From an old e-mail to a bird.

I don't know if I ever told you this, but when I was young I was very attached to my mother. I would love to touch her and be close to her. I loved it when people would touch me, even if they were just putting their hand on my shoulder for a moment. I loved it when teachers would stand close to me. Their presence would help me. I loved having female teachers because they made me feel more comfortable with myself. Men would disturb me because they never touched each other. About the age of 8, I was constantly hugging my mother from the moment she walked in the door from work. All I wanted to do was hug her, greet her, say hello and be with her; Momma's boy to the extreme. If I told my mother about this today sadly, she wouldn't remember a thing. Eventually she got annoyed with this behavior and would have to push me off or tell me to go away when she’d be doing other work. She would spend hours doing her paperwork. It bruised my heart. I didn't understand the adult work life. I didn't know how to be compassionate for someone who refused touch-intimacy. I didn’t understand why they would reject touch.
From there I went into a touch-celibate mode. I could never touch anyone. My body became a private temple that couldn't come into contact with people. Regardless of my appearance, weather feeling fat or thin, I became very insecure with my body. I would never take my shirt off, even if it were in the privacy of my own home. The only time I would ever be naked was bathing or when dressing in my room. Nudity would last for mere seconds and I would use two towels to hide myself from the bathroom to my room. When I would see my reflection in the mirror after opening the shower curtain I would cover myself with a rag.
When I first discovered my dance class I was very shy. Here I was, Mr. insecure body, surrounded with strangers who were comfortable being intimate with one another. For the longest time I would laugh silently while warming up. Sometimes the warm-ups would require a slow hip thrust which made the group look like they were having sex with the air around them. All of the warm-ups were constructive and stretch-worthy, but I had trouble just moving in front of these people, showing my body. Being one of three men (one of them doesn't even dance but instead plays our music) I was insecure with myself. I have a penis and God forbid that I have a bulge in the crotch of my sweatpants. It was difficult for me to learn how to move comfortably. Just moving my hips, without feeling self-conscious, was a struggle. Eventually, this began to change. It was when I experienced Contact-Improve, the dance movement that requires constant touch with another individual, that I broke my discomfort.
My dance partner that night was Susan and she was an excellent person to be paired with. She held me closely, touched my body, and held me against her breasts. I grew up forbidding myself to ever touch a woman’s bosom or even dare look at. To me, such things were the privacy of the individual that I could not intrude, even with permission. A person's body was their temple and I was most unworthy to even be in the presence of such things. When moving with Susan, who ironically shares the same name as my mother, I took the opportunity in that closed and safe environment to venture into touch. I brushed my cheek against her foot, observing what such an experience would be like to place one's cheek/face against another's foot. It was intimacy on a whole new level, and for once in my life I didn't associate intimacy with the idea of sex.
Growing up, if anyone touched me for any reason, it was special. I think it's obvious that some of these corky habits about showing my body, touching others, and insecurities of touch have continued into my adult relationships. I think it's funny how I can have such a huge ego, but then touch me and I melt.