Sinful Sunday: Out of touch

That feeling you get when you’ve been wearing a watch or ring for a long time, and then you’re not. You’re suddenly, constantly, aware of its absence.

My back has felt like that for the past month.

There was one night when he was being much more demonstrative than usual. He’d barely kicked his shoes off before pulling me in to him by my waist, then anchoring me to him with a hand sliding up my spine, the other resting lightly on my waist.

I almost swooned.

He’s a clever Chap (well, mostly), and he realised very quickly that if he wanted to have me melt in his hands, all he had to do was brush them across my kidneys, along my vertebrae, over my shoulder blades.

He wasn’t the most touchy-feely of people; I’m much the same, only really demonstrative when I feel totally secure, or a little bit giddy on cocktails. But now I ache for contact – and my back feels it most.

It feels like there’s a vacuum around it. No amount of sinking into a Pilates mat, pulling a duvet tight around it, attempting to give it a pebble massage on the less breezy days on the beach, eases its need for the human touch.

Who else is playing this weekend? Click on the kiss: