Hands

I love roaming hands. Hands with ADD. Hands that can't sit still. Groping, rubbing, grabing, petting, pinching, pulling, tickling, massaging, restless hands. Let your hands wear themselves out on my body.

Lose them in the soft folds of my clothes. Hear me whimper while your hands caress my skin. See I don't just like restless hands, I like eager hands, rough hands, nervous hands, patient hands. Those are the ones that will remember every bit of your body. Every freckle, every crease, and yes your every flaw. Despite that they'll love you anyway.

Experience tells me hands are best enjoyed with a glass of wine and John Mayer playing in the background. Preferably with lots of time on- I mean for our hands. There was a time in my life when I didn't trust hands. But now to the right pair I will expose myself.

Willing to be at their mercy; for good or for bad. I will not deny that hands fascinate me. I'll let you in on a secret; I'm guilty of having roaming hands.

No part of your body is safe from me. Given permission I can likely spend hours memorizing which paths are best to take. What gives you goosebumps; goosebumps that I read like brail. Let your body speak to me through my hands. A language all hands understand.