Tag Archives: tingle

Big hugs

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The other day a male work colleague dressed a deep puncture wound on my left ring finger.

This was an unremarkable event in itself; I had accidentally stabbed myself when washing the giant blade of a new food mixer. A day or two after, when I was in work, I asked him for advice, when it was still bleeding quite a lot. He had done a first aid course, you see.

But as he gently applied a padded dressing and secured it with some surgical tape, it sent a strange tingle from my wrist, up my arm, shoulder and into the back of my head. It’s that odd, but pleasant feeling you get when someone touches you (not sexually) in an unexpectedly gentle way. I remember the same feeling when I was about seven and my piano teacher adjusted my ‘fingering’.

I have no feelings of attraction towards this colleague – he’s a sweet, funny man about 20 years older than me with a twinkle in his eye, but nothing to appeal to me in that way – nor my female piano teacher of 30-odd years ago.

But the significance of this event – which I would never tell anyone, as it would sound self-pitying – was that it must have been the first time in over seven months that a man has actually touched me. Here, I am not counting a hug from my brother on Christmas Day, or repeated hugs and kisses with a four-year-old boy (my little boy, by the way). And because of that, the thought of it lingers in my mind. And how careless I was when I was washing the ruddy big blade that sliced through my washing up gloves.

I am not making this observation for sympathy and pity, just noting it for thought and the fact that when we get ‘touched’ regularly we all tend to take it for granted. If you’re bored with your man, irritated by him grabbing you from behind as you do the dishes (avoiding sharp mixer blades, I hope), kissing your neck or squashing your legs, as you sit together on the sofa and he does that turning sideways to stretch out and use you as a foot rest thing, just think about it. What if all that physical contact suddenly stopped, even though you find it annoying at times?

It feels cold – cold and shivery. Yes, if these things happen, we just have to suck it up. Shit happens, as less articulate philosophers would say. And lots of old people live for years without a single hug, kiss, touch of a hand. I remember (long gone) older relatives attaching so much meaning to a mere hug that, clearly, it was a major event in their lives.

So, really, I mustn’t grumble. But nothing can replace a big man hug, that kind where you can bury your head in his chest, hear his heart beating, smell his scent, feel the warmth emanating through his clothes, as he holds you tightly, for a few minutes. Even emerging with an imprint of the knit pattern of his jumper on your face, and feeling slightly woozy, because you haven’t breathed proper air for a few minutes, is worth it.

Don’t get me wrong – I still miss the sex bit too – my God, I do! But I have ‘machines’ that can help with that.  Whereas, at this time of year, when temperatures drop below zero, any number of layers of clothing, heating on full blast, jumping up and down and jogging on the spot, are just not enough. Nothing can replace snuggling up with someone on the sofa or under the duvet.

In the early hours…

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It was the early hours of the morning, probably one or two – she couldn’t tell, as her alarm clock had stopped working. But it was that period when it was pitch black and everything was still.

She had woken up after a few hours’ sleep to the familiar embrace. The arm had wrapped itself around her waist and felt comfortable, like it was meant to be there. In her hazy half-waking, half-sleeping state she smiled into the darkness. It was good to be held, knowing she wasn’t alone and cold in her bed.

The arm squeezed her gently and she felt the fingers lightly press into her side, affectionately.

She had felt this gentle embrace sporadically for the last two or three months, always at a similar time of night. The person behind it obviously needed reassurance that she was still there at this very moment.

Then, things played out in much the same way every time.

She felt her mind and body jolt into full consciousness. She shivered from top to toe but still refused to open her eyes. A chilling tingle travelled up her spine to the back of her head and the usual realisation struck her like a slap in the face.

There was no one in the room but her. And this was why she would never open her eyes or turn over.

She was not terrified of this presence, as it was clearly benign, but still too afraid to see it.

For a few restful moments she even welcomed it. Until she remembered she was alone, single in her studio flat.

After about four months the visitor never returned. Maybe it had found another girl to embrace.

The studio flat was in a converted mill where, no doubt, workers had died from time to time. She could only speculate that this was a man whose spirit was left behind up to a century ago and he was lonely, walking the corridors, wondering what happened to his friends.

Or was it just a very vivid recurring dream?

Touch me there

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So, I have covered the penis and the nipple. Any idea where I’m going today? It’s probably on the tip of your tongue – you can’t quite put your finger on it…

To mark today being the last day of International Clitoris Awareness Week I thought I would take a journey ‘down under’.  The word ‘clitoris’ is apparently also Greek for key and is seen as the key to female sexuality, no doubt unlocking the door to our pink caverns.

For someone who has been around the block at least twice, it may surprise you to learn that it has only been in the last four or five years that I have really enjoyed having a ‘bean’.

Before then, some attempts had been made to give it a good time, but few even bordered on a mild tingle, never mind a full-blown pulsating orgasm. At the beginning of my sexual adventures, I had an irrational fear of losing control – put it down to fear of the unknown or self-consciousness over how I might have looked if I let go. So I never allowed myself to come, pushing my lovers’ hands away when I felt my body start to spasm or pulling them up on top of me and forcing them inside if they had been munching the ‘furry burger’. I would usually lie and say I had climaxed and allow them to continue pumping until they exploded, assuming this was what everyone else did.

Funny how age and experience change things – and having sex with someone who is determined to share the bliss. I drifted through my married life in the same way I had previously – as soon as I reached a tingle, I would force him to get on with the rest of it, get it over and done with.

But (as you have already guessed) The Man changed this. He was determined to take me to the other side and persisted in pleasuring me until I reached the dizzy heights of climax, all 8,000 nerve endings included. My clit must have wondered what hit her. She had finger stimulation, a never-tiring mouth and tongue and sometimes a vibrator. The Man would also continue to work his busy fingers while he was inside me, feeling my vaginal walls squeezing him and my body juddering in spin cycle underneath him.

He also bought me my first vibrator so I could enjoy all this when I was alone. So my ‘bald man in a boat’ now leads a very active life, taking regular trips upstream and not complaining about getting his feet wet from time to time.