Skin

Yesterday, for the first time in five years, I removed all my clothing in the presence of a woman.  She was a nurse, of course. She examined me all over, even the soles of my feet, for signs of melanoma.  As her fingers ran lightly over my back, I realised what I had been missing all that time. Touch.   If I had a magic button that stops time, I’d have pressed it right then.

She told me I have very good skin for a man of my age.  No sign as yet of anything to be concerned about.  But there are a couple of spots on my back, she said, that I should get my wife to keep an eye on in future.

I told her my wife was keeping an eye on someone else’s back these days.  She laughed, then immediately apologised.  No need to apologise, I am over it, I lied. Then she paid me a compliment.  “You should have no trouble finding someone else to watch your back”.   I do believe that is one of the kindest things I have heard for a while.

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About Uisce úr

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
This entry was posted in Autobiography, Health and wellness, Relationships and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Skin

  1. dayvebutler says:

    I understand exactly what you mean. I remember the longing for that feeling of skin on skin when I was on my own. It was a powerful need once aroused.
    Not sexual – just a hug.

    Liked by 1 person

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