Glancing there are places my eyes check out, the shape of you, the line of your thighs. You smile because I smile. I want to see your eyes, do you ever want to just stare into eyes and see if there’s mischief or kindness or that window into the soul?

Kind eyes that well up too often, from longing from being touched after a long time without such waves of excitement. I like to see yearning and eagerness reflected that urge to please. To please me.

I look at your hands they might hide in your pocket and then hold your arm like a nervous self hug. I see the thick fingers and I see them grip. They look cold and the side of the thumb nail might dig in to the skin or push into my mouth to be tasted, sucked a little.

The nails are clean and wide on the finger tip, cut short. Yes, which is a good thing, what is the pad of those fingers like? Are the prints worn down tough and rough. Do my fingers feel the gaps between one by one, tracing your palm to see your future. :)

The hand turns over in mine to let me see. Is it rough? That fingertip? Sensitive to touch? Do they pinch? Or would it feel what I feel? Just go with it I think, just tell him you have very naughty thoughts about his hands and his fingers. A man’s hands can have long thin fingers, I’ve seen them wrapped around pictures. Those unwanted dick pics being held up by hands that frantically worked a semi to it’s peak of readiness. Some tanned hands or a bed time pyjama hand sexily revealing something teasing me to look more. Oh my!

I never asked for those, but still men like to be admired and there are some impressive ones out there! :D Being seen is a thrill if you want a reaction. I react all right, but don’t always say, But it’s the hands I like to look at and decide what about them is sexy, it’s not just that they belong to a cock, it’s that they can work one up, I wonder just how much skill, how dexterous is that hand, and fingers? Does a guitar player have skills or a pianist or violinist? They might have too much focus or not for what I was thinking.

Oh you can tell the hands that don’t work, I mean that don’t do manual work. Smooth and undamaged youthful. Thumbs bent from gaming for hours. I like the thick knuckles, the ones that hold tight. Hairy hands can look good and feel tingly. Grazed fingers, healed scars from some struggle. Knuckles with bumps. All add to the rich fantasy of where they’ve been.

The first hands I fell for were on a crush from my middle school he had bitten every nail down so low his thumb bled. He was confident though outwardly lots of friends, but when he spoke on his own To me, I saw his hands and touched the sore thumb and made him suddenly aware of me. He knew I knew, he looked right in my eyes and I felt that shiver. I loved him for letting me see that. I had that power.

It’s taken years for me to understand I was what I am, a woman who likes strong men. Strong men that have hands that are waiting. Arms that like to be held and hands that grip tighter when told to.

I want to see a strong man who can fight if he needs to completely give that strength up. To know at one glance he is in trouble if he moves, if he stops me from getting what I want. Oh the twitch of large hands reaching, but having to stop. Hands that smell of pine or engine oil. Veins full of blue blood going back to their heart. Hands held together like a prayer. Held by a silk or a cold Metal cuff.

Yes I look at hands on men, not boys, I watch out for vain hands and manicured hands. Show me the hands that grew large and stubborn and give me their control. If I may have the driving seat, then I will watch them grip your excited cock till you are dangerously close to coming.

Because I like it when you let me control your strong hands. I love it. I think you like to see my hands around you too.