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    ​ how women hug

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    March 15th, 2014
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    ​ how women hug

    Dear Hostboard friends,

    Over my long, storied career as a medical professional, I’ve received many, many hugs from nurses. What can I say? I’m a lovable guy. (Smiley-face with sunglasses).

    But over the years, I noticed a peculiar phenomenon, both on the job and in other areas where embraces might occur. There are noticeably different styles of female hugs. Them’s the facts, Jills and Jacks.

    So I thought I might explore this phenomenon in a tale designed to tickle your funny bone and, perhaps, “Make your Johnson hard.” I hope that you will enjoy this.


    by A. Penman

    The following is based on a true story. Only the setting, characters and events have been fictionalized.

    Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dave Coleman. I’m a dazzling urbanite from a large midwestern city. I have an office job.

    Actually, I don’t work in the office. I’m the computer guy. I get you back up and running so you can get back to the business of raking in obscene profits for corporate America. You need me. That’s not a statement fueled by ego either. It’s true!

    Do you know how many good looking women I “rescue” on a daily basis?

    Do you know how many grateful hugs I receive in an eight hour shift? Or how many fulsome ******** I’ve gone chest to chest with?

    Do you know how many excellent annual job performance evaluations I’ve received in my two years of employment with this firm? Well…two…

    Moving on…

    Women are always grateful when you fix their computers…men, not so much. They just figure that you’re doing your job. And they’re right. But I don’t really care about that, because they’re not the ones that are giving me big hugs. Well, except maybe for Steve. But I won’t get into that. He is an attractive man, though, and very stylish.

    Anyway, on any given workday, there are probably two dozen or more women in the offices. There’s the women in the billing office, the women in the advertising office and the women in the executive or management office. It would not be an exaggeration to say that, along with being intelligent and charming, all of them are attractive, all of them shapely and, of course, well-endowed. I don’t think that’s merely a coincidence. This company has been the subject of scrutiny over the years for its tendency to use women as “window dressing.” I don’t know how I should feel about that. Admittedly, concern about the company’s image becomes a moot point when I’m up against a set of DDs. And, to my knowledge, there hasn’t been a single case of inappropriate behavior by any of the office guys or the male executives. Indeed, there is a strict, no-nonsense policy here regarding harassment toward women. You **** up, you act like an *******, you’re out. But, I’m straying from my point.

    The more hugs that I get from women, the more I realize that women have different styles of hugging. Indeed, there are different levels of participation and intimacy in every embrace, depending on the situation and the woman. That’s not a complaint…just an observation.

    Over the course of my two years with the company, my analysis has revealed four distinct styles of the female hug.

    First: There’s the normal, friendly hug. You get full but brief body involvement from head to **** to hips. But, and this is important, you should never mistakenly assume that it’s anything more than just friendly. NEVER! I’ve made that mistaken assumption in the past and I was immediately shut down.

    Second: There’s the quick, in and out hug; the one that says, “OK that’s enough, you’ve had your cheap thrill for the day.” This is another one that should never generate hope of something more. It’s merely transactional.

    Third: My only gripe, the most pointless hug. This is the hug in which the woman leans in from the shoulders, hugs you around the shoulders or neck, making sure that her upper body, breasts, or any other body parts make absolutely no contact with you, which is antithetical to the whole purpose of hugging. I hate that ****ing hug! It’s almost an insult. Ladies, if you can’t put any of your body into it, then don’t bother. A simple handshake will do.

    Fourth: My favorite. The long hug. The hug that lasts for several soft seconds. The one, wonderful hug that the woman fully engages in and clearly enjoys; the hug that offers the subliminal message that she feels safe in your manly arms; the full embrace that gives you a good sense of what her body feels like, and the one that offers a glimmer of hope for something more profound. Once again, never assume anything! Always be aware that you may not get anything more. If there is anything more, she’ll let you know. Enjoy this warm, wonderful show of affection while it lasts, then walk away. No off-color comments, no innuendo…walk away.

    Right about now you might be asking the burning question; “Dave, where is this all going?” Stay with me. It’s gonna get good.


