My mom always told me not to let boys touch me anywhere. Keep my body sacred and let them dig for the diamond. Yet.
The moment he held my hand and opened it up for him to see if our hands fits well, my mind kinda opened as well. Opened up to the possibilities of us though I know it will never come true. Yes, my palms do fit with his yet it didnt reached the length if his fingers. It actually looked like it looks best with him holding mine.
He also once traced his long fingers on my palm. My hands are rough because my only leisure when I was young was drawing and writing. I didnt said it tickles but I think he knows it. He continued while staring at me intently watching out of any reactions leaving me to force myself not to show any hint of pleasure. Not to show the obvious. I didn't knew why but the tickling sensation didnt let me sleep. I kept picturing out his fingertips on my palms while I see him on my peripheral vison stating at me intensly.
He also had touched my knees. My legs. My thighs. Everytime he does that I just force myself not to get freaked out because he touches me with fucking innocent eyes as if saying, 'There is no harm' I kinda hate it that I like it. I like his touch on my skin. His hands rubbing my knees. His palms getting lost on my thighs and his touch on my legs trying to find a way to tickle me while slowly and gently stroking his fingerstips on my skin as I feel the sweet shiver that sounds both funny and dangerous to me.
I still want his touch.
