But I had hardly began gliding my oiled palms down the long muscles on either side of his spine when he began to tremble, then to shake with dreadful, racking sobs. I was bewildered that I could have hurt him so. My touch was light, and in any case he was normally stoical, being accustomed to chronic aches and pains.
Now he gasped, "No, don't!" and twisted violently away. He sat rocking and crying, his clasped hands wedged tight between his knees as if to prevent even his own touch on his body.
This was not pain. It was grief.
I saw that while in my bed sheer lust carried him triumphant on its tide, the everyday intimacy of casual contact was more than he could bear. Even as an infant he must rarely have been touched by anyone, let alone touched kindly. The undemanding pressure of my hands had wakened in him the vast, deep-rooted anguish of that irremediable loss. "

Phantom
By: Susan Kay