The first time I tried to get this man to hold my hand, we were walking beside a London canal in the early evening darkness. I thought it was romantic – the lights reflected off the water, the gentle strolling pace, the early days of a relationship that felt extremely exciting. The first time I tried to hold his hand he let me do it for exactly half a second before pulling away and announcing “I’m not much of a hand-holding person, actually.” It was useful feedback, of course, and I respect how good he is at articulating his boundaries. However, as I explained ten seconds after I’d collapsed into awkward giggles, he could have said it a little more quietly… so the guy walking past at that exact moment didn’t witness my humiliating rejection. I tell you this only so you can see that the man in question here is not, traditionally, a hand-holding kinda guy. He’ll do it if we’re sitting on the sofa, but when we’re out and about the closest he comes to a PDA is the odd subtle smack on my arse or a peck on the lips. He doesn’t like being publicly affectionate, and would rather save certain types of physical contact for when we’re alone. Fair play.

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I’m such a sucker for anticipation and build-up, so when the fabulous SymTrkl (who has written here beautifully before about gender-affirming ways to fuck) pitched me a post combining aching anticipation with a hands-free orgasm I was absolutely over the moon. She writes with such warmth and affection, while also making this whole story exquisitely horny. Huge thanks to her for this gorgeous piece.

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I have a habit of staring. Not at strangers – that’s too creepy, even for me. I have a habit of staring at my boyfriend. He’s astonishingly beautiful, and I like to look at beautiful men during moments of downtime. When they’re not deliberately making an effort to be sexy, just going about their daily lives with no idea how stunning they actually are. Sometimes they catch me doing this.

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Sometimes, after we’ve fucked and I’ve come good and hard round his cock, he pulls out and lies back on the bed, holding me tight around the shoulder or waist with one arm, and stroking himself with the other. I like to watch him come. And while he’s pushing himself to come, if I can tear my eyes away from the sight of his beautiful hand gripped skilfully round the head of his fuck-wet dick, I put my lips right up against his. Almost – but not quite – kissing. Feeling his body tense and shake, inhaling as he breathes into my mouth.

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I am a total sucker for gorgeous hands. Not just the look of them or the feel of them grabbing me, I am mesmerised by watching people do things with their hands – precise, skilful things. Unngh. Today’s guest blog is by Fajolan, who has a breathtakingly gorgeous story about a date who used his hands to exceptional effect long before they ever got into bed…

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