Misjudging the travel time I find myself twenty minutes early to my destination. I park at the end of the street putting myself in a perfect position to view the others from a distance as they arrive. I squint through the heavy rain as cars park and blurry figures tack around puddles and into the large Victorian on the corner. I feel like a spy; a feeling that would persist throughout the day.

All week I’d been receiving e-mails from Amie about the event and confirming my attendance. All of Amie’s e-mails come through in bright hot pink and at a minimum of 22 point font. I forget this frequently only to find myself scrambling to cover my screen before any of my co-workers can catch a glimpse. “Ha ha ha!” I say in a louder than normal voice, “My niece. Her e-mails are just so darn cute!” Over the course of the week I become an expert at minimizing my screen and reading Amie’s e-mails five words at a time. It’s a total pain in the ass but I see it as an acceptable solution.

I’m not sure what I hope to see from my stakeout site. What could I see that would make me feel more at ease about this? A large pack of Jessica Albas holding hands and bounding into the house in super tight sweatpants? I know that’s not reality, and it’s not why I’m here. Nevertheless it doesn’t comfort me to see what appears to be an elderly woman hobble towards the house, followed shortly by three men, and then another man, and then another. Oh boy. It’s 10:57am. Time to go. I turn off the engine, yank my coat up over my head and run towards the house.

I enter the house and am greeted in the foyer by Amie. Amie (pronounced AH-mee, I’m informed) is bright-eyed and welcoming, giving everyone a big hug when they arrive. Not just shoulder hugs, real warm hugs. To my relief Amie’s vibe is completely caring and the hug doesn’t feel invasive in the least. I imagine Amie’s power animal to be a rainbow colored ponycorn. (that’s a cross between a pony and a unicorn.) She signs me in and takes my payment which is on a sliding scale — $30-$50, you decide what you can afford. I give her $35 even though I have much more in my pocket. I wonder if this is an unspoken clue to Amie that if she were to go to dinner with me I’d order the second cheapest wine on the list. Not that I want to go to dinner with Amie, but damn her, she’d be right. I’m invited to take my shoes off and move into the house.

I find myself in a square room with plain white walls, a hodgepodge of pillows and floor-level chairs lining the perimeter. These are some uncomfortable minutes as people mill around not quite sure what to do with themselves. I choose to alternately stuff my fists into my pockets and stretch them over my head, hoping this act is self-engaging enough that it excuses me from actually interacting with anyone else in the room.

After everyone has arrived Amie closes up the foyer and joins us. On her request we all take a seat, indian-style in the chair closest to us. She introduces herself and we’re asked to go around the room doing the same. In addition we are asked to state why we’re here or what we hope to get out of the day.

Evelyn starts us off. Evelyn is the elderly woman I saw from my car earlier. My best guess is that she’s in her early 70’s. Her white old lady fro has been matted a little bit from the rain but it doesn’t seem to have dampened her spirits. Evelyn is a Reiki practitioner from Milford, MA and she’s come in the hopes of supplementing her Reiki skills. When asked by Paul, sitting next to her, about her Reiki “level” she responds that she has completed Level 1 but has not gone any further as “the spirit told her to stop there.”

Paul, as it turns out, is also a Reiki practitioner, from New Hampshire. If he is not equal in age to Evelyn he is close. Paul could be one of my friend’s fathers. He seems confident and comfortable. He is glad his Journey has brought him here. Evelyn and Paul have a lot in common and I can tell they’re each pleased the other is present.

Steven is probably the youngest person here, other than me. Steven is a member of a local men’s group and has brought his friend Tim with him, also from the men’s group. For the uneducated, a men’s group is a group of men who go out into the woods and bang on drums and…. I don’t know. Hunt? Gather? Cry? Make Mai Tais? I want to ask Steven if one can wear white to a men’s group outing after Labor Day but I know now is not the time. Steven tells us that in college he stumbled upon something called Contact Improv which really opened up some doors for him emotionally. He’s hoping today’s experience might extend on that. He bravely admits that he wishes he had more touch in his life.

Tim doesn’t offer much information about himself other than confirming that Steven and he know each other from the men’s group and that Steven called him up about today and he decided to join in. He seems a little cautious about being here but seems genuinely open-minded and curious.

Samantha tells us a lot and if she’s taking breaths in between her sentences it’s not noticeable to me. Samantha is a young looking mom in her early 40’s from New York with a swath of gray running through her brunette head like Rogue in that X-Men movie. Samantha lets us know that she is part of a Poly Group. Polygamy, right? Wrong. Polyamorous — “responsible, consensual, non-monogamy.” Samantha laughs loudly at her own words and it’s obvious she needs to be the center of attention at all time. Samantha is over-sexed, making juvenile sexual references at every possible turn. I don’t think she should be here, but who am I to say.

