I am always the big spoon, it doesn’t matter if the person is bigger than me or not, I just seem to fade into that position naturally. This is where the awkward arm comes into play. Most of the time big spoon is by choice, because I am physically bigger than the person, if I was the little spoon they would be my little sweet jet pack.

You know that feeling that you just want to chop your arm off because you can’t figure out where to put it while cuddling? The dead arm struggle is real. If you put it under their head blood flow is cut off and it goes numb, not to mention how uncomfortable it feels for your partner to have this giant jutting tree trunk of an arm arm under their neck.

No matter where you stick it the arm feels weird. You just want to drift off into snuggly heaven with your love and all you can do is think about the dead cold ARM. This causes distraction and movement. Disruption in the third degree. Then wait till one of you has to pee. Finally all is right in the world, you are drifted off to sleep with your love pulled in close, both comfortable, then it comes. The sensation that Niagara Falls is about to burst from your bladder through your crotch.

No matter how hard you try they won’t wake up gently. You throw them off of you in a fit of panic. Well I would have peed on you otherwise baby. Not in a sexy golden showers way either.

I am a sweaty betty, so cuddling with me is gonna get wet. I try to not stick their head right in my gloriously stinky armpit. I love being a sweaty swamp creature from the Black Lagoon with someone, smushing our weird wet, sexed, bodies together. Getting all slip and slide in the bed.

I know a man who kept dating a woman he didn’t even like for the remainder of a hot summer just because she had air conditioning. Cuddling is a crazy thing. Sleeping next to your partner is so intimate, it separates real relationships from one night stands who dip out in the night.

Even the best technique is still flawed, it must involve a fluffy pillow in-between arm and head meat. The arm takes longer to die, but it will happen eventually. Usually it gets numb as soon as your sweetie is out like an angel.

You feel like an asshole for moving it, but you don’t want to see the alternative. Sometimes I will try to just stick my arm out the back into outer space, but that also feels weird.

Were humans actually made to cuddle like this? I mean, sure, it is incredible to have physical intimacy beyond sex. There is no greater feeling than knowing someone wants to squish their naked body up against yours and fall asleep. To feel absolutely safe in someone’s arms is priceless. But why the forever awkward appendage?

There is a special pillow called the Armadillow with very mixed reviews that has a tunnel in it for the arm, but sadly since it is still rigid and you have to keep your arm in the 45 degree tunnel it still gets ouchie. I have imagined cutting a hole in my bed and sticking it in there too. I wonder if this would do it.

There is also a Cuddle-Mattress that is made with slats in it for better cuddling. The inventor unsuccessfully attempted to crowd source it.

Do I just stick it up in the air? There is no way it can stay under her like that. The pins! The needles! The pure non-sexy agony! I just will have to cut it off.

Should I just get a crazy interchangeable prosthetic where one day I have a chainsaw arm, then its dildo, then its a cake mixer, then its a claw or an OG hook? Wouldn’t I look incredible with a fucking hook? Yes, the answer is YES!

Just suck it up and deal with the dead arm and cuddle the shit out of the one(s) you adore. At the end of the day its not the worst problem to have because that means someone wants to hold you back. Nothing is perfect and together you will figure out where the arm goes.

Cuddle puddle therapy? Consensual touch is nurturing and necessary to a happy life. Just as babies need to be held to survive so do adults. Fight loneliness and find a bed buddy. It doesn’t have to be sexual. It’s medically proven that sleeping next to someone lowers your blood pressure, strengthens your heart, and emotional health. Besides lovers, I have a few special friends that I share my bed with.

I find comfort sleeping in the same room with others. Like a pack of sleeping wolves, a den of hibernating bears, or even the snuggle pile in the “Where the wild things are” movie.

It’s wonderful to know you are safe and warm with people and creatures you love. Dogs and cats are the best snugglers. They need our warmth and affection. I fall asleep every night with 6 purring cats. Three are mine and the others belong to my roommates, but all of them call my bed home at night.

The bed practically vibrates like a cheap coin operated heart shaped motel bed. My little Lola sleeps right on my neck every night. I love them so much, we are a family. It’s just the best.

Slumber parties with 20 little giggling boy crazy mean girls in a family living room remind me of this type of pack sleeping as well. I’ll never forget the terrifying bathroom games of Bloody Mary, sappy chick flick teen movies, I learned who the Spice Girls were at Sheri Tudor’s slumber party in 4th grade.

That shit was life altering. Being scared to sleep at a different house. Falling asleep meant certain underwear freezing or getting your hand in warm water. Now if you get drunk and pass out first you will get big veiny dicks drawn on your face and possibly your whole body.

I love other people’s snoring. Hearing the one you love fart in his sleep is also so beautiful. Sleeping with someone is being 100% vulnerable. You have no control over what your body does when it is in resting state. Night terrors, sweating, drool puddles, thrashing, blanket hogging, explosive farting, wet dreams, and snoring symphonies are all possibilities in any given night. Watching someone sleep isn’t as creepy as it sounds, it’s beautiful serenity.

I just slept in a small cabin while camping with my parents. Sleeping in the same room with those two sawing wood all night. It brought me back to a childhood innocence and safety. I remember being very little and crawling in bed with my parents and the family dog, a 120 pound lovable redbone coon hound named Sampson. That queen sized bed was full of love. I wasn’t scared of bumps in the night then.

