On Learning to Cuddle With Friends
Originally appeared in PS I Love You
It took me a long time to realize that a beautiful female friend could gaze into my eyes, hold my hands, and tenderly stroke my body… as a friend.
I recall a beach trip with a flirtatious friend who cradled my head in her lap as I told her stories of my childhood. She created a soft space for me to relax my mind-body as she ran fingers through my hair and listened with intent. I felt loved from here to the moon.
We began to walk through the sand as I noticed a janky stagnation building in my groin. It shifted into pain… FUCK! I had gotten blue balls.
My subconscious had literally instructed my body to prepare for sex — any moment now. My body’s physical understanding of affectionate touch and deep eye contact was, “Gear up for sex, boys!”
I was a bit embarrassed that my body had been so one-directional, and admittedly, in my head, I thought, “Oh, she totally digs me.”
Eventually, I realized she was just the type of friend who gives her full attention to people she’s with, letting her affection flow freely to the people she cares about. Basically, I learned that she was the type of friend who heals people: a human being overflowing with love.
And that kind of love is profoundly therapeutic for the body. Studies have shown that (welcome and consensual) non-erotic touch lowers cortisol levels, which means reduced stress and stronger immune systems. It also floods our bodies with oxytocin, which has been shown to deepen bonds, foster generosity, and even reduce drug cravings.
Touch is so important that psychologists now refer to a chronic lack of it as “skin hunger,” a common but rarely acknowledged problem in our touch-starved society.
“People who are touch hungry usually present as being depressed individuals . . . they’re withdrawn; their voice intonation contour is flat . . . when you massage these people, their depression levels go down,” — Dr Tiffany Field of the Touch Research Institute, Broadly
We each possess antidepressant superpowers dormant in our fingertips. Yet if you ask the average American about sharing that love-drug-magic with their close and trusted friends, you’ll hear something like, “No, that’s just for partners,” or “That’s too intimate.”
Yes, cuddling is intimate. But like folks from Latin America will tell you, a thoughtful touch or caress doesn’t need to imply anything other than genuine affection.
Touch is universal. It’s the first language we learn. And there’s something profoundly wrong with a society that ignores its power to heal itself because of the collective delusion that touching is just a pathway to sex.
Sure. Touching someone can be a way to show interest. And inviting someone over “for cuddles” can be a not-so-innocent request for something more. But if we let the murky intricacies of cuddling friends opt us out of the whole endeavor, then we’re essentially destining ourselves to need a romantic partner to meet one of our most basic needs.
After my embarrassing beach-date-that-wasn’t-a-date, I began to slowly and delicately decouple the physical displays of intimacy from the idea that things were going to escalate. I had more than a few confusing conversations with friends:
“Dude, I cuddled her on the couch for thirty minutes at the get-together. I think she’s into me.”
“Are you sure? She’s kind of like that with everyone.”
—
“I saw them holding hands last night. Are they dating?”
“Nah man, they’re just really good friends…”
—
After each encounter, the truth sank in deeper: I had entered an extraordinary new friend group that casually skirted the puritanical idea that intimate touch is reserved for romantic partners. And as my expectations cooled down, my body (and it’s various impulses) followed.
A new mindset took hold. And with it came new umami-level depths of flavor in my close friendships and a whole new genre of experience.
Recently, I celebrated new year’s eve at a cozy house party with close friends old and new. The night was filled to the brim with long nuzzling hugs, deep eye contact, giant cuddle puddles, and even friendly kisses.
And I couldn’t stop hearing people say, “This is what humanity should be like.”
