Stu\u2019s next client was a man by the name of Robert, who enjoyed touching foot to foot, sole to sole, a sensation that Stu had begun to find quite pleasing after some initial hesitation. Then came Izzy, a pale young woman who had a habit of stroking Stu\u2019s bushy beard as they spooned, which he endured but did not appreciate. His penultimate client, Lucius, was a larger gentleman who liked to hold Stu\u2019s hand while they lay side-by-side in an overly snug twin-size bed. Once the sessions ended, each client, in his or her own way, expressed gratitude, most often in the form of a five-star review. Stu himself was grateful to provide such a service to people. He felt good about the work he did. This, of course, made him think about his ex-wife, Liz. She\u2019d never understood why he snuggled for a living. Stu remembered the way Liz would scowl at him from her side of the bed when she thought he was sleeping, prickly heat radiating off her body. The way she would shirk from his touch. \u201cHow many hands have yours touched today?\u201d she\u2019d accuse, as if he were contaminated. \u201cWhat are you bringing into our home?\u201d<\/p>\n
Stu told himself not to dwell on the past. Today wasn\u2019t even over yet. There was one last client: an older woman by the name of Deborah Bronstein. Unlike the rest, she was a new client, which meant she requested him specifically, and had paid a premium for it. Deborah existed in a hospice on the outskirts of the city, and according to her profile, had stage four pancreatic cancer. Stu felt the weight of her request. He hoped he could make her comfortable.<\/p>\n
After changing into sweatpants and a white t-shirt, Stu checked in at the front desk. He was guided by a nurse to Deborah\u2019s mushroom-colored room. The effect of this hue was less calming and more off-putting, as if the d\u00e9cor had been installed so that the residents could familiarize themselves with being buried under soil. In this room, Deborah was set up on the bed, back propped against the headboard by two pillows. Rather than starkly bald with sunken cheeks, she looked surprisingly healthy, given her situation. There was a wisp of hair on her head, and color in her face. She wore a wrinkled lilac nightgown that extended to her ankles.<\/p>\n
Stu took a seat on the edge of the bed next to the side-table.<\/p>\n
\u201cHello, Deborah,\u201d he said. \u201cHow are you feeling?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot too shabby,\u201d she said, with a shrug. \u201cEver since they stopped the chemo, I sometimes think I must be getting better.\u201d<\/p>\n
Stu didn\u2019t know what to say to that. So he just smiled. In Stu\u2019s experience, a smile always seemed to do the trick. It didn\u2019t ask hard questions.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you want me to put any music on?\u201d he asked. As usual, Stu had brought a portable speaker in case Deborah had not set things up beforehand. Most clients wanted music playing to cover up the sounds of their own hastily beating hearts.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think I would prefer nothing for now,\u201d she replied. \u201cI like the quiet.\u201d<\/p>\n
Stu found this sweet, if unexpected. \u201cThat sounds good to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a pause and Stu took his opening. \u201cHow would you like to start?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRegular spooning would be nice,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s been some time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course, Deborah.\u201d<\/p>\n
Stu moved into position as the big spoon and Deborah curled into his plentiful body, allowing herself to be enveloped. He felt the blunted ridge of her spine, her cold, smooth hands. Stu slowed down his breath, trying to coax Deborah into breathing in time with him. He\u2019d found that linked breathing had some special, soothing power. Sometimes, when the breath was just right, it seemed as though he and the client were one entity, connected by some invisible thread. In the quiet of the room, Stu could, with concentration, make out the sound of faraway birdsong.<\/p>\n
But then something happened, both wondrous and terrible: Stu got an erection.<\/p>\n
