It was almost like an undiscovered sense. I mean, how could it have
such an impact at this moment, so much more than ever before in my
two-score (HA- gotta change that line!) Just a touch of lips on my
cheek.
 I'm no virgin. I have felt pain. Broke my toe just this year. Have
scars from other events.  I have felt out-of-control from pleasurable
sensations. I have fought achey muscles for hours, riding into
headwinds for 150 miles on a bike, full pack. I felt the wind at it's
most frigid on my face, skiing in -30 F, one January in Lutsen,
Minnesota. (The mask went on soon enough!) I remember lots of touches
that thrilled me as a young man.
But the emotions evoked from that touch, and the lingering memory of
it, seem as strong as any touch I remember. It puts me in mind of
 when I hear the finale from Beethoven's Ninth- the hair raises on
neck, and it as if I never used my ears before. Or another woman's
seemingly unadorned natural fragrance as I cozied up to her for a
long slow dance, and how I breathed it an like something palpable,
the antithesis of ...(Needs a space here to prevent shock)...smells
rancid meat.

The view from my roof. A simple one, really. Trees in October dress,
a bright blue sky above. Something about the moment, something new.
That touch on my cheek.

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