My Neighbor Irina
Copyright© 2026 by stmiller
Chapter 2: Yoga Lessons
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 2: Yoga Lessons - When my cute new neighbor needed help with her lawnmower, why would I refuse? Her gratitude, fueled by a deep and unspoken loneliness carries us into a series of adventures where our hunger unlocks hidden desires and her identity itself poses unknown dangers.
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Cream Pie Oral Sex Big Breasts Nudism
I couldn’t believe it, my neighbor Irina, standing in the doorway of my yoga class. She seemed hesitant, lost, which is not unusual for a first-time drop-in. I excused myself from another student and walked over to her. “Hey, welcome to my class.” She smiled at me, her eyes a warm brown blend of both mischief and desire. I had no idea how she found out about this; maybe I had mentioned it in passing at some point? I couldn’t remember.
“So, this is what keeps you so busy: fit women in tight clothing?” She chuckled to herself. I found it ironic since she was wearing a pair of tight leggings and a crop top herself, and my mind wandered to a few days before when we had fucked on the lawn in her backyard. She was radiant and thick, or a little chubby even, and at around five-four, she was the perfect fun-sized woman.
“Look around.” The dozen or so people in the room were all in their thirties or later, and all had what would be called dad or mom bods, and none of us were unhealthy. “I just do this once a week, keeps me off the streets.”
“And in the sheets?”
“Not yet...,” I paused, taking her gently by the arm, “Do you need a mat?” It was a rhetorical question; she did not have one with her.
She blanked her face and tried to look serious. “Oh yes, I seem to have lost mine.”
“You’ve done yoga before?”
“No.” She winked at me, and I turned to find a clean mat in a storage cubicle and a couple of foam blocks.
“Place your mat wherever there is room.” I’m sure she would have liked to be front and center, but regulars and early-birds occupied those spots. She picked a spot in the second row off to the side, and sat down on her mat, watching me chat with some of my regular students.
My Wednesday night class was hardly popular. The daytime classes, with their high-energy music and vinyasa flow, brought in the younger students looking for regular workouts throughout the week. My class was sedentary by comparison, and most of my students were older, or more interested in a calmer, more controlled yoga experience. I tried to mix it up, and each week concentrated on a specific part of the body, like this week we were doing hip openers. Most of us had dad or mom bods, and some of them were teachers of other classes because it gave them a chance to reconnect with the heart of yoga, as I liked to call it.
I began class on time, and after the usual three OMs, we did a light meditation in Balasana. The class that night was focusing on hip openers, but I always start out with the customary eight sun salutations. I like a slow yoga, and I’m more about control, so we stand for a moment in Tadasana, move slowly into Chaturanga, extend the hips up into Adho Mukha Svanasana (with hip circles of course), back into Chaturanga, and then I like to have them try to float their feet forward to their hands and then stand again in Tadasana.
Irina was trying, but it’s hard to get the proper alignment simply from watching others. Sometimes I do the asanas with the class, and sometimes I stroll about the room, offering alignment tips. That night I hovered near her. She needed a little tap here, or a firm hand there, to straighten her arm, or drop her belly, or make sure her feet were parallel. Her crop top rose dangerously close to under-boob territory several times, and of course she wasn’t wearing a bra because she didn’t like them. I stayed focused and soft during the class, despite my imagination asserting itself a few times.
We went through some Ashwa lunges (and variations), Eka Pada Rajakapotasana, Skandasana, Malasana, and my favorite, Setu Bandha Sarvangasana, which I assisted with a foam block under her sacrum. I closed with them holding Ananda Balasana until they didn’t want to and settled into Shavasana while meditative music played. Sometimes I’ll recite something from a sutra or tantra, but I had nothing planned that night, so the class listened to some mantra by Deva Premal and Miten.
“Next week we’ll be working with our lower back, and I’m sure you’ll all be glad to know we’ll be doing Setu Bandha Sarvangasana again.”
“I love Bridge pose,” one woman exclaimed. I smiled at her.
Everyone got up and started rolling up their mats and moving to the water cooler. Except for Irina. She just remained motionless on her mat; eyes closed. I squatted next to her. “Was it that boring?”
She opened one eye and looked at me. “Hip openers? Are you trying to tell me something?”
I laughed. “Hip related injuries become much more common as we age,” I said as sagely as I could. I had become accustomed to being strictly professional while in the studio and always with students. Flirting was something I had an unwritten rule against.
“Ouch.”
I stood up and offered her my hand. She allowed me to help her stand, not that she needed it, and in a breach of my usual decorum, I leaned into her, whispering, “I’d be happy to help you open your hips some more.”
She giggled at that. “You hot yoga teachers, always preying on your students.” I feigned indignation.
