By kevin urenda, kluless70@hotmail.com Date: 10 January 1999
Holding her hand.
That was my favorite thing when we first started dating. I was just so happy to be with her, that I ached just for her touch. She had the delicate hands that almost seemed to contradict their porcelain perfection. They were warm and soft, rather than c o ld and hard. The deliciously thin fingertips found themselves underneath the finest set of exquisitely narrow fingernails. These were always polished to the softest sheen of the finest velvet. Her hands were so delicate, I was afraid that I might break them when I held one. But they were so completely wonderful that I could not resist their power over me. They were so soft the sensation of touching them was almost sublime. I held them gently, in the near-reverence of newly-felt love.
After a few dates, and we discovered that the attraction and affinity we held for each other was returned, and then some, she began to touch me with those wonderful hands. I could not believe that such a beautiful pair of hands actually wanted to touch me. She always drove us everywhere when we began dating. I did not own a car, and she was such a good driver anyway. Besides, I simply loved looking at her as her eyes firmly controlled the road with their gaze. Oh, but those hands that still make me sigh. And as she shifted from third to fourth gear, her right hand naturally and beautifully slid onto my leg just above the knee. It was thrilling, that very first touch, every time we were together.
Every time I hold her hand now I recall the feelings of reverence I had nearly half my life ago... As if it were as fresh and new as when our love was excitingly new...
And every time she touches me softly, with the tenderness of her love, I feel the same thrill of those moments after fourth gear...