I Like to Be Touched

I crave the sensuality of having somebody’s hands roam around my body, but even the little moments make me feel so happy. Somebody accidentally brushes against me while I’m stood at a bus-stop, or maybe somebody takes the seat next to me on a train and I feel their arm against mine. This is the innocent, unknown touching that makes me feel happy. When I’m on that same train and somebody’s hand touches and rubs my thigh, or when I’m out with friends and somebody presses their hand against my skirt and my bum; that’s when I dislike being touched and it loses its sensual effects.