“Wrong. I’m not hot.” She arched her eyebrow at me. I took her mat and sprayed it down with some cleaner and wiped it dry, before rolling it back up and putting it away again.
“Tom, five minutes?” It was Ray, the studio owner. We always went out for a beer after my class, as it was the last one of the day, on the slowest day of the week.
“Sure,” I glanced at Irina. “I ... we, we always go out after class.” She smiled warmly at that. “Would you like to join us?”
“My hips can wait.” She looked down at her bare feet. “Do your thing, I’ve got to get up early tomorrow anyway and need to get home.” I felt like she was being polite but disappointed. “It’s good to have friends.” I didn’t know what to say.
We both got our shoes on in the lobby as I said my goodbyes and the students dispersed. Irina lingered by the door. I am always careful never to presume anything having to do with touching a student (or anyone for that matter). Even assists require some level of explicit consent beyond a tap or a joint adjustment. In her case, I felt I was being overly formal when I opened my arms and asked if I could get a hug.
“Tom! What will people think?!”
“That I’m human?”
“Scandalous!” And she walked into my arms. She had a woodsy/spicy scent, mingled with her own natural odor, and feeling her warm body against mine invoked the arousal I had felt just days earlier. She had her breasts pressed against me, and it was a struggle not to grab her ass.
“I’ve never gotten involved with a student, so I’m not sure how to behave right now.”
“Why? Are you having...” she lowered her voice to a breathy whisper, “impure thoughts?”
“We left impure behind a while ago.”
“Good boy.” She kept her voice low, lending an intimate quality to the exchange. “Do you give ... private lessons?”
“Not usually, but in your case, I might make an exception.”
“How much?”
“The first one is free, but I’m sure we can make an arrangement after that.” The back lights went out as Ray locked the office door. Sadly, our hug ended.
She pulled out her phone and started tapping on it. “How does 11 on Saturday sound?” I didn’t even pull my phone out.
“Morning or night?” She gave me a look. “Morning. No problem,” I replied.
She glanced at me. “Jake is going out for the day.” She smiled and tapped her phone again. I felt my phone buzz as she waved and walked out the door. I pulled it out and had a new calendar request: 11:00 am. Saturday. Open my hips. 😉
“Who was that?” Ray asked. “I’ve never seen you like that with a student.”
“She’s my new neighbor; I helped her with her landscaping.”
“Hmmm, I’m sure she appreciates that.” He looked at me. “You know, Tom, it’s okay for you to go out with a student once in a while. You’re hardly a predator, and it might do you some good.”
“Tonight wasn’t good for her.”
Ray lifted an eyebrow and laughed. “Are you kidding me?”
“She has a son and needs to get home.” We stepped outside and Ray locked the studio door.
“Look, man, I’m just saying you’re not a monk. I know things haven’t been easy with Hazel, but it’s been seven years.” We were walking the half-block up the street to the Stumble Inn. Cliché name, but cheap beer, and we were like family.
“Yes, I know. I deserve to live a little, right?”
“I don’t mean to harp on you; I’ll give it a rest, but yes. Dammit, Tom, you do.”
“For you, Ray, I’ll do it. I’ll go out with her.”
Ray stopped outside the bar. “Wait,” his eyes narrowed. “How much did she appreciate your helping her with the landscaping?”
“Ray! I’m shocked! A gentleman would never reveal that sort of thing!” I feigned indignation and laughed.
“Good,” Ray countered, “then nothing is stopping you from telling me all about it. First beer’s on me.”
On Saturday morning, I got up earlier than usual and caught up on a little work from the time I had missed on Monday. I made my usual yogurt and fruit, and granola parfait for breakfast, and served some to Hazel, who mumbled her usual thank you. Irina would need a mat, so I took stock of my yoga mat collection.
I continued to use the same Manduka mat for years, even with its signs of wear, though I had also acquired various high-end and boutique mats and accessories. Being a minority owner of a yoga studio had some advantages. I selected a Jade for Irina. It was a high-end mat, and the favored brand of my ex, Margaret.
She ran the studio for years, and one benefit I got from it was regular yoga practice and a teaching certificate. Ray and I were the only two guys in our teacher training class (with 11 women) and after the divorce, he offered me a teaching spot at the studio after he bought it from her, or at least her part of it. As a minority owner and silent partner, I didn’t need the money, but enjoyed the teaching, so I took the late spot on Wednesdays and had been doing it ever since. He would have liked to see me teach more, but the money is in the fitness crowd, and I no longer had any interest in teaching like that.
Margaret was a fit, vivacious woman who single-handedly lifted her studio to the place to be, and be seen. We both wanted a child, but the demands of raising her caused me to quit my job to be a full-time dad. Once Hazel was a few years old, I did the teacher training and started teaching some classes, but rapidly became disillusioned with yoga as a fitness technique. Thus began a series of value shifts that led to Margaret moving to Los Angeles. We were supposed to follow in time, but her new life didn’t include either of us.
