You Give Good Hugs…
I am not one to skimp on a hugging opportunity. In professional settings, I will hold back a bit but for the most part, I am going to hug you with all my being. I like the warmth and comfort of a secure embrace. I love listening to the heart race. I like smelling the smell a person makes with their clothing, lotions, and essence of them. So when I get a good hug, it ranks.
This essay is about that.
I started being a hugger when I was around eleven. My parents were going through their divorce and puberty hit. I was getting heavier in the arms and my breast were coming in. By fifth grade, I was a B-cup. Middle school, a solid C. And my arms were that awful lower muscle jiggly. Not something found cute on a twelve-year-old. But my upper body strength was untested. I think from staying up in bed reading. At any rate, my hugs were a topic of discussion.
For one cousin, she was the “proper” size for the decade, a six to eight, and I could pick her up and that shocked her. And my strength was enough to crack a back apparently. Still is to a degree. But she was taller than me so I opted to go low when we hugged and picked her up to see if I could. It was a tween impulse and I went for it. Sue me. If memory serves, we were entering a lunch place when the hug occurred. She immediately pulled out and told me it hurt. I was embarrassed, to be honest. She kept talking about it. It became a joke, that my hug could be a weight-loss tool. In my mind, that is kind of cool. By this time, my cheeks began to cool. But the hug with pick up became a thing in my gym class until I hit a tit pass by accident.
That was one of the few times the popular groups let me play with their set. I was going around picking people up. It was a simple pleasure to be of service for this, even when it became redundant. And while being useful is nice, being a one-trick pony is not. In this encounter, I knew I could not be a trophy to anyone. I am not willing to be perfect in just one thing.
But it became the norm that my hugs were tight. I embraced it as my personal vice. It took until college when they were considered pleasant. I think I hit the right amount of pressure by then. And developed a technique that works for most people by then.
I am five foot four inches and 44 inches around. My width and depth make my arm range about 56/60 inches. I can enclose most people around the center which is my go-to for most people. I prefer to be as close to one’s natural center of gravity when I hug so I can run my hands along the spine. It is the core of the nervous system so heat along the spine radiates throughout the body. I keep my pressure slow and smooth, bringing you into me. It is amazing to get that back in a hug. It is great to give it.
So when I get a good one that feels like you put energy into it, I appreciate it. Bears, big burly muscled men, are a unique exception as they can do the whole pick up and twirl thing and that puts me in the mind of being a slight, easy to carry pre-teen being swirled about by a family member. Those moments make me understand age play in the kink community and why people are drawn to it. Not my kink but I can understand it.
There are three hugs that come to mind for me when I need a mental pick me up to a degree. Most of these happen in college as there is no opportunity for good hugs to happen at work and my family is not big on touch. My favorite one, the memory that ranks above all my orgasms and intimate moments is the cuddle pile.
It was in 2002 before I was stupid enough to move out of my quad where I resided with three other women who liked me and accepted me. There was some tolerance there but not on the same level I had in my family home. These women admired me and cared that I overslept most of the time. They wanted me to enjoy my college life. It was nice. The hug started when I entered my friend’s suite and saw her lying on her bed between classes, watching something on TV and I slid in for a hug. She accepted. I did not move for a good 10 minutes. Her roommate came in after about eight minutes of our cuddle and wanted in. We let her. It was warm to have someone on my back and breathing in sync. My roommate saw what we were doing and joined. It was … bliss. Comfort for the sheer pleasure of it.
I look for that kind of love in my romances. Glad that it finally happened. Pray to the gods that I can actually keep it.
The next one was in 2004 with a vice president of my college club, Active Minds. He was a tall individual who was on the wide side. But this was to his advantage when it came to hugging him. See, his weight was soft in a way that a gel pillow or a sand pillow is soft. Plus, he wore softly concealing clothes. And his chest was a bit caved in. So when he hugged me the first time, I was in heaven. It quickly activated my cuteness aggression. This hug was like being enfolded into a waterfall of warmth. I felt like my shower hugged me for a moment. I wanted to chop his legs off and use him as my replacement pillows. I got three of those hugs before I left him alone.
It has been over a decade and I still love this hug the most.
But a pale second is with the Molotov cocktail brooding beauty I met in my Ph.D. program. His hug is like living memory foam. I enjoy his slurry rs, the way he wears black and orange-tinted glasses. I really wanted to know where he got his notebook for classes as it hit my journal addiction hard. (There is an essay there. Give me time.) Add to the mix of his passion for movies and being in the museum industry, I am a fan.
And that is it for the hugs that I love. I wish there were more. I need to spend time with more kinky bears community.