Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Hands as Eyes


by Daddy X

I dare say it’s no leap to suggest that our first encounters with sex were with our own hands. No wonder we find hands so erotic. At first it was dark, secretive. We sinned alone in our beds.  Later, after the right hormones kicked in, it could happen on a sleepover with friends or relatives, stimulated by apocryphal stories, a Playboy in the left hand, cock in the right. Sometimes we’d give each other hand jobs. One time a boy suggested we should all fuck each other’s backsides, kinda like a daisy chain. He told us he and his cousins did it all the time. That never happened with us because everybody wanted to be the last guy in line, emmm … in the rear, so to speak. Perhaps these childhood diddlings served as part of an unconscious search for our respective positions on the Kinsey chart.

My first sexual encounters with girls, also hand-oriented and executed, the way those clumsy boy-fingers twirled in early girlfriends’ panties. How hard their pubic bones were down there, like an upside-down shelf with a soft, silky, drippy place underneath. The way a finger slid into the warmth while we cuddled in the back seat of a fogged-up car on a chilly night. My hand learned how wet girls were down there. Were they that way all the time? Of course it took several girls, several vaginas before I realized they weren’t all the same, nor were the fuzzy things always wet. It was just something that happened after making out for a while.

Seems our hands have eyes, compared to our sexual organs. Sure, that’s a whole complicated area down there, and the clitoris or tip of a cock is as sensitive as any part of the body. But detail is difficult for a guy to feel out with his dick. Our tactile fingers reveal every contour, every mysterious nook and cranny inside and outside a woman, like a kind of sex-Braille. I found with my fingers that I could picture in detail what it was like inside. How it felt. A hard cock just slips right by. Of course both parties can twist and turn, adjusting how the thing wags around in there, but the dick doesn’t curl. It can’t go in and explore, not like fingers can.  

Mmmm … There’s a pocket on each side in here. Can I brush her cervix with a finger? She pushes against me when I curl up under her pubic bone. Wow. How to thumb her clitoris from the outside, pushing on that pebbly part behind with my fingertips.

“More pressure,” she says. “Go slow.”

 “Feeling them up,” we called it.  

They’d respond, or not, to our ministrations. Some things they liked. Some things not so much. It was how we learned. We learned the ways in which girls were different, not only different in their anatomy, but in what they thought was important. We learned that something essential to one girl wasn’t necessarily the same of another. Imagine that! Every one made my fingers smell different. How much we learned by hand.

Girls would almost always jerk a guy off before fucking him. Sometimes, a woman sucks a man’s fingers as a signal. We worked it out, hand in hand.

I was well into my twenties before I had sex with a woman more experienced than I. Some came on to me, but most of the women I found attractive had to be seduced, coaxed into what I seemed to always have in mind. Sex, of course, was at the top of that list.

I knew I was oversexed at a young age. Hell, early on, I had the blisters to prove it.  (Wasn’t there something about genital sores in sex-ed?) Working at myself any time I had the chance, my hand became my most dependable girlfriend for years. I know lots of teenagers play with themselves, and many suspect they fool around with it too much, but frequency seems to dwindle when people get older.   

Or not.

For me, the wanking never stopped. Now pushing 70, I still appreciate a good one, by my own hand or by others. Whether by surprise when she says: “Let me just do this, this time, baby. I want to see you come.”

Or, by myself, in the bathroom, at some place where I worked, after waiting on a woman whose demeanor gave me a hard on.

Those twisty, twirly, knob-scrub surprises a lover offers. That exact spot where we hold or caress our organs, the speed and manner of manipulation adjusts itself by instinct. The intensity varies concurrent with our needs in the moment. Hands allow us to know ourselves, to ‘see’ our sexual longings and satisfactions with our hands’ observations. Nobody knows us like we know ourselves in that regard. That and our imaginings.

I offer a true story. Names have been changed to protect the guilty:

                                                 


                                                                First Hand
  
Lynne and I worked at a North Beach restaurant. We always screwed around in the back room. I’d tell her my dick was out under the apron so she’d tug it when we passed in the kitchen. Or she’d say she’d worn no panties and I’d slip a hand under her waitress uniform to find out first hand. We never washed up after.

We were at her place one night, fooling around on the sofa, kissing, petting, hands in each other’s business. She whimpered so gently I didn’t know what happened. Then she was sobbing.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“I came.”

