Am I tactile person? I believe that I may very well completely fucking not be. Don't get me wrong, I like touching, I like to be touched. It's nice, that touching shit. I'm certainly not one of those crazy cunts who recoils at the brush of an arm by a casual acquaintance. A hearty handshake from a relative stranger or even a strange relative is not going to cause a reflexive knee to the groin. I am aware too, too aware indeed, of the cynical use of touch in the getting of what one wants, the positive reinforcement of a pat on the back, the ego-boosting nature of a breast brush. So touching is okay, for the most part.
And yet I am incredibly protective of my personal space. You know those fuckers who stand really close when they're talking to you? Who get right in your face with their enthusiasm for life and all its alleged joys? This guy is one of those and he is representative of his type. That's the kind of shit that really gets to me, makes me want to get going with the pushing, the wild flailing, the screwdriver in the eyeing. Or maybe it's just assholes. I don't like them touching me, being near me, even fucking thinking about me. Assholes.
I bring this up like so much regurgitated risotto because I've been threatened with a hugging. You heard right. Some guy thinks I need a hug, and for some non-sexual, fucked up reason he wants to be the hugger. I know little about this wannabe embracer, but I have it on good authority that he's no asshole. I, of course, will be the fucking judge of that. Oh how I will judge. But were he to come even close to my ridiculously low standards, I might just take this proffered hug. Fuck knows I could do with one.