The Habit Of Hugs

Oh. My. Goodness! What a week. Birthdays, work, school holidays, a beach munch and surprise snuggle time. I have lost track of days, but seem to be forming the habit of hugs. Which is why I smiled so broadly when I saw the daily prompt for yesterday:

Describe one habit that brings you joy.

Now, some might question whether hugs are a habit. In fact, I misread the prompt and my brain switched habit for thing. By the time I realised I was already grinning at the post my brain was writing, the picture I was sharing. So I nipped off to check definitions and the Oxford English Dictionary told me that a habit is “A settled disposition or tendency to act in a certain way, esp. one acquired by frequent repetition of the same act”

So, by that definition, hugs are becoming a new and important habit. OK, OK, it’s become a little bit of a need.

It hasn’t always been this way. I didn’t grown up in a snuggly household, I didn’t know what I was missing or how to experience sensual touch. And I’ve only had two romantic partners that have wanted to hold my hand, but they are the ones who have damaged me the deepest so it is, perhaps, understandable that I’d shy away from that level of intimacy. And with S the soft, gentle touch didn’t have a part in our dynamic. He’s just the tip of the iceberg though, a long line of lovers that have been kept at arms length.

It’s true that I’ve been enjoying platonic hugs for a long time.

Mr Marks was my cuddle slut friend, a true advocate for the power of calm that can be found in another’s arms, but again with the pain that comes from leaning into someone offering what I felt was softness. Runner J is the other set of arms that I have enjoyed the safety of being wrapped up in, in spite of our somewhat unlikely friendship. There are other friends who I share warm embraces with, others who have brief hugs and others with whom are hugs are mostly bondage related. I’ve even started hugging my mum. It’s slightly awkward, and I’m very much the big spoon, but I’m doing it. Trying hard.

When I got the tee shirt at the top, it was a tongue in cheek choice. At the time I was certainly not in the habit of giving hugs. More to the point, I had no intention of giving free hugs to anyone, or even being emotionally intimate with anyone. Think “Free Use slut” rather than “free hugs slut” and it might paint the right picture. I certainly had all the arguments a defensive woman might need prepared for an onslaught of demanding hug-wanters.

When I wrote about hugs in April I had no idea what habits I’d form. How life was set to unfold.

I found myself, as I so often do, trotting off down a new and exciting path of evolution. This time a handsome, smiling, snuggly Sadist took me by surprise and has decided to journey with me. (A mutual decision, might I add!)

It’s a learning curve for me. Have I wanted to be the little spoon again? Yes! Did I think I’d feel safe enough to ever sink into that? No. And I certainly would never have imagined that I would ever (EVER) be the one reaching out, needy for snuggles and cuddles and touch.

As it happens, he is very welcoming of my desires.

While I’m good at communicating what I don’t want sharing my needs and wants is a bit more challenging. Especially when these new needs feel too much – certainly for me to process, and I assumed for anyone else to offer up a solution. But he’s not like my internal dialogue. That critical voice in my head that tells me lies. He needs the hugs as much as I do, and snuggles are something of his speciality (when he’s not being a delicious meanie!)

And he was incredible and made time for me last weekend. No no, there was a window of opportunity last weekend and he made it into time for snuggles. (And all sorts of other mischief, but with a focus on cuddles.) This coming week will bring more hugs from strangers and friends, and a trip away with Him, when there may well be more snuggles.

So if hugs are becoming a habit, then I’m happy to say it’s one that brings me joy!!

I’m sharing for Boobday because, at the time of writing I’ve been struggling with my boob-appreciation. When I took this (definitely not to distract) I grinned as my nipples were so tender under the taut fabric. A reminder to myself that my boobs aren’t just there to look a certain way, but to feel too. Even if those tender peaks, clamped and tweaked, feel the bestest when pressed in to the firm chest… As I embrace him – arms wrapped round his neck for protection from the exquisite pain that he’s causing… I never said being a masochist made sense! Even less so now I know I like/want/need hugs.