Stroking our emotions is potent medicine. Fanning your impactful tactile fire can be a most fabulous occurrence when executed with forthright loving consciousness. However, we’re not continually situated in scenarios that are allowing us to embellish our every sensitive need. I find that isolation is an ironic touchy subject anomaly. Our separation situations often produce an enormous breadth from any chemically connected coveted touching. Where many of us actually face the lack of handling even a smidgen of the precious physical contact boosts that we’re used to receiving and giving. My history is happily wrought with theatrical to spectacular affectionate fanfare. I piously believe in the proof policy that hugging it out provides. That artful action aimed to combat everything I’m torn up about or wanting to merrily shout about, as well the magical maneuver as a mini makeout.
Sourcing enough pandemically endorsed versions of a proper hug feeling isn’t the piece of cake we’d all prefer. Awakening to the phenomenon of decreeing enough sensory marvels are still in store for thee epitomizes creative thinking. For instance, I know that I’ve adequately lubricated my past blog stories with my penchant for orgasmic alleviation and elation. Some readers might have considered my shares a bit of tarnishing negligent TMI. While I tend to defer that such honesty is sincere life garnish, of which we could all use to be a tad more openly loose about for the sake of authenticity training. Especially when it comes to the endearing petting practice with other humans, I err on the side of platefuls of touchy-feelydom. But, corona-era (minus the enticing beer with lime edition) has forced a cadre of us feeler-folks into stretching our antennae besides our everyday norm.
Instead of merely adhering to any alienation, I’ve been charmed by the amount of tangible originality that myself to others are persistently locating nearly a year into this global gadfly game. Indeed, I’d rather rap with my sugar babes live at least as long as the sun stays with its rise. A few of you I long to be conjoined far beyond our hips depending on the personality ticks. There, we’d be wrapped amidst all of our splendidly saturated fleshy-feel-me-up person possibilities. Yet, alas, the crass COVIDness beckons we devise a novel class of action. Looking for innovative surrogates to supplement my snuggle vibes has largely drifted me outside. That’s both referring to the infamous box and literally in terms of outdoors featuring the environment. The orgasmic erection came when I identified the swell of hugful squeezing I could factor in between the breezes.
Just because you’ve always experienced matters one way doesn’t mean change isn’t your friend. Necking with a being taller than me has eternally given me sweet tingles. It’s partially cuddling something with a grander footprint than I make, coupled by peering upward into the chest, eyes, and skies above holding us together in space. This is the bosom of my beloved adhesive to the ecology of nature. The wisdom of her biology rides my pores as glamorously as expertly-versed lovers course through my veins. Although, maybe Mother Earth has been manifesting my flirtation perks with her since the dark ages. For the length of my memory, I remember that I began notably caressing trees. I’ve never met a tree that said no to me. Next, I branched out with the fondling of flowers, all sorts of selections of soil to dirt, and darned close to anything curious the wilderness volunteered. Somehow, strikingly, accepting those tree hugs breaks my heart as wide as the ocean and sparks an alignment of home.
As I’ve been adoring endless aspects of Maui during this highly seclusion-oriented living phase, a variety of vegetation has kept me company. One can’t easily (nor would I ever wish to) leave off the value of the ocean we’re blessedly surrounded by on this isle. Heck, bathing in any body of water translates as one of the top adaptive forms of a hug for me personally. It also explains my sometimes-conservationist-failure. I’ll self-soothe in a shower the same languid hour(s) as a pool, a hot tub, the Pacific, or else. Further, fierce winds blowing around timber limbs or tiny growing garden stalks waving frantically with joy to get my attention whilst whistling in my ears or gently alighting my own limbs occur frequently. Similarly, are my sacred sessions supporting the local legendary taro beds by massaging them with mulch. We’re in an open relationship of mutually coddling agreement. Once a bluish moon, treat times do exist. An intimate newborn hanging in my arms makes me coo like a first kiss. Uniquely rousing your hugger realm is key.
Embracing isn’t solely a racy sexual intercourse thing. You can enjoy a fling with all kinds of rings to it!