One of my dearest friends likes to touch. She has strong hands; she used to be a masseuse. She will massage my shoulders and sometimes my hands while we're talking. I adore her touch.
I enjoy looking at hands as well as fondling them. I will hold them out in front of me and trace the shape of them; stroking and massaging as I study them.
I spent one entire evening learning the hands of a lover. I traced each line, touched the veins and just held them. I had massaged his body until he fell asleep so I spent hours stroking and touching those rough, calloused hands that were somehow strong and tender at the same time.
A night at the theater I sat next the Photographer. She held my hand as we watched some well-acted but very depressing action on the stage. She was sitting between her husband and me and she was holding both of our hands. Her finger ran along my knuckles as my fingertips caressed her wrist.
The softest fingers I've ever felt belong to the Philosopher. I adore the feel of them on my flesh... in my mouth... massaging every part of me. His palms are gentle and strong. He holds my hands over my head or behind my back as we're wrestling and, no matter how rough he's being, I enjoy his touch. I pet his hands as he spoons behind me and wraps his arms around me.
Adult Content... If you are under 18 or easily offended by erotic - kinky - poly material, please leave. Thanks!