other out -- and he always takes advantage of every opportunity to provide hands-on correction to my poses when I take his class.
But today I had competition for his affections.
When I got to class, I discoverd that J., the adorable (no -- make that HOT) dancer who's in town on the national tour of The Lion King, was taking class today too. WOOF. And there was a nice open spot right next to him. WOOF again. Naturally, I plopped myself right down for some chatting and scoping. But apparently J. the professional dancer needed a LOT more hands-on yoga-pose corrections than Jake the copywriter did today. B. touched him three times for every one time he touched me.
Gay men can be SO transparent.