    It was a typical Wednesday, with all of its mid week dullness. The office gals were busy, but I was sitting in my office playing online video poker. Then I got the call. The Billing Office needed me. The attractive, streaked blond haired Anita Benson from accounts receivable needed my services. And, selfless man that I am, if Anita needed me, I was going to be there for her. Because, as you’ve likely already surmised, fixing her computer always meant a busty, #4 style hug. Plus, lately, I’d begun to suspect that sweet Anita just might be offering something more.

    Red flags of caution went up in my mind as Anita’s generous breasts nestled into my chest and her lower body told me that it was OK to press into her and hold for a few more delicious seconds. So, I did, until…

    “Thanks again, Dave.” She said, releasing me from my connection to her sumptuous body.

    Anita’s computer was, once again, functioning smoothly.

    “My pleasure,” I replied, putting a little extra bass into my voice as I turned and headed to the office door.
    “Hey Dave! Wait a minute!”

    I stopped and did the smoothest pivot ever done by a man not wearing tights. Then I gave her a questioning look.

    “Have you taken your lunch break yet?” Anita asked.
    “No, I haven’t.”
    “Neither have I…can I treat you to a cafeteria lunch?”

    This corporate cafeteria was not typical. It didn’t serve typical bland institutional food. A legitimate chef was in charge. The food was excellent. How could I say no? Not to mention that I was about to be seen dining with a highly attractive woman.

    “Absolutely!” I said, enthusiastically.

    The cafeteria was not, typically, in the basement of our downtown building. The basement was reserved for employees only parking. A minor fee was deducted from our paychecks once a year for cleaning and maintenance, but parking was otherwise free.

    Corporate headquarters insisted the cafeteria should be on the top floor of the building, which offered a splendid view of downtown. They also insisted that we call it the company “dining room,” but nobody paid attention to that nonsense. You picked your tray, your utensils and you moved through the line and picked out whatever you wanted to eat. It was a ****ing cafeteria, but one that served excellent food thanks to a first rate chef.

    On the way to the top floor, Anita and I had the elevator to ourselves. I mention this only because she packed her body next to mine as if we were two sardines packed in oil with several dozen other sardines. And I must say, the idea of being packed in oil with Anita was a tantalizing thought. At one brief point, she took hold of my right arm and snuggled it. Intimacy? The look of mild surprise on my face got a terse response.

    “What? You’re uncomfortable with me snuggling with you? I just gave you a big ole bearhug.”
    “Yes, yes you did.”

    My normally glib tongue failed me in this unexpected circumstance. I gave her my warm smile just as the door to the top floor opened. Then, as we walked the length of the hallway, I took her hand in mine and held it firmly, just to let her know that if there was a game, I was in it. This elicited a barely perceptible sigh. HOT DAMN! I was in! But, keeping true to my motto, I wasn’t going to assume anything. Lunch would certainly be interesting.

    In what seemed almost like an orchestrated set of circumstances, the dining area was occupied by maybe a half dozen folks. Anita led me to a corner window booth.

    “Just so we can talk privately.” She explained.

    OK folks, here’s where things get a bit heated.

    We slid our ***** into the corner booth, checked out the view of the city on a rainy afternoon, then turned our attention to each other.

    “This is a nice Wednesday surprise,” I offered.
    “…having lunch with you, Anita.”
    “Aww, you’re sweet, David.” Her response was demure.

    Oh no! Did I just get assigned to the “friend zone?” I was confused.

    Redemption, however, came swiftly. It arrived in the configuration of Jasmine Reyes from the executive office. Jasmine was a gorgeous dark haired Filipino woman; big eyes, full lips and, a set of jugs that made life miserable for most second and third blouse buttons. She had a mind to sit down with us. Anita stopped her just as she was about to slide her *** into our booth.

    “Oh Jaz…Dave and I have a few things we need to discuss in private. It’s computer stuff, you won’t like it.”

    Jasmine stopped in her tracks, looking a bit puzzled and perhaps a bit hurt. She nodded and then looked at me.

