I remember a time.

I remember a time when you reached for my hand.  Your warm skin on mine startled me.  I pulled away.

We continued to walk towards the theater and I awkwardly explained my reaction.  That we were just to be friends; no hand holding is allowed in a friends with benefits situation.  You seemed to shrug and keep walking.

In the darkened theater our hands molded to each other’s thighs and dipped below belts and skirts.  That was ok.

But don’t hold my hand.