Matt says that when I touch his chest, he feels it in the base of his spine. And I notice this. His body is so reponsive.

(I love how everybody’s body is different.)

Tonight I found my own hot point, a trigger that radiates through the base of my spine and up between my thighs. It was on the table at one of those questionable tui na bodywork places. I’ve gone a million times to the hygienically dubious bodywork shops all over Nolita, Tribeca, and Chinatown – and I go regularly, constantly, and at the sketchiest hours – but this was the first time I felt almost overwhelmed by stimulation.

Maybe she warmed me up to it. While I was face down, she hopped up and straddled my body to massage my inner thighs in long, slow strokes. I started to wonder if I’d entered one of the places that promises a happy ending to its male clientele and if she was on her way to stroking my kitteh, and then I wondered what a girl’s supposed to do in that situation, if it’s best to give reassuring moans of approval or if it’s best to feign sleep (I was going to play sleep). But we didn’t get there. She hopped off and then moved to the head of the bed to stroke out my back before touching my neck. Like playing a chord with three fingertips, she pressed down at the top of my neck and I felt sensation rocket down my spine and radiate through my clit and thighs. I felt like I’d been lifted into the air, and when she let go, it felt like my body dropped.

I don’t know what she did. I know her fingertips were pressed into a place just above that hairline at the base of my skull, but I’ve been touched and rubbed and stroked there a thousand times before, and it’s never felt that electric.

*

When I started grad school, I went to party thrown by a woman who’d been one of my closest friends in high school. She was there with her boyfriend of five years, a man who’d been vetted by her friends and family to be her husband. She and I differed on this issue, on the pursuit of a suburban existence, and I remember it being evident even in high school: we both loved brainy boys but she preferred boys on the straight and narrow, with a clear path to a stable career, while most of my boyfriends had terrible reputations and highly unstable, creative tendencies. That, and I was experimenting with fellatio manoeuvres while she was saving herself for marriage.

(In the end, she didn’t save much for marriage, thank god. While I don’t believe everyone needs to be a slut, I do think it’s unwise to neglect sexual experience. We know we shouldn’t let our brains atrophy, or our bodies, and I think our sexual awareness deserves the same commitment.)

So. I was at this party, and it was maybe 4am when my friend passed out. I put her to bed, placed some water on her bedside table, and then went to the kitchen to get some water for myself before I gathered up to leave. That’s when her boyfriend walked in. I can’t remember what he said, but I remember being surprised that he looked so serious. I smiled, put my glass down, and turned to leave, and that’s when I felt his breath against my neck. I paused – no, I froze. He slid his hands around my waist and drew me against him and held me there, his lips against my neck. And I was absolutely incapacitated – it was pure electricity down my spine. I dropped my purse and felt a intense rush of adrenaline, in part because I was being touched so erotically, without warning, and in part because this was my friend’s boyfriend. It was a huge ethical breach.

I took a few deep breaths to gain my composure, grabbed my purse, apologized for nothing in particular, and rushed out.

*

Not long ago, I agreed to meet a boy for a drink. He was wearing a t-shirt, and I don’t know what it is about boys in t-shirts – waify boys, usually – but it’s one of my little triggers. Maybe I think about sliding my hands under that cotton. Or maybe it’s because those shirts so easy to get off, or because they’re soft and touchable, or because I want to breathe that cotton in when I’m lusty for a boy. Anyway, he said something like “I’d really like to sleep with you” and I said something like, “Ditto,” and then we were in a cab to Brooklyn.

And what I remember best was going to his place and standing by the window while he rummaged around his apartment for something, but then I felt him place his hands at my hips and press his lips against the nape of my neck. Again I was caught off-guard and again it incapacitated me, but this time I didn’t need to rush out. I felt that sensation rocket through my spine and radiate between my legs, and it was the best feeling in the world.