    “It was nice chatting with you, Dave.” Her voice dripped sarcasm.

    Then she turned to walk away. At the other side of the cafeteria, she sat down with some of the women from the executive offices.

    I looked at Anita.

    “That seemed kind of rude.”
    “She has this annoying habit of inserting herself into situations and conversations when she hasn’t been invited to do so.”
    “She just wanted to join us for lunch.” I pointed out what I thought was obvious.
    “No, she wanted to know what we were talking about.”
    “You hurt her feelings.”
    “She’ll get over it. I’ll fix her a nice dinner tonight.”

    The look on my face said it all.

    “We’re roommates. I couldn’t afford my flat all by myself.”
    “Ah, I see. And as roommates, how do you two get along?”
    “99% of the time, just fine. She’s neat as a pin and she makes an amazing Pansit.”
    “Wow! I love Pansit! What about the one percent?”
    “Arguments, of course. An occasional shouting match. But we always make up.”

    I was tempted to ask if there were any hair-pulling roll-arounds, but didn’t push the issue any further. I had a feeling Anita wanted to discuss something else.

    “Thanks for always coming up to fix my computer, Dave.” She said, reaching across to take my hand.
    “I enjoy fixing your computer.”
    “Anything else you enjoy?” A leading question for sure.
    “Well, I do so love the hugs that you give me for merely doing my job.”
    “You, Dave, are a great hugger.”
    “Thank you!”
    “I was wondering…” she was tentative.
    “What are you doing tonight…around eight?”
    “No plans. What do you have in mind?” I couldn’t believe where this was going.
    “Do you like slow dancing?”
    “Sure, why?”
    “Well, Wednesday nights at The Waterfront Hotel is couples night; half price drinks, very tasty snacks and a live dance band, usually a quartet or a trio. Lots of sexy, soft jazz music for slow dancing. It’s always a nice time.”
    “I thought you were fixing a nice dinner for Jaz.”
    “We’ll be done by 7PM.”
    “And how do I fit into this?”
    “DUH! Obviously, you’d be the male half of the couple.”
    “And, since you’re familiar with couples night, I must assume that your previous other half is no longer in the picture.”

    Anita nodded, then filled me in on the recent events of her life. No deep details, just the pertinent points. It seemed that six months ago she parted ways with some dude named Al. They had been together for a year or so and Al, a man of deep faith, started dropping hints and overt statements that they should tie the knot. Anita wasn’t ready to get married. When she explained her stance to Al, he told her that it was now or never. Anita didn’t like that kind of ultimatum, so she said never. In two days, Al packed his things and left her. A few weeks later, Jasmine moved in.

    “I’m sorry to hear this.” I said, not knowing what else to say.

    She then told me that a week or so ago she got an invitation. Al had found a new love and they were getting married. Ouch! I thought.

    “So, you going?”
    “No! **** him and his sanctimonious ***!”
    “Still, despite the insult, you can’t help thinking about him. Am I correct?”

    She sighed wistfully and nodded yes.

    “OK Anita, here’s the deal,” I paused for dramatic effect, “if I’m going to be holding your sexy body in my arms tonight in the middle of a slow dance and you’re mind is going to be reminiscing about your past relationship with Al, then…”
    “Then what?”
    “…then I don’t want any part of it.”

    She thought it over for a few seconds, then threw the slider instead of the curve…

    “Be honest with me, Dave. What goes through your mind when we hug?”
    “That’s easy, I wish the hug would go on and on. And…
    “Honestly, sometimes I wish that I could kiss you.”

    She flashed me a devious smile. “Would it surprise you to know that I’ve had those same thoughts?”

    I smiled at her, then we locked eyes. She clasped both of my hands in hers and whispered.

    “Dave, you and only you will be my dance partner tonight. That is, if you’re still interested.”
    “Anita, may I have this dance?”

    She gave me a coquettish look, scanned the dining room, then leaned in and gave me a quick, soft kiss on the lips.


