Jamaican Sunrise
"Yoga instructor Serena leads dawn sessions on the cliffs above Negril—and when stressed lawyer Jonathan joins her retreat, she bends him into positions he never knew existed."
Dawn broke over the Negril cliffs as Serena moved through her sun salutation. Her thick body flowed like water, proving yoga wasn't just for the slim.
Jonathan watched from his mat, distracted. The lawyer had come to Jamaica to decompress. He was finding new stress entirely.
"Eyes on yuh practice," she called. "Not on mi batty."
Caught.
After class, she approached. "Yuh form is terrible. Yuh need private sessions."
"I didn't mean to stare—"
"Everybody stares. Is fine." She smiled, dark eyes sparkling. "But yuh spine is a disaster. Come to mi cottage tonight. Seven PM."
Her cottage overlooked the cliffs. Candles, incense, floor cushions. She wore almost nothing—just enough to be decent.
"Lie down. Let mi assess yuh body."
Her hands moved over him, finding knots he didn't know he had. Professional. Thorough.
Then less professional.
"This muscle," she murmured, hand traveling lower, "very tense."
"Serena—"
"Shh. Let me work."
She worked him with hands, then mouth, then that thick body sliding over his like the ultimate stretch.
"Breathe," she instructed, sinking onto him. "In... out... in... out..."
He breathed. He moved. He lost all concept of stress entirely.
"Yes! Hold that position! Right there!"
She showed him poses he'd never seen in any yoga book. Her thick thighs had strength that made him gasp. Her flexibility was weapon-grade.
"Mi specialize in stress relief," she panted. "Feel relieved?"
"I feel everything."
"Good. Now flip over. Next position."
A week of private sessions. His spine was perfect. His stress was gone. His heart was Serena's.
"Stay," she said on his last morning.
"My firm—"
"Email resignation. Work with mi. Be at peace."
He emailed. He stayed.
Now they teach together on those cliffs.
Sunrise yoga. Sunset passion.
Jamaica gave him new life.
Serena gave him everything else.