It had been seven years, and I wasn’t sure Hazel would ever recover. They talked sometimes, and it was amicable enough. I made sure it was, but there was no overlooking the underlying betrayal and abandonment. Hazel had cried and begged to live with her mother, only to be flatly refused. I had been given full custody in the divorce, and Margaret easily paid the token amount of support requested. She would never articulate why she left, only saying she was happier now.
I tried to make it up to Hazel; as if I knew what I was doing. I got into the dating scene, hoping to find someone who could end up being a maternal figure for her, but realized the ridiculousness of that idea. So, for the past seven years, I plunged myself into cybersecurity and Hazel, and kept myself busy and distracted. We vacationed occasionally in LA so Hazel could visit her mom and I could go to a conference or training.
At 10:56 I grabbed both mats and started out the side door, stopping to say goodbye to Hazel. She actually lifted her eyes from her phone. “Two mats, Dad, what’s up?”
“I have a private lesson with our new neighbor, Jake’s mom.”
“Miss Florakis? Yeah, she’s gay. I like her.”
“Oh?”
“Jake told me. He’s gay too.”
“Am I the last straight person on Earth?”
“Yeah, Dad, get with the program,” she went back to whatever she was doing on her phone.
Once out my side door, it was 23 seconds until I was standing in front of my neighbor’s house. The front of Irina’s house had a small window, the front door, and the door of her two and a half car garage, with a tall wooden gate that led to the backyard. I rang the doorbell at 10:58, and Jake, a tall, dark-haired adolescent with olive skin and dark eyes, greeted me. He was on his way out.
“Hey Mr. Sommer.”
“Hey Jake, leaving?”
“Yeah, off to hang out with my buddy.” Irina walked up behind him.
“Tom, you’re...” she glanced at her watch, “right on time.”
“I appreciate punctuality.”
“I’m sure you do. Jake, honey, I put some money on your Greenlight card, in case you guys go to the mall. You don’t have to spend all of it.”
“Sure, Mom, spend it all. Got it.” He breezed by me and out the door as we heard a car horn in the street.
“Don’t forget to shut the door on your way out.”
His voice carried from outside, “Mr. Sommer will get it”. I cocked an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged.
“Mr. Sommer will indeed get the door,” I narrated, shutting it behind me.
She flew into my arms, kissing me. One hand on my waist and the other playing with my hair. I held her and felt myself becoming aroused - not that I wasn’t earlier - but now I was noticeably aroused. She was perfect in my arms. She reached down to tug on my baggy shorts, and I could feel her grinning as we kissed.
“No hot, tight yoga pants for me? What does a girl have to do to get some eye candy?”
“If a girl is very good, she might get more than she bargained for.”
“Bargained?” she laughed. “You gave the first one away for free.” I didn’t have a ready retort for that one.
I was determined to have her do some yoga, so when we came up for breath, I disentangled myself and presented her with the Jade yoga mat. In honor of our five-day anniversary.
“Oh, Tom, I didn’t realize you were such a romantic.”
“What can I say? I’m a bad romantic,” I paused, “and I didn’t realize you were gay. Or Jake, for that matter.”
“Wha..., oh, did Jake say something to Hazel?” She looked confused. “Did she say that Jake is gay? She thinks I’m gay?” She laughed. “I might have to pay closer attention to his sleepovers.”
“If it’s any consolation, Hazel is gay too. You all have me outnumbered.”
“Tom, don’t you think it’s time to get with the agenda?”
“Aha! They were right. There is an agenda!”
“Yes, after we visit the Subaru dealership, we can shop at IKEA.”
“Well, when you put it like that, being gay sounds appealing.”
“Yeah. Now I’m wondering if it’s too late to sign up?”
“I don’t think it’s ever too late, but what’s up with our kids and why does Jake think you’re gay?”
“His dad ... since his dad left...” she trailed off, seeming uncomfortable. I felt like I had struck a nerve and regretted saying anything. “My ex-husband was ... difficult. Jake likes to tease me; he turned me gay.”
“It’s okay, Irina, you don’t have to explain anything unless you want to.” I moved in to hold her. “I’ll take you the way you are, no questions asked.” She settled her head against my chest, and we stood like that for a few moments, enjoying the silence and the closeness.
I do not know how long it took for her to come up with it, but the first words out of her mouth after that were: “I feel like I’m in an episode of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood.”
“Young lady, do not mock Saint Fred. Blasphemy.”
