How brave of me to write about your hands, even without knowing them they will be my favorite fetish of you. Those hands that you once commented to be delicate, that today not having them, I can imagine them perfect, I can feel them, taking me, I feel that indescribable electricity going through just by thinking, that it must feel the touch by you.
Because I crave a touch of yours more than anything in this sinful way, which you and I, my friend, are going through. How is it that my imagination plays me dirty and removes my label of "decently", just by thinking of your hands, how you could make me feel safe while ours are intertwined.
Because I don't want anything as much as your touch, because my pride swells when I think about how it could be to have them on my hips, claiming me in an act so possessive and so tiny, that only a few could notice it. I become so blind and so dominated just thinking, God only knows how much I want your hands over mine, over me, any action accelerates my pulse, either heart rushes me, anyone overflows my soul.
