My widow friend Supa referred to this term called "skin hunger".
And I have been suffering.
I so want to be touched.
I need to be touched.
For more than just a quick embrace.
For more than just a hello or goodbye hug.
I want to be held.
I want my hair to be stroked.
I want to be touched.
Touched. Touched. Touched!
Tomorrow, it will be eight months since I have had sex with someone.
Yeah, too much information I know but...
The desire is so strong.
Part of my issue, I think, is touch is my primary love language.
Gary Chapman wrote several books about the five love languages.
It is a great book and I am a classic touch person.
I am also very tactile.
I touch almost everything around me all the time.
In a store, I will touch a shirt or pair of pants before I even look at the price.
If I am walking down the street and see an interesting building, I touch it.
When picking out our cats, I wanted soft fluffy fur.
Touch drives me.
So now that I have had my toucher ripped from me, I am suffering.
Perhaps I just want to feel those feelings again.
To feel good about me.
To feel loved.
A few weeks ago, a friend of mine held my hand a few moments and kissed me on the forehead a couple of times.
And it felt so unbelievably nice.
Even if he did it just to be nice.
Even if it was quick.
Even though it was completely platonic.
So today, I just had to be touched.
I could not take it another moment.
So I went to a massage place.
It was calling out to me as I passed it.
I asked for a male therapist.
And for $39, he gave me a wonderful massage.
Yeah, it was not the romantic touching I really desire but it was human contact of the male persuasion.
It was fantastic.
And although he was only doing his job, I enjoyed every moment of the warmth of his hands.
And he massaged my ass.
My ass! I know has not been touched in eight months.
Sigh. Soon I know. It is only a matter of time.