“Touch. It is touch that is the deadliest enemy of chastity, loyalty, monogamy, gentility with its codes and conventions and restraints. By touch we are betrayed and betray others ... an accidental brushing of shoulders or touching of hands ... hands laid on shoulders in a gesture of comfort that lies like a thief, that takes, not gives, that wants, not offers, that awakes, not pacifies. When one flesh is waiting, there is electricity in the merest contact.”

“Their hands never touched, not even in an accidental brushing, and that was a good thing, for real intimacy has a dawn.”

“I put my hand on him. Touching him has always been important to me, it was something I lived for. I never could explain why. Little, nothing touches, my fingers against his shoulder, the outsides of our thighs touching as we squeeled together on the bus. I couldnt explain it, but I needed it. Sometimes I imagined stiching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love?”

“I like to touch you," Claudia said, in her soft, sultry voice. "There are times when I want so badly to touch you that it hurts not to." She lifted one hand to his face and brushed her fingertips along his cheek.”

“Our meeting, touching, accidentally connecting immediately, interwoven hand-in-hand, heart-to-heart.”

“You’re touching me,” I chided him. He caressed my back, sliding his hand down, hitting every sensitive point I hadn’t even known I had. “No, this is touching you. That was just accidental contact.” “Oh? Good to know. If you touch me again and I break your arm off, you can be sure it will be completely accidental.”