Hold my hand

And you hold my hand

Through it all you hold my hand. You take it in yours and you shelter and keep it safe. You envelope yours, the larger, around about it and protect it from the world. Whatever happens, you hold my hand. And as you do, you squeeze your words into my brain. You tell me that you want me, that you need me. You tell me that I am safe and that I am strong. You let me know that you are there and that I am not on my own in dealing with the things that come my way, our way. Your hand holding mine says that we stand together. That we are one. Us against the world.

When we enter a room you are there beside me, urging me on, promoting me, supporting me, my hand in yours. It lets me know that you have got me and that we are bigger than any of the challenges we encounter. It tells others that I am yours. That we come as a unit. And as we move through the world like this, we share the joy and the achievements of the other. We celebrate in the successes and acknowledge the difficulties, knowing all the time that our hands holding each other mean that everything is ok. That everything is better than ok.

And later I might be pinned underneath you, arms outstretched. You push hard into me, flattening my hands against the mattress. You grasp each hand, curling your fingers between mine as you move deeper within in me, urgently exploring and claiming me. This is the side that no one sees but it is part of what runs between us throughout the day, culminating in this connection which will feed outwards, making everything else ours. It is the life that we make, that we create, together. In one move you grasp both hands, holding them tightly above my head, and I am lost to the experience.

I move further and further from the world outside and closer to you and the world you build around us. I follow your voice as if led by your hand to wherever you choose to take me. I become so small I can almost sit in your palm, feeling your shelter and your strength. My head becomes all you, full of you, as I drift deeper into this life of sensation and experience. Everything is new and yet everything is familiar. It is warmth and heat and fire. And when I think I can take no more, I feel you take my hand and your word is everything.

Afterwards, we are laying, curled together, a pair of speechmarks with your body wrapped over mine. I am drifting on the waves of you and growing stronger from what has passed between us. I can feel your breath on my skin and the heat of your body pressing into me. I am contented in a way that allows me to drift off to sleep as we breathe gently together. You kiss the back of my head and hold my hand in yours, lifting it up to rest across me, against my breast. And there are no words.

 

To see who else is holding hands for Wicked Wednesday, please click the badge below

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

 

Want to read more of my other creative non-fiction pieces?

Posted in Creative non-fiction, Projects.

12 Comments

  1. Handholding … such a special connection beautifully captured in your post, Missy. I see it as being the very first intimate contact between a couple (a gazillion years later I can still remember the first time Frank took my hand :>)) and it, along with the kiss, will be the last … nj

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.