Manos
Personal project, Miami | Ideation, Writing, Photography, Graphic Design
My hands sweep across the pavement, and I think of all the people who have walked on these stones since the establishment of the arch, as my left hand suddenly comes to rest on something that so not feels plaster default. I open my eyes and discover a book with chopped chicken legs on it. A weird view. Curious, I touch them… and pick it up, I put it in my lap and look at it from all sides. A strange heat appears to emanate from the book, although it is just as cold to the touch as the pavement on which it lays. The point where the book is in my lap heats up, heat pulsating through my legs and my stomach - heat that seems to come directly from my body, rather than from outside .
I open the book and look up a pencil drawing of two hands. Both hands turn my insides to, questioning, as if they were waiting for a response from me. It almost seems as if the hands were watching me, which makes me feel uncomfortable. I want to hit the next page, but cannot move for turning my hand. I look at the hands and they are united with the chicken legs. Questioningly. The hands look at me. I wonder what could be the issue, but meanwhile I am unable to concentrate for longer than two seconds on a thought.
I blinked, I shake my head - the hands are still there and look at me quizzically.
I look back at the hands and suddenly I know what they seem to ask me. I nick imperceptibly with the head, a gust of wind comes up and hits the page. First, I notice no difference to the previous page. Again, hands, back questioningly. But now move his hands seem to stretch and grow taller. Dimensions shift, I stare in awe at the side, while the hands seem to hold towards me. A hand touches my right arm. They gently stroke my skin.
Shudder.
The coolness of the hand mixes with the touch of sticky moisture on my arm. For one second I think about the chicken leg and where it is gone but the touch of the hand are more demanding, the other hand grabs my left arm. They hold me only slightly and still I cannot move. The hands stroke my arms along towards my shoulders, my neck hair balk at even before the first hand reaches my neck.
I'll drop my head on my chest. It tingles. A pleasant, exciting tingling, sensation that spreads from my neck to the rest of my body. The hands have reached my face, follow the course of my cheekbones, touching my cheek, stroking my eyebrows and follow the course of my hairline. Finally they reach my lips. Becoming bolder, I open my mouth touching the index finger of one of the two hands with my tongue. Startled, I shrug my back, the other of the two hands kept my head to hit the gate wall in front of it. This is how fire must taste, I think, only without the heat.
One of the hands lay down on my right shoulder; the other migrates to my head along the upper body and comes just above my right breast to the inside of them to me. Meanwhile, I recognize the interrogative gesture immediately and nick easily. The hand hesitates, turns slowly and imperceptibly slips deeper.
My nipples straighten up and press against the fabric which envelops them. The hand she circled slowly migrates back from one to the other and back again. Every touch makes me cringe, on my neck to form small beads of sweat.
I cannot move, the other hand holds me down gently but firmly against the wall. The hand on my chest moves deeper, I hold my breath as she wanders down just short of my pubic mound over my left leg, stroking me above the ankle and runs over my right leg upwards. You will lay on my pelvic bone and the finger draw little spirals on your dress. Every touch penetrates the material, penetrates my skin and continues in my body, penetrates my pelvis, hot and cool at the same time.
Small beads of sweat break away from my neck and running down my breasts in my lap, where they combine with my incipient arousal. The other hand leaves my shoulder, touches my right arm down, almost invisible white pressure marks on my reddened skin leaving behind. She strokes my knee, gentle, circular movements. Tickling.
I feel I could get up and run away, but do not do it. While one hand further distinguished figures on my pelvis, slipped the other under my dress. Gently, she touches the skin on the inside of my thighs, venturing as far as just before to leave again my breath away. For a few seconds she hovers over my panties, lowers a bit and then lies down on my belly. The second hand follows the first and move together slowly up and caresses my breasts. Previously unknown feelings flood through me, my breath shortens and my whole body stretches with excitement. I can feel the blood pulsing in my veins, feel reached my lower body as my blood, I spread my legs. Only a little bit to start, more later.
Heat flooded my lap and leaves my lips stand out against the wet fabric of my panties.
For a brief moment it seems to be struggling with the seam of my panties, then she comes to rest on one of my buttocks to . The shadow of the archway in front of my eyes begin to flicker, I feel as if I was floating.
The hand begins to massage my butt, gently at first , then more strongly. The other hand leaves my breasts and strokes my belly before they will be between my legs.
I moan softly.
My lower body flexes against the hand, but meets with no resistance. The other hand stroking between my buttocks down. Trembling. My breath away. Nothing. Both hands have stopped moving. I can feel the heat emanating from them. My excitement grows restless I slide back and forth. Finally, I cannot stand it longer and grazing me with my right hand from my panties. The hands offer no resistance, the material it penetrates, as if they were air.
My hand settles on my venus hill, pushes erratic deeper, penetrating one of the hands. A feeling like burning ice.
I cringe, but feel my way anyway. Heat surrounding my fingers. Moisture. Excited I drive me over my clit, caress me, my other hand on my breasts .
Raw tenderness, no time for tender loving care.
My fingers slide into me, I feel like excitement in waves to roll on me.
My stomach cramps up, emptiness before my dilated pupils.
I look down at her hands. I let myself fall, feel moments until I rolled over the first wave.
Suddenly I propose a hand on my fingers, pain through me.
The hand that still lay motionless just between my legs, now hovering before my eyes. Outstretched index finger it moves back and forth slightly, her gaze seems admonishing and mocking at the same time. I lift my hands, wants to push them away, but the other hand is faster, grabs my arms, holding her tight. The second hand moves through of my butt between my legs and starts to fondle my vagina. Very slowly it moves deeper. Against my will, it is possible to excite me hand again. Hesitating only defiantly ...
It seems to me as if the hand is everywhere at once. During the first hand still holding my hands caught me caressing the second all over.
Researchers fingers disappear between my labia and buttock , caress me inside and out , fast, and yet seem to know exactly what they are doing. Bathing in moisture in small streams running down my inner thighs.
I close my eyes, I see a sea of colours, feel how my body freezes, heat waves hit me. I sigh. The hand plays an infinite, cruel game with me will be slower , faster, and suddenly both hands are suddenly disappeared .
Before I can quite understand what happened, my body is shaking with excitement, redemptive waves roll over me, my hips twitching and I'm sinking slowly sideways to the ground, while my whole body trembles with lightning.
When I open my eyes again, the hands are gone. The book lies in front of me, the ground is full of chicken feet. I pick up the book and scroll through it. The pages are blank and dusty. I prank my dress smooth and step out of the shadows of the archway into the blazing sun.
The hands. Just a dream?
