From my spirit self's position in the corner of the room, I could look down at my own body, naked and folded into a classic meditation position. I was breathing so slowly and shallowly that I might well have been mistaken for that bronze statue I had once been compared with.
Satisfied that I was stable and comfortable, I flew out through the wall in pursuit of my intended. I was following his psychic signature, something I had carefully identified earlier, while I was carefully not acknowledging his hot eyes watching me when we were both perspiring in the gym.
His trace was easy enough to follow. Almost without thought, I sped over the dark city. My destination was a house in the suburbs displaying all the trappings of wealth: original artwork on the walls, a designer kitchen with all the equipment - although showing little signs of regular use - a total of three tastefully expensive cars in the garage, and tellingly - although I should not have been surprised - a room equipped with mirrors and weights and workout machines. There must have been some other reason for his presence at the gym. I grinned to myself at the obvious implications.
Despite the lateness of the hour, my intended was not asleep: on the bed, yes, but definitely not in the arms of Morpheus. Instead he was in the arms - and other more intimate places - of a tall, slender woman, no doubt widely regarded as both sexy and elegant. She was, I could see, a remarkably flexible and compliant person, both able and willing to contort herself into some imaginative positions in order to accommodate her partner. Indeed, she looked as if she practiced at least the debased modern forms of the exercises I too favored.
More coming soon...
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