The other day my trainer gave me one of those ass out hugs at the end of our session. You know the hug I’m talking about – stiff arms, 90 degree elbows, face turned away from you, body rigid with the stress of avoiding contact at all costs. It’s an anti-hug, really. It says, “I need to make contact with you and this is how I’m going to do it.” There are other options – the ass out hug should only be attempted in the direst of circumstances.
There’s the handshake which, between two women, can come across as too formal after the initial handshake. Women rarely shake hands again after the first handshake – it’s either 2 kisses or a hug (a real one) after that. A light touch on the shoulder is also good – anything but the ass out hug.
I’m a big fan of touching. No, no, don’t get all up in arms and assume it’s some nasty sex thing. I just really like touching and being touched by other people. Yes, sometimes it really is a sex thing, but for the most part it’s a “feeling close to another human being thing”, which, let me tell you, is pretty good. Rub, scratch, poke and prod away my friends - I like it all. I've also been known to accept own palm slaps across the face when plied with booze. I'm also happy to administer them.
There is, however, one caveat. I loathe, nay, despise, being slapped on the ass. I don't know what it is or why it happens, but when I get smacked on the ass I am seized with a rage that I am unable to control. It is this "white fury" that I hear so much about from all the local psychos. I am almost certain that there's a wealth of untapped wrath trapped somewhere in my ass and each little smack reminds it that it's trapped, forever a prisoner. For about 5 seconds after the initial smack I feel like I might throw up due to the sheer volume of seething hate and ire coarsing through my veins. You would be correct in assuming that this visceral reaction to something so mundane and ordinary is, well, unsettling to say the least.
They got it right on Arrested Development. No Touching indeed!