Trust and Touch
I thought I was going to cum.
Her hands in my hair felt so amazingly good, so confident, so dominant. I gave in to the moment and rode the sensations as she pulled my head back, twined the long strands, created order out of disorder, provided me structure and self-indulgent pleasure. Amazing. Sex should be so sweatless and decadent. DJ Blue Elf (www.dejanvier.org) reported that I appeared positively swept away by ecstasy and had provided quite a show as a result.
It was the wonderful end to a wonderful night. I had been MC for the final Skervy, Queer to the Bone party at a local nightclub during which I had made witty remarks while I and an assortment of super hot gay and bisexual women had modeled funko-sexy clothing. I was full of rum, happiness, and exhaustion by the time post-punk hair stylist Meleni began to indulge her lust for my locks. It had been a helluva month. Check that, it had been a helluva couple months. Somehow I’d managed to survive the unexpected and abrupt end of a serious romance, chronic insomnia, mood swings, deadlines, a week in Las Vegas as a presenter at the Lifestyles Convention and guest of the city’s leather community, organizing and hosting 220 of my closest personal friends at my Garden of Delights Birthday Party, and entry onto the minefield that is dating. Meleni’s hands felt like bliss and reminded me once again that there simply is no balm for the soul like welcome human touch.
This had been dramatically illustrated a week earlier when I had melted into unconsciousness at the end of my party while at least four capable hands smoothed amber massage oil into my body and angst and stress out of it. Although exhaustion, champagne, red wine, absinthe, whiskey, and herbal remedies undoubtedly contributed to my increasingly liquid state, the chance to relax and enjoy the loving touch of others was the greatest intoxicant of my evening. It’s a rare and beautiful thing to be able to trust another person enough to turn over care of your body to them, whether for a massage, sexual intimacy, or a bedtime snuggling companion. During times of emotional turmoil and transition it can be especially challenging to comfortably do that.
Yet trust and touch are inexorably connected for most of us, and although we may sometimes find it difficult to do the former, our need for the latter continues – sometimes causing quite the inner conflict. I know from experience that touch deprivation can lead to emotional distance, not only from others but oneself, as well. I was a bottle baby raised in a hostile household whose days of being snuggled ended before entering elementary school. My earliest sexual experiences involved respectable church members who lived down the street, hitchhiking, and searching for bus stops in strange parts of town in the morning. I consciously decided to summon a force of will and open myself to the healing power and intimacy of touch instead of living my life enduring, distrusting, or dreading it.
The turning point for me was taking control of whom I touched, whom I allowed to touch me — and under what circumstances. Surrounding myself with honest, like-minded, good-hearted people seeking genuine mind/body connections has become an important goal for me. It’s no guarantee of a life free from standard issue human frailty, but it increases the chance that emotional bruises will heal with minimal long-term scarring.
And, let’s face it, if it helps me get massages and French braids, bring it on.
– Originally published in Playtime Magazine –