My first lesson in love - the power of touch

I crave touch.

I have always have.

I have a long history of touching and being touched by others, ever since I was a boy crazy pre-adolescent, starting at about 11, though I never had my first boyfriend until I was 18.  I remember always wanting to hang around boys, finding all sorts of reasons to touch them.  Once I accidentally ripped a boy's shirt while chasing him on the playground, another time I accidentally kneed a boy I was fond of in the groin (no, I'm not really sure why I did but I remember trying to tease him about something).

When I had my first boyfriend, I was really glad he let me touch him all the time.  I'm not even talking heavy petting.  I'm just talking about running my hand slowly up and down his arm, or  making patterns with my fingertip in his palm.  I just did it because I loved touch, and he was patient enough to sit there quietly and let me and it didn't have to lead to anything else.

Growing up, I was not hugged, or kissed, or played with by my mother.  My mother divorced when I was two, and remarried when I was five. I have no recollections of affectionate touch with my father, even on visitations, or with my step-father.  I made it a point to avoid him as much as I could because he scared me.  There was no paternal support in my household.


The only physical contact I remember was when I was slapped (and let me just say that my mother's hand was no sissy hand, she had thick, heavy hands that felt like bricks), pushed around, have my hair pulled (my older sister frequently did that), or be pinched or otherwise 'disciplined'.  This didn't happen extremely often, but when it did, it hurt.  It occurred often enough that it eventually became something I both dreaded and provoked.  Sometimes these hits would be unexpected.  The shock and the shame that ensued was awful, and I'd cry, but the time I was a teenager, I began to taunt my mother, hoping she'd haul off and hit me, partly so I'd have a good reason to not feel guilty for hating her (I didn't want to hate her, but she was really emotionally abusive and controlling).  I didn't cry during those times.  I ended up savoring the pain in some twisted desire - any attention, even negative attention was better than nothing.

I'd steel myself for the blow that would come, and when it did, I relaxed afterward.  I would just sit there and feel the sting, and I had a secret pleasure in being hit.  It sometimes was the only time my mother paid any attention to me.  Sometimes I provoked the abuse so to help me summon the anger I needed to leave home which was nearly impossible since my mother controlled nearly every aspect of my life as a young adult.  She expertly made me afraid to exist without her 'help'.

I was very fortunate with the relationships I had because I could have easily chosen men who were physically abusive but I did not end up with any.  I was also very fortunately with my first boyfriend  because he never pressured me for sex.  Early on in our relationship, he told me something about himself. He'd told me that he had been molested for four years by his Boy Scout leader.  I think that's why he was so hesitant about exerting any kind of sexual pressure with me.   He knew what it was like to be abused and he wasn't about to act out on me.  We are still friends to this day and we still talk about these early days.  We are both pretty convinced that the non-sexual touching we did was healing some of the deep hurts in both of us.


[On a side note, I read last year that the Boy Scout leader went on to abuse about 100 boys in his charge over 20 years...how that rat bastard got away with it so long, I have no idea].


It turned out that we never had sexual intercourse or even oral sex in the entire 9 months of our relationship.  Despite this, it was still a very intensely passionate relationship.  Clothing didn't seem to interfere with finding a way to attend to our raging adolescent hormones.  We might have eventually had sexual intercourse, except my mother managed to force us to break up because of all the criticism and pressure she exerted on me, but before then, it was just a whole lotta pretend play.

I'm very grateful for that first relationship.  It was a beautiful, safe way to explore touch and sexuality without any major risks.  What's more, that relationship served as a benchmark for all the others to come.  Not just because it was my first love (and his) but because it was so sweet and seductive without completely compromising our morals.

Fast forward many years...a few lovers...and I'd like to talk about how much I still enjoy touch.

I am very much a PDA (public displays of affection) kind of gal.  Ever since I have been dating my husband, I have always been hugging, kissing, touching on him when we would go out.  I find him so irresistible at times, and more so in public. I can't resist the temptation to touch him when we are out.  The last time I do so was on Halloween, when he dressed like this guy - Walter White of the tv show Breaking Bad.



