myhandsinherhair

[myhandsinherhair]

Two Side of the Same Coin

She hums and bangs around as she cooks, busy but relaxed and enjoying herself. She can cook 5 things at once without setting a timer or forgetting anything or screwing anything up. I've never seen anything like it.

They say that we enjoy watching our loved ones in their element, doing what they do best. But I am hovering around the kitchen for less altruistic reasons. I'm about to starve to death and I'm hoping to hurry this thing up before I'm forced to eat my shoe.

In setting the table, I notice a small package of whispy things set off to the side.

"Are these the new panties you bought?"

She immediately abandons her cooking to show me her new undies.

Standing by my side at the counter, she picks up a little thong and explains to me how the color will go with X and she will wear them with Y and she likes the frilly thing and the hem, blah blah blah.

I am standing there politely saying yes, uh huh, right. I am being an adult and a supportive partner and going through the motions. But I am also thinking dirty thoughts. Thinking about that little strip of fabric between her cheeks. There are chemicals being released in my brain and my body. My pants are getting tight. My skin is flushing. It is biology and psychology and what happens when Your Person does certain things.

And she picks up pair number two. Same thing. Pattern of material, fit a little differently, will work with these other shorts or pants or whatever.

And the third pair, granny panties, see the little bows, words-words-words. I nod encouragement. I don't let on that I am having minor difficulty in controlling the impulse to grab her and ravage her.

And the next pair. Little white crotchless things. She looks up at me to gauge my reaction. I smile, yes, ok, crotchless, I like. But in my mind I have taken her into the half bathroom by the kitchen and yanked her stretch pants down and raked the towel and the handsoap and the decorative ensemble off the counter and her legs are wrapped around me and she is moaning in my ear while I pull her hair.

It is Jekyll and Hyde. It is dichotomy and juxtaposition. I can be civilized and under control and appear reasonably normal while we talk about her underthings at the kitchen counter with other family members within earshot, while thinking about cramming my face in her crotch or tying her to the headboard and leaving a handprint on her backside.

Like two sides of the same coin. Inseparable. Of the same thing but different.

She has seen both sides of this coin. She thinks she understands. But thank god, Thank God!, she cannot read my mind.

[myhandsinherhair]

Getting Horizontal

She shuffles over my way looking like a child who has stayed up well past her bedtime.

She discards her pen carelessly in the floor, pulling her headphones off and tossing them on the coffee table as she approaches.

"All done with your meetings?" I ask her. "You look worn out."

"I'm exhausted," she mutters, and starts worming herself onto the couch with me.

In seconds, she is lying between my legs. There is a pressure and a delicious friction as she wiggles into place. A soft swish of her hair as she scoops it all to one side and drops her head onto my chest.

I pet her hair. I trace my fingertips down her neck, down her back. I gently pinch the top of her earlobe, then comb my fingers softly along her scalp.

She is almost instantly asleep. Her breaths are slow and deep. Her body is limp, conformed to mine. I wrap my arms around her.

Time stretches out. We can't be here like this forever. But there are a lot of forevers inbetween the minutes and the seconds when I have her this close to me.

[myhandsinherhair]

Emergency Maneuvers

*I posted this a few months ago, but for whatever reason the Tumblr nannies put it in purgatory.

[myhandsinherhair]

Emergency Maneuvers

Before we even entered the store, as we were walking through the parking lot, she seemed to have an odd shimmy in her step. An extra shake in her bake.

On aisle three, she leaned over and whispered "These panties are killing me."

"ARE YOUR PANTIES CHAFING YOUR BUNGHOLE?" I asked her, somewhat loudly. Not like volume 10, but a solid 5. Loud enough to capture the attention of the gentleman in the bib overalls with the ZZ Top beard who was pushing his cart past ours. He twisted his neck all the way around to check her out, definitely grounds for a chiropractor visit later that week. Her eyes got really big and she scurried off for a minute, embarrassed and perturbed.

Once she had forgiven me, she returned to the topic, explaining that the panty problem was on her front side. This was not unprecedented. One time when we were travelling on a Valentine's mini-vacation, we were walking out of an arcade and she stopped in the middle of a sidewalk, hid herself behind me, and jammed her hand down her pants to tuck an errant labia back into her panties. This apparently recurring problem may be partially caused by the tiny little thongs she wears when she's around me. I reminded her that in my opinion panties simply aren't needed, but she did not find this helpful.

While we were standing in the checkout line, she informed me that as soon as she was in the car, she was pulling her pants down to un-cleave herself. She would show me the indignity and suffering she was enduring. I found this riveting. Any opportunity to discuss her boobs, or her butt, or her vagina is not to be missed. She doesn't really talk about these topics to just anyone, so it feels intimate, like she's letting me in on her secrets. Plus, I'm just perverted like that.

