I fell in love with his hands first, then his mind, then his body, which is ironic because he was prone to posting sexy selfies, these tantalizingly revealing images, sometimes captioned with his erotic yearnings. His body was nice and all, but my favorite post of his was one with the hands.

A simple image in black and white with one hand palm up and the other hand palm down. A little scrap of paper, tiny really, just big enough to hold the word “Care,” and then you see his impressive veins running up the length of the hand like roots from a tree trunk, propagating, expanding, veins wrapping around the folds of my mind and filling me up with fantasy.

On the hand that was palm up, you could see the lines in the middle. I took my time looking at the “M” in the middle. Mother used to say, “if it connects without breaking that means you have money in your future.” On this hand there’s a little piece of paper with the word, “Spank.”

I spent quite some time admiring this picture. Then I’d go back to the one of him with his business slacks unzipped, underwear peaking through, and a belt held taut between his hands. The power in his pose, the authority that image emanates, it really made me feel like I was in trouble.

But then I was reassured by the fact that his hands can spank and care. I wanted them to do both to me. I wanted the man with the hands capable of delivering affectionate cruelty.

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