“Yeah? … Wow. Why cry?”

“I-I’ve never … Not with another person before.”

“Really?”

Then, a noise. Lynne’s sleepy-eyed roommate stumbled from a bedroom. Jessica had been burned in a fire so terrible her father had died in the conflagration. Her plastic surgery was now to the point where she could once again go out in public. She hadn’t had sex in years.

“What’s wrong?” Jessica glared, thinking I’d hurt her friend.

“He made me come,” sighed Lynne.

I was flabbergasted. I’m a libertine, but they were such very good friends. What came next bowled me over.

“Jess?” said Lynne. “I bet he could do you, too.”

It turned out to be one of the greatest nights of my life.

<snip>

According to friends who knew Jessica before the accident, she turned out more beautiful after the surgeries than she had been before the fire. The gorgeous redhead went on to fall in love and marry her plastic surgeon. 

I’d imagine he was good with his hands.







13 comments:

  1. I'm enjoying all these stories - feel like I should give you all a hand. I know (groan)...

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  2. Wow! That's a great essay and terrific story, DaddyX. Deserves a standing ovation. (Standing handing?)

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  3. I love the image of sex-Braille. I also love that provocative vignette...

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  4. Thanx gang- This was fun to write. Didn't even have to think up a story.

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  5. And I really love reading about what it's like to be a man! I'm close to my husband and our 3 sons, and I grew up with only 1 brother. Once upon a time I had many lovers, and I'm still occasional friends (like on FB) with some of them. But I can't ever BE a man. So reading about your inner thoughts and desires really helps me to feel like I can bridge that chasm between us. See? We're not so different after all.

    In my now-burned diary, I wrote that guys hard-ons in my hand felt kind of like a Barbie doll leg, only they got really pissed if you tried to bend it in half. Hey, what did I know? I didn't have one of those. But I did get to play with a lot of them before I got married to the one I had the most fun with.

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  6. Hi daddy X!

    I've heard of boys doing this with each other and when you look back on it, it seems so strange and revealing of the complex spectrum sexuality exists on. At that young age its so hard to connect intimately with girls, yet there is that desire to connect physically with someone in one oft hose odd circle jerks. I wonder if that is why men tend to be so much more homophobic than women.

    Yes, its true that "frequency" does dwindle with age unless we make an effort to keep it alive.

    I love that story, I'm so sorry we didn't get to hear the rest of it!

    And after Fiona's comment, I'm now very curious to see exactly what a Barbie doll leg feels like. Hmn.

    Garce

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  7. Had to laugh at Fiona's comment about bending some poor guy's thing. No wonder he was pissed off. I once met a girl who thought a man just 'made' it hard at will, like sticking his finger out. If I started playing with Barbies, Momma X would really start to wonder. I could always tell her I was doing like Desiree on that television spot of hers. Hehe.

    And Garce- Quite perceptive of you (no surprise there) why we guys do so much experimenting, sometimes with each other. It's all to sort things out, I think, even if all we sense at the time is a weird mix of unfamiliar stimulation, recently acquired passions and fear of the unknown (and of getting caught). Pretty exciting stuff for kids learning by reaction. Come to think, those basic elements figure in many of the erotic themes we write about.

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  8. I feel the need to clarify that it was the bendable Barbie/Ken legs, not the original ones that were solid plastic. The bendable ones had a more flesh-like feel to them, and the knees were the only part that would bend, and only in the one direction, so they could sit down normally. I was just 17 (isn't that a Beatles song?) when I first felt a hard cock, and I still had my dolls in display in my bedroom. Come to think of it, my long-suffering husband has to put up with my more expensive, designer "Silkstone" Barbies decorating the house in various rooms. I still like them. But I learned long ago that there are much more fun things to do with your man than trying to bend things the wrong way!