Once our packages are loaded, and she's in the car, she's suddenly a little shy. There is a car parked next to ours, and the guy sitting in it has taken special notice of her, as guys tend to do. She has tugged her pants down off her hips but will go no further.

"You're going to have to move the car," she implores me, "I can't do it with him sitting there. He might see me."

I smile and nod to him, just to irk her.

"Hurry, you jerk! These things are driving me crazy!"

I leisurely back out and then ease down through the parking lot. She tugs her pants down to her ankles and points at her problem. She shifts her butt up off the seat trying to give me a better view. I narrowly avoid a collision with a fire hydrant. A few landscaping shrubs and one healthy-sized tree are in danger. Women and small children flee. I am definitely inspecting her while I have the chance, and neglecting my duties as a driver seems like a compromise any sane man would make.

Random motion, walking, unexpected shifting, maybe some shrinkage from the dryer, and the forces of the universe have all conspired to get those cute little panties wedged pretty far up in there. She yanks them out with a sign of relief. I twitch and make man noises and wonder if humping the steering wheel is illegal in this state as she smooths everything into place.

I fully expect that when we are old fogeys, wrinkled and gray-haired and slower on our feet, we are still acting like sex-fiends at the local store.

[myhandsinherhair]

Starfish Dream

The soft footsteps and the quiet creak of the door wake me up.

The flush of the toilet will be next, and then I will hear her make her way back to our bed. And it is almost certain, as she climbs in with a soft rustle of the covers, that she will starfish me.

No, this has nothing to do with a chocolate starfish. Get your mind out of the gutter. Picture a starfish with all its bendy little arms cozying up to it's mate.

She will throw her leg over me, throw her arm around me. She squeezes herself as close to me as she can. Her cheek may be on my shoulder. Her crotch suction-cupped to my hip. And then... there will be a soft sigh. Her breathing will slow. And within seconds she will be back to sleep.

Yes, of course her little lava body is too hot some nights. I may suffer the indignity of persperation. Her hair may tickle my nose. Her knee may bump my nuts - oof! Her toenail may slice my shin - agh!

But anyone who may think those trade-offs aren't worth the feeling of her naked body against mine has never gone without. Or doesn't understand how that re-connection in the dark of the night has so little to do with the physical and so much to do with the emotional.

[myhandsinherhair]

Part 1 - The Auction

She lined up against the wall with the other women just as she was told.  She wanted to clasp her hands or cross her arms, anything to shield or protect herself.  But that was forbidden.  Chin up, chest out, eyes straight ahead, arms by your side.

Nervous butterflies fluttered in her stomach.  Her heart thudded in her chest.  She desperately needed to pee.

But she was determined to see this through.  She had made a commitment, and she was going to honor it, nerves be damned.  

The other women seemed nervous too.  A dozen total, they were all different shapes and sizes, all different colors, appearing to range in ages from mid-twenties to mid-forties.  Some were stunningly beautiful, some a bit homely.  All were dressed in filmy nightgowns, practically see-through.  All of them were completely silent.  

The door was pulled open, and in walked The Proprietor with Gentleman 1.  She did her best to keep her eyes straight ahead, but took in the Gentleman’s appearance with little stolen glances.  Tall, thin build, swarthy complexion, impeccably dressed in a gray 3-piece suit.

Gentleman 1 went immediately to the tall blonde.  He asked a few questions of The Proprietor in a foreign language, had Blondie turn a slow 360.  Another question or two, and a quick check by The Proprietor of his tablet for an answer.  Gentleman 1 nodded, and just like that, Blondie was pulled from the room.  A quick decision.

Gentleman 2 sauntered in.  He walked down the line with The Proprietor at his side, stopping in front of her.  He looked to be part Jabba the Hutt mixed with a little Chainsaw Massacre.  His beard was bushy and unkempt, his nose red and bulbous.  He reached up with his small, chubby hands and turned her head this way and that.  He grunted and motioned for her to turn around.  Her knees threatened to give way as she turned.  Oh god, please no, she thought.  Please, anyone but him.

He walked on down the row, and she nearly wept with joy.  Her cheeks blushed with a touch of shame.  She hadn’t been good enough for him.  Both a blessing and an embarrassment.

Gentleman 2 chose a curvy dark-skinned girl near the end of the line, and they made their exit.

Gentleman 3 clomped in with a sneer and a dismissive flick of his nose.  He immediately began complaining to The Proprietor about the terrible selection.  These women are pitiful, clearly not up to snuff, who was wasting his time, etc.  Arrogance emanated off him in waves.

