No, no, not this one…
The oh-so-sexy beckoning, “come here” finger.
(Note: for simplicity’s sake and my own orientation, I’m imagining a man’s finger. Feel free to replace it in your mind with a woman’s finger if you prefer.)
That single curling digit can convey so many messages.
“Come here, I want to kiss you.”
“Come here, I want to [do a hell of a lot more than kiss you].”
But especially, for those of us in the spanko persuasion:
“I want to spank you. Come here. Now.”
Is this a trigger for you? (The good kind, I mean.) It is for me. There are certain physical gestures that will weaken my knees and liquefy my innards without the man having to say a single word. The rolling up of the sleeves. The removing of the belt. Perhaps a raised eyebrow in a stern face. And yes, that beckoning finger. Come to me. Don’t make me come get you, little girl.
Sometimes, just to be perverse (who, meeee?), I resist. Once when Steve was here, he was sitting on the couch and I was in the kitchen. He beckoned me with his finger and patted his lap. I smiled and shrugged, staying where I was. “Come here,” he said. “Don’t wanna,” I answered. Of course, his solution was to get up, come over and pick me up, and then haul me over to the couch. Mind you, that was hot too.
But, contrariness aside, a simple curled finger will call forth my submission. I will melt, and I will go to him.
One of the hottest moments for me at the last Shadow Lane party occurred on Saturday night, as I sat on one of the couches gleefully chatting with girlfriends. I glanced up and across the room, and locked eyes with the handsome gentleman I’d been dying to play with. He sat casually at the bar, surveying the room, and when our eyes met, he smiled. And beckoned me with that single finger.
I startled. I pointed to myself and mouthed, “Me?” He nodded. I got up, heart going into overdrive, and made my way across the room as he watched. It was both the longest and the shortest walk.
The scene that followed was delicious, as I’d detailed in my party report. But it all started, for me, with the curl of a finger.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need a shower.