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The Louisville trip begins; Tim is ready to massage.

As each woman arrived, she greeted them with a smile, offering them a wrapped gift of robe, incense, passcard key and printed card of instructions. Although phones were never allowed inside the studio, she made it clear that there would be no photography or videos permitted for the naked sessions.

They were asked to undress in the locker room and enter the studio with their robe, with the belief it would make the transition less difficult. With nothing to guide them, everything in those early days was an experiment. As the classes became more routine, and they needed fewer incentives, they stopped offering robes. The naked classes never were scheduled at the same time as any others, so having to cover up became superfluous.

She watched from a window they had installed high above her desk. It required a short stair to a platform, and even then, she sat on a high stool. As expected, Ashely was the first to disrobe and was least self-conscious. She stood at the top of her mat, at the front of the others, casually exposing her dark muff of hair and letting her breasts hang free. She set the tone for the others, who seemed self-conscious until they saw her. Even Toni, the Type 1, was hesitant for a few minutes until Ashely engaged her in casual conversation, apparently oblivious to her nudity.

It's not like they hadn't seen each other naked-they showered and dressed together, at least the ones who had taken classes before-and they were obviously friends: Ashely had invited all of them. So, this seemed like the right formula.

The group's mood changed when Yogi Jacob entered the room. He greeted them warmly, dressed in his tunic, but they all froze, momentarily suffering self-conscious embarrassment at being naked in front of a dressed man. They busied themselves at their mats, looking down and away as he pulled his tunic up and over his head. Except the Type 1 and 3. They both stared at him, surprised at seeing his penis was still covered, before readying themselves at the top of their mats.

The class went well-very well given it was their first. They discussed it later that day at the bar.

"Thoughts?" She sipped at her cocktail, remembering back to the scenes in the studio. She had pages of notes, but wanted to hear his impressions.

"It went well, I thought." He stared at the wine in his glass, thinking. "I'm not sure I understood the differences between Ashely and Morgan. You keep saying they're different types, but I couldn't tell as I was facilitating."

She nodded. They couldn't have been more different, but she saw that he had been trying to treat them the same and it was confusing the situation. She had a few notes on that.

"Do you know if they were aroused afterward? You know I can't tell." He took a sip appraising the wine.

She had drifted into the locker room under the pretense of changing for the next class and tried to get a sense of the Zeitgeist. It was another set of notes. Oddly, they seemed much calmer than if they'd been dressed.

"I kept it as standard as I could muster. The markings helped, by the way. I could feel when I was heading off the trail. It was challenging. I found that interesting."

She smiled. His introspection wasn't as much about the women as it was about his own teaching.

"So," she began, "here's what I saw." She walked him through a slew of observations, noting their hesitancies, where they were self-conscious, when they moved into the flow, how they studied each other surreptitiously, who presented themselves and who remained restrained. She went through the post-session observations, how the locker room smelled less intensely than during normal classes and their level of meditative daze.

He was surprised at the number of notes and at her level of inspection, realizing again she brought a completely different sensibility to the endeavor from him.

"But," she continued, "I think we can make some improvements.

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