Man Hands

by Sarina Bowen

  Wowza, my dick says, forgetting everything we’ve accomplished these past few months. Come to daddy.

  Crazy fans are nothing new to me. When my show is filming, they crop up everywhere. I’ve even been accosted in the airport by a screaming horde of women so delirious over seeing me that a few of them cried. One fainted. They stop me to tell me which episode was their favorite—like the one where I waded through wet cement to hold up a falling wall with my body while a tornado whipped unexpectedly through a Texas town.

  But I have never…in all those years…experienced something as thunderous as this. Literally. The earth is shaking beneath me.

  And then I look into her green eyes and everything goes into slow motion. They’re a beautiful color. Like Benjamin Moore’s Clearspring Green. Even better, need is burning in her gaze. And it’s me she needs. I know she’s going to leap. I can just feel it.

  Over my ten years as a host for Mr. Fixit Quick, I’ve had my share of crazy moments. You’d think I’d learn that when a body in motion comes charging toward me, I’d have the sense to maybe step out of the way.

  But noooooo. Nope. No. I brace myself like I’m back in high school, and I’m a defensive back. I see her coming, and I’m like, “Fuck yeah. I’ve got this, coach.”

  And I do. She leaps. I see it in slow motion and I think, “Right here, baby, I got you.” My arms snap closed at just the right time. She is…she’s sorta heavy…but I’m prepared. Every muscle in me locks up tight, and I hoist her up in the air.

  Then she wraps her legs around me, and it’s what I imagine it feels like to be squeezed by a python, if you were sexually attracted to a python, because she squeezes me hard with her legs and I feel her enormous breasts pushed against my body, and her ass in my hands, and I gotta tell you, I like it, I like it a whole lot, and she’s suddenly kissing the life out of me, and it’s all I can do to just hold on.

  So I do. I hold on. I dig my hands into her ass, and I hold her there. And before I really know what’s happening, her crazy-ass kiss lights a fire inside me. Suddenly, I’m kissing her too, and everything slows down a bit more. She tastes like cinnamon, and I forget about the fucking party and fucking Braht and his dumbass ideas, and all I can think is: I need this woman underneath me and naked, and I need this to happen in about five minutes.

  Maybe less.

  So that’s when I start walking with her wrapped around me like a squid. And I can’t get enough of her.

  This is not good.

  This is SO good.

  It’s both at once.

  I promised my agent—and myself—that I’d stay away from women. A year of celibacy. That was my plan.

  But hey, plans change.

  We are locked together like eels as I carry her down to the boathouse and kick open the door. I don’t know why she flew onto my body and attached herself to me. But I haven’t felt this alive for months. Maybe ever. And I’ve never felt more fucking male than I do right now.

  7 I Love Hardwood

  Brynn

  I have entirely lost my mind. It’s somewhere on Braht’s pretty lawn, beneath a willow tree.

  And good riddance. I don’t care that I’ve lost my mind, because I’ve found my vagina. My poor neglected vagina that’s been ignored for so very long. In fact, all of me has been ignored for so very long that it takes me a few moments to realize that I am wrapped around a perfect stranger.

  The gardener breaks our kiss for a second, and I realize that I’m in a room. A garage? I take a quick look, and I see a sailboat that someone’s working on. It’s all sleek and shiny. There’s the smell of paint or turpentine and man. I really don’t know anything about boats, but even I can tell this one looks expensive. It must be, because it’s made of hardwood.

  I love hardwood. Speaking of which…

  There’s a man standing between my legs, and I’m sitting propped on a pile of cushy boat seats, and I’m panting.

  “Hi,” he says. One word and I can tell he has the voice of pure sex. Sex and testosterone and probably bullfighting or something. He’s no Steve, that’s for sure. And then he smirks. It’s the cutest fucking smirk I’ve ever seen, so I just lean in and kiss it. He hasn’t shaved in a few days or maybe this is his natural state, I don’t know, but he’s a little sandpapery. I need to be smoothed down. I really do.

  Then I realize I didn’t answer him. Where are my manners? I pull away and I say—actually I just sort of breathe it—“Oh. Hi!”

  We stare at each other for a beat. And then he’s kissing me again, and I’m back on the stack of cushy seats, and my legs are wrapped around him, pulling him in close like I’m reeling in a big fish.

