Hands that Hold

Each day upon his return home, Mister K wraps me in his arms. His wide shoulders providing a perfect place for my smaller frame to settle and remove the stress of my day. His arms are strong and lined with lean muscle from years of manual labour, his hands calloused and rough against my skin, his hold tight and powerful. Here it feels like coming home. This is my safe place.

When I was pregnant with our youngest child, the same as always, Mister K would come home and pull me close and hold me tight. But as my pregnancy progressed and my midline became bigger and rounder, hugging Mister K became a challenge. All things become challenging when pregnant, but nothing stood out more than the hugging. The biggest part I remember is the lack of pelvic touching. I would be bent backward at a forty-five-degree angle trying to push my belly into Mister K as far as I could. My back would be arched, my legs spread to hold my new and still quite awkward weight.  Our Chests still touching, his flat stomach against my very round one, but the hug never felt complete.

When our baby boy was finally born (he was two and a half weeks early and continues to keep me on my toes) and I was released from the hospital, Mister K and I stood staring at each other for a long time. Finally, he pulled me into his arms and held me like he had all those times before and all the times he would in the future, and I knew that this was what was missing. The ability for our bodies to be aligned head to toe was what made the hug with Mister K complete. The ability of our bodies to come together and join as one whole unit. It’s an intimacy that I have not experienced with another person. Ever. It’s not sexual, it’s not an aspect of our D/s dynamic. All I can relate it to is pure, unconditional love.

Please Don’t Hug Me

I’m not a hugger. Hugging me is an act of familiarity that many don’t have the privilege to have. There are few people that I am comfortable enough with to hug. I don’t like people in my space. I don’t like to touch people. I’m not sure why I feel this way, I just have, for as long as I can remember. To me, hugging is cumbersome. I never know if I use both arms, just hug on the side? Do I touch cheeks, rest my head on someone’s shoulder? Where are the rules for hugging? I’m a short woman, so hugging taller people is uncomfortable and I never feel like I’m putting myself into it. It’s easier to just not hug. I’m all for fist bumps, high fives and more recently, elbow taps.

Mister K comes from a family of huggers. The kind that demands them with “Give me a hug”, at every gathering, a chance meeting, and departure. It’s exhausting, to be honest. To me, demanding a hug is not asking for consent – see Consensual Consent for more about how I feel on that topic. It’s hard to not be rude in these situations. But I endure it for two reasons. First, I’m Canadian, rudeness is not something that sits well with me. Yes, I have boundaries, but a hug is not life and death. Unless I feel extremely unsettled about a person, I will relinquish and give in. And Second, sometimes the hugger needs a hug more than the huggee… The power of the hug is an extraordinary thing. In only 20 seconds of embracing, oxytocin is released, relieving stress and anxiety. We should all be so lucky to have something so readily available to alleviate the stresses of our days. To say no seems kind of selfish.

Lifestyle Choices

When I started to join in local lifestyle events, I learned quickly that our local community is a group of huggers, but the one thing that sets them apart from most is that they ask, “do you hug?” My first munch I was hugged more than I was at my wedding. But each and every person asked before hugging me and I love that about the BSDM community. Consent is consent is consent and without it, nobody enters your space. It’s refreshing to know that I can say no if I don’t feel like being touched, or have a feeling about someone that I just can’t place.

Mister K himself is a hugger. I believe it’s a learned trait. Something that carries on over generations, like a secret recipe or the family motto. He has no qualms about hugging anybody, and he’s complemented quite often about how good of a hugger he is. They’re not wrong, his hugs are comfortable, just long enough to feel cherished, but not so long as to make anyone uneasy. His embrace is tight enough to let you know he’s truly putting himself into it, but not enough to make you feel trapped. Somehow he knows the rules of engagement when it comes to hugging.

What sets us apart brings us together

 Our upbringings and childhoods were very different. He came from parents that were “old school” and believed in tough love. But they also believed in forgiveness (mostly). After being disciplined or punished, Mister K was hugged. You messed up kid, but we still love you. I hope we’ve shown our children the same courtesy.

I was not raised as much as guided. I spent my childhood in and out, but mostly in, the foster care system. That’s not to say that I wasn’t hugged as a child. I was. But maybe I never really got that feeling of familiarity that one gets when they are raised by parents who are raising their kids to keep the next generation going, or guiding them to be contributing parts of society. I had many foster parents over the years, but only one stands out as someone I was comfortable hugging. She attended my wedding and gives a hug almost as good as Mister K’s. Almost. Maybe that’s the key ingredient to hugging. Being taught how, and having an honest caring person to do the teaching.

What Matters Most

No matter how many hugs I receive throughout my life, the one that matters most to me is Mister K’s upon his return home each day. I find myself pacing if he’s even a few minutes late. Maybe it’s just a wife’s worry or a submissive’s routine, but I’d like to think it’s knowing that when I’m there in that space, we are one. In that space, in that time, it’s just Him and I.

I’m aware of how lucky I am to have someone that I can trust so deeply and literally bare my soul to. More now than ever. We’re currently in a time when we realize that something as simple and comforting as hugging has been taken for granted. When the world goes back to order and we all are free to once again be in the open air, breathing and laughing with our neighbors, friends and extended family, may we all remember the power of a hug and the time when hugs were taken for granted. May we hug for pleasure or comfort or peace, and may we find pleasure, comfort, and peace in hugging

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