I had been a little concerned about my right hand. Being only a few months away from turning fifty, I assumed it might be arthritis or possibly carpal tunnel syndrome. I even wondered if it was something as simple as how I slept, since I often rest my hand under my pillow in a clenched position.
The concern grew recently, and I found myself worrying more than I probably should have. I decided to give it some time and see whether it would resolve on its own. I made a conscious effort not to put too much pressure on my hand, especially my pinky and ring finger. To be honest, that seemed to help. The cramping faded and eventually disappeared — at least for a while.
It had also been a few weeks since my wife and I had been intimate. Life, timing, and desire don’t always align as neatly as we would like. That changed when she decided she wanted to make time for us before her upcoming face lift. Yes, a face lift — something she had been planning for some time following her recent breast enhancement. That, however, is a story for another blog post.
After lunch one afternoon, she took my hand and led me toward the bedroom. I knew exactly where things were headed, and I welcomed it. As we kissed and touched, things naturally progressed, and I began focusing on pleasuring her the way she prefers -- gently stroking her clit. She takes her time reaching climax, and somewhere along the way I felt the familiar tightening in my hand again. That was when it finally clicked — the repetitive motion was the cause of the cramping.
There are, of course, other options that might make things easier, but she prefers the familiarity and intimacy of my touch. I can’t argue with that. I love this woman deeply, and there is something profoundly meaningful about the trust and closeness in those moments when she allows herself to simply be present and cared for.
