There is something about hands-on men that is so appealing when their gestures are warm and affectionate.
I sat at the beach one day for a brief coffee break of twenty minutes or so and watched a young couple who were on a blanket nearby.
He lay on his side supporting himself on one elbow. She sat with her back to him curled over a big textbook studying. Perfectly normal, right? At first, yes, but while I watched, for my entire visit, he touched her non-stop. He ran his nails lightly over the part of her back exposed by her sundress and her shoulders and arms, hands, knees, legs, feet.
There was nothing lascivious about it. His actions were perfectly suitable for a beach. It was gorgeous and sensual. Everywhere his fingers went his eyes followed. He was obviously fascinated by her.
I thought, wow, I have to use this guy and this scene in a novel one day. I also thought, if this is what he is like in public, what on earth is he like in a bedroom? As a writer, that thought certainly fueled my imagination.
Cut to another scene, another beach. I had been sitting with a friend while we watched our children play in the sand when a large bunch of men and women formed a party nearby. They were middle-aged to older people.
Same thing again. Another man who loved to touch. The group was large and voluble, very animated. I would guess the man to be in his late fifties to early sixties. He sat beside his wife with his hand on her back, or her shoulder, or her knee, while they each talked to different people. Such an ordinary looking man, but so sweet and loving. When they all settled down, she lay on her stomach and he rubbed her back, then lay down beside her and rested his hand against hers.
Ah, such simple romance and so lovely.