Just a quick sketch of thoughts fresh in my brain from tonight’s ride home
Thin fingers, short nails rounded at the ends, skin that appears chaffed red by cold in some spots and an even apricot in others.
I’m fascinated by his hand as it dangles unprotected in front of me. Curious as to whether his palm is work-roughed or baby-bottom smooth to match the sleekness of his dress clothes. The other hand grips the bar far above my head and it’s rude to stare at it or his face (even though I want to) so I stare at his hand. The peeks I do take tell me he is handsome in that typical classic way, but I let my eyes go back to the place they want to rest.
Wrist hidden by the cuff of his blue peacoat, I want to reach out and feel his skin. I’d trace the knuckle nearest me before dabbing my finger against the pads of each of his.
Thumb, pointer, middle, ring, pinkie. Pollex, digitus secundus manus, digitus me’dius, digitus annula’ris, digitus mi’nimus ma’nus. One after the other until I’ve satisfied my curiosity about the texture of his skin.
I am attracted to him, but the need to touch him feels less sexual and more a need to interact. Not just interaction, but connection. I sneak a glance at his face and wonder if he’d welcome my touch…
When his stop arrives I feel almost disappointed to see him go. Our imagined moment severed and my desire for connection unrealized.
Damn, I need someone’s tight embrace right about now.