He stopped at the woman to her right, a tiny lady who looked like she might blow away in a stiff breeze.  He groped Tiny’s breasts, pried her mouth open to check her oral hygiene.  He ordered her to turn around, bend over.  He yanked her nightgown up to her waist, spread apart her cheeks, grumbled.  Gentleman 3 grabbed tiny by the elbow and towed her with him back through the door.

Emotions continued to flood through her as she stood there trembling.  Despair.  Disgust.  Remorse.  What had she gotten herself into?

On the verge of tears, she almost didn’t see Gentleman 4 walk in.

He was nondescript, of average height and build.  His clothing was muted, neat but unremarkable.  His face handsome but intense.  His gaze seemed to miss nothing, and he immediately caught her peeking at him.

He walked over, stopping directly in front of her.  When she refused to look at him, he gently shifted her chin up until she was forced to do so.  His blue eyes blazed at her, and his tough features softened with the hint of a smirk.

He stepped closer to her, too close, and bent his lips down to her ear.

“What is your name?” he asked quietly.

She could feel his breath against her jaw, her neck.  He stood so close to her she could feel the warmth of his skin near her cheek.  She could smell him, a faint scent of soap, deodorant, something deeper that made her think of bare skin under the light of a moon.

“Dillon,” she whispered.

He stepped back and regarded her carefully.  His eyes drank hers in.  Her hair, her lips, her bust.  She both withered and bloomed under his gaze.  Confounding, conflicting emotions.  She was both terrified and enthralled.  She wanted to run from him, but wanted to hear his voice again.  

He leaned closer again, his lips brushing the top of her ear.

“I think I will make you mine, Dillon.”  He said this quietly, firmly, with no hesitation.  She shivered.  Goosebumps dimpled her skin.  A small, wavering gasp escaped her.

She closed her eyes.  Without intent or forethought,  only some kind of basic, primal reaction, one of her hands found his waist and pulled him closer still.

“Yes,” she whispered.  “Please.”

“Sir,” he corrected her.  He took her hand off his belt, but continued to grip her wrist.  

“Please, Sir,” she amended.

Gentleman 4 turned to The Proprietor.  “I will take this one.”

[myhandsinherhair]

Cabin Dreams

The meeting goes on forever. Grown men bickering, posturing, saying the same thing indirectly, three different ways, to hear themselves talk. Intolerable.

My eyes glaze over, and my mind turns softly - inevitably - to you. A daydream begins to unfold...

We are in a cabin high up on a mountain.

A thick blanket of snow soundproofs the woods. It is dark, the middle of the night. The room has grown cold as the fire burned low. I turn over in bed to find you.

I spoon you, wrap an arm around you. Your naked body feels inviting, warm.

Tomorrow we will play scrabble. I will lock our phones in a drawer, and we will sit on the porch wrapped in blankets with hot bowls of soup while we watch it snow. We will read together. Nap together.

But that's tomorrow.

Now I am awake.

I slide a hand across your hip, down your thigh. I hear the slightest sleepy murmur. I kiss your shoulder, move my hand across your stomach. You moan, turn onto your back.

Your hair smells like strawberries. Your skin feels hot, alive, impossible to resist. You are just awake enough to hope that I'm awake enough to keep... doing... that. Touching you.

My hand has a mind of its own. I caress your jaw, behind your ear. I tease first one nipple, then the other.

By the time my fingertips are between your legs you are alternately holding your breath, gasping quietly, pleading with me. You rock against me, claw at me with your fingernails, but I'm in no hurry.

I might take all night.

It is delicious, being able to wake you up to do dirty things to you. To wake up next to you knowing your are mine.

When you moan and cry out my name, only an owl, huddled against the cold in a tree not far from the front door of the cabin, can hear.

[myhandsinherhair]

Lies

She tossed and turned. She even threw in an exasperated sigh for dramatic effect.

"Okay, wiggle worm, do you have ants in your pants?" I asked her.

She slid across the mattress so she could throw her leg over mine. She put her lips right against my ear, and whispered "I'm not wearing any pants."

I only grunted in reply, and let the dark room grow quiet again. I knew what she wanted. But you can't always have what you want. Sometimes a little denial can be a good thing.

It continued every few minutes. Fluffing up the pillow. Turning this way, then that way. Rolling way over to the other side of the bed or shoving her warm little butt up against me.

Finally, I raised up on one elbow and very precisely placed my warm hand very low on her tummy. I leaned over her and asked, "Can't sleep?"

"No," she replied grumpily. "It might make me sleepy if you played with my boobs for a minute."

These are the lies she tells me.

