Touch

My good memories of Matt largely reside in my sense of touch. Part of that is because all the other memories are… problematic. We had strife.

I sort of want to sit here and rewrite this until I don’t actually have to come out and say that Matt was the first person I slept with, but there it is. And despite the fact that I maintain sex is not the most important part of a relationship, it’s still a big one. (… if you’re lucky– ha… Yes, that was a penis joke. Sorry.)

He was gentle and patient with me, but he never hesitated to let me know how much he wanted to touch me, and that was intoxicating– like, make-you-dizzy-and-stupid intoxicating. The desire, the power, the tension, the insecurities all mixed together until I was this hurricane of breathless weird.

Some of that wore off eventually. I guess that’s normal. But the physical, visceral sensation of having my body cherished by another person is something I’ll always remember fondly.

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