HUGS

 

   

       It’s funny how I went through life not really understanding or seriously appreciating my husband’s hugs. Now, with only the memory of them, they’ve become one of my favorite things.

          John was a big guy and I always felt small next to him. When he hugged me, he surrounded me. My head nestled beneath his chin, his arms encircled all of me, his body matched the entire length of mine. This was a standing hug.

          The bed hugs were quite possibly the best. My favorite was his body behind mine with his arm around me, hand cupping my boob, his genitals against my bottom, bent knees against bent knees. Just as satisfactory was my front against his back, my hand holding his penis, his hand against my butt cheek.

          There were other hugs quickly given and received, hugs that were more just holding one another as we watched television or talked, hugs that encompassed our boys when they were small, the final hug I gave him in farewell.

          Hugs, or the memory of them, are one of my favorite things and I'm so grateful for all those hug memories.