I brushed my lips across her shoulder, and let my hand wander lower. I knew just what she needed to go to sleep.

[myhandsinherhair]

10/28/21 through 10/31/21

[myhandsinherhair]

October 13, 2021

[myhandsinherhair]

October 12, 2021... a little Vitamin Me:

[myhandsinherhair]

Vitamin Me

Her gift to me...

10/6/21

10/7/21

10/8/21

[myhandsinherhair]

The Extraordinary Gift

I almost asked her.

It was right on the tip of my tongue.

I was so close to saying it.

Why are you wearing panties?

She stayed with me a few nights ago. It was the first time in several weeks. Sometimes life gets in the way.

She had stripped her clothes off and climbed into bed. I could feel, in the darkness, her naked skin against mine.

As I ran my hands over her body, I came across her panties. What was this? Why would she be wearing panties in my bed? Surely she knows these must come off?

I almost asked her, but then I felt something odd.

I felt something on the side of her hip. Oh, and also on the other side. It was ribbons. Her panties were designed to be tied on with little bows on each side.

I took great delight in untying each, dragging the silky ribbons across the smooth skin of her tummy, the roughening skin of her nipples. Before long, I pulled them off, and tossed them to the floor.

And then I did some dirty things to her.

It wasn't until the next day, after she had hugged me and told me goodbye, several hours after she was gone and both of us were working hard, that I thought about how those panties were tied on.

I thought about her at home, showering and making herself beautiful for me. I thought about her picking those panties out of her drawer. Tying the bows at her hips. Anticipating, a few hours later, my discovery. Hoping that I would untie them, and have my way with her.

When she gives her body to me, it is a delicious present I always feel lucky to receive. But to occupy her thoughts... is the most extraordinary gift of all.

[myhandsinherhair]

Sightless Midnights

The blindfold hides me from her.

It is symbolic, yes. Submission personified. A testament to trust. But it taps deeper emotion than that.

There is a certain degree of freedom when I can look upon her while she is prevented from looking upon me. A permissive multiplier of encouragement. If she cannot see me, there is less chance I can see myself, not through my own eyes, but imagined as I might look through hers. If there are limitations imposed by some sense of self, some history or intimate knowledge of my own successes and failures, some reasonable reconciliation of aspiration versus ability, then they are cloaked with the tying of the knot.

I may be drawn to the flash of her teeth in the dim light. Her flawless lips. I might stare at them, revel in their surreal perfection, without fear of discovery. She can't see the hunger, the unhealthy obsession for each of her uncovered parts. The insides of her lips are soft and slick, a delicate treasure, a secret pleasure that I can only risk acknowledging on sightless midnights.

If I rasp the rough stubble on my chin across her nipple, she gasps. With luck, she wraps her arms around me, pulling me closer, desperate to be consumed. She turns her face not downward to look at me but throws her head back, the blindfold freeing her into some vault in her mind. Let us hope there I can have all of her and maybe give her more of me.

[myhandsinherhair]

Panty Pandemonium

"After dinner, we should stop by that knick-knacks store." She gave me her most charming smile.

"You mean... to go shopping?" I asked. My tone was along the lines of: so you're saying you want me to eat bugs?

"Yes. Just for a minute," she replied.

"Here's the deal," I told her. "We can stop by the store, but you have to take off your panties before we go in." I gave her my most charming smile.

"In the car? But people might see me," she protested. I shrugged.

So we struck a deal. I even made her shake on it.

When we arrived, she dutifully wiggled out of her shorts and then pulled off her panties. She handed them over. She was temporarily distracted by wiggling back into her shorts, but then realized I had tucked her pretty little panties into the pocket of my dress shirt. I had left them hanging out, so that random passersby could more easily spot them.

"No way, you are not going in there like that!" She went to snatch them out of my pocket, but I batted her hand away.

"You neglected to put that clause in your contract," I informed her.

I climbed out of the car, ignoring her shouts, her clawing at my arm, her protests that she wasn't going inside if I didn't give them back. I walked around the car and stood by the entrance of the store. She stared at me through the windshield, stubborn and unmoving. She pointed at me and silently mouthed something. Probably something like: you are really awesome kind sir. Or maybe: please spank me and feed me tacos. I don't know, coulda been: you are better looking than George Clooney and I want to have your babies.

I took her panties out of my pocket, and I twirled them brazenly around my finger. A car turning out of the parking lot caught my eye, and I waved the wispy little panties over my head, just in case the driver looked my way. I shuffled to the right, and flipflopped the panties that way. Then I shuffled to the left, and I flipflopped them the other way.

