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  "Love is blind, which is why it has such a keen sense
   of touch."   - Ancient Hebrew Proverb
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Author's Note:          With sex there is too much emphasis on 
                        what is bad without explaining the good.
                        This omission can lead to confusion and
                        ruined lives as described in this story.
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 Bad Touching  -    Copyright (C) 1996

     By Dafney C. Dewitt
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"No!"
"Oh, just a little?"  Jason teased, cupping  his wife's 
breasts in his hands. Dorthy pushed him back,  rebuffing 
her husband's inopportune expression of affection.

 "Why not?" asked Jason grabbing Dorthy from behind in 
a hug as she worked at the stove.

 "Can't you see I'm busy?" she answered continuing to stir
 the boiling spaghetti to keep it from sticking together.

 "Just a quick one?"

"Not if you want your dinner." answered Dorthy and besides,
she continued, "Tonight is Cindy's date.  I need to give her 
a reminder about 'Bad Touching', and then there's the weekly
Neighborhood Meeting."

Jason released her from his embrace.  He stared at the back
of her neck in disbelief.  His wife was always talking about 
'Bad Touching'.  She must have delivered over a thousand 
lectures begining when Cindy was three years old.  He shook 
his head in resignation and left the kitchen.

After dinner, Dorthy insisted Cindy join her in the living room 
for a mother-daughter chat.  Jason escaped to the den to watch 
sports on television.  He had heard Dorthy's talk a hundred 
times before and bet that Cindy wished she could escape with 
him.

    "Has your boyfriend tried to touch you?"
    "David?"
    "Yes."
    "Yeah, when he kisses me, his hands start crawling
     all over me like spiders, but I brush them away.  
     Sometimes I feel guilty for not letting him touch 
     me more."
    "Well, feeling guilty is better then 'Bad Touching'."
    "Uhuh, but what if he . . . . you know.  What if he 
     starts to get excited."
    "If that happens, then you know for sure it's time 
     to stop."

Throughout the talk, Dorthy fusses over her daughter Cindy
rubbing her shoulders, combing her hair, holding her hands, 
always touching, stroking, and patting.  Cindy sits still allowing 
the hands to roam over her body.  She's listened to this same 
talk on 'Bad Touching' thousands of times. She knows all the 
answers.  Trying to ignore her mother's hands, Cindy endures 
most of the talk in a stoic silence, answering only when forced.  
In her private world, she wishes herself far away from her 
mother's intrusive questions and fondling hands.  Cindy wishes 
she was with her dad.

After returning from her date, Cindy will be grilled again by her 
Mom.  She knows the dialogue by heart.

"Did you let him kiss you?"
"Only, on the cheek ... just once."
"Why were you gone so long?"
"We were just talking, Mom."
"Did he put his arm around you?"
"Well, he started to, but . . ."
"You stopped him, didn't you?"
"Well, not exactly."
"Oh Cindy, how many times have I told you . . ."
"It's OK Mommy, nothing happened."
"I'm afraid you'll go to far."
"I know about 'Bad Touching'.  I know what to do."
"I'm sure I can trust you, Cindy."

The debriefing immediately after her date would be identical
to the talk before the date. The words would be the same. 
The words would flow over her like a river, harmless but 
also meaningless.  But her mother's hands would be like 
stones carried along by the current hitting Cindy until they 
abraded her resistance.  Under the pressure of the hands, 
Cindy would relent to saying everything her Mom wanted 
to hear.  Her mother would leave soon for the Neighborhood 
Meeting on Family Values.  When she returned, after sharing 
her fears with other concerned parents, she would be calmer 
and more amenable to questions.

Later, Cindy would ask her questions.

"Why is 'Bad Touching' so important?"
"It's not really."
"Then why is there so much talk about it?"
"Well, to keep people from getting hurt."
"Hurt how?"
"Well, you know their feelings."
"Why do parents care so much about feelings?"
"Parents don't want their kids to get hurt."
"There must be a better way."
"Like what?"
"I dunno . . . like 'Good Touching' "
"What's 'Good Touching' ?"
"Don't be silly, you know what it is."
"You're right, I do know, but I'm not sure you do."

There's a long pause before Cindy continues talking.

"I know what 'Bad Touching' is."
"Do you?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well, what is it?"
"It's simple."
"If it's so simple, tell me."
"'Bad Touching' is any unwanted touching by anyone."
"Not just strangers?"
"No, anyone."
"Anyone?"
"Yes, including family members, or school friends."

This time, it isn't Cindy that pauses.

"How can you be so sure about 'Bad Touching'?"
"Because . . .  I know."
"You know?"
"Yes, I know."
"How can you know if you've never had 'Bad Touching'?"
"Oh, but I have."

Cindy waited for a response.

"You have?"
"Yes, I have."
"Well, what was it like?"
"It was terrible."
"How terrible?"
"Real terrible."
"No, I meant why did it feel terrible?"
"The touching never stopped when I wanted it to."
"Did it hurt you?"
"No, not my body, only my feelings."
"Well, then, what was so bad about it?"
"The helplessness."
"Helplessness?"
"Yes."
"Were you tied up?"

Cindy bit her lower lip before responding.

"No."
"Well, why did you feel helpless?"
"Because there was no place to run."
"You couldn't run away?"
"No, the 'Bad Touching' was done by someone I know."
"It usually is."
"You don't understand."
"Make me understand."
"The person doing the 'Bad Touching' loved me."
"How can someone who loves you do 'Bad Touching' ?"
"Silly, anyone can do 'Bad Touching'."
"Anyone?"
"Yes, anyone."
"Even me?"

Cindy wrinkled her brow in thought before answering.

"Yes, even you."
"Well, is this Bad Touching?"
"Mmmmmm!"
"That's not an answer."
"Yes, it is."
"Well, what does it mean?"
"It means no, silly."
"Why, no?"
"Because it feels good."
"Like this?"
"Mmmmm, Yes, just like that.  Keep doing it."
"Do you like it?"
"Yes, I like it.  Please don't stop."
"How about this?  Or this?
"Aah, don't stop. I like it."
"Could this be 'Bad Touching'?"
"No, because it feels so good."
"Should I stop?"
"No please, do it harder, do it faster!"
"OK."
"Oh!, Oh!, Oh!,  I love you!"

Cindy talked until she was exhausted. After she fell asleep, 
her father, Jason, carried her back to her own bed.
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   If you liked this story write to Dafney with suggestions for
   more stories:  DafneyDewitt@hotmail.com