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Touching Allowed

The idea of touch has been fascinating me recently. How much we touch, how much we are touched,  how often we refrain, even when our hand is about to reach out and we stop. Its odd because sometimes what can be said in touch is simply muddled with words. I have never liked to be touched. Its difficult for me to accept new people into my space and it creates this unease within me that I can't quite explain. For me touch is something you have to get to know, have to be comfortable with, a small pat on the arm is earned because a trust is developed. I have cuddling friends and we got to that point because we are just that close, but it takes time. A comfort that evolves just as anything else. A hand on the small of your back that guides you through the room. A consoling pat on the thigh. Fingers intertwined briefly in a conversation. A burst of excitement as two palms slap in a high-five. A leg that rests gently against yours under the table...

So, I suppose this is my ode to touch. A small snippet...

The morning light streams through the thin curtains. My eyes are from still heavy from my quickly fading dream. Something about a trip. I am driving in a car that is not mine towards the rising sun, dawn to be exact the moment before the sun pierces your eyes and you have to turn away. I'm on a lone rode, a divider of large rust colored mountains, mountains that tower over me and make me realize I'm completely alone and not sure where I'm going. Already though, I'm forgetting the detail, I can only remember the sensation. I think that maybe if I close my eyes for a moment I can continue on the road and come back to reality a little later. 


I lull back into a lucid sleep and don't notice the bed shift. I'm brought back with a light fingertip. A fingertip that begins to glide, slowly, down the base of my neck and follows the path of my spine. I don't want to open my eyes, but I stare at the reddened backs of my eyelids and exhale slowly. My breath tickles the strands of hair that have fallen into my face. Slowly, almost painfully the light touch makes its way down to the base of my back, just above the the sheet that is the only barrier between us. He draws a small circle, hovering, then travels back up just as slowly. 


Tiny tinges dance across my skin, each one multiplying and moving from the center out. I sigh when he stops at my neck and gently kisses my shoulder blade. The weight of my eyes is almost too much, but I have to turn. Turn to see his face and take in the way he touches me with his eyes. 

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