Jesse and I sit on yoga mats in the living room.

We moved the coffee table back to give us space in front of my big-screen TV, which plays a video link our new mindful yoga instructor provided us with during our first session on Tuesday.

This is apparently how we’ll be spending our Friday night.

I haven’t been ecstatic about pursuing something that seems wooey…hokey, even. Hell, I’ve never been flexible, so yoga was never something I was all that great at. But when Troy brought it up again in a session Jesse sat in on, the way Jesse’s eyes lit up, I knew he was excited about the idea of doing something outside of an office environment. Admittedly, so was I.

It’s nice being able to do it together…because everything’s better with Jesse.

My eyes are closed as Carolyn, our instructor, guides us through a meditation that encourages us to listen to different parts of our bodies. In our first session, she called this a body scan—listening to parts of my body being the goal.

She described her program as a combination of mindfulness and yoga. She’ll work with Jesse and me as a couple, guiding us through meditation processes and yoga positions she claims will help me become less judgmental toward my body—to relax into the sensations within me when I focus on different parts of it. It’s about adjusting to the sensations and thoughts that arise when I’m triggered by anything that comes up because of the encounter I had at sixteen.

Also, when discussing the specifics of my situation with Carolyn, she echoed Troy’s encouragement about this approach potentially helping me reach my real goal—getting to the place where I can bottom for Jesse, give myself fully to him in the way I want to. Not only because he wants it, but because I want him that way.

I want to be totally open to him, vulnerable, to trust him in a way we haven’t explored yet. Any tension or discord that stands between us is more than I care for, and if this mindful yoga bullshit will help me get there, I’m in. However, as I sit here, legs crossed in whatever the fuck they call this position, I have to admit I’m not all that receptive to Carolyn’s directions, just as I wasn’t all that keen about it in our session this week.

“I invite you to pay attention to the sensation in your hips and torso…and to listen to your breaths in a way that is comfortable to you,” she says in her high-pitched voice. It can be somewhat annoying, but there’s something disarming about her gentle guidance. Still, I don’t like the idea of relaxing at her encouragement, even if she is just a recording. I’ve never liked taking directions, and I enjoyed them even less when we worked on these initial poses that first day.

“If you’d like to open your eyes now, I’ll be walking you through a gentle movement,” Carolyn says.

I open my eyes, seeing on the screen her bright maroon-dyed hair as she sits on her yoga mat in a neon-green shirt and black leggings.

I turn to Jesse, whose lips are pressed together tightly as he watches the video as though he’s learning how to fix a clogged garbage disposal rather than how to navigate the next meditation.

He closes his eyes and takes deep, steady breaths. “If you want, explore the sensations in your feet…your toes,” she says, but all I can do is watch the way Jesse’s chest pushes out and pulls back in. He’s shirtless, in just gym shorts, which bulge with his thick cock.

God, he’s so beautiful.

I love how vulnerable he is in this moment. How he’s able to let go and appreciate a video like this. It reminds me of the way he is when we fuck—open and receptive. It’s that carefree part of him that I envy…because it’s so amazing.

That he’s doing this with me makes this moment that much more special.

More than this, the way he’s there for me, coming to therapy sessions and being present like he was three weeks ago when I needed him so badly for that CPT exercise, means more than he could ever possibly understand.

Jesse’s my fucking hero.

He follows the instructions in the video, closing his eyes and resuming with the meditation. I want to give him shit for how seriously he’s taking it, yet his own commitment makes me realize that I need to follow suit.

I awkwardly get into the position and take a breath, closing my eyes, focusing on the soft tune in the background of the video, especially as Carolyn stops directing us. I’ve never enjoyed sitting still with my thoughts like this. I prefer being busy, in the middle of something, especially trying to reach some goal, trying to become a better person.

“If you can, listen to your movement,” Carolyn prods. “Try and really focus on what you’re experiencing right now.”

Everything feels tense and knotted up, which Carolyn said would happen initially, but I don’t like it, especially sitting here with it.

Of course I’m tense. I have so many things in my life to be stressed about. I run a fucking empire. That’s not easy, especially when I’m so far away from San Diego, where I’m used to running my company from. Now I’m working remotely…but at least I have two of the best fucking reasons in the world—Jesse and my son.

“It’s okay. Your thoughts will drift, and when they do, pull back to focusing on your breathing as best you can,” Carolyn says.

How the fuck can anyone do this shit without their thoughts drifting?

I continue sitting in silence…but different thoughts begin to crop up—thoughts I prefer to chase away. I open my eyes once again and sneak a peek at Jesse.

He seems unfazed as he’s relaxed on his mat. I watch him like some kind of predator before he smirks.

“I can feel you watching me.” One eye pops open, and he peers at me as that smirk expands into a grin. “I don’t think the program is going to do us much good if you can’t meditate for five minutes. We haven’t even gotten to the hard part yet.”

“I’m shit at all this.”

“Eric, it’s not about being good. As Carolyn said, it’s about listening to your body and trying to be more attuned to it.”

