The Sense of Touch Defines with Time
The sense of touch. Fingertips, elbows and lips; eyelids, ankles and hips: They all grow more sensitive when touched gently with time.
His lips whisper a touch on that marvelous line that begins at the ear and quivers and shivers on down to my spine. The magic disappears when I touch myself there; I cannot mimic this illusive sensation with my own searching fingers. It is so much different when Rod kisses me from earlobe to that part of me that hides, all day, buried in thick hair. Now it is exquisite. I have climaxed many times with hot breath and gentle nibbling lips caressing my erotically sensitive neckline. This only works when I am wrapped in my man’s arms and legs as I hold him tight with every nerve on my body alive, building and building, contributing to that demanding crescendo. Sensations overflow from my Neckline-spot to carry me from my dance on the rim of the fire until I turn to molten flesh in the core of the volcano’s breath.
I would have denied such possibility in my twenties or thirties. Sexual touch was defined through breasts and genitals, and time was confined by needs to arrive at an end. With each decade the trip has become longer; the destination more beautiful. It was not age that forced us to change the pace and intensify sensual touch to control time. When we were in our early forties, life was simple. We worked hard as parents and therapists; time was so organized we arranged our intimacy to accommodate appointed reasons. With the death of our only child, time accelerated beyond control. To keep pace with out-of-control, quickening emotions, we had to slow time down or explode. During those first years, it became obvious that the only emotions that could defeat the intensity of our grief were those associated with the dynamics of our sexuality. Sex became our only drug. We were always very sexual; we needed to spend more time with the relief it offered. The sense of touch became a guide.
We were fifty-seven and fifty-three when we decided to service the sexual needs of others to find reason and document why human sexuality has become so abstracted from the remarkable binding force it offers. Our sensuality of touch was well honed at this time after thirteen years of dealing with never-gone grief. We learned to extend this sensitivity to others: to help us understand and expand the sexuality of our clients. After thousands of sessions with women, men and couples, ranging from twenty-five to eighty-six, there was only a handful we could not engage with a touch. Today we are sixty-eight and sixty-four and sexual-touch is a constant from cuddling all night, to holding hands on the street, to the ever-expanding climax to reach heights where spirits will touch.
In the coming weeks let us expand on this remarkable world of the sense of touch that forever evolves with age.