A spell has been cast over me and it has been done by your hands. I have come to the conclusion that there is magic in your hands. They have a way of making me forget every bad moment in my life. When your hands are holding mine, I forget that there once was a man who hated me. I forget that I had to cut my hair short when your hands are buried in my tresses. The pressure of your hands as they ease the tension from my neck and back erases all the trivial things that have happened through out the day. When my face is cradled between your hands there are no thoughts of the man who once hit me. When you gently rest your hand on the small of my back, I smile, and I forget what I was so anxious about. When I see my child’s hand in yours I forget that his father forgets. When your hands have led your arms to wrap around me and hold me close, the memory of every night I spent alone, crying; disappears. When I fall asleep to the feel of your hands stroking my side there are no more nightmares. When I wake to the gentle stroke of your fingers along my spine, I forget the cold, lonely mornings of my past. When your hands are hot on my body, stroking my breasts and finding their way to my damp warm feminine need, when they bring me to the dizzy heights and gently cushion me as I fall back, when they tease me to the edge of reason and release me into the abyss of ecstasy, I forget that I was once violated and forgotten. The magic in your hands makes me forget all the times I felt unloved and afraid. To make your magic work it is a simple touch of the palm or sweep of the fingers, the gentle brush of the back of your hand or the tangle of your whole hand in mine.
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