A Cringing Touch

Articles

Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

A Cringing Touch
June 17, 2003

“They should start in the next half hour.” The waitress said.

“Thanks.”

“They’re the best reggae around. Worth the wait.” She promised.

We watched as the little bar filled with people.

“Isn’t that the bartender from our resort?” Darlin-man asked.

“Hey. I think it is.”

“Good. Now I can see what he’s really like.”

“Don’t watch him!” I said.

“It’ll keep me busy till the band starts.” He joked.

I was absently running my hand up his back. How incredible it was to be dating someone who I wanted to touch. Someone whom I touched, almost constantly, without even realizing it. “I sure hope that you like to be touched.” I joked. I had had my hands all over him for months. He had complained earlier that day that the stingrays in the ocean kept ‘touching’ him as they floated past.

He cleared his throat. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Hmmm?” I asked, running my hand up his back.

“I don’t like to be touched.”

I laughed and kissed him. “Very funny.”

“No really. I don’t like to be touched.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I’ve wanted to bring it up, but didn’t want to upset you.”

I looked at him. No. He was joking. I laughed again. We had had our hands all over each other for months.

“It isn’t you. It isn’t that I don’t like your touch.” He said. “I just don’t like to be touched.”

“You’re not kidding?”

“No.”

I retrieved my hands and stared at him.

“I’ve always been this way. It has nothing to do with you.”

I sat back against the couch in shock. I had been touching him almost nonstop for months. “You don’t like my touch?”

“It isn’t you. I just don’t like to be touched. I’ve always been this way.”

I shook my head slowly. “I’ve had my hands all over you for months.”

He sat there quietly.

Oh. God. He didn’t like my touch. What. So he was cringing every time I touched him? He had been touching me just as much, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he? I thought he had.

“You don’t like my touch?”

“It isn’t a big deal.” He said.

“You just said that you don’t like your girlfriend’s touch, and that it isn’t a big deal.” I didn’t mean to become a news broadcaster, but it wasn’t making any sense.

“It isn’t your touch. It’s any touch.”

We sat quietly for a while. I watched the bartender from our resort. He had several young women hanging around him. I smiled. Good for him. One was running her hand up his back. He smiled at her. He liked her touch.

“You have been letting me touch you…”

“Holly. Yes. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it.”

We sat quietly for a few minutes. I was hypersensitive to sitting to close to him. There was no way that I was going to accidentally touch him.

“Ok.” I said, brightly. “I’m ready to go now.”

We got out to the car.

He turned to me. “Please. It isn’t that big a deal.”

“If you told me that you didn’t like blonds, I would laugh at you, and tell you to find another girl. I’m blond. If you told me that you didn’t like my laugh, I would laugh at you and say ‘too bad,’ it is a part of me. You just told me that you don’t like my touch. That’s a part of me too.”

“Don’t make this bigger than it is.” He said.

“Can we have a code? Is there a time when you don’t want to be touched and need more space?”

“No. I don’t want to be touched.”

I said nothing. There was no way I was going to touch him ever again. That was it. Anyone I had ever dated loved my touch. He would never again feel my hand on his leg, or rubbing his neck or tickling his arm. No more. That was it.

He started driving. I was beyond upset. Maybe Ralph had been right. I shouldn’t have come away with him. It was too soon. Now there was no way I could leave the island. We had many days left of our vacation. And I couldn’t touch him anymore. How could I date someone who I couldn’t touch?

I walked out onto the beach and sat in the sand. He sat behind me and held me. I moved away.

“No. If I can’t touch you, then you can’t touch me, either.”

“Please.” He said, moving my hands onto him. “Touch me. Please.”

“How can I, knowing that it disgusts you?”

He was quiet for a minute. “Are you saying that we’re not compatible because I don’t like to be touched?”

“YES. I am. How can I date someone I can’t touch? It’s rare that I meet someone who I WANT to touch. And you don’t like it…”

“Ok.” He said. “I don’t like having my face touched, and I don’t want to be touched when I’m driving the car.”

I turned to look at him. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“You let me get this upset, and that’s all you needed?”

“That’s all I need.”

We sat quietly and watched the ocean move back and forth in the same dance it had been doing forever.

“Don’t you think we’re good together?” He asked.

“Yes.” I said. And within a few minutes I had forgotten that I had decided not to touch him anymore. My hand naturally moved to his leg and sat there.

It was home.

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About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

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