His Hand

His hand is light and firm.

Clearly there, but never in a pestering manner.

He usually touches just for a moment.

A graze.

A reassurance.

Sometimes to communicate the direction, sometimes to indicate he is listening and understands and doesn’t want to interrupt.

At other times, his hand encourages me to continue or to take care.

Mostly his hand is a subtle hint of connection.

A simple I’m-here-for-you gesture.

Initially, this type of subtlety endeared him to me.

His ability to turn the touch of his hand into so much, so quickly, so lightly, so insistently.

Able to assert himself without dismissing me.

Neither dominating nor aggressive, rather a calm awareness of what he wants and what he is willing to do to claim his desire.

A balance alluring in its aim at me not as object but as dream fulfilled.

This is an excerpt from the short story The Hand of My Hunter, found in

Fiery Hearts, A Sacred Hot Quickies collection of bedtime stories for adults.