“IxNay on the OckeryMay, got it. Pinkie promise.” She held out her curled right pinky, and I returned the gesture. Naturally, I had questions about her ex and what had happened to this playful, charming woman afterwards, but she seemed comfortable with me, so I figured I’d let everything unfold in due time.
“Besides, Fred Rogers rarely fucks his neighbors.” I waited a beat, “but if he did, it would be a booty-full day in the neighborhood.”
She giggled and rolled her eyes at me. “OK, Mr. Sensei, where do we begin?”
“Well, we’ll roll out our mats...” I looked for a suitable hard surface, although it’s not a requirement. Mats weren’t even a requirement, but I was a bit of a traditionalist. The tiled kitchen floor was not the best surface, but it would do. “Over there in the kitchen.” As we walked in that direction, I explained she shouldn’t feel the need to buy any fancy clothing; “anything that is comfortable and doesn’t restrict movement is OK.”
“Oh, thank God, I hate tight clothing. I can’t even stand wearing a bra,” and with that, she took off her clothes. “Ah, much better.” I was getting far too distracted and losing my determination. I wanted to take her then and there, bent over the kitchen table.
“Yes, you look comfortable.” I tried, and somewhat succeeded in not staring at her breasts like I did last time. “At least now we aren’t dripping with sweat.”
“I’m just a big, fluffy cushion.” I watched her in silence as she unrolled her mat. “Where do you want me?”
‘On my cock’ sprang to mind, but I told her, “There is fine,” and unrolled my mat next to hers. We started out with basic sun salutations, and I decided not to use Sanskrit names. I explained that if all she ever got from yoga were these basic poses, she’d be doing well. She said Mountain was her favorite, complained about Plank (like many people), thought downward doggie was fun, and by the time we had done eight of those, we were both breathing faster. I had sped it up to make it a little easier.
“When do we get to the tantric stuff?” she blurted out.
“Tantric? Where did you get that?”
“Cosmopolitan.” A mischievous smile spread across her face. “Please tell me you’re luring me into a tantra cult to make me your sex slave.”
“Damnit woman! How did you guess?” I tried to feign indignation, but wasn’t sure I did a very convincing job. I leaned closer to her and whispered, “Is it working?”
“You’re off to a promising start,” she answered before giving me a quick kiss.
“Um, this kind of yoga isn’t precisely tantric.” I wanted to explain, but it was complicated. “I mean, it’s not not-tantra, but tantra is more a philosophy and another path to enlightenment, despite what you’ve read in Cosmopolitan Magazine.” But she threw me off with that one, and I started thinking.
I had read several Tantras and had even attended a training retreat in Las Vegas to become a tantric master. “Commercialized and superficial with a thin veneer of Hinduism” was how I described it, but I still got a certificate and even learned about some fun sex techniques I had never gotten to use. The self-styled guru who led the retreat had been convicted of fraud and rape not long after.
Through my further studies, I learned that tantra, or at least the tantra that I ended up working with, was essentially ‘liberation through sense enjoyment’. Sex and intercourse were in the mix, but so was food, and beautiful art, and music, and any other thing that brought us pleasure. Or pain. All of it was offered to the divine, and we are the sacrifice. I found myself wanting to share this with Irina.
“Hello, earth to Tom,” I heard her say.
In my momentary reverie, she had lain on her side, elbow on the mat supporting her head, just looking at me. Her curvy body, with its hills and valleys stretched out, stole my resolve. Fuck it, I was going to try something new. She perked up as I took off my shorts, boxers, and shirt, and my semi-erect member popped out and started slowly bobbing.
“Now you’re talking,” she purred as her free hand reached out. I sighed as she placed her fingers on the head and lightly stroked it, running her thumb down the shaft and back up again. She was rewarded with a fully hardened prick and a small drop of pre-cum glistening at the tip, which she rubbed into the head with her thumb. She seemed fascinated by it. Being circumcised, there was no foreskin to contend with; what she saw was what she got.
I enjoyed her exploration for a moment and then got back to it. “Plenty of time for that later. For now, more of your lesson.”
“Such a cruel taskmaster ... take pity on me.” She furrowed her face in a frown and batted her eyes at me, all while sliding her curved fingers up and down my shaft. I almost gave in, but I had ideas, and I was determined to try them.
I moved back, out of reach. “Get on your hands and knees.” She flashed disappointment on her face, but then eagerly complied.
“You’re going to show me another doggy position?”
“Irina. You’re going to be the end of me.” I took a deep breath, tempted to just kneel behind her, but steadied myself instead. “We’re going to start with cat-cow.” I made sure her knees and hands were in proper alignment, because even in fun I still took my yoga seriously. “Now arch your back, suck your belly up, and lower your head. That’s cat.” I let her stay like that for a moment. “Now, bring your lower back and belly down and raise your face to look upward. That’s cow.”