His hands, full of heat and healing energy, have the ability to both decrease or increase my heartbeat. Depending on the moment, they can calm me, rubbing knots out of my shoulders and backside, holding my hand, sitting on my thigh, cupped around my breast as we fall asleep. Or they can raise my pulse: roving, gripping, pulling, grabbing, holding me down, leading me, fingers entering, searching, finding just the places he knows will make me squirm and leave me in a puddle.

His hands are strong, capable, less rough than they used to be, but definitely the hands of a man who has done hard work in his life and isn’t afraid to return to it. Prominent knuckles, deep lines, calloused palms.

I wouldn’t consider hands to be a fetish of mine, but they are a focal point because they are the avenue through which we explore each other physically. Our desire begins either with our eyes or our minds and is heightened by our sense of smell, but the fingers and hands are usually the first things to touch. The current that passes from skin to skin is electric, spreading out in tendrils throughout our bodies, connecting us.

When he touches me, I often close my eyes, the better to feel him, and I naturally move with is touch. Like dancers who have been together for years, our hands and bodies move in a certain rhythm, and I follow his lead.

The slightest change to the expected, and my body is put on alert, off kilter, but waiting for his hands to bend me, shape me, mold me.

As I have stated before, I am not a submissive…but I am submissive by nature, and my body craves to be told what to do, not through words, necessarily, but through touch. And his hands guide me.

In tough times, when we’ve been unhappy, unable to figure out how to be together, he has withheld his touch, and the absence of those hands was felt just as keenly and heavily as if his weight were upon me. In the night, when his fingers would seek me out, without realizing it, I would revel in their presence, careful not move lest he take them away.

Of course, there have been times when I have pulled away, as well, denied his hands, willed them away.

But we have recently been finding our way back to each other, after some fairly difficult months (years, actually). A sense of peace has settled between us. And with that peace comes the ability to begin facing our needs and wants and desires and fantasies again.

What will we become? What newness awaits us?

This is usually the place where fear begins to set in for me, but I feel none. The worry that we will not be able to find common ground in our desires, that he will be unhappy, that I will not be enough, that we will grow wear of each other. But, I feel none of that now. Anticipation, possibly. Curiosity, surely. And hope.

I look forward to whatever paths we will follow, the places he will lead me, that we will choose together…and I feel secure and hopeful in his hands.

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