Two years ago, I started speaking to someone, and getting vulnerable the way you do when conversation flows easily. We naturally landed on the subject of touch – specifically, the absence of it. He spoke openly about how the only meaningful touch he was receiving at the time, came from his young son.
I opened up too. I told him what I missed, and he agreed with everything I mentioned: being hugged, touched deliberately, kissed on the forehead, and even on the elbow. Brushed up against while making tea or pouring wine. Full body bear hugs in bed (I love being squeezed, so bear hugs are mandatory). It’s the little things you miss when it comes to intentional touch.
A few months later, I experienced what I can only define as one of the most intentional, thought-provoking nights of my life.
After a night out with friends, the Gent invited me over to his place. The trains had stopped running, so I accepted his invite. I walked into a warm living room with soft acoustics playing in the background. The room was lit by lamps with soft lighting. We hugged and embraced like we were long-distance lovers. He pulled me in closer, and my shoulders immediately dropped. As dramatic as it may sound, my body went limp. I let out a vibrating sigh, cocooning into his body and didn’t want to let go. I could have stayed there forever. I wanted to stay there forever. Let the world around us spin outside, while we enjoyed our stillness inside.
We kissed lightly and held each other tightly – our fit was perfect. Every gap was filled, and I tried to hold on to it, for as long as possible.
In his king-size bed, I had the most restorative bonding experience. Hand holding. Kisses from my nipples to my stomach. Biting my waist. My nails gripping his flesh. Whispering with lips touching the ear. Bodies pushing away, then pulling back in like an accordion. We kissed and whispered and talked. I raked my fingers through his beautiful thick hair, kissed his deep dimpled cheeks, and cursed the sun as it rose.
It was the most warming, assuring night of my life. And that… was sad. So sad that in the morning, my emotions got the best of me and I whispered, “I can’t believe this has to end.”
“Don’t think about the end,” he said. “Stay in the now.”
We stopped speaking not long after that night. But at least once a week, I think about it. The intention of being wound up in another person. To lead and to be led. To take and be taken. Going from little spoon to big spoon. The fit. We Fit.
Since this encounter, I’ve been thinking about how I can create better experiences for myself and others through intentional touch. Consistent touch. Restorative touch. Sensual touch.
Now I’m offering it. In sessions and on dates.
Who knew an intentional night would come full circle to create something great for other people? Because we’re all deprived of touch.
To find out more about my touch therapy offering, Something Slower, feel free to read:
Intimacy Beyond Sex – Touch Therapy