I’m tired, and it’s late. So this may not be the most polished of posts.

It’s a long time since I last posted. Too long; I started this blog as part of a freeing exploration of the erotic and sensual side of myself (OK, imagine me sensually exploring you too if you must . . . ) and I was indeed finding it a liberating experience: expressing my true self in areas that often remain hidden. Getting into conversation with some amazing people. Being free to talk intelligently and sensitively about sensuality and eroticism . . . being free from having to choose between talking sexually and talking intelligently. Bringing together the part of me that wants to think and reflect, and the part that wants to give pleasure to every inch of someone’s body . . . letting myself be my whole self.

What happened?

It wouldn’t be right to go into a lot of detail, so I’ll just say that one or two things happened in my life which knocked that exploration off course somewhat. And that it was more difficult than I expected to get back on track.

Well, I’m feeling my way back again. (And talking of feeling, I like the warmth of your skin under my fingers . . . Hang on, that’s not the kind of feeling I meant . . . I do though, and if I just kiss here and here and here and gently . . . Look you’re distracting me, that’s not what I . . . Oh gosh yes do that some more . . . Mmmm . . . Damn I really can’t concentrate . . . )

Sorry, where was I?

Oh yes. I was exploring, and being sidetracked, and feeling my way, and being sleepy. Too sleepy to write as thoughtfully as I’d like to. Too sleepy to satisfy my own perfectionism. Sleepily running my hands over your . . .

I value this blog, and I value what writing it gives me, even though I’ve been absent for a while. Today, I especially value those friends who have noticed my absence and asked me about it. I really appreciate that. It feels good. I hope to post more regularly again. I hope you’ll enjoy what I write, whatever I explore. And I hope that despite my sleepiness now, this will all seem coherent when I read it again in the morning.

Time to sleep. And dream . . .

If you visit a certain sort of website—the sort of dating site where nude photos are the norm—you’ll discover that a large proportion of the men there think the picture which will be most attractive to the women there is one of their erect penis. The women, however, will mostly tell you that they’ve seen enough penises to last them a lifetime (so to speak!). If asked which part of the body they particularly like, they’ll almost all mention the eyes and hands before anything else.

(And for the record, if you ask me what part of a woman’s body I find sexiest, I’ll probably include her back, neck and nipples in my list. If you insist that I choose.)

I’d never really thought about hands being sexy until one day a close friend told me that she liked my hands. (Actually she put it a lot more positively than that, and I was stunned by the compliment. And because of the way she kept looking at them, I believed her too.)

My hand resting on my bare lower abdomen, just outside partially unzipped jeans

My left hand.
© tnbits.wordpress.com 2010

What is it about hands?

I would have loved to begin this post with a photo I found in a book recently. But I would have been infringing some photographer’s copyright. The picture was amazing: it showed the wall of a cave, painted with various shades of reddish-brown pigment. And all over it were lighter-coloured silhouettes of hands. Negative hand-prints, if you will.

Every hand was different. Some were those of adults. Some of children. Some looked feminine. Some masculine. All were beautiful. And all were from people who lived in about 8,000 BC: ten thousand years ago. Each had its own character. Each was an individual. It was moving to see; one particuarly elegant hand made me want to meet  its owner. These were real people in a real community. I felt a basic human connection with them, even though all I knew was what shape their handprints were. Hands can have personality.

My hand resting on my bare abdomen, filling the picture

Skin against skin.
© tnbits.wordpress.com 2010

Do my hands have personality? That’s not for me to say really, but in these photos I wanted to communicate a gentle sensuousness along with any erotic suggestiveness there might be. If I’m honest—assuming you’re female—I like the thought of you imagining what my hand would feel like against your skin. And I like the thought of the intimacy of that. And how controlled and gentle the touch could be . . .

The photos are of my left hand, simply because I was holding the camera in my right. It’s the hand which I use to play the notes on my violin. I’ve spent years training its fingers to know where to go. Though at the moment, they’re moving around my computer keyboard as I type.

We live a lot of our life with our hands. We use them to hold things. To manipulate  things. To accomplish things. They can push someone away, or hold and comfort them. They can touch, stroke, squeeze, massage, caress. They can stay still, or explore . . .

Fingers sliding into unzipped jeans

And then . . . ?
© tnbits.wordpress.com 2010

Maybe hands do have personality. But I’ll shut up now and let you enjoy (I hope) the photos.