Reaching Out, Touching Me, Touching You
As the current Covid lockdown rumbles on and I grow increasingly starved of touch I find my masturbatory thoughts turning away from the cut and thrust of sex itself, and instead bringing intimate touch into detailed focus. I am a very tactile person and I miss touch. I crave touch. Yes, I’d love someone to fuck away my cares for an hour or two right now (I have plenty of burdens I’d love to set down for however short a period), but what I really crave is someone lazily trailing a finger across my shoulder as we lie in the sweaty afterglow of a job well done, brushing a damp tendril of frizzy hair out of my face, laughing as my super-sensitive post orgasm skin twitches under the lightest of touches. I think of all the times I lay with C, my head on his shoulder as I played with his chest hair. I never tired of the way the silky hair would curl around my finger, tempting me to lightly tug on it, testing my resolve to not do so. I think of the way R would wrap himself around me,