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Touching Myself

Tender touching. Face, neck, shoulders, hands. It feels foreign, yet familiar at the same time. My mother used to touch me like this. I also know the gentle caress of a man in love with a woman; although, I have seldom been with a lover who was free enough to communicate through his touch.

I am not longing for closeness and in no way feel lonely. My sweet, darling little lap dog is always by my side. Her snuggling and kissing and licking are constant; it’s comfy and cozy. My daughter is also very affectionate. Her hugs and kisses are warm and tender; it’s lovely.

Today I touched my face gently with my hand and lightly touched my eyes and forehead with my fingertips. I ran my fingers through my hair and down my neck onto my shoulders, then arms. I gave myself a hand massage — first with one hand, then the other. A loving, tender, human touch feels wonderful, even if it is my own.

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Writer and copyeditor. “What doesn’t kill us gives us something new to write about” ~ J. Wright

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