I’m a touch junky. I live for M’s touch. Okay, maybe I’m really a sensory junkie, because I live for his everything – his unique smell, the way he tastes in all his yummy places, his husky voice and all the soul affirming sounds he makes with me. His presence, not just the way he looks (but, he is sexy as hell), but the way I feel him near me. The way I feel him, feeling me. The way I feel him feeling. All of it. I live for all of it. But, touch is on a different plane. When he touches me, my body reacts immediately. Intensely. My entire being reaches out to him and latches on. All the rest of my senses are heightened, on high alert and sensitive, my thoughts focused on only him and all else pauses, just from a simple touch. I love his touches. Except, tickling. I thought it was different. I thought I hated it.
I am sooooo ticklish. There are a few spots that when touched, can bring me to my knees or might result in the tickler brought to his or hers. Fight or flight……that was my response. That pain/pleasure threshold is an odd one with tickling, isn’t? My M thinks it’s odd….and intriguing. He knows how ticklish I am. In the past, I would beg him to stop or even lash out inadvertently, to try to get him away, to stop the tickling. I’d get angry. Yet now, M likes to do this thing…….My first thought when he did this thing, was that he must be crazy. Why would this be fun……unless you are a true sadist? It’s torture, so it seemed. But, I walked away thinking differently.
Usually with a grin, he’ll lie next to me and tickle me, knowing it will make me hyper sensitive, all my senses, but especially sensitive to his touch. He makes sure to hit all the spots that make me crazy. At some point, as he lies next to me, his touches become less aggressive, but still purposefully touching upon those same places that would normally make me fight or flee, and he will command me to be still as he does so. I watch his hands. I see where they are going. I know he will be touching those spots. I concentrate. His scent surrounds me. I hear his commands in my ear and I feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, the rise and fall of his chest against me. And his feel has shifted. His playfulness is still there, but it’s laced with a knowing mastery, I feel it. He knows my body, he knows how my mind works. He knows he can make me, that if he wishes me to be still and trust, I will. I know he can, and he knows I know it, too. I know I’ll allow it, that I’ll surrender, and he knows that, just the same. There’s no question.
That mastery, that he knows I will surrender, despite what my brain has told me should be the response to this tickling business, it creates this shift in the touch from discomfort to erotic. Those touches illicit an entirely different bodily response. There is no more fight or flight. That trust has changed my entire perception. Instead of wriggling and trying to push his hands away, or begging him to stop, I feel my breathing change. In my stillness, I seek out his eyes. I feel my nipples harden, each touch sending a rush of radiating heat. I feel the muscles in my backside clenching, slightly raising my hips to him. I want him. I want whatever he is doing, whatever he wishes to do, for however long he’ll do it.
Not only has the world around me paused and my entire being focused only on him, but he’s taught my brain that it can override it’s instinctual reaction. He’s allowed me the strength to do so, simply by following. By trusting him. And when I think about that…wow. This is but one example of that being so. He’s allowed me the freedom to slow down and override or rewire so many faulty or instinctual, negative reactions. He continues to allow me to do so. It’s so empowering, isn’t it?
M…..I’ll be still. I’ll surrender. And I’ll always follow.