A Stranger's Hands
I keep staring at them. They're so pale and knobby-knuckled.
The rings were really what caught my eye. Without them, my hands look naked and foreign. I find myself fingering the calluses where they were.
I suppose it fits. I'll relearn their ways, see how they have changed--what sort of things they want to do on their own. Maybe they'll be painting a truck into the gypsy wagon I'd like it to be, pounding down tent stakes, or facilitating any number of adventures.
They've been tired...I think they'll be happy to serve just one mistress for a while. I plan to treat them a little better, pampering them with lotion, keeping them out of harm's way.
The rings were really what caught my eye. Without them, my hands look naked and foreign. I find myself fingering the calluses where they were.
I suppose it fits. I'll relearn their ways, see how they have changed--what sort of things they want to do on their own. Maybe they'll be painting a truck into the gypsy wagon I'd like it to be, pounding down tent stakes, or facilitating any number of adventures.
They've been tired...I think they'll be happy to serve just one mistress for a while. I plan to treat them a little better, pampering them with lotion, keeping them out of harm's way.