Bingo.
She checked the location (Hall C in tower C). The class was starting any minute. Thank God she’d had the foresight to wear leggings. She walked briskly in the direction of Hall C.
Her nerves were beginning to sizzle. What if Irene kicked her out of class? She would have no qualms about making a scene, whereas Edie and Joan would never. Frances honestly had no idea what she would do if Irene rejected her—she hadn’t had time to think that far and was only now realizing it was a strong possibility. Even if they’d all remained the best of friends, her idea was crazy. They were old women now! She could only hope that her fellow adrenaline junkies still liked to risk all for the thrill.
In Hall C, people were taking yoga mats from a big box and going into a classroom. Frances picked up one from the entrance and slipped inside, unnoticed by the lady checking in residents, some of whom had questions and therefore blocked the woman’s view of her. She made her way to a back corner, unfurled her mat and sat, then watched presumably sex-crazed geriatrics ease themselves down onto the floor.
Music started to play, a very Zen sound with chimes and wind instruments. At the far end of the room was a platform, and as Frances watched, a woman emerged from behind a curtain.She was wearing what could only be described as Merlin the Magician wear—a caftan covered in suns, half-moons, and stars. The woman held her arms out and said, “Welcome,” in a voice so familiar that even if her face had been burned off, Frances would know she was Irene.
Irene looked older, but through a squint—which was the best Frances could do without her glasses—she also looked the same. Her hair was still jet black, her skin as smooth as crème. Women who aged like that weren’t fair to the rest of the female population. She could have been fifty or eighty.
“Do you enjoy sex?” Irene asked, her voice booming through a mic. The crowd cheered.
“But now that you’re older, it’s twice the work, am I right?”
The crowd cheered again.
“This class is designed to unlock your potential. I have developed it using the ancient wisdom of the Hindu combined with the Kama Sutra and Tantric teachings. Remember, the key to good Tantric sex is as mental as it is physical. The technique is to let yourself live fully in the moment.”
Frances snorted. That wasn’t a technique, that was propaganda.
“Flat on your backs, please,” Irene said. As everyone made their way to their backs, Irene came off the platform. “Take a deep breath, engage your core, hold for three, then slowly release it.” She proceeded to stroll around the very full class, barking out instructions, having the geriatric patrons bend their legs one way then another, helping the stiffer and thicker ones move. She had them sit up and press the soles of their feet together and even forced a few of the less limber limbs into place when it proved to be beyond the skills of a patron. She even called out some graybeard named Winston, admonishing him for trying to get out of the work by using his hip replacement as an excuse.
And then she had everyone choose a partner. They faced each other on their mats, the soles of their feet touching the soles oftheir partner’s feet, their hands clasped to their partner’s hands. They were to gaze into each other’s eyes and breathe in for five counts, release for seven. “It’s aboutconnection,” Irene said, enunciating each syllable.
Frances’s partner was a woman who looked to be about her age, who instead of looking Frances in the eye, closed hers. That was fine with Frances. Her head was hurting something awful, and she didn’t think she could have any sort of connection with her partner that didn’t involve grimacing.
When the partner work was done, they were treated to Savasana, a final relaxation pose. Irene floated through the sea of mats and people, talking very softly about how pleasure was as much a spiritual exercise as it was physical.
Closing her eyes so that the pain in her head could settle felt spiritual to Frances.
“Remember,” Irene said, her voice nearby, “sex is a vital part of aging. Don’t allow anyone to tell you it’s not. The more orgasms you have, the healthier your heart, and that’s just the start of the benefits. Orgasms have been proven to improve hearing and eyesight, too.”
Bullshit, Frances thought.
She was startled by a soft kick to her hip. “Ouch,” she hissed, and opened her eyes.
Irene was leaning over her. “What are you doing, sneaking in here?” she whispered hotly.
“How did you even know I was here?” Frances whispered back.
“Are you kidding? I’d know those man feet anywhere.” Irene straightened up and continued her glide through the room, returning to the platform, and sitting cross-legged on a bolster. “Please roll carefully to your side.Carefully.I don’t want a repeat of the ambulance situation we had last week.”
Everyone dutifully rolled onto their sides and helped themselves into a comfortable seated position. Irene sent them on theirway with the news that next week, they would begin work on pelvic openers. “Help yourself to the bowl of condoms on your way out,” she said. “STDs are deadly serious at your age.”
Good Lord. All this time, Frances had thought cancer or heart disease was the scourge of old age. She rolled up her mat, then stood up, catching onto the wall, waiting for the dizziness to pass.
“You wouldn’t have that problem if you did cardio.”
She opened her eyes to see Irene standing before her, arms crossed, looking pissed.
“I do cardio, thank you.”
“Hmm,” Irene said, her eyes narrowing as she took in the full length of Frances. “You look good, Fran. A little pale, but good.”
“So do you, Irene,” Frances said. “Really good. Unfairly good.”
“So, what do you want?”
