Maxie Langford was not built for yoga. Her body was built for sarcasm, wine, and sarcastically drinking wine while pretending to stretch. But Step Nine of the 100 Steps to Sexual Enlightenment demanded more:
> "To master the body is to master the game. Take on a new position every day. Find which ones summon your inner goddess. (Caution: avoid anything that rhymes with 'corkscrew'.)"
So naturally, Maxie signed up for something called "Tantric Flex Yoga Fusion" at the community center.
It was taught by a man named River who wore mesh harem pants, had a ponytail braided with crystals, and greeted everyone with a hug that lasted just too long. The studio smelled like patchouli and unresolved daddy issues.
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The First Position: Downward Misery
"Breathe into your pelvis," River intoned.
Maxie tried, but it felt like her pelvis had filed a formal complaint. Her legs trembled, her core whined, and she could feel her butt doing something entirely unapproved by science.
A woman beside her was casually doing a split while humming. Maxie was fairly certain she was levitating.
"Your body holds trauma in the hips," River continued. "Release it."
Maxie nearly released a fart. She clamped down heroically.
When the session ended, River handed her a flyer for his upcoming retreat: Unshackle the Chakras: Nude Fire Dancing and Celibate Bondage for Beginners.
She declined.
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The Second Position: Cowgirl (Modified with Couch Involvement)
After her yoga trauma, Maxie returned home and consulted her notebook. She decided to try the classics: cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, mermaid dive, and something she'd bookmarked called "The Flamingo" but instantly regretted.
She dragged out her couch for a test run.
She straddled an imaginary partner and bounced gently.
SQUEEAAAAAK.
"Nope."
Again.
SQUEAK-SQUEAK.
"Oh hell no."
She stopped, stood, and stared at the couch like it had personally betrayed her. Then she remembered a hack from her friend Carla: WD-40, or a well-placed throw pillow under the joint.
She tried both.
This time, she managed a full simulated cowgirl bounce with only a mild groan from the upholstery.
"Victory," she whispered, wiping sweat from her brow. "Now... add the toy."
---
Enter the Whimsical Whisker: Encore Performance
Still tender from Step Eight's encounter with the turbo bunny, Maxie kept it on setting two.
As she slowly moved through the motions, she practiced different angles, grinds, and even a little hair-tossing for dramatic effect.
Then she caught her reflection in the mirror.
She looked like a very determined sea lion trying to win a talent competition.
She laughed so hard she fell off the couch.
And promptly landed on her vibrator.
---
The Third Position: Wallflower Warrior
Next, she tried something more vertical.
She turned to the wall, braced her hands against it, and tried to arch her back seductively.
Unfortunately, her cat chose that exact moment to leap onto her shoulders.
Chaos.
The cat yowled, she screamed, the vibrator buzzed its own funeral dirge, and somehow, a candle tipped over, igniting a decorative scarf.
Maxie managed to smother the flame with a throw pillow, but her living room now smelled faintly of burnt polyester and lube.
"This," she gasped, lying on the floor, limbs sprawled like a cautionary tale, "is why people just do missionary."
---
Unexpected Position: Power Nap with Vibrations
After cleaning up the mess, she curled up with the Whimsical Whisker and accidentally discovered her new favorite position: lying on her stomach, one leg bent like a flamingo, pillow between thighs, vibrator under hip.
She didn't even climax. She just vibrated into a nap. And woke up with a small pool of drool and the vaguest sense of spiritual clarity.
---
Her journal entry that night:
> Step Nine: Flexibility is a lie invented by bendy people. I'll take control, support, and a sturdy headboard instead.
Also, I may have sexually awakened something in my couch. I am both proud and afraid.