  He reaches for the ties on the side of my dress, and then he stops kissing me and says, “May I?”

  May I? What gardener talks like that? What human talks like that? I nod eagerly. His muscled arm gives one quick pull, and the bow loosens and my wrap dress is no longer wrapping me because he’s pushed it wide open, exposing all of me to the hungriest gaze I’ve ever seen.

  Another sound is tugged from his chest. It’s soft and low and needy. We’re so close together that I feel the vibration against my lady parts. The room swims a little. I’m so far out of my element it’s not even funny.

  Thank god I’m not wearing the grannie panties and the sports bra! (I love you, Ash!)

  He leans over me, and I arch up, looking for another kiss. But his mouth lands on my neck instead. I move my chin, giving him permission, and I’m not disappointed. He drops eager, open-mouthed kisses down the underside of my jaw, and then trails them down my neck.

  I’m vibrating again at the very first one. It’s been a million years since anyone worshiped me like this. He dips lower, his tongue skimming the swells of my breasts. He makes this little “uhng” grunt. It’s a deep grunt. A grunt that would certainly make me have an erection if I had a penis. I feel something, and I think I’ll call it a ghost erection. Man, am I hung! And I arch a little more.

  Somewhere in the back of my consciousness a few of my brain cells attempt a moment of clarity. I’m vaguely aware that I am hardcore making out with a man I just attacked in the garden of a stranger’s house while my ex played hand paddle with some beautiful college girl.

  But clarity is overrated. And carpe gardener.

  I grab this man’s hand and put it right on my bra-clad tit. He makes another noise of approval and cups my breast. YEAH! I hope I didn’t yell that. But it really doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters at this very moment is his man-paw and my nipple underneath that fabric.

  This is happening. This is real. I can’t breathe. I don’t even want to.

  8 Thanks, Man

  Tom

  I had a brain, but it paused for a commercial break about five minutes ago.

  This is not part of my regularly scheduled programming. But all I can do is kiss this woman and her beautiful round body and the rise of her glorious tits. I sort of want to plant my face in there and root around for something. Christ.

  I can’t stop kissing her. I want more than just kisses, but my brain is broken. My hands wander artlessly over her soft skin. I had just enough mental power to ask her permission, and when she granted it, I could only plunge.

  Plunge is an apt word. I really want to…

  Yeah.

  So far, it’s just my hands moving over her curves. God, what fucking curves. My ex-girlfriend was so skinny that it was like trying to have sex with a stack of twigs. I was always afraid I’d snap her into pieces. When you want to fuck someone, you don’t want to worry about breaking her in half. You want her to be able to take you. All of you.

  This woman, though? Fuck. She’s a woman. She’s solid, in the best way a person can be solid. And there’s plenty for me to hold on to.

  She lifts her body toward mine, her tongue finding my neck, and I just go for it. I reach behind her and—with more tugging than a man who’s good with his hands should need—I unhook her bra. Several more of my hard-earned bra
in cells go up in smoke as I watch her breasts tumble free.

  Holy bazongas, Batman.

  This is probably a fever dream. Maybe I gave in and drank one of Braht’s designer drinks and got loopy. This can’t be real. All this perfect boobage in front of me, free for the taking into my mouth. And I fucking do it. My tongue is all over her, taking her nipple against my tongue and sucking until it puckers.

  The breathy sounds she makes are driving me crazy. I’m a fucking animal. Maybe it’s the six months without dating. Maybe it’s the meditation and the yoga Braht’s made me do. Maybe I’ve been working too hard on this house.

  Or maybe it’s just that this woman is the answer to a wish I hadn’t known I’d made.

  She pushes my head up and away from her breasts, and I worry that I’ve gone too far. Could I have missed her signals to stop? That’s something I’m serious about getting right.

  But then she echoes me. “May I?” she asks.

  I look down to find she’s got her hands on my belt. I nod or I grunt or whatever. She starts to unfasten the belt. But I’m still wearing more than she is, and that’s just not fair. So I peel my T-shirt off and toss it aside. My shorts are next.

  I need her underneath me. My heart thuds with excitement because I’m pretty sure where this is headed, and I can’t believe my luck.

