Recently I have come to a realization about myself that is startling to me, but not in an unpleasant way. Allow me to begin where all stories should begin: at the beginning.
I had always considered myself the opposite of touchy-feely when it comes to physical contact with others. Even in past relationships, I wasn’t much of a cuddler, snuggler or toucher in general. It often felt just… well, unnecessary I guess. And uncomfortable. I hated the way my fingers would fall asleep if they were interlaced with someone else’s, how sweaty my and my partner’s palms could get when holding hands, or how my skin would stick to their skin if we were cuddling sans clothing. So I wrote myself off as a non-touchy person. It didn’t bother me (although it practically goes without saying that it bothered my past partners) – I just figured that’s the way I was.
But lately I have realized that either something has changed in me, or my current circumstances are bringing out a side in me that I didn’t know I possessed. I want to be touched. Not by just anyone mind you, but I have found that even the touch of a friend’s hand on my shoulder, or hugging someone dear to me—I crave it. It brings me a small moment of solace, of comfort and connection. Even that small moment is sometimes enough to ground me again, to bring me back to a more rational place where I know I can make it through anything that comes my way in life.
I can only imagine what her touch—and touching her—will do to me. I hope she’s ready… because I sure as hell am!