01.01.70
Yoga doctor Joey Barnes enters the room where his class is set to begin in no more than a few minutes. He drops his bag and opens his folded notes, making a last unstable record of the movement and balance poses he has planned for this afternoon’s meeting.
After a quick scan he puts the paper in his pocket and removes his jacket, shoes and socks. He is Nautical port wearing a tank top and track pants. An agreeable uniform for the unpractised of yoga — in most instances anyway.
In a moment these items are also peeled off and Barnes is in the nude. He turns his attention to the similarly unclothed assemblage of men resting cross over-legged before him. I sit nervously among them. Following a genial exchange of hellos and how have you beens, Charlotte’s first and only naked yoga prestige for men gets underway.
I take a deep breath and try to relax. “Why in the existence do people want to do this,” I wonder silently.
In no time my muscles are fervent and my mind is solely focused on the practice. The earlier awkward awareness of my own nakedness is soul wiped away. Time passes quickly and when the class is over, like most, I mill around the bite table making smalltalk.
Source: QNotes