  A year of celibacy just became one hundred forty-seven days of celibacy. But whatever.

  “Here,” I say, and I pick her up, grab a cushion from the patio furniture that’s stored in here, and lay it on the floor. Then I lay her on top of it. I kneel down, one knee on either side of her, straddling her as she looks up at me with giant eyes.

  She takes a deep breath. Then her gaze travels my body slowly, descending like an elevator. When she focuses on my abs, she makes a little gurgle of delight. And then her eyes lower further. I look down to see what she sees.

  I’m pitching a major tent in my boxers. It’s not a budget-sized tent. This tent could house an army unit. So I shift the straining elastic, setting my erection free, kicking off my boxers.

  Thanks, man, my dick says.

  “No problem, buddy.” I’m actually talking to my dick aloud. Whoops. I’m blaming the full moon or the pheromones my lady is letting off. She’s staring up at me now, and not with hesitation. I run a palm down my abs and she licks her lips.

  Then I take myself in hand while she watches.

  That’s when her eyes roll back in her head.

  9 Nice to Meet You

  Brynn

  Is swooning a real thing? Because I think it just happened.

  One minute I’m watching Mr. Hot get naked. And he is fucking huge. And beautiful, which is more surprising. I’ve never seen a beautiful penis before. Most of them are kinda alien. This one, though…this one…I just want to put it in my mouth. Or in some other part of me. Any part, really.

  But then, when he touches himself, it short-circuits my brain. Wires melt up there, or something. The next thing I know, he’s kneeling over me, stroking my cheek. “Are you okay?”

  “Perfectly,” I slur. And it’s not the alcohol. I’m getting a contact-high off him.

  He kisses me tenderly just once. But then he groans a little and begins rolling my nipples between his lips. One nipple at a time, of course.

  When his hips press against mine, I push up to meet him. I’m rubbing myself against him like a cat in heat. The only thing standing between us and the Big Deed is my little pair of Easter panties.

  I feel like begging for it, but I don’t. That would be unladylike.

  He pulls my nipple into his mouth again. Then—thank the lord—his big hand reaches down to trace the seam of the bunny underwear.

  “Yes,” I breathe, trying to encourage him. Just do it, Mister!

  He threads his fingers beneath the fabric, and I practically shout with joy. When he hits the spot, I’m embarrassingly wet.

  “Oh, fuck yes,” he mutters.

  “Exactly!” I babble, and then moan as he circles my clit with a thick finger.

  “I’ve got a condom,” he rasps. “In my wallet. Like a teenager.”

  “Yes,” I agree. Finally. Let’s go.

  “I want to fuck you,” he says, and I nearly swoon again. Nobody ever speaks to me like that. I freaking love it. “Right here and right now, but I need to know you’re on board.”

  I nod like a bobblehead doll, lifting my hips for more of his star-studded treatment. Emphasis on stud.

  “Baby, you’ve got to say it.”

  “I’m good! I want you to. I want you to, you know…” I’m not used to asking for (or getting) what I need. Who knew saying it out loud was so difficult? But I’ve come this far. I take a deep breath and use all my oxygen to say it. “FUCK ME!”

  Every party guest probably heard that. His eyes widen, and, for a horrified second, I worry that I’ve blown it. But then he smiles. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Yes, ma’am. My heart pitter-patters. Such manners on my gardener.

  Then my brain melts again as he reaches down and rewards me for my bravery with a slow stroke of my pussy. He leans over and bites my panties off my body. With his teeth. I didn’t even know that was possible.

  This is crazy. I know it, I know it, I know it. Still, my brain needs to shut up and let my body enjoy this. It sure doesn’t feel wrong. Everything feels just right. Especially as his large hand nudges my knees apart.

  “Hurry,” I say. I don’t know why. It just seems imperative that we do this here and now and keep doing it until we both explode.

  He’s found the condom and unwrapped it already. He starts to roll it down over his dick. But I stop him in order to take over. I have a whole new appreciation for hardwood, because that’s what he is. Hard wood. I roll the condom over him. He grits his teeth and thrusts into my hand, and the heated look on his face makes my insides quiver.

  Nobody has ever looked at me the way he is right now. I’m holding my breath again, because I’m afraid to ruