By Daniel Rigney
When Edna Dulcet read about a thriving rent-a-pet service in her local paper, she had an inspiration. Why not offer a rent-a-snuggle service for people who suffer from chronic touch deficit disorder (TDD)? The service might appeal to a potential niche market of embodied souls who long for nothing more intimate than to be held by a comforting and non-threatening Other. Perhaps in increments of a half hour, or any fraction thereof, for a surprisingly affordable fee. Thus was born Fred and Edna’s House of Snuggles, an explicitly non-sexual alternative to the meet markets and houses of dubious virtue to which lonely hearts have oft repaired in search of warm embrace.
The service would answer a nearly universal human need for affectionate touch. What could possibly go wrong with such a wholesome venture?
Fred was hesitant at first. He worried about possible legal liabilities. What if a snuggle got out of hand, and either the cuddler or the cuddlee pressed assault charges against the other, or against the House of Snuggles, LLC.
Should Edna and Fred provide the services themselves? If so, might this lead to jealousies and misunderstandings between the two, and so damage their marriage?
On the other hand, if Edna and Fred were to hire a snuggling staff, where would they go to recruit a team of reassuring comforters adept at assorted cuddle styles and orientations to satisfy the diverse physical and emotional needs of their clients?
Would surveillance cameras be needed in each snuggling room to ensure against abuses and lawsuits? And could cuddle videos, with appropriate permissions, be pay-streamed online to some as-yet-untapped hug fetish market segment?
After consulting with an attorney and a spiritual advisor, Edna and Fred drew up a business plan and hired a staff of legitimate massage therapists willing to learn new holistic tactile skills and positional variations.
They launched their enterprise within the month. Fred would handle the business end. Edna would coordinate interpersonal relations, matching clients with suitable members of the snuggle staff.
House of Snuggles’ first customers were mostly single women of a certain age, but as the weeks turned to months, Edna and Fred were surprised to find the House drawing a diverse and growing clientele from unexpected sources. Men and women alike, of varied sexual orientation and of all ages (over 18) -- all longing for discreet meetings with what the House of Snuggles marketed as “embrace therapists” -- began to show up, sometimes in twos and threes, in urgent need of this special form of physical and emotive therapy.
By the end of its first year, the House of Snuggles was flush with commercial success, its services marketed mainly by word of mouth and the occasional tastefully worded Craigslist ad. News of Fred and Edna’s venture soon spread to nearby towns and neighboring states. A tabloid television network picked up the story and gave the hug parlor an unexpected bit of free national publicity.
Soon thereafter, though, a competing snuggle house, Hugs4U, sprang up across town and commenced to poach some of House of Snuggles’ best customers. Fred and Edna knew their fledgling business was in trouble when the local paper gave its Readers’ Choice award for best cuddlehouse to their cross-town rival. Several House staffers gave notice and went to work for the competition, which was already earning a local reputation as a more adventurous alternative to House of Snuggles’ plain vanilla positioning in the emerging cuddle industry.
Hugs4U eventually grew into a wildly successful franchise operation, installing snuggle parlors in strip malls from coast to coast and doing a brisk live-cam business on the Internet, marketing its streaming videos as “ultrasoft erotica.” The company spun off a snuggle-only dating service to boot, and even rolled out a line of chaste snugglewear to be worn at well-chaperoned mass cuddling events held (gently) on the matted floors of hotel ballrooms and gymnasia. A web magazine, tentatively to be named Snuggle Bunny, is in the works. There’s even talk on the Street of a stock I.P.O.
The story doesn’t have a happy ending for Fred and Edna. They eventually declared bankruptcy and left town. Some say they went in different directions. No one here knows for sure where either of them is, or whether they’re still in each other’s arms.
What’s the moral of the story? How we answer that question tells us more about ourselves than it does about Fred, Edna, or the House of Snuggles.
Danagram
[Author's note: When I posted this piece of whimsical fiction earlier today, I had no idea that something very much like my imaginary "House of Snuggles" actually existed for three weeks in Madison, Wisconsin before closing, sadly, in the face of local harrassment. Visit www.thecuddlemovie.com to learn more about the forthcoming documentary "Cuddle," due out this spring, and about a remarkable and promising cultural phenomenon that appears to be gaining momentum across the country.]