As a professional snuggler, Stu had only ever been on the receiving end, never the giving end. He had felt the erections of male clients, solid, pressed against his upper buttock. Often the men were embarrassed for their involuntary, if natural reaction, in which case Stu happily ignored it and moved on. But sometimes they wouldn\u2019t be embarrassed. This kind of man was usually desperate. Desperate with desire even for Stu\u2014mildly overweight, divorced, in his fifties. Typically these men themselves were also mildly overweight divorced men in their fifties. Stu would tell them a stern \u201cNo,\u201d and invariably they would settle down, their erection fading into the covers. At his own erection, Stu\u2019s first emotion was surprise, almost bewilderment, as if he was unable to comprehend his penis working as it was supposed to.<\/p>\n
Panic came, quick, hot. This shouldn\u2019t happen. This couldn\u2019t happen. Stu was the consummate professional. An erection was amateurish, incompetent. Worse, it was unethical. Deborah had not signed on for this, had not given her consent.<\/p>\n
His first thought was to stop everything, get up and call the session off. But no, that would be a disaster. That would ruin him. He would never be able to snuggle again. Stu needed to be delicate, tactful. The problem was that if he moved his penis, it would show his discomfort, perhaps even reveal the offense. But if he didn\u2019t move, he would be subjecting her to more of this fiasco, this phallic farce. He couldn\u2019t decide. He was frozen stiff.<\/p>\n
But it was not just the pressure of her body that Stu felt, it was also something else, something worse: a rising surge of lust in his chest. It disgusted him. How could he feel this way? Deborah was vulnerable. She trusted him.<\/p>\n
The lust in Stu\u2019s chest turned to nausea. Enough was enough.<\/p>\n
With one deft movement of his hips, Stu shifted position, slightly adjusting his crotch so that his penis was safely pushing up against open space, while the rest of his body was still locked securely to Deborah\u2019s. He was breathing hard though, unable to control the fear, the confusion that had taken hold of him. Still, he heard no peep from Deborah. She seemed oblivious, perhaps didn\u2019t even realize that this was not how it was supposed to go.<\/p>\n
Stu\u2019s penis was still at full mast. It was unbearable. But he didn\u2019t stop the session. Not only for his sake but for Deborah\u2019s. After all, she had paid for his services, paid to be embraced, paid for the small relief of his comfort against the great pain she faced. He felt heartsick that he couldn\u2019t provide solace to her, that his penis had betrayed him. It was a cruel joke, crueler still that he could not stop it, that he was locked into this nightmare.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you okay, dear?\u201d Deborah asked, suddenly.<\/p>\n
Stu tensed, the blood surging in his penis. \u201cOf course. How are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWonderful,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019d like to lie side by side if that\u2019s alright to you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnything\u2019s alright with me, Deborah,\u201d Stu said, but inside he was thinking: She felt it! She must be horrified! She must be repulsed!<\/p>\n
For the next twenty minutes, they lay together, holding hands like otters do to keep themselves from floating away. In the intervening silence, Stu managed to slow his heart rate. His erection was still going strong, but it was now held down by the weight of the goose-down comforter. There was no tent rising up to tip Deborah off to his present condition.<\/p>\n
Stu was thankful for that at least.<\/p>\n
\u201cStu,\u201d Deborah said, his name in her mouth only excited him further.<\/p>\n
\u201cWould you mind if I hummed something, an old song I used to know? Leonard and I would sing it to each other from time to time.\u201d<\/p>\n
Stu knew from her profile that Leonard was Deborah\u2019s late husband.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot at all,\u201d he said. \u201cI would love to hear it.\u201d<\/p>\n
She made a little noise, a chirp of joy. \u201cLet\u2019s see if I can carry a note.\u201d<\/p>\n
Deborah began humming a sweet, slow song, that reminded Stu of autumn, of a brisk evening stroll. It reminded him, also, of a Halloween night in college where he and Lacy, his first serious girlfriend, screwed their brains out in a pile of raked leaves after an off-campus frat party, too horny to make it all the way home to the dorms. It was itchy and mildly unpleasant, but they both still got off. For the first time in a decade, Stu longed to masturbate.<\/p>\n
Instead, as Deborah\u2019s airy voice filled the room, Stu took action. He stuck his hand down his pants and managed to tuck his erect penis under the girth of his belly.<\/p>\n
This hurt, but at least his erection was now hidden.<\/p>\n