James is also very happy, ecstatic actually, that his Journey has brought him here today. Again with the Journey. I keep hearing that word and everyone here seems to be on one but me. James glances out the window — he thinks the heavy rain outside is perfect for the kind of work we’ll be doing since “the earth is so gooey, supple, and giving this morning.” James says that all through his early adulthood he expressed himself or gained approval through physicality or sexuality. Due to this he was “always open for business.” Samantha chimes in and says she was the same way.

Bob is from Connecticut and happened to be on business in western Massachusetts when he heard about today and decided to extend his trip over the weekend. Bob is single, in his mid-40’s, and overweight. He’s been on his Journey for 10 years now. He informs us that his friend Diane should be joining us later. There is something very Fight Club Meat Loaf-ish about Bob.

I’m the last one to go and I merely state that I’ve been looking for opportunities to push myself out of my comfort zone and thought that this would definitely qualify. To my surprise this elicits very accepting nods from the group. Determined not to feel left out I add that Journey is my favorite band of all-time.

These are the people who’ve signed up for the Cuddle Party. To be exact today is a 2-in-1 event: an Art of Touch class followed by a Cuddle Party. This is Amie’s mandate. Apparently people cannot be expected to take part in a successful Cuddle Party without first having some Touch education.

Amie hits the flip chart and begins the Art of Touch class. The upshot is that we’ve all been socialized to interpret all touch as sexual touch or touch that leads to something sexual. Today we will try to raise our “Touch Intelligence” and reprogram ourselves to understand the myriad of non-sexual touch that we can experience in our lives. Safe, caring, non-sexual touch that creates trust, support, and wellness….. all at a participation level of our own choosing. Like yoga and meditation, touch can help us achieve balance and wellness and help us grow into our full potential. “Time to take the Ouch out of Touch!”

We will learn all of this through a series of “dyads” this morning where we pair up with another person. My first dyad is with Meat Loaf. We’re asked to discuss any issues or limits we have in regards to touch. Like Steven did earlier Bob boldly states that he’s looking for more touch in his life. He’s making me feel very Fight Club-ish again. Bob asks me if I have anything to share. All I can come up with is, “The first rule of Cuddle Party is: Don’t Talk About Cuddle Party.” He smiles weakly.

I get teamed up with Amie for dyad number two where we talk about how we feel about our hands. I perk up and go on and on to her about how I love my hands and how they’re very strong but also incredibly soft and how people are often amazed at how soft they are. “Go ahead, feel!” For some reason this is a routine I normally fall into when I’m drunk. When I start to interrupt conversations and solicit friends to touch my hands and behold their silky softness I know my night is close to being over.

Amie leans in and whispers to me that this dyad is actually to uncover those who might have issues with their hands, since hands are so vital to the touching process. In other words she says I have nothing to worry about and that I can shut up about my hands already. Maybe it’s imagined but this is the first sign I get from Amie that she can sense I’m coming from a different place than everyone else here.

Dyad number three is with James. We talk about touch in our families of origin. James tells me that when he was two days old he remembers feeling isolated and alone, like he was cut off from everyone else. I question him on how in the world he remembers anything from two days old. He reveals that this was discovered through some deep hypnotherapy and when he asked his mother if he was ever in a plastic enclosure in the hospital after birth she nearly dropped her mug of Sleepytime tea and shrieked, “How did you know that?!” James thinks that that early experience of isolation has profoundly affected him in his adult life, always having a hard time connecting with people, still feeling like a thin film prevents him from getting the closeness he craves. For a split second I think it would be funny to give James a giant roll of saran wrap for his birthday.

For the final dyad of the morning I’m teamed up with Samantha for SRS. SRS stands for Slow Repetitive Stroking. As composed as I’ve been all morning any mention of Slow Repetitive Stroking makes me want to giggle, or to raise my hand and declare myself a master on this. Level 5 Stroker beats Level 1 Reiki. Take that, Evelyn!

In this context SRS is the simple act of slowly stroking the forearm of the person opposite you over and over again. Amie contends that if done regularly SRS can have similar benefits as traditional therapy. After the stroking we turn inward to the circle to discuss the experience.

Samantha tells the group that for her the sensation kept alternating between sensual and sexual. She even uses the word “tingly” to describe how certain parts of her body felt during the exercise. “I got turned on but it wasn’t like I was like ‘hey, let’s go fuck’ or anything like that.” Hearing this I silently snap my fingers in mock disappointment which gets a few laughs.

