My lover wrote this and asked me to publish it. It’s a story about napping, which was something we started doing together on our last vacation, and I have to say, it was like heaven on earth.
Teresa is a lot of things, but one I like the most is that she’s a very affectionate woman. She likes to cuddle, snuggle, and touch whenever she can, and I soak it up. I’m not going to lie; knowing she’s been sharing her affections with other men hasn’t been the easiest thing to deal with, but when she’s with me, I know she’s 100% with me.
She wasn’t the only one dealing with a lack of touch, and it was her who introduced me to the meaning of skin hunger. I was definitely experiencing skin hunger or the absence of human touch. Not only sexual touch, but hugs, cuddles, caresses, and hand holding. Basically everything. It can lead to depression and is common among elderly shut-ins and prisoners.
Because of this, every time we meet, we make time for snuggling before and after sex. I love holding her as she rests her head on my chest, and we often fall asleep for a few minutes before dragging ourselves apart.
On our recent trip, we got into the habit of napping together on the few afternoons we had. No sex, or even sexual touching, but cuddling face to face, with her beautiful chest pressing into mine. Nose to nose and eye to eye.
Our arms and legs intertwined, and her leg draped over mine, we’d fall asleep like that — face to face. As weird as it sounds, it felt perfectly natural to lay like that and not move for an hour. I say weird, but I’ve never been able to sleep with anyone like that, and my wife was never the touchy-feely type even when we did touch each other.
“Where’s your hand?”
Back in the room after exploring on the second day, we fell to the bed and snuggled in. The feeling was amazing, and holding her? I know why men can’t get enough of her womanly figure. Breasts, hips, thighs. She has the body of a ’50s pin-up girl. The perfect body for me, as I always remind her. Beautiful in every way.
I don’t know how long we’d napped, but I woke first. Opening my eyes, I saw her snoozing inches from my face. Eyes closed, making soft rhythmic breathing sounds of someone slumbering peacefully. My hand cupped her face, holding her cheek as we slept.
She must have sensed I was a wake because she awoke not long after. Blinking her beautiful blue eyes, she stared back at me and smiled. When she smiles, her whole face smiles.
I tell her she’s cute, and she is, but she won’t have any of it. So instead, I tell her she’s beautiful, and she is. Inside and out.
As we climbed out of our blissful rest, I considered her position and wondered if she was comfortable. I couldn’t figure out where her other bottom arm was, so asked,
“Where’s your hand?”
I asked because I held her face with my lower arm, and my top arm held her as she held me. I wondered if her arm was under her somehow and was going to ask if she was comfortable like that.
“It’s right here!” she laughed as she waved it, an inch from my face as she lifted her head, “it’s under my cheek!”
I really wasn’t prepared for that, because my hand was supposed to be there.
“Where’s my hand?” I wondered out loud, as I moved it.
My hand was slightly past her ear, and her hand had been resting on the underside of my forearm. What I thought was her cheek was the back of her hand, and what I thought was my hand was, well, my arm.
Like any couple does, for the rest of the trip, we’d ask each other —
“Where’s your hand?” and laughed our asses off while we did.
Reflecting on it, though, it seems to me that in that moment, in our togetherness, I couldn’t distinguish where I ended, and she began. We were one in our embrace. One being, if only for an instant, through the magic of touch. It was the touch I’d craved so deeply as my wife drew away and grew embittered.
Teresa not only feeds my skin hunger, she nourishes it.
© Teresa J. Conway, 2022