    8:15 PM: I opened the passenger door of my Toyota Prius and watched the nylon stocking legs of Anita Benson swing gracefully outward. After crushing two dollars into his hand, an attendant drove off to secure my baby for the length of time Miss Benson and I would be in the hotel. We made our way through the ornate lobby. Anita scanned the various doorways.

    “Let’s see…we need to find the Sunset Room.”
    “There it is.” I pointed out.
    “Damn! It’s been a while since I’ve been here.” She sighed.
    “Six months?”
    “Don’t be a smart ***, David. Let’s go.”

    A hostess walked us to a window table. Before she could ask if we wanted drinks, Anita ordered a bottle of her favorite French ******nnay. So much for the economy of half priced drinks.

    “Excellent choice!” said Claire, the attractive hostess. She nodded to Anita and quickly left.
    “An expensive choice, too!” I said.

    Knowing a bit about wine, I knew that the bottle she selected came from the mid region of Burgundy, where the price of bottles start out way past my pay grade.

    Claire returned with the wine selection. Anita inspected and approved the bottle. It was then opened and the cork was offered to the lovely woman across the table from me. She sniffed and nodded yes. Next came the small sample pour, the swirl, sniff and finally, the taste. Each step was met with my date’s validation. Both glasses were then filled with a slightly more than half pour. The remaining wine was chilled, then lovely Claire smiled and vanished.

    “Wow!” I exclaimed, after my first sip. “This is great wine, Anita.”
    “I know.”
    “I’ll be happy to split the cost with you. This is rather pricey.”

    My noble offer was politely declined.

    “Thank you, David! But this is mine. You are my dance partner, my date for the evening.”
    “Indeed! And, quite pleased to be in such an enviable position.”

    And then things took a humorous, albeit dick-hardening turn.

    “But, just so you know, if I’m picking up the tab for this evening, I expect something in return. And I think you know what I mean.”

    She finished her statement of intent with a sly nod and a wink. I don’t know why she did this, but I played along. I pretended to be appalled!

    “SEX!!! You’re expecting SEX?” I said, loud enough for the entire room to hear.
    “Absolutely!” She matched my volume.

    And then we took it to another level.

    “Listen Miss Benson, I don’t know what kind of men you normally cavort with, but don’t think that you can just invite me to a dance, ply me with cheap wine, then take me home and have your way with me!”

    There were multiple chuckles. All ears then tuned in on our conversation.

    “No, you listen, Mr. Coleman. I fully intend to have my way with you tonight!”
    “I am not some cheap ****, dear lady.”
    “Oh yes you are!”
    “Alright, you got me there.”
    “Damn right I do!”

    The band launched into a slow song. I took her hand and lead her out onto the dance floor to a round of applause from the thirty or so people in the lounge.

    Anita wasted no time making her bodily intentions clear. Our bodies moved rhythmically together, almost like we were ****ing.

    “Oh, David…” she whispered in my ear.

    Hot damn! I was actually going to get laid, on a Wednesday night no less!

    One bottle of elegant French ******nnay and one hour later, I was rolling around in bed with beautiful Anita Benson. We ****ed for a couple of hours, until there was no gas left in my tank.


    Lying in the hazy aftermath of pleasure, Anita snuggled up. She placed her head conveniently on my right shoulder, so that every time I turned to utter some nonsensical words or just look at her pretty face, I was rewarded with a luscious kiss. A smooth as silk right leg was draped across my lower body. It felt like her **** were embracing my right arm. Because I was enjoying this so much, I decided to take that one, very risky shot.

    “You’re welcome to spend the night…”

    But as soon as the words left my mouth, I felt that sensation of queasiness; the one you get when you realize you may have said the wrong thing, “…that is, if you’d like to.”

    Anita was gracious enough to let me off easy.

    “That’s a very attractive offer, Mr. Coleman…but I shouldn’t.” Anita gently declined.

    I didn’t ask, but my lovely co-worker explained why she couldn’t stay.

    “Jasmine will be worried.”
    “So, give her a call. Let her know that you’re safe and in my manly arms.”

