What is it about a carpenter’s hand that touches me when we’re dancing?

I’m not sure. But the feeling of his calloused fingers, tough and strong against my skin has always been something I’ve secretly enjoyed. 

It’s not just men with rough hands though, but women as well-women who have seen years of work in their palms and fingertips.

The feel of theirs is different somehow–more delicate–but still powerful when they touch you like that and hold on tight. It’s not just the feeling of their hands on my skin, but also what it does to mine.

fire, flame, heat @ Pixabay

It makes me want more–more touching and less talking. More time spent in each other’s arms instead of side by side, separate from one another.

It starts a fire inside that never gets fully extinguished until I’m back again with them until we’re all tangled up together, throbbing against each other like mad things for as long as possible before reality interrupts us once again.

I love carpenters’ hands because they feel so alive when they touch me.

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