Yeah, I was there too. I heard her talk about what sounded like a bunch of New Age crap. But even when I was resisting, Carolyn soothed me by talking about her fifteen-year experience as a counseling psychologist, working specifically with patients dealing with sexual trauma.

And the more she discussed what mindful yoga was all about—becoming more aware of my body, in tune with it—the less resistant I became, especially considering part of my issue deals with how my body was treated…what I was forced to do.

“You’re not even going to try it?” Jesse asks.

“I am trying it. This is me trying it.”

He glares at me, knowing I’m bullshitting him right now.

I sigh as Carolyn begins the yoga portion of the video. I go with it, swaying my body side to side, hands over my head, imitating her in an overdramatic way.

Jesse moves more naturally, shaking his head. “You are totally going to throw out your hip that way.”

“Are you saying that because I’m older than you?”

“I’m saying that because you’re not taking it very seriously.” He’s being playful, but I can tell he’s being sincere too. He doesn’t appreciate that I’m not giving this my all.

I’m being an asshole about this because there’s still a part of me that doesn’t want to explore this.

I remind myself of why I’m really doing this: for Jesse.

Because I love him.

Because he wants this, and because if anything can possibly help me get to the point of sharing with him that intimacy I desire—crave—I’m willing to give it a chance.

I do my best to follow the video prompts and not goof off as we work our way through a few different positions. In one instance, I’m trying to position my legs the way Carolyn has them knotted up in the video, and I glance over at Jesse’s mat and see that he’s effortlessly twisted in the correct position.

Well, close enough.

With one leg tucked near his chin, it’s as though he’s displaying his ass for me.

I try to get my leg as close to my chin as Jesse has his, but I’m not nearly as flexible, and it frustrates me knowing he’s better at this than me.

“What is this circus acrobatic act, and why have you been hiding this up until now?” I ask.

He laughs. “I didn’t think I was this flexible until we were doing these, but I’m not too bad, am I?”

“I could have told you that you’re pretty flexible, but this makes me feel like you’ve been hiding this Cirque du Soleil act from me. I think I’m going to have to be a little more demanding from now on.”

“When haven’t you been demanding?” As we switch positions so that he’s sitting up again, he adds, “But you know I like the demands.”

My gaze settles on his crotch once again, and I notice he’s gotten a little hard. I growl softly.

“Focus, Eric.”

I obey, working my way into the next position, more manageable, on my side. Then Carolyn asks us to reflect on our bodies once again in silence.

In this moment, though I find Carolyn’s voice annoying, I miss the sound of it where she would give some sort of instruction.

I’m rarely silent. When I’m working in my office or even jogging, I’m usually listening to music. Seems like now I know why.

In the quiet, paying attention to my body, something unsettling rises up within me. It reminds me of the nightmares I have, this thing chasing me that in some ways I’m always running from, like if I sit still too long, it will somehow seize control, possess my mind, and before I know it, I will be this completely other person than the man I’ve come to know all these forty-three years of my life.

Such a silly exercise should be easy enough, but the silence becomes more and more agonizing as it stretches out.

When Carolyn directs us to sit back up, Jesse’s gaze catches mine, and he asks, “Are you okay?”

Is it that transparent how bothered I am by this? Like I was that night before we worked on the exercise Troy gave me?

My concern about Jesse reading my discomfort is overshadowed by that compassionate expression on his face.

“It is a little difficult,” I admit.

“She said it’ll get easier, though.”

“I know it will, Jesse. It’s frustrating not being good at something.”

“Well, how about once we’re done with something you’re not good at, we can do something you’re really good at?”

He’s trying to cheer me up, and considering how my cock is lengthening in my shorts, it’s clearly working.

“I like the sound of that.”

He crawls over to me.

“Do you mind if I kiss you?” he asks, his eyes lit up, his smile broad. “See? I’m already working on this stuff.”

He’s talking about the affirmative consent he discussed with Troy and Carolyn. It’s all about Jesse asking for my permission before making physical contact, making sure I’m comfortable. They say it will help with our communication, and what I thought was stupid, because I love his touch so much, I realize makes such a difference because it makes me feel more at ease when he asks first. It reminds me that he cares about me—my feelings and my body. And just as amazing, he doesn’t make me feel like I’m wrong or needy for appreciating it.

“If you don’t fucking kiss me right now, I’m going to be pissed,” I tell him.

“Does that mean you’re going to hate-fuck me? Because then I might have to withhold it just for that.”

“Kiss me,” I tell him, and he pushes his lips up against mine. The anxiety, the tension that I’ve been feeling during this video, starts to dissipate.

I wrap my arms around him and guide him so that his back is on the mat. Spreading out on top of him, I force my lips from his and pull back, gazing down at him.

Carolyn’s voice continues droning on and on in the background.

“I think we’re going to have to take a break from this,” I say as I feel his girth against my pelvis.

“Yeah, we can definitely get to it later.” He grabs the back of my head, pulling me down to him so I can feel his own need, his own desperation for what I crave so badly right now.