When Edna Dulcet read about a thriving rent-a-pet service in her local paper, she had an inspiration. Why not offer a rent-a-snuggle service for people who suffer from chronic touch deficit disorder (TDD)? The service might appeal to a potential niche market of embodied souls who long for nothing more intimate than to be held by a comforting and non-threatening Other. Perhaps in increments of a half hour, or any fraction thereof, for a surprisingly affordable fee. Thus was born Fred and Edna’s House of Snuggles, an explicitly non-sexual alternative to the meet markets and houses of dubious virtue to which lonely hearts have oft repaired in search of warm embrace.
The service would answer a nearly universal human need for affectionate touch. What could possibly go wrong with such a wholesome venture?
Fred was hesitant at first. He worried about possible legal liabilities. What if a snuggle got out of hand, and either the cuddler or the cuddlee pressed assault charges against the other, or against the House of Snuggles, LLC.
Should Edna and Fred provide the services themselves? If so, might this lead to jealousies and misunderstandings between the two, and so damage their marriage?
On the other hand, if Edna and Fred were to hire a snuggling staff, where would they go to recruit a team of reassuring comforters adept at assorted cuddle styles and orientations to satisfy the diverse physical and emotional needs of their clients?
Would surveillance cameras be needed in each snuggling room to ensure against abuses and lawsuits? And could cuddle videos, with appropriate permissions, be pay-streamed online to some as-yet-untapped hug fetish market segment?
After consulting with an attorney and a spiritual advisor, Edna and Fred drew up a business plan and hired a staff of legitimate massage therapists willing to learn new holistic tactile skills and positional variations.
They launched their enterprise within the month. Fred would handle the business end. Edna would coordinate interpersonal relations, matching clients with suitable members of the snuggle staff.
House of Snuggles’ first customers were mostly single women of a certain age, but as the weeks turned to months, Edna and Fred were surprised to find the House drawing a diverse and growing clientele from unexpected sources. Men and women alike, of varied sexual orientation and of all ages (over 18) -- all longing for discreet meetings with what the House of Snuggles marketed as “embrace therapists” -- began to show up, sometimes in twos and threes, in urgent need of this special form of physical and emotive therapy.
By the end of its first year, the House of Snuggles was flush with commercial success, its services marketed mainly by word of mouth and the occasional tastefully worded Craigslist ad. News of Fred and Edna’s venture soon spread to nearby towns and neighboring states. A tabloid television network picked up the story and gave the hug parlor an unexpected bit of free national publicity.
Soon thereafter, though, a competing snuggle house, Hugs4U, sprang up across town and commenced to poach some of House of Snuggles’ best customers. Fred and Edna knew their fledgling business was in trouble when the local paper gave its Readers’ Choice award for best cuddlehouse to their cross-town rival. Several House staffers gave notice and went to work for the competition, which was already earning a local reputation as a more adventurous alternative to House of Snuggles’ plain vanilla positioning in the emerging cuddle industry.
Hugs4U eventually grew into a wildly successful franchise operation, installing snuggle parlors in strip malls from coast to coast and doing a brisk live-cam business on the Internet, marketing its streaming videos as “ultrasoft erotica.” The company spun off a snuggle-only dating service to boot, and even rolled out a line of chaste snugglewear to be worn at well-chaperoned mass cuddling events held (gently) on the matted floors of hotel ballrooms and gymnasia. A web magazine, tentatively to be named Snuggle Bunny, is in the works. There’s even talk on the Street of a stock I.P.O.
The story doesn’t have a happy ending for Fred and Edna. They eventually declared bankruptcy and left town. Some say they went in different directions. No one here knows for sure where either of them is, or whether they’re still in each other’s arms.
What’s the moral of the story? How we answer that question tells us more about ourselves than it does about Fred, Edna, or the House of Snuggles.
Danagram
[Author's note: When I posted this piece of whimsical fiction earlier today, I had no idea that something very much like my imaginary "House of Snuggles" actually existed for three weeks in Madison, Wisconsin before closing, sadly, in the face of local harrassment. Visit www.thecuddlemovie.com to learn more about the forthcoming documentary "Cuddle," due out this spring, and about a remarkable and promising cultural phenomenon that appears to be gaining momentum across the country.]
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