Touch – to the skin, to the mind, to the heart, to the soul.
Perhaps the easiest way to connect with someone is by actually connecting, physically. The skin is covered with receptors (or sensors if you will) that when triggered by touch send messages to the mind and sensations throughout the body.
Those who invite touch, take time in making their skin, their eyes, their hair, their fingertips as appealing to the eye as possible so as to receive that physical attention.
It can be a rough touch – signifying aggression on one’s part. It can be a tender touch – signifying affection drawn from a more subtle and reclusive place.
When I envision the stories I write, I first envision the moments in my life, the moments in past relationships when my hands connected with her body.
Whether if it was a hug from behind as she held up her camera phone and took an endearing picture of us in the mirror.
Whether it was in a full embrace with the sensations derived from the contact of naked skin.
Whether it was my fingertips which I lightly drew down her face, or touching noses or touching eyelashes.
Whether it was a hand on her diapered bottom or a hand on her bare bottom.
Whether it was both hands on her belly, moving down her frame to her inner thighs and to the core of her being.
Whether it was a kiss, an orgasm, a throbbing lust which found a breathy completion.
Touch is at the forefront of any fantasy in one’s cravings, any reality in one’s life, any storyline in one’s mind, any physical moment which beckons a passion that consumes the desires of the heart and the body.
And for as erotic and alluring and envigorating and captivating and surrendering as it can be, in one’s soul its purpose eternally remains quite tender.
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