The studio was called Balance, a converted warehouse with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and a heating system that turned the room into a greenhouse. I’d been coming for two months — partner acrobatics, because my therapist had said “trust exercises” and because my husband, Richard, had said “it’ll be good for your anxiety.”
Sloane was the instructor’s assistant. Twenty-nine. A former circus performer who could lift grown men with one hand and had a habit of looking at me like I was a trapeze she was deciding whether to catch. She wore gray tank tops that showed her shoulders and black leggings that showed the strength in her thighs. And she had a habit of “adjusting” my position with a hands-on approach that was either therapeutic or completely inappropriate.
Tonight was partner night. The class had paired off — me with Sloane, because Richard was in the waiting room answering emails and because Sloane had said “you need a base you can trust.”
The pose was called “The Throne.” I was lifted off the ground, my legs wrapped around Sloane’s waist, my hands on her shoulders, my entire weight supported by her hands on my hips. It was supposed to be a trust exercise. It was supposed to build communication. It was supposed to be over in thirty seconds.
It wasn’t.
“Your husband is in the waiting room,” I whispered, looking down at her from above. My heart was hammering, my sports bra soaked through, my legs trembling where they wrapped around her. “This is supposed to be partner yoga. And your hands are on my thighs, not my hips. You’re supposed to be spotting me. Not pressing your fingers into my skin. Not sliding higher. Not—”
Sloane didn’t speak. She just leaned in, her cheek pressing against my inner thigh, her hands sliding from my hips to my thighs, gripping with a strength that was completely at odds with the gentleness of her face.
“If the class walks in from the break,” I breathed, my voice echoing in the empty studio, “they’ll see me wrapped around you with your mouth on my stomach. They’ll see your hands inside my leggings and me completely off the ground with nowhere to go. They’ll see that I’m not doing yoga. I’m just hanging here while you—”
She turned my face down toward her with a hand on my jaw. Her mouth found mine. A kiss that tasted like trust and betrayal and the exact moment when balance becomes falling. Her tongue slid against mine, her hand sliding from my jaw to my throat to the waistband of my leggings, pulling them down with a slowness that was completely devastating.
The studio door opened.
“Hey, back from break!” A regular — Jen, a lawyer who always came with her husband. “Oh, wow! The Throne! That looks amazing! Can we try?”
Sloane didn’t pull away. She just pressed her other hand over my mouth, her fingers still sliding inside my leggings, her eyes locked on mine.
“Just finishing a private adjustment, Jen!” Sloane called out, her voice perfectly steady, completely at odds with the fingers that were currently pressing inside me. “Give us two minutes!”
“Sure! We’ll warm up!”
The door closed. Sloane looked at me. I was still lifted, my legs wrapped around her, completely at her mercy.
“Your center of gravity just shifted,” she whispered against my mouth, her thumb circling my clit, her fingers curling inside me with a rhythm that matched my heartbeat. “And I’m the only one who can catch you.”
She made me come while holding me in the air. Her fingers inside me, her mouth on my breast, my legs wrapped around her waist, the mirrors showing every angle of my destruction. I came with her hand over my mouth, my cry swallowed by her palm, my body shaking so hard that she had to tighten her grip to keep me from falling.
After, she lowered me down. Gently. Like I was made of glass.
“Same time Thursday?” she asked.
I nodded. I couldn’t speak.
I still go to Balance. Richard still waits in the waiting room. And every partner night, Sloane lifts me into The Throne and shows me exactly what trust means. She says my balance has improved. She says I no longer flinch when she catches me.
She’s right. I don’t flinch. I just hold on tighter.
