Guest blog: Your hands. Me. Soaking wet

Image by the always fantastic Stuart F Taylor

I am a total sucker for gorgeous hands. Not just the look of them or the feel of them grabbing me, I am mesmerised by watching people do things with their hands – precise, skilful things. Unngh. Today’s guest blog is by Fajolan, who has a breathtakingly gorgeous story about a date who used his hands to exceptional effect long before they ever got into bed…

Your hands. Me. Soaking wet

Do you sometimes wonder about all the things you need to do make someone horny? The latest tricks to have mindblowing sex that you should be aware of? All the things you need to learn, pick up on, experience to be up to date? Plugs, the latest sex blog trends, rope techniques, paying for dinner, breathplay, meditation, practicing frenulum orgasms or just being really smart and gutsy?

Nope: hands.

Only touching hands. That‘s all it takes.

Absolutely vanilla. Hot as hell. Soaking wet.

A date from an online dating platform. My town. He’s from abroad, gets to travel a lot for work. From his profession – military background – could be a tad too assertive or self-confident for my taste. Me – open, long absent from dating, returning to enjoy myself, out to play. Late forties, body and sex positive, clumsy as hell when it comes to flirting, feminist and not hiding it. No expectations. No preferred type. Just a sense of playfulness behind an otherwise very controlled dry demeanour.

Downtown Café. Calm guy, warm eyes.

What is it about shy guys, who come across as not at all demanding, that makes me willing to open up and give more and more?

Hell, yeah.

Cute. Hesitant. Kind.

We talk. Talk more. Easy conversation, sharing stories. Not flirting: sharing. Creating a comfortable space. We walk across town. Side by side, shoulders almost touching. Feel him walking next to me. Hmmm, yeah, I’m opening up, sniffing him out. The moment my nose picks up the scent of a guy I am usually hooked.

Damn. Life is intervening – I need to return to parenting in three hours. He‘s tired and has a headache. Well hell yeah, why not.

“Ç, if you want to return to your hotel to catch up on sleep, no problem. Or, if you want, I could join you?”

“Now?” He stares at me. Pauses to catch his breath before saying: “yes”

That look. Incredulous. Slightly shocked. And delighted – sparkling with joy. We ease from that ‘yes’ into a first touch – a full body hug. Feeling for the first time the other’s body – warm, comforting, and pleasurable despite winter covering us in so many layers of clothes.

And then we’re off: on our way to the hotel to use the moment. Enjoy each other, and sex.

Time‘s short.

So, on the way to the hotel are you now expecting us to indulge in loads of sexy action? Touching, kissing, grabbing a jeans belt or sliding a hand up the shirt? Yeah, that would be me, but no. Instead we share smiles, quick kisses. We hold hands.

(oh god, c’mon, this is so soppy vanilla for GOTN’s site. Sorry readers. Comments are open for complaints.) No need to apologise, I’m fucking loving it – GOTN)

We grab the airport train to the hotel, and it takes us twenty minutes to get there. We sit across from each other. Knees touching. All verrrry decent.

He reaches across and begins to touch my hands. My fingers. Exploring them: slowly, carefully, attentively. He plays with my fingers. Slides his fingers into the space between mine. Strokes there. Slow. Light.

I respond. No, that‘s underplaying it. I. Am. On. Fire.

I blush. I tingle. I am, within moments, soaking wet. Swollen. Hot. Shifting in the seat. He smiles at me: kind, happy. Shyness mingling with the same anticipation I feel. Soon we‘ll be upstairs in his room.

No, I don‘t use the word foreplay, because this is all sex. Can I really call these fingers on mine sex? Yes. This is sex.

A funny interlude: he‘s not allowed to bring someone to his room because his coworkers could notice. So I put on my business face and stride confidently into the hotel lobby as if on the way back to my own room from a meeting, keeping ten paces of distance between me and him. Hoping my inner grin doesn‘t show – I do so love absurd situations.

Not even grabbing or kissing in the elevators.

Room. Door. Closed. Now. We’re kissing. Grabbing. Undressing.

These hands. Those fingers. I’m so aroused, I feel like sex is oozing out of every cell. Swollen, wet, I feel like coming at any moment.

A moment to breathe, to pause when our clothes are all discarded, we step forward to finally feel each other pure and naked – so much skin and so much pleasure.

Diving into the sex, kissing, grabbing, rolling and this delightful moment of feeling him inside me and coming hard.

You know what? I am not even sure whether I came or not. It doesn’t matter. A few minutes later, I jump into my clothes, kiss him on his way to the shower. We say a few words, smile, grab another kiss. Rush out.

Then it’s back to parenting, working, being a functional adult with responsibilities. I take a train back to the café, get on my bike, making sure to take a picture before I do. I feel my own wetness and his when I jump into the saddle, smile and return home.

Hands. Fingers. Wet.

To Ç. First date in 18 years. Those hands touching my fingers.




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