I flinch a little when her palm slides up my naked chest, the muscles pulling taut under her gentle touch. She tries to draw back like she did that night in the tent, and my free hand captures her wrist to hold her there. Touch is repulsive and unnecessary. I barely hug my own mother. A person openly wanting to touch and cuddle and feel makes my skin crawl. I’ve always been this way, but when Stacey touches me, even if it’s just a hand on my chest or shoulder, it feels different. Not repulsive at all. But it’s still foreign to me. Unknown. Yet I want to explore it more.
