autobiographical,  Kink of the Week

My Hand Fetish

Fetish – noun
A form of sexual desire in which gratification is linked to an abnormal degree to a particular object, item of clothing, part of the body, etc.

The term fetish gets bandied about quite loosely, I find. It’s often used in place of “preference” or “gee whiz I like (fill in the blank) a lot!” but the OED links it to gratification, implying that it is more necessity than preference. Using this definition, I will gladly admit that men’s hands are a true fetish of mine.

I battled with the strength of my feelings about men’s hands for a long time, aware that it was an odd thing that not everyone shared. I felt tremendously guilty that hands meant so much. I felt shallow when my attraction to someone would fizzle if I discovered I didn’t find their hands attractive. It comes down to a simple truth: if I don’t find their hands sexy, I don’t want to be touched by them. It’s a strong, visceral response that I can’t avoid and I can’t fake if I don’t feel it. I’ve tried to push past it, to ignore a lack of attraction and later felt repulsed if his hands touched my face or body, stiffening with discomfort, avoiding intimacy, ending dates early, ending relationships before they can begin. I have found this challenging because I feel like it’s a terrible double standard. We are forever calling out men for preferences and fetishes, accusing them of objectifying women by stating specific tastes, especially if it’s in references to qualities that one can’t easily change. This isn’t like preferring blondes or redheads. It’s quite honestly make-or-break.

When I talk about this, the logical question always comes up: what makes sexy hands sexy? I wish I had a strict definition, but if you looked at all the hands of men I’m attracted to you’d find some similarities but they wouldn’t appear to be one single type. It’s partly size and shape: I like big hands, big palms, thick fingers. I can’t imagine desiring the long slender hands of a surgeon or pianist. They must be typically masculine with short nails, and appear and feel strong. They don’t have to be blue collar workers’ hands, thought I don’t mind callouses or scars. Rough is nice. They can also be the soft hands of a guy who pushes paper or works behind a computer all day. All the better if he talks with his hands; I’m easily distracted by how the articulations of thoughts can be expressed through gestures, broad and fine. Nimble hands are sexy hands; hands that seem too big or clumsy to close the delicate clasp on a necklace or fix something very small are delightful, likewise I’m game for a sexy hand jammed inside of me or pushed into my mouth. I wank almost exclusively to guy-on-guy porn because that means two cocks and four hands. Watching men jerk off is basically my kryptonite. It’s a thing.

The long and the short of this fetish is that it is what it is. It’s not caused me to miss out on much, I don’t think, and it’s not really something I feel I need to try to unearth and analyze, and I’m working on just owning it. I try to be up front about it and especially with online connections I always ask for a sneak peak so I don’t lead anyone down the garden path. Strangely it’s never been an issue in terms of attraction to women (which is rare for me anyway) but women’s hands don’t phase me at all. Despite my best efforts, I’ve given up trying to understand the minutiae of how or why my sex-brain is so tightly wired for men’s hands. It just is. And I don’t mind a bit.

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