When it’s Steven’s time to talk about the experience he says that he noticed certain feelings bubbling to the surface while receiving the stroking. He continues to talk about his feelings and he becomes visibly emotional, his voice a bit shaky, his eyes moist. He says the experience made him realize just how much his life lacks touch and how much he yearns for it. It’s not an easy emotion to verbalize, no less to a group of complete strangers.

And Steven’s words affect me. I’m getting emotional myself, blinking frequently to ward off any potential tears. I can’t tell if I’m feeling empathetic or if it’s just his emotional expressiveness triggering my own. Like yawning after seeing someone else yawn. Or puking after seeing someone else puke. Regardless, Steven’s sincerity induces a twinge of guilt for knowing I’m here with such selfish motives. And I also feel sad. Steven is way too young to feel so lost already. It’s a turning point in how I’ve been regarding everyone here up until now.

Amie informs us that we’re done with the Art of Touch class and that she has lunch brewing for us. Seated around Amie’s kitchen table it doesn’t take long for conversation to pick up and it’s reconfirmed that I am but a lone novice in the presence of serious devotees.

“Didn’t I meet you once at the Body Electric Weekend?” “Did you take Alan Lowen’s seminar series yet?” “Are you Omega Institute certified?” “Yes, they’re associated with Landmark but I prefer the HAI events.” “Oh, Shalom Mountain is amazing!” “I’m planning a trip to Germany this summer for Zegg.”

In between spoonfuls of Trader Joe’s tomato soup I’m trying to take it all in like a good little sponge but eventually I can’t take it anymore and I run back to the foyer and jot down 30 or so terms to Google when I get home before I forget them all.

Diane arrives during lunch too, much to Meat Loaf’s delight.

It sounds like these Cuddlers are more apt to spend entire weekends at retreats and conferences, some of which from their descriptions sound to be full-on adult naked weekends under the guise of self-discovery. If these people are truly on a long spiritual highway, then today is but a quick and easy pit-stop for them. I had to psych myself up to get here. This is nothing to them.

I ask Steven about his men’s group and he says I’m welcome to give him a call and come along to a meeting to check it out. I tell him I just might do that.

With lunch finished we return to the larger room where we find a Cuddle Pool has been set up for us. The pool is simply a very large square of blankets and pillows arranged in the center of the hardwood floor, the concept being that if you’re not “in the pool” then you’re no longer participating in the Cuddle. Amie will be our Cuddle Life Guard.

Before beginning there is one last dyad to do and for this one I’m paired with Diane. Diane is a very nice, Rubenesque woman in her mid 40’s. In this dyad we’re instructed to ask permission to touch the other person, and the potential touchee is instructed to reject the offer. We’re learning to always ask permission before attempting any touching, as well as reinforcing your right to say no. We’re then instructed to try to convince the other person to let you kiss them. “Let me kiss you.” “No.” “C’mon Diane, let me kiss you.” “No.” “I know you want me to.” “No.”
“Diane, my lips are mad soft. I know you’re gonna love it.” “No.” *licking lips* “Crazy lusciousness up in these lips, Diane. Get a thrill outta my grill. C’moooooon.” “No.” “Well you don’t have to be such a bitch about it.” “What?” “Ha ha, just kidding. Sorry.”

We’re running late and Amie asks the group if anyone has to leave right at 4:00pm. I meekly raise my hand. It’s a lie. The only thing waiting for me at 4:00pm is my TV but I just don’t want this experience to extend a single minute past my original expectations, even though we haven’t really even started yet.

Amie tells us to get on all fours in the pool in a circle facing each other. “Pretend you’re cows,” she says. She encourages us to start mooing and swaying like real cows would. This feels ridiculous. “And sometimes, cows fall over. Ok everyone, fall over!” Everyone slumps into the blankets and Amie announces that with this simple act we have officially begun the Cuddle. And just like that, we are in it.

A veritable jigsaw puzzle of people. No one is on top of each other, just spooned and stacked neatly like a Tetris game on pause. No one is moving. The configuration is not evolving. My right side is touching the length of another body. It’s Diane. There’s no one on my left, I’m right on the edge of the pool.

I start to feel a hand on my chest. It’s Samantha. “Oops, I forgot to ask. Can I touch your chest?” “Sure.” She quickly side-saddles me. I ask her if I can touch her leg and she says I can touch whatever I want and that I don’t even have to ask. I’m a little frustrated that she’s not getting the whole NON-sexual idea to this whole thing. She’s a one-woman Grind Party.