    I had a feeling this was about to get complicated.

    “OK, I give up. Why not?”
    “Because, well, Jaz kinda’ has a thing for you too.”

    My mind quickly was awash in the possibilities of this scenario. I think I felt my dick stir. But I kept my cool.

    “Hmm,” was all I said.
    “That’s it? Hmm? Is that all you have to say?”

    This was shaping up to be one of those no win situations…one where no matter what I said, it would have been the wrong thing to say. I proceeded with an abundance of caution.

    “Jasmine is a beautiful woman. I’m flattered that she likes me.”
    “David, you’re being evasive.”
    “I am, indeed.”
    “Because, dear Anita…being a guy and all…well, this is one of those situations guys hate to be in.”
    “And why is that?”
    “Because anything I say is likely to **** you off.”
    “Oh, David, you’re being ridiculous!”
    “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
    “Of course I’m right! Why would I get angry?” She gloated.

    “So, why does Jasmine find me attractive?”
    “Same reason I do, I expect. She likes the way that you hug her.”
    “Ah, I see. Well, I like the way she hugs, too.”

    She rose to her elbows and glared at me.

    “Is there something wrong with the way I hug?”
    “No! I love the way you hug!”

    Seemingly satisfied with my response, she slumped back down. However…seconds later…

    Anita bolted upright in bed. Covers fell to the side. Her hands went to her hips. Her chest thrust forward. She huffed!

    Wait for it…

    “You mother****er! You think her **** are better than mine, don’t you?”
    “Who in the **** mentioned ****?”
    “Don’t ******** me, Mr. Coleman. What else do men think of when they hug a well endowed woman?”
    “Well, sometimes I think the world would be a much nicer place if people just hugged each other more often. Other times I’m sifting through the particulars of E=MC squared.”
    “Excuse me Miss Benson, but clearly, you’re pissed off.”

    She then reached down, filled her hands with her gorgeous ****, looked at me and sneered.

    “These two beauties are way better than anything Jasmine’s got.”
    “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case!”

    Anita then let her **** go and started playfully flailing at me.

    “You son of a *****! Admit it. You’d love to see Jasmine’s ****.”
    “No, I swear!”

    I defended myself, blocking almost everything she threw. She then came down on me, squashing her ***** on my face in a blatant attempt to smother me.

    “Take this, you sleaze bag!”

    But before my oxygen saturation dropped to a dangerous level, I thwarted her efforts by taking a turgid ****** into my mouth. She grunted, then we started to wrestle. It wasn’t long before the friction of body on body turned us into animals in heat and we were, once again, ****ing.

    Once the screaming stopped, we stretched out on our backs, gathering our breath. I figured this was as good a time as any.

    “Can I ask you a few questions, Anita?”
    “Sure, baby. Ask.”

    An aside: I love it when a woman calls me “baby.” In my life experience, that means I am in. And by “in” I mean I’ve achieved a special status in her mind and, possibly, I’m on my way to a place in her heart. It’s a wonderful word and I love hearing it, especially, from a woman as lovely as Miss Anita Benson. I took a deep breath, then leaped into the abyss.

    “Well, since the topic of the moment is hugging, I have some questions.”
    “About hugging?”
    “Yes, specifically about how women hug. You up for it?”
    “Sure, but It seems pretty straightforward to me.”
    “We wrap our arms around you, we hold you to our bodies, then we let go when the time is right.”
    “Agreed, but that’s a bit of an over simplification, my dear.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean I’ve noticed that different women hug differently.”

    She looked at me questioningly. I proceeded to tell her of the four different styles of hugging that I had observed. She had an odd look on her face. I couldn’t tell if it was shock, disbelief or astonishment over my brilliance.

    “You’re an idiot.”

    So much for my brilliance.

    “I swear, Anita, I’ve noticed this on many, many occasions.”
    “OK then, what am I?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “What number hug am I?”
    “Number four, of course…the best, sexiest hug.”

    A momentary pause…”And Jasmine? What number is she.”

    Here’s a shovel, Dave, go ahead and dig that hole.