When she finished, her voice remaining steady and clear throughout the performance, Stu clapped lightly. \u201cEncore,\u201d he said. \u201cThat was lovely.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re too kind,\u201d she replied. He heard the warble in her voice and wondered whether she was thinking of Leonard, of the way he used to kiss her neck, her nipples.<\/p>\n
Stu clutched Deborah\u2019s soft, dry hand until the buzzer rang, at which point he shot up from the bed where she continued to lie.<\/p>\n
He pretended to stretch, as if waking up from a contented nap, making sure to keep his back toward Deborah so she couldn\u2019t see the protrusion in his pants.<\/p>\n
\u201cI will say it was strange,\u201d Deborah said, her voice restrained.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh?\u201d Stu asked. He turned only his head and tried to contain his panic.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere was\u2026I don\u2019t know, something very sustaining about your presence. It has just been me by myself for a long time, ever since Toto passed. I\u2019m sure you get this all the time, but it felt so nice to have someone else next to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know exactly what you mean, Deborah,\u201d Stu said, suppressing the urge to run from the room and quit snuggling forever. \u201cPeople aren\u2019t meant to be alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
She smiled, a full smile, her teeth surprisingly bright. \u201cYou\u2019ve got a beautiful soul.\u201d<\/p>\n
Stu felt like he\u2019d been punched hard in the gut. He couldn\u2019t find his breath.<\/p>\n
Deborah closed her eyes. \u201cGoodbye for now, Stu.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded, had already started collecting his things. As soon as the door shut, Stu made for the visitor\u2019s bathroom. In the stall, he grabbed his swollen penis with a fist.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat the hell are you doing?\u201d he asked, angrily tugging at its girth.<\/p>\n
But his penis was deaf to mercy.<\/p>\n
Stu changed into jeans and put on underwear, the combo successfully pinning his penis to his thigh. \u201cI hope you suffocate,\u201d he said to it.<\/p>\n
Bandy-legged, Stu stumbled out of the hospice\u2019s double-doors, almost toppling into a small, stone fountain. In the center of the fountain was a frog, water pressure so low that it appeared as if the frog was letting water dribble out of its stone mouth. The sun, low in the sky, beat down, and Stu shut his eyes, clenching them tight until he could see the faint, bright outlines of stars. He imagined Liz, his ex-wife. He imagined her bottom lip quivering, eyes red and tear-filled, face flushed and hair disheveled as she pled with him to fuck her.<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease just fuck me, Stu. Why won\u2019t you fuck me?\u201d<\/p>\n
He opened his eyes to the stone frog dribbling its water in the evening heat. It appeared to him now that, rather than smooth-flowing water, the frog was continuously spewing vomit out of its mouth into an even larger pool of vomit.<\/p>\n
Liz\u2019s words came to Stu again, the way her voice broke.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy won\u2019t you fuck me, Stu? Why?\u201d<\/p>\n
A wave of nausea traveled up Stu\u2019s throat, the words still so potent even now, and he retched onto the sidewalk. As he panted, doubled over with hands on his knees, Stu\u2019s erection began to fade, first softening, then flattening back into that familiar, impassive calm.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
His ex-wife had never understood why he snuggled for a living. Stu remembered the way Liz would scowl at him from her side of the bed when she thought he was sleeping, prickly heat radiating off her body. The way she would shirk from his touch. \u201cHow many hands have yours touched today?\u201d she\u2019d accuse, as if he were contaminated. \u201cWhat are you bringing into our home?\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":20609,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-20168","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-matt-goldberg"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20168","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20168"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20168\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20608,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20168\/revisions\/20608"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20609"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20168"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20168"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20168"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}