Samantha rubs on me for a while longer and then says, “I have to move on, you’re turning me on too much.” Right before she pulls herself off of me she asks, “Can I kiss you?” I am fucking STUNNED. I did not sign up for this! No one is really supposed to do this. “Uhhh, ok?” She plants one on me and then moves out of my view. I’m left laying on my back staring at the ceiling trying to comprehend what the hell just happened.

After a few minutes I roll to my right and I’m up close and personal with Diane. Bob is on top of her with a huge grin on his face like a kid in a candy store. Diane recognizes my presence and starts to massage my shoulder. Holy cow is she good. She reveals that she’s a massage therapist. I think I might start drooling if she doesn’t stop soon. I decide this is my big opportunity to “go for it” and a bury myself in Diane’s armpit in a big snuggle fest, although I have to admit it is done partly because it makes me feel like I’m hidden.

While in my burrow I hear Diane ask Bob, “So, do you have any kids?” What the? Wasn’t it already made clear by Bob that they already knew each other? Although I can’t see her I hear Samantha say, “Are you guys on a blind date? Oh my god that is so awesome!” I pop my head out of Diane’s arm pit, my eyes all abug in amazement. “I use natural deodorant, I hope that’s ok with you,” she says.

It’s true, Bob and Diane are on a first date, but being that they’re both so entrenched in the spiritual lifestyle Bob didn’t feel awkward asking her to something like this on a first date and she didn’t find it odd to be asked. What makes this even sweeter is that I’m now officially doing a cock block in the middle of a Cuddle Party. Brilliant. Diane and Bob are trying to get to know each other better and there’s my big fat smiling Alfred E. Neuman mug inches from their faces. “What, me cuddle?”

And the worst part is that I can’t move. I find it near impossible to extract myself from a conversation at a house party and inject myself into a new one. So how the heck am I going to get up, move to another section of this blanket and squeeze myself in between strangers with a smile and a purr? *meow*

Eventually I slink off Diane back to my original cow patch. Actually at this point I’m not even fully in the pool anymore as half of my body is on the hardwood now. I start to think of our childhood dog Bert who was trained to stay out of our living room but when company was over and Bert was feeling left out he would lie on the living room hardwood floor while keeping a single hind paw back on the foyer carpet, playing by the rules but only on a questionable technicality. “I’m in the foyer, see?” I feel like the Bert of this Cuddle Party. “I’m in the Cuddle, see?”

I sit up straight and get a whole new perspective. I see Evelyn and Steven and Amie and James. There’s a whole ‘nother Cuddle Party going on over there. Everyone has Bed Head’s close cousin Cuddle Coif. I feel like I’m breaking an unwritten rule and I lay back down. After a few more minutes not only am I bored but I mentally get myself to a point where I feel like I’ve “done it.” I have nothing more to prove to myself today. Mission accomplished.

I get up and go into the kitchen, stepping over Samantha writhing on top of Tim. As inappropriate as I found her to be, seeing her on top of Tim gives me a flash of jealousy. That little hussy. I catch myself feeling this and I laugh. I’m ridiculous.

Even though I feel like I’m done I can’t leave early while the Cuddle is still in session. I’ve come this far, I need to see this through to the end. I kill some time eating leftover soup and crackers by myself in the kitchen. If anything this feels more party-familiar to me. After maxing out my lone wolf kitchen time I return and sit on the edge of the pool eating Hershey kisses and watching the action. It actually gives me some time to chat with Amie who is the only person, other than myself, who has voluntarily left the pool. She says she’s proud of me and she seems sincere. I try to explain to her that I don’t really have any touch issues and that in fact I’ve been known as quite the irrepressible Snuggle Bee for the right Snuggle Boo in my day… but that all gets thrown out the window when you’re dealing with strangers. I double dog dare Amie to yell “Cuddle Shark!” but she doesn’t take the bait.

4:00pm hits and the Cuddlers reluctantly stop. We all huddle in the center of the pool, swaying from side to side, and get some final comforting words from Amie about the day’s events and about keeping this feeling with us beyond this house. People express interest in starting a local Cuddle Group and within minutes people are excitedly talking about making a website for it and other details. Amie says that she’ll use the sign-in sheet to contact people about it.

Considering the gender-ratio I’m amazed to have survived the day without any male-on-male cuddling. I had mentally prepared myself to be open to that possibility but relieved to have been ultimately spared.

I make a point to hug every person before I leave; I even try to be the initiator on each hug. But on my way out, when the foyer is empty, I take out my pen and cross out my e-mail address and phone number from the sign-in sheet. Cuddle Diem.

*All names have been changed to protect the Cuddly.

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