This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2015, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

Confession time. Two months ago, I slept with another guy. His name is RJ. We spent the entire night alone in the same bed. Nothing happened.

The night with RJ was the first thing I thought about when I read last week's story about the possible benefits of gang snuggling with total strangers. It completely creeped me out. It sounded like my worst nightmare.

According to the story, strangers/acquaintances meet up to cuddle in a nonsexual way, hoping to lower their stress levels through human touch.

Tiffany Field, founder and researcher at the Touch Research Institute at the University of Miami, says nonsexual touch can "reduce stress and blood pressure, improve sleep, and save immune cells to help fight off illness."

Where I come from, trying to cuddle a bunch of strangers has entirely the opposite effect. Nothing will keep you awake longer or completely stress you out quite like being punched in the face.

Maybe that's why there are rules at cuddle parties. Participants — whether an attractive woman or a truck driver — must ask before they can rub someone's back, run fingers through their hair, hold hands, or spoon a bit. If they say "no," you have to respect that and find someone else.

I'm OK with other people having cuddle parties as long as I don't have to go. If someone I didn't know asked to snuggle with me, I'd probably bite them.

It's my fault. I have space issues, none of which permit me to cuddle with anyone other than Mrs. Kirby and our grandchildren.

These boundary issues began when I was young. My mother had four children in 3½ years. My siblings and I lived those early years on top of one another like a litter of puppies. Space was at a premium.

My condition worsened over time. In basic training, my bunk buddy was a large black kid from the Deep South. He hated me at first, but we eventually came to terms.

One rainy night on bivouac, Cunningham suggested we huddle together for warmth in our two-man tent. It sounded like a good idea, but there was a caveat.

"You touch me anywhere ah don't like," Cunningham warned, "an' ah beat your Utah white ass to death."

I stayed awake the entire night. Sure, I was warmer, but also terrified of having the slightest twitch misinterpreted.

There've been more of these less-than-soothing snuggle moments. I once spent a night with my entire squad on a pile of parachutes before a jump. I've been crammed into piles of soldiers, missionaries, kids, etc. I've never gotten used to it.

Back to sleeping with RJ. Ironically, it occurred at my LDS ward's Young Women's girls camp. We were there as volunteer male helpers, beasts of burden, etc.

When it was time for bed, RJ and I were shown to a room with one bed in it. It wasn't a joke. It was either get into the same bed, or choose who got to sleep on concrete.

It took a while, but we grudgingly accepted the situation. RJ was optimistic. He said it was a big bed and we probably wouldn't touch each other at all during the night.

"In case we do," I said, "let me tell you about this one time in the Army."

RJ, who will deploy to Afghanistan/Iraq in a few weeks, said, "Don't bother. I think the same thing happened to me."

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.