It’s strange feeling the hands of someone new on my body. It doesn’t feel quite right. It doesn’t feel like home.
You don’t think of these things until they are replaced. It does not occur to you until it happens. You do not realize that you have expectations until they are not fulfilled.
The old hands knew what to do. They knew what I wanted and needed before I did. They engulfed me while massaging my thigh just before moving over the flat of my stomach and around the curvature of my waist and torso and then lingered while making their way to the rise of my breasts. Lovingly, fervently, excitedly, intensely. And then back down again.
They teased and caressed. They comforted and tickled. I became so accustomed to them that it was as though they were an extension of me. It was as if my body and his hands were having a private conversation. One that only they could hear, but that I could feel.
They were the perfect temperature and the perfect size for every part of me. They fit the small of my back, the palm of my hand, the cheek of my ass, the heel of my foot, the muscle of my calf, the inside of my thigh, the arch in my back, the curve in my waist, the whole of my torso, the fullness of my breasts.
And his mouth. So familiar. Perfectly fit to mine. As though his were the yin and mine were the yang. Our tongues and lips moved in concert. There was never a skipped beat. They moved in a way that could create heat as quickly as striking a match.
But new hands are so unexpected. Almost as though they are in a foreign country. These new hands have not learned the language yet. The language that the old hands spoke fluently. They do not know the cities, the towns or the roads yet. They are just getting to know them. They are still exploring. Instead of moving with purpose, they move with curiosity, excitement and delight.
The new hands move faster. And they stumble because they do not yet know the contours of my body like the hold hands did. I realize that I am truly in a whole new place. Physically. Mentally.
There is a sense of confusion as I expect one thing to happen and yet something completely different takes place. I expect a zig, but I feel a zag. I expect his kiss to be firmer, but it is softer. I expect his hands to be warmer but they are cooler and I expect them to be larger, but they are smaller.
And with new hands comes a new mouth. This too is strange. Full lips, but a differently shaped tongue. The kiss is not a concert, but more of a warm up. I know what I want. I know what I want to happen, my mouth and lips are telling his what to do, but they do not listen. They have a mind of their own.
As they explore the new terrain that is my body, I realize that I am thinking instead of feeling. Do I want these hands and this mouth? Do I like excitement or fervor? Do I want passion or delight? Do I prefer intensity or curiosity? Do I like the way they stroke my breasts? Do I respond to the texture of their skin against mine?
Have you noticed that when you are with the right person, your bodies fit together perfectly? As though they were made for each other? You can try so many other bodies, and for a night or even a week, they will do, but it isn’t that perfect fit. You may even realize that don’t want anything that doesn’t fit just right. Without that fit, there is less passion, less intensity, and less interest.
With the right body, you realize that not only will your mouths move in concert and your hands will feel just right, but that you will move in ways that are so unique, they cannot be duplicated. A heat is created, a rhythm is developed. It has its own mark.
And just like that, I know that these are not the right hands for me. I want different hands. And since the old hands are gone, I will keep looking for a new pair. I will never find an exact match. They are all one of a kind. But next time, they will be a better fit. Next time, they won’t feel “new”. Next time, I won’t think.
