Holes

    My favorite pair of jeans has 4 holes down the left thigh. And during class, my fingers will sneak down  and a  probing finger or two will sneak into one of the holes, smoothing the skin underneath. And then I'll just leave them there, trapped against my skin It happens unintentionally, but most times, when I realize I've been doing it for awhile, I jerk my fingers out, wondering if classmates had noticed my self-soothing movement.
    Freud would say that the actions was symbolic of another action, another self-soothing habit that he was all too interested in. Doesn't he wish?
    But I don't think that's why I do it. The feeling of my fingers on the previously untouched skin is good. But, after repeating the motion in my horribly long night class yesterday, I realized why I like it, why do it unconsciously. I like trapping my finger.
    I know it's just one finger, and I'm in control of the trapping part. I really don't know why I like it or have fixated on this tiny part of my life as a subject for my post.
    But it makes me think. It makes me think of holding hands. It makes me think of someone holding my wrist, my arm bent behind my back, as I writhe across his lap. It makes me think of a hand on my face, forefinger and thumb pressing just below my cheekbones. "Look at me. Look. At. Me." It makes me think of that place I always want to get to, that place where I can no longer fight and but more than that, I no longer want to.