    I then had the uncomfortable task of revealing that her roommate, Jasmine, also qualified as a number four hugger. This was met with a modest degree of rancor.

    “I still think that you’re comparing my **** to Jasmine’s ****.”
    “Can we stop with the ****? It’s not my intention to compare you four…I mean you two! I’m looking for answers to a phenomenon that has bothered me for years.”

    One hard punch in my bicep that I knew was going to draw blood to the surface, then Anita acquiesced, offering an amazingly lucid perspective.

    Hug number one: “She likes you…she’s comfortable with body contact, but that’s as far as it goes.”
    Hug number two: “An obligatory hug. She will if she has to, but she’d definitely rather not.”
    Hug number three: “Easy. Only daddy or husband or fianc? get any of this. YOU are not worthy.”
    Hug number four: “At the very least, she likes you.”
    “And the trust factor?”
    “Of course she trusts you. She feels safe and comfortable in your arms. She might even be willing to **** you.”
    “Which brings me to the big question…can the man safely assume he has a chance of getting more?”
    “When you fixed my computer, and I gave you a big hug, David, did you automatically assume that this would happen?”
    “Absolutely not!”
    “And, that’s exactly why you got laid tonight.”
    “I don’t quite understand.”
    “You weren’t a jerk. You made no suggestive remarks, you offered no innuendo, you were a gentleman…you are a gentleman. And a rather sexy one I might add.”
    “Aw, shucks, Miss Benson.”

    Thirty minutes later, I was driving her home. She had me drop her off half a block away from her flat, so as not to arouse any suspicion. I had one more hug question, but I chose not to ask. I figured she would let me know if we were a couple, or if this was a one night stand. At least for now, our romantic tryst would remain a secret, particularly from Jasmine.


    A week passed at the job. I found myself hoping for a call to the Business office, but it never came. There was, however, an interesting call to the Executive office. Low and behold, it came from Jasmine. My underling, Sean, had been assigned to the Executive Office that day, but the request was for me. It came over my pager. So, with a bit of hesitance, I took the call and fifteen minutes later, I walked into the office.

    “Hi Jaz! Computer problems?”

    She moved on me with precision. Before I knew it, I was in her arms, entangled in an enthusiastic embrace.

    “Wow! Thanks, I said,” breaking off the hug when the moment was right. “can I do anything for you, Jasmine?
    “Yes, you can. Take me to lunch.”

    Myriad possibilities of how this could be a bad idea went through my mind. Declining the invitation did not seem a viable option. So I said OK. I wondered what she was up to.
    In the elevator to the top floor, Jaz snuggled up to me, just like her roommate had done. There were three other women in the elevator with us, all on their way to the cafeteria. Jasmine was unconcerned with them.

    “I like hugging you, David. Do you enjoy hugging me?” She asked in a low voice. But in the small space of the car, I was certain the other women heard the provocative question. My voice was stilted in my reply.

    “Um, yeah…YES, I do.” Her smile was swathed in sarcasm. But as soon as we sat down with our food trays, her tone improved and I began to feel comfortable. Then…

    “Anita tells me that you like Pansit. Is that true?”
    “I love it! And, Anita told me that you make a fabulous Pansit.”
    “I do, and that’s why we are here.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “I’m making it for dinner tonight. Would you like to join us for homemade Filipino Pansit?”
    “Let me ask you a question first…did your mother teach you how to make it?”
    “Yes, she did! How did you…”
    “What time should I be there?”
    “Dinner will be served at six o’clock.”


    DAVE’S RULE OF THUMB FOR GOOD FOOD: If her mother made it, or her mother taught her how to make it, accept the invitation because you’re about to feast on great food. This has been my life experience.


    We finished our lunch and got up to leave. After we bussed our dishes, we walked by Anita, who was sitting with another woman from Accounting. Jasmine smiled at her, nodded and winked. Anita smiled and waved casually. I don’t know why, but I had this weird feeling that something was up.

    Last edited by apenman; 2 Weeks Ago at 11:39 PM.

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