    Daddy X, I meant to tell you how fascinating it was to read of your thoughts while discovering what various women were like. Part of the problem with miscommunication is that boys, while being told not to, still masturbate, so at least they understand the general process. Many women I've talked to over the years have said they NEVER did. As a frequent practicer of self-love since childhood, I was shocked. But if they have never had an orgasm alone, hence have no idea what one feels like, or how to give themselves one, it's no wonder so many have problems trying to achieve bliss with a man. That explains the popularity of romance books where the man instinctively knows how to bring the woman to a crashing multiple O even their first time together. Not only does it mean he knows what to do so she doesn't have to worry about her lack of understanding, but it means she can feel absolved of any blame for being a slut-who-sleeps-around, because he MADE her respond--she didn't have any choice. Not my cup of tea at all. But since I don't write scenes like that, maybe that's part of why my books aren't on any best-seller lists? Too many women are afraid of admitting they like sex, so they don't identify with my sexually-aggressive heroines?

    And Garce, I think the prevalence of homophobia in men is partly due to the "male=good, female=not-so-good" mindset many of us are raised with. Calling a girl a "tomboy" is a good thing, because it means she's adventurous, active and good at the kinds of things boys like to do. A boy who likes to do "girl" things is a "sissy", and that's NOT a good thing. I think many men are frankly astounded that any man would want to be "the bitch", or play the female role in a relationship. They wonder how, if you are the 'top dog", you would ever want to lower yourself to the subordinate "female" role. It never occurs to them that it's possible to have real equality in a relationship, where neither is the top and neither is the bottom. Many female readers say they prefer M/M romance for precisely that reason: it eliminates the male/female dichotomy and allows for a romance between equals.

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  9. Fiona- I getcha on the Barbies. Hehe. I guess I haven't had much experience in the fine distinctions of Barbiana. :>) Yep, it's alway fascinating to hear what the opposite (is that even PC anymore?) sex experiences. I think that's part of our fascination with erotica. We know how we feel. We only know what the other feels if they choose to tell us about it. And, the image of the ultimate intuitive lover is the stuff of fantasy. Sure, chemistry happens, but certainly not the archetype we find so often in erotica.

    Considering the quality of sex-ed when I was growing up, it was all trial and error. The only things I remember from those classes were the horrible events that could happen to you from sex. Pictures of extreme venereal disease victims, for instance. Everything, including masturbation was bad for you. It made you queer, they told us. I learned more in back seats of cars than in any class.

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  10. Fiona, I love your comments on self-love. I think there's a ton of societal policing directed at both men and women, but it's a bit different depending on gender. I got the idea that it was super bad to masturbate and spent years trying desperately and unsuccessfully to quit. I'm not even sure where I got the idea from—no one specifically told me that I can recall. And I actually had guys break up with me for being too sexually aggressive, so there was real punishment for that. I notice a lot of tropes in romance and erotic romance that I think serve as subtle signals that the woman isn't a slut. For example, it's often been a really long time since she's been with anyone (a sort of new virginity). I wish it was easier to admit to liking sex. If it can't always be done in erotic romance, where can it be done?

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  11. Yes, Annabeth, I wonder about that too. If we can't even admit to how much we like, think about, and seek sex in erotic romance, where the hell can we? I've had reviewers write that they didn't like a heroine because she was "too aggressive"...sigh. So since I was like that, does that mean she wouldn't like me? Not that big of a deal, but do ALL heroines have to be virgins? Why can't some of them be like me? I write what I like to read. To quote Harriet Tubman (who is probably rolling in her grave at this), "Ain't I a woman?"

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  12. Wow! Great post, and fabulous discussion, too!

    I remember the first time a guy put his fingers inside me. I have to say, the sensations were not very well separated. I couldn't really figure out what he was doing. It felt as strange as it did exciting. Looking back, also, I can't distinguish how much of the thrill was physical (I don't think he was very skilled) and how much was psychological.

    I also recall the (all too few) times I've fingered a woman. Definitely noticed how different each one felt, from one another and from me.

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  13. Most of my female characters (often caricatures) are at least sexually adventurous if not actually aggressive.

    I always loved it when a woman took over the sexual area of a relationship. Left out all the burden and insecurity about 'coming on' to them. Sorta like a "ladies choice" at the school dances. hehe. In the bar business, it wasn't all that hard. I'd just wait until some woman who attracted me was in the 'right' mood, then make my play, or I'd respond to hers.


    As I remember it, the masturbation issue may have been my first attempt at serious critical thinking. I had to choose between what the Catholic church told me for all those years and my own sense of right and wrong. I went with what I felt right about. Any God who would hold something so innocent against us, I wanted no part of. According to that god's modern disciples, he still feels the same. Wank on!

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