Observant Musing-Man Hands

I was sitting in yet another conference session listening to the presenter outline educational reform. As usual, I tried to survey the room to see what I could see. Because I was sitting at a 2-person table, I had a seatmate. Out of my own self-consciousness, or perhaps out of fear of her taking notice of me taking notice, I felt somewhat restrained in my observations.

The session facilitator and another aide had begun to pass out hard copies of the presenter’s Power Point presentation.

They began to pass them out much like they do an offering in church. Beginning at one row, the aide passed out a number of presentations for the attendees in that row to take. At the end of the row the facilitator would take the remaining copies and pass them to the next row. On and on this went, until the facilitator was standing beside me. She stood there clutching a batch of presentations waiting to see if there would be enough from the previous row to reach me.

As it turned out there wasn’t. I looked up at her, with my hand out stretched to receive a presentation from the stack in her hands. It was then that I really noticed her hands. They were exceptionally large and pudgy-very much like what you would expect from a man’s hands. Her nails were unpolished, and clipped short. There was nothing about her hands that would distinguish them from a man’s hands, if they weren’t attached to her otherwise womanly body. I couldn’t help but smile internally, as they made me think of the Seinfeld show about “Man hands”.

I wondered if the characteristics of her hand gave any hints to her sexuality. I was intrigued at the contrast between her hands and those of more feminine hands. The situation compelled me to look at my own, those of my seatmate and anyone else I could easily spy without too much neck-craning.

I felt I could safely only look ahead or to my sides, of which the left side stood a wall of glass looking into an empty hallway. On my right side and one table over, was seated a 30-something Black man. He would probably be considered attractive to someone- he just didn’t strike me. However, in my process of sizing him up to determine that, I took notice of his hands. They were the kind of hands I like. They were a beautiful cinnamon-chocolate- brown. His skin was unblemished, and properly moisturized. His fingers were long and thick. His nails were neatly trimmed and they just reached the tips of his fingers-no longer, no shorter and no clear nail polish. The palms of his hands appeared firm, yet smooth and pliant.

I can’t say enough about how so damn sexy and important well-groomed hands are. Especially if they will be entwined with mine, or find their way over my body (this particular gentleman’s wouldn’t, but still you get the point). Hands are one of the first things I notice on a man, and I am quite sure that I am not the only woman that feels this way. I take great care to keep my skin soft and smooth, and only well-groomed hands can truly appreciate that. Needless to say, this also applies to feet. Not only were his hands aesthetically pleasing, their physical size indicated that bigger things could be in store, and begged me to confirm this by checking out his feet. I guess it wouldn’t be fair, and far be it from me to generalize and teeter on the verge of stereotyping; so I won’t tell you what size they appeared to be.

Copyright 2005