Long, strong fingers fold round the palm of my frail hands, gently engulfed, while the kindest eyes took in my words, as if it matters in this disconnected world. I couldn’t resist, I let my frigid heart beat heat with his words, “Let’s keep in touch.” 

A soft tone him succulent, vibrant in a way I’ve never been touched before, and I can’t stop thinking about why I felt what I felt… bursting bubbles almost orgasmic!

I’m realistic, not thinking I’ll live to see a situation that perfect again. But, for the first time in like ten years, I experienced a real desire to be touched by someone in front of me. Kind of scary.

I have a lovely life, safe, secure, loved…but…am I ok with being married and never getting laid, no French kisses, and few conversations?

This is a question for a therapist, lol. As I come down from my cloud nine, I can’t escape pondering.

Here, alone in my bed, I’ll fondle the memory of the hand that touched me, pretending he’d actually WANT ME if we were to meet again.