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on the feels

Where on earth did the feels come from?  No one showed me the feels.

Yet, I instinctively knew I wanted to hold his hand. Wanted to be close.  I was not myself. The boy let me hold his hand, for a good twenty minutes in the backseat of the car, as we rode back to his home.

Admittedly, socialization sometimes eludes me though I’ve learned that when I follow the pack, I blend in just fine.

It was later that I realized the act of holding his hand, without letting it go, fell into the “mentally challenged” category.  I was in my twenties and he was in his late teens.  My fathers son.  My step-brother.

Before we got into the car I heard my Dad whisper to him to be careful and not to trust me.

Never flinching I did not let on that I am tentacled, so hearing, seeing, smelling and sensing more than I would like.

I held his hand anyways, though tainted was the pureness of the expression of my love. The first and last hand I would want to hold for over fifteen years.

I could not expect that I would encounter a soul that would hold my hand in the same spirit of pure love expression that I once had the feels for.  When it happened, I recognized it immediately.

Never flinching I did not let on that I am tentacled, so hearing, seeing, smelling and sensing more than I would like.

I held his hand anyways, and clean was the pureness of the expression of his love. The first and so far last hand I would want to hold for a lifetime…

 

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