Yes, my husband went to a Halloween party in tighty-whitey underwear.  And I could NOT stop touching his legs and butt.  At all.  It was too tempting and fun!   And I noticed, that, as usual, out of  room full of about 15 couples (so make that about 30 people) my husband and I are the only ones sneaking kisses, touches, and acting like teenagers. 

I think there are many reasons we do this but in part it's probably due to a high touch need coupled with a slightly exhibitionist personality, and if I were to examine my deeper motivations, perhaps it was a way to stake my claim on my man, and perhaps its a way to show other people by example that it's good to have some PDA with your partner (though it never seems to really change other people's behavior).

I've always been flirtatious (and my husband has too), and we've condoned quite a bit of flirting with some of our friends over the years.  I need talk about that sometime, but for now, I'm going to stay on topic which is flirting with my husband [Must...resist...digressions...].

I find it much more fun to flirt with my own husband because I can do so much more than just talk flirty.  I can touch less innocently, I can bite, I can tease, I can titillate him without shame or guilt.  Besides, he's usually the cutest one in the room with his blue eyes and blond hair.   [And while I'm thinking of it how DID I get so lucky to get such a handsome guy?]

I have been reading up a LOT about touch lately, partly in an effort to understand why I like it so much.   There are more and more studies about the benefits of touch.

According to this NPR article Human Connections Start With a Friendly Touch,

Hertenstein says recent studies from England pinpointed an area in the brain that becomes highly activated in response to friendly touch. It's a region called the orbital frontal cortex located just above your eyes. It's the same area that responds to sweet tastes and pleasing smells.

"A soft touch on the arm makes the orbital frontal cortex light up, just like those other rewarding stimuli," Hertenstein says. "So, touch is a very powerful rewarding stimulus — just like your chocolate that you find in your cupboard at home."

The surging of oxytocin makes you feel more trusting and connected. And the cascade of electrical impulses slows your heart and lowers your blood pressure, making you feel less stressed and more soothed. Remarkably, this complex surge of events in the brain and body are all initiated by a simple, supportive touch.

Well, hell yeah.  I agree.

One thing I have failed to understand is why many of my female contemporaries seem to deprive their husbands and themselves of touch.  I look at the relationships of couples I know and I wonder, why aren't THEY touching each other in public?  Why are my male friends complaining about the dearth of touch and a reduction in their once-fulfilling sex life?  One of my friends tells me his wife won't give him a hug when he leaves for work in the morning.  Another of my married friends hadn't had sex in 5 years!  (Yes, they are separated now).  I hear this more and more.

What gives?


I think I found a clue.  In her article The Hunger for Touch, Valerie Ann Worwood writes:

In one way or another, touch can be associated with guilt early in life, and it often becomes acceptable only within the context of secure or "legitimate" sexual activity. This imprisoning of touch, within the context of sex, means that touch becomes a lead-in to it -- "I know when he wants sex because that's when he puts his arm around me". The end result of this situation is that often women agree to have sex only because they want touch. Sex is the only way they can get the warmth and closeness they need, and many surveys on this subject seem to point to the fact that female promiscuity isn't an insatiable desire for sex, but the hunger for touch.

It seems to support what my girlfriend told me.  She told me that every time her husband rubs her shoulders, it ALWAYS leads to sex.  Hmm.  I wanted to ask her if that was ALWAYS true...or if sometimes a backrub was just that...a backrub.

The other thing I wanted to ask her was this: what is wrong with backrubs leading to sex?  What's wrong with SEX?

I recognize that there are times when I don't want sex...but that's a fairly rare occurrence.  Sex is amazingly fun. Sex is really rejuvenating.  Sex is pleasurable.  I never understood why women don't think so.

Or at least it should be fun, rejuvenating and pleasurable.  If it's not, someone's doing it wrong.


I've come to the informal conclusion about touch, sex and women and basically realize that more often than not, women (at least women that I personally have observed) punish their men (and themselves) by withholding touch and sex.  That's another post for another day, however.

Well...that's enough of a ramble for now.

I'd like some input from you, dear reader.

1.  How important is touch to you?

2.  Are you one of the touch hungry and what are you going to do about it?

3.  Do you like PDA?  Why or why not?