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The Great Blue Heron music festival in Sherman NY is a great place to cuddle in tents and meet new friends. Waking up in a tent with someone is magical. I had the honor of hanging out at the Skilletnation campsite: a group of musicians turned into entanglement of beautiful hippies in a series of hammocks hung on top of each other.

The air wafting in the funk of that last day of the festival. Dirty feet and fingernails. One heartbeat. All sharing an apparent and genuine love for one another. At one point I was sitting in a chair next to the mass and felt like the attendant at a McDonald’s ball pit, except I was handing up packed bowls of weed, flasks full of whiskey, and musical instruments up the web of hammocks.

People pay cuddlers. I’ve seen ads on Craigslist. Cuddle clubs and cuddle parties exist. Internet cuddle buddy sites are popping up. Cuddle parties have a trained leader that helps facilitate the cuddle party with ice breaker games and non sexual massaging. These parties create an atmosphere of mutual respect and teach the importance of boundaries and consent.

It feels so good to hold and be held. To entangle your legs with another. Sexual or not it’s important to feel safe and secure. To fall asleep to the sound of breathing and another heartbeat. Knowing that if you needed them they are right there, safe in your arms. Embrace one another and open yourself up to a happier existence. Sweet dreams.

Featured image from Gabi Gauer.

Alright. Let’s get one thing straight right off the hop. I fucking love to cuddle. Yeah. You read that right. I love to fucking cuddle so much most people can’t even fucking believe it.

There’s this stereotype that goes around, about men, about how they don’t like to cuddle. How they just want to bone and get the heck out, or roll over and go to sleep, or something.

Now, I find this generalization to be not only offensive, but baffling too. Who the hell are these guys? They don’t want to cuddle? What, do they also not want this fucking cheque for a thousand dollars and this gift basket full of beer and puppies? Do they have some sort of problem with things that are fucking awesome?

Oh, but it’s not macho to cuddle, it’s way more manly to just pop ‘em ‘n’ drop ‘em like James fucking Bond, right? Be all about banging ladies with ridiculous puns for names on top of fighter jets then use them to stop the bullet heading for your skull and toss them aside as you sip on a dry martini? No fucking way, man. Not for me. That dog will not fucking hunt.

Gals, I will fucking cuddle you all. I’ll cuddle you in the morning, I’ll cuddle you at night, I’ll cuddle you when you get home from your fucking hot yoga class and you’re sweatier than a fucking South Carolina stevedore. Then I’ll cuddle you when you’re in the shower. I don’t even give a shit. I’m fucking bonkers for cuddling. Hell, I’ll cuddle you all the live-long fucking day if you want to. Let’s just stay in bed. I don’t get hungry if I’m cuddling. Think you hear my stomach rumbling? Nope. That’s my goddamned cuddle engine kicking into overdrive, and I run it fucking hot.

Do I want to hold hands as we walk down the street? You’d better fucking believe I want to hold hands as we walk down the street. That shit’s like cuddling for your fingers. You want to get all up in these arms at a movie? Let’s fucking do it. I’ll even cuddle you at a goddamned play. At your niece’s school fucking play if you want me to. You roll with me, girl, you’re going to get mad fucking cuddled. You ever been cuddled at a bar mitzvah? A bat mitzvah? I’ll cuddle you at all the fucking mitzvoth you can handle.

If you want me to rub your back, I’ll be all over that shit. Rub your feet? You just try to fucking stop me. You take your socks off them and I’ll be slobbering for those things like a hungry hungry hippo in a marble factory. Your feet will be getting pampered more than the motherfucking royal baby.

Let’s spoon. I’ll be the big spoon and wrap myself around you like a damn cuddle vampire in his cuddle crypt. Or I’ll be the little spoon and camp out in the warmth of your fucking embrace like it’s goddamned all outdoors for so long that Jon Krakauer writes a fucking book about me.

I’ve got enough clean-burning cuddle energy running through me to power a fucking city. Cuddle City, population you and me. Where our chief export is cuddling, our motto is whatever’s Latin for “let’s fucking cuddle,” and I’m the mayor who just got re-elected for my tenth consecutive term in a fucking landslide. Right now we’re holding a town hall meeting in my bed, and guess what? Yeah, it’s about cuddling. Next up on the docket: more fucking cuddling.

I don’t want to overwhelm you with all this, I know it’s a lot to take in. You might even be wondering if you can handle all this cuddling. Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret; you will be able to, because I’m fucking terrific at it. You don’t cuddle as much as I do without getting goddamned great at it. They say it takes 10 000 hours of something to become an expert at it. If that’s true, then I’m not just an expert, I’m a fucking virtuoso.

But, hey, if you’re thinking you’ve gotten along fine with the shit amount of cuddling you’ve gotten so far in life, and wondering why would you need more now, that’s cool, by all means keep telling yourself that you’re satisfied with your limp-armed boyfriend’s half-assed cuddles. But one day, when you grow up a bit and realize you’re looking for real fucking cuddles from a real fucking man, you’ll look for me. It’ll be a damned shame for you, though, because I’ll have died happy of fucking suffocation brought on by a terminal case of cuddling.

 

Photo by nicholasjon via Flickr