u/madiinclass

I've been going to this hot yoga studio near my apartment for about six months now. It's the only thing that keeps me sane between 12-hour nursing shifts and trying to remember which medications interact with grapefruit. The heat, the sweat, the stretching—it all helps me turn my brain off for an hour.

There's this guy in my Tuesday night class. Let's call him Marcus. Six-foot-something, built like he actually uses the gym equipment instead of just taking mirror selfies, always sets up his mat in the back corner. I've been stealing glances at him for weeks, watching his muscles flex during downward dog, wondering if he notices me too.

Last Tuesday was brutal. I'd worked a double shift at the nursing home 16 hours of lifting patients, cleaning wounds, and trying to explain to Mr. Henderson for the hundredth time that he couldn't eat his own hearing aid. By the time I dragged myself to yoga, I was running on fumes and a gas station burrito I'd scarfed down in my car.

The class started normal enough. The instructor cranked the heat to 105 degrees, and within ten minutes we were all drenched. I was trying to focus on my breathing, but my stomach was making these ominous gurgling sounds. That gas station burrito was not sitting well.

We moved into a sequence of twists—seated spinal twists, reclined twists, anything to wring out the tension in your spine. I was in a deep reclined twist, right knee crossed over left, both shoulders flat on the mat, when I felt it building. That pressure. That inevitable release.

I tried to clench. I tried to shift my position. But I'd also been holding it for the entire 45-minute class because I was too embarrassed to walk across the studio to the bathroom in my soaked leggings.

It happened during a revolved chair pose. I was twisted, squatting, my body compressed in exactly the wrong way. The sound that came out of me was... not human. It was like a tuba drowning. Like someone stepped on a whoopee cushion filled with wet cement. It echoed off the studio walls, cutting through the instructor's calm voice.

The entire class went silent. Twenty people in various states of sweaty contortion, all turning to look at the blonde nursing student who'd just ripped the loudest fart in yoga history.

I wanted to die. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. I was calculating how quickly I could roll up my mat and flee when I heard it—laughter. Not mocking laughter. Deep, genuine, delighted laughter.

From the back corner.

Marcus was laughing. Not at me, but... almost with appreciation? He caught my eye and winked, then gave me a thumbs up like I'd just scored a touchdown.

The instructor cleared her throat and moved us into child's pose. I kept my face buried in my mat for the rest of class, cheeks burning hotter than the studio temperature.

After class, I was shoving my mat into my bag as fast as possible, ready to sprint to my car, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"That was impressive," Marcus said, grinning down at me. "Most people hold that kind of thing in until they're alone. Takes guts to let go like that."

"I am so sorry," I stammered. "I worked a double and ate something sketchy and—"

"Don't apologize," he interrupted, his voice dropping lower. "I thought it was hot, honestly. Confidence is sexy. Even accidental confidence."

I stared at him, sure I was being punked. "You're messing with me."

"Not at all." He pulled out his phone. "Let me make it up to you. Coffee? Or Thai food—seems like you need a real meal."

I gave him my number. I don't know why. Maybe it was the shock. Maybe it was the way he was looking at me like I hadn't just committed social suicide in front of twenty strangers.

He texted me that night: "Hope you're not still embarrassed. Seriously though, that was the cutest thing I've seen all week."

Cute. He called my nuclear fart cute.

We've been texting nonstop since. He wants to take me out Saturday. And I'm terrified because I actually like him, and now I have to figure out if he was just being nice or if... well.

Part 2: I found his Reddit account. Let's just say his interests are very specific.

okay so this is embarrassing as hell but i can’t stop thinking about it

i’m 25, nursing student, working nights at the nursing home. last week around 3am i was in the break room by myself trying to eat some leftover pasta. my stomach had been weird all shift from the hospital cafeteria food earlier and i thought i was alone.

i let one rip. like a long, loud, warm one that echoed off the walls. i froze mid-bite. before i could even pretend it was the chair or something, the new night tech walked in holding his coffee.

he just looked at me, smirked a little, and said “damn that sounded serious.”

i turned bright red and tried to laugh it off but he sat down across from me like nothing happened. five minutes later i felt another one coming and couldn’t hold it. this one was quieter but longer and he definitely heard it again because he glanced up and bit his lip trying not to smile.

i was so mortified i left the room. but the whole rest of the shift every time we passed each other in the hallway i kept thinking about it and getting weirdly turned on.

now i keep wondering if he’s thinking about it too.

anyone else ever been caught like that at work and kinda liked it??

Night shifts in the hospital mean drinking way too much cheap coffee and eating whatever quick snacks are in the breakroom. About eight hours into my shift, my stomach started making those awful, low rumbling noises that you can feel in your chest.

I tried doing subtle adjustments at the nurses' station and squeezing tight every time I had to answer a call light, but by 3:00 AM, the bloating was unbearable. I ducked into the tiny, quiet breakroom thinking I was completely alone to finally let out a massive, room-shaking release.

Right as it ended, the door swung open and my coworker walked straight into the cloud...