I Touch Myself
I’m having reverse Phantom Hand episodes.
Which lead to weird flashbacks to my teen years.
The first episode, sitting at my desk at work, I turned to look at a printout and lay my chin on my palm. My fingers touched my cheek ever so lightly, and I jumped at the sensuality of it, as it didn’t feel like my hand but was definitely my face. Something about first dates and fumbling kisses came to mind, sweet and scary, backseats and creaking leather and unfamiliar zippers.
A few minutes later, I unconsciously rubbed my upper lip with my hand, and exhaled a sigh, which again made me jump from the strangeness of the sound, a definite SEX sound, and the thought that came with it, the wonder and intrigue of slippery kisses that lead to deeper kisses that lead to pulling bodies on top of each other and rubbing and nakedness, plunging and retracting, arching and fingers clutching flesh.
Then later talking with a friend, I crossed my legs and rested a hand between them mid-thigh, and was startled at how I wanted to move that hand further up and further up, not relating to anything in my conversation or said friend, but just because it seemed like the natural progression, groping under tables, fingers sliding under stockings, skirts pushed up, trying to keep a straight face.
I have no idea what all this means.
It’s MY hand, people.
Touching MY body.
It should be used to it by now (the rubbing and lotioning, lotioning and rubbing….).
I’m turning myself on, in the most unexpected ways. I can only think this is a good thing? As long as I don’t start moaning “Oh baby, yes, DO ME”…??