I can't touch that

People always ask me why I don’t wear clothes, why I need to cover myself with my hands. I just laugh it off and say, why waste the money? No one would understand the real reason.
It was especially hard to control where my hands go when I met her. Mrs. Right. I loved her from the second I saw her. She wanted to know, why didn’t I wear clothes? I told her it was unnecessary. She admired me for that. She said she wouldn’t wear clothes, too, but she was too modest. I understood. It’s the way we’re raised, to be ashamed of our bodies.
I couldn’t believe that I forgot.
I forgot not to touch her.
On our three month anniversary, she walked up to me, and asked why I couldn’t kiss her, or even hug her. I forgot why. I told her I didn’t know.
She asked me to hold her. I wanted to. I wanted to badly.
So I did.
The next thing I knew, I was surrounded by tasty, rainbow coloured Skittles.

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