By now, she appeared to have hunkered down in the seat, and was peering at me over the dashboard. She was trying to look horrified and embarrassed, but I could tell she was secretly enjoying this. I tucked her knickers back into my shirt pocket, leaving plenty hanging out for theatrical effect, and I sauntered into the store. I predicted her willpower would expire, and within a few minutes she would head inside to find me.

I was right.

She came stomping down the aisle, trying to act mad. But she kept accidentally smiling, so nobody was fooled. She made a big show of grabbing for the panties, and I only half-heartedly fended her off. It seemed important to allow her the false victory of reclaiming her undies, so that we get the shopping over with.

As she stormed off, muttering things under her breath, I definitely, definitely checked out her butt.

[myhandsinherhair]

A Fractional Amount More

Sometimes she leaves the front door unlocked when she's expecting me.

When that's the case, I've adopted the less formal approach of just waltzing in.

She's a busy lady. It's not like she sits around with her feet propped up eating bon-bons and waiting for me to arrive. Usually when I walk in, she is trying to do five things at once. With the television on. And her phone squashed between her ear and her shoulder while using both hands to cook or clean or cross random stuff off a list she remembered to write down but forgot to put where she could find it.

Occasionally the series of events intersect in a way that I surprise her. Not like "oh, I didn't know you were coming over". More like she turns around, realizes I'm standing there, and yelps. This is generally proceeded by something along the lines of "Oh shit! You scared the bejeezus out of me!" And then "Quit sneaking up on me!"

I'm not one to stomp. And I certainly don't jingle. I haven't carried coins in my pocket since I was old enough to brush my own teeth. I only carry enough keys to go forth and do what I intend to do. If what few keys I carry were to jingle, I would re-situate them immediately to stop them from jingling and being annoying. I guess I do tend to move around fairly quietly.

Also, I like watching her when she doesn't know I'm watching her. Both in a curious, scientific, observational, non-sexual way, and in a sexual way. The sexual and the non-sexual are intermingled for me when it comes to her. That's just the way it is.

So yes, if you can keep my secret, I'll admit to sneaking up on her sometimes.

When I arrived this evening, it sounded like there was a concert going on upstairs.

I do hereby swear that I announced my presence as I walked through the front door with a moderately loud "HELLLLO?" Given the yodeling reverberating down the steps, I'm sure no one could hear me. But... now I'm off the hook, right? Now I can ease upstairs and check out what she's doing and feel zero guilt if I scare her and she yells at me for creeping. By my calculus, my announcement entitles me to all manner of observational freedoms within the house.

She was in the bathroom painting the walls.

Her phone was playing music through a speaker. She was standing on the edge of the tub using a paintbrush to trim around the tile.

She was barefoot, standing on her tippy-toes to reach up high. She was wearing shorts made of thin cotton material, fairly short. She was bent forward slightly, and her shorts were pulled up into her crack just a tiny bit. Her round, mygoditisperfect butt was sticking out saying hello to me in its very friendly way. Very. Friendly.

She had her hair bunched up on top of her head. (I happen to know she has this habit of accidentally getting paint in her hair any time she is playing Ms. Fixit). She was wearing a modest t-shirt, but it was white, and her big boobs simply cannot be hidden by such as that.

I thought, as I watched her, that it would be her legs and her bare, cute, feminine feet that would stick in my mind. Great legs, certainly, but even more importantly: my legs. Legs that she gives to me, reserves for me. Legs that she so enjoys me touching, kissing. Legs that she likes to casually drape over my lap when we watch TV. Legs that she shaves, and lotions, and takes care of for me. Legs that I want to safeguard and take care of for her.

But that wasn't it.

After a few moments, when she turned and climbed down off the edge of the tub, and saw me there smirking in the doorway, and she startled and yelped and cursed as she must inevitably do, she couldn't help but smile. Little spots of color bloomed on her cheeks. Her greenish goldish eyes flashed, along with her sparkling white teeth. And I loved her a little more. Just a tiny, fractional amount more. Like another soft feather added to a favorite pillow. One extra piece of popcorn in a cozy movie night's snack. Or a butterfly in a field of flowers.

It wasn't her legs, it was that pretty smile.

We moved on. We cooked and ate and laughed and talked. And before long, I departed. Regrettably, I did not find out what kind of panties she was wearing underneath those shorts tonight.

But I am still thinking about her smile.

[myhandsinherhair]

Castle Hunting

Once we are finished with waterfalls, maybe we will go castle hunting together...

Lichtenstein Castle, Germany

Swallow's Nest, Ukraine

Chateau de Pierrefonds, France

Burg Eltz, Germany

Bolsover Castle, England

Kilkenny Castle, Ireland