Yesterday, while scrolling through my twitter feed, I came across Robyn’s post NSFW: Cuddle Fuck. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced one, the kind of cuddle that leads to heated lust and gnawing passion. And once my loins had cooled I started to think about hugs, and their healing power. And then it dawned on me that today is H in my A-Z April challenge and so the timing couldn’t be better to air this internal conversation. Bare with me as I take a ramble through my thoughts and embrace them.
Now, I’m not from a particularly tactile upbringing. There was a lot of love in my house, but I don’t recall a lot of hugs. More from my Dad when I was little, but he died when I was fifteen, and was ill for a long time before that. No amount of hugs could prevent that and I remember withdrawing. I don’t remember the last time Mum and I hugged. I’m sure it can’t be in the dark, on the sofa in our family living room in the days after my Dad passed away. But that feels kind of accurate.
My early sexual experiences were not affectionate, instead driven by my needs.
My desire exclusively for fucking over intimacy and emotional connection. Physical sensation over vulnerability. My power came from controlling my experience, and hugs would make me soft and yielding, instinctively I knew I didn’t want that.
Well, then I met and married P. He and I were affectionate to start with. Well, he was affectionate when he was love bombing me. He was prickly and unpleasant when the switch flipped. He was cuddly when there were others around and held me at arms length when it was just the two of us. Unless he wanted sex and then he pulled me close even when I tried to get away. No wonder I lost any softness,
Once I got rid of him I had no friends.
He’d isolated me from everyone that I’d originally been friends with, then drove wedges between me and my family, and lied about me to my “permitted friends.” At a time when I would have wanted to run away and hide in a safe space, be held and feel the healing power of hugs, I had no-one. That space, the emotional distance, was hard at the time but looking back since I see the value. It helped me find my internal strength. Instead of hiding away I was forced to face my fears, engage with the demons and set myself free.
Over the last eight or nine years I have found myself with lots of wonderful friends. I’ve allowed that frosty exterior to thaw and I’ve discovered so much about intimacy through my platonic relationships. Those I’ve met exclusively for sex have been held at arms length, the connection lasting as long as our play and a cup of tea afterwards, maybe. Hugs? No. That’s more of a third date thing. And I don’t date!
But what happens when I make friends with a cuddle slut?
Do I surrender to the healing power of hugs? Or do I make like a scared rabbit and run the fuck away?
I’m not sure if I mentioned that MrMarks is a self-proclaimed cuddle slut. I don’t think I have. I know I skimmed over a lot of our mischief because I was hurting. And maybe also because my top side is one I’m not at ease with, meaning I struggle to share in the non-fiction side of my blog. But he introduced me to the concept of snuggle buddies. I remember after a 24hour race I was so, so tired I drove the ten minutes to his house and curled up in his bed, covered in mud, sweat and running gear, and let him wrap me in his arms while I crashed for hours.
When we were chatting about this recently, he also brought up a time he came over to visit when I was having some problems with an ex. Police involvement isn’t something I take lightly, but the person involved was not going anywhere. It was during lockdown and I found it so easy to isolate myself, protection from the elements in the safe space that is being alone. As soon as restrictions were eased he came round for a hug.
He just held me, held the space I needed to relax.
He reminded me we looked at my Garmin charts after. How my stress levels reduced massively with just five minutes of being swaddled in his arms. My heart rate dropped, breathing rate slowed, head stopped the whirlwind. Calm, peaceful and restful. There is some actual scientific evidence to back up this survey of one, and lots of research available around the internet. But why not start with this piece on the benefits of hugging.
Our hugs were never romantic, always comforting. But what a safe space he provided, before his bratting. Perhaps this is why I pushed him away so thoroughly, for so long.
I don’t know.
Life is odd.
I’m glad our friendship is back on track again though.
RunnerJ is also the big spoon in our friendship. We were chatting yesterday and I mentioned that I’ve unexpectedly rediscovered the peace of being little spoon. He said, from the Big Spoon’s perspective, to be the one making people feel safe is a great feeling. He understands how hard I find it to yield to a big strong body, one that makes me feel all safe and warm.
The strong, independent and bloody minded woman being the little spoon. A recurring desire, but not one that I’ve experienced often, certainly not within romantic affairs. Probably because, historically, I’ve kept myself away from romantic affairs. Or I avoid vulnerability, along with emotional AND physical intimacy in my close encounters because it hasn’t been safe embrace that. Sir was always a safe space, but our dynamic wasn’t based on affection. This was necessary, and worked well for me for so long. Until it didn’t.
Back to the healing power of hugs…
I’m a resilient woman. Strong, check. Confident, check. Bloody minded, check-check. I’m learning that I can be all of these things, AND vulnerable, soft and yielding. These two parts of me are not mutually exclusive, and desiring affection, compassion and intimate connection does not make me weak. Showing the soft under-belly of barefoot requires a whole different level of strength. Tell you what, it’s fooking terrifying at times. Good job I enjoy riding the surging wave of adrenaline each time I step out of my comfort zone. The challenge of finding the right arms is a challenge I won’t shy away from. Healing old wounds, learning to trust in new ways, softening my boundaries just enough… No, it’s not easy, learning never will be. Especially not learning to over-ride our lizard brain, whose only purpose is to keep us safe, and embrace new vulnerabilities. But you know what? My dad was right, nothing worth having was ever easy. And intimacy is very much worth breaking myself open for.
Join me as I fly by the seat of my pants for the A-Z April Blogging Challenge 2023. You can find all of my posts for the month here. And you can also find previous years here. 2019 came first. I skipped 2020. 2021 was a full month of photography themed posts. And 2022 was a sparse collection of Q&A style writing, but there were plenty of boobs!.
I’m linking this in to the second prompt- Intimacy – for Lists, Prompts and Inspiration. Thanks, as always, to Mrs Fever for her generosity in sharing her 43 writing ideas for 2023.
From the story of how the barefoot sub became the woman she is today, to toy reviews, with a hefty dose of contemplation, a sprinkling of erotica and a LOT of nudity in between, you can be sure to find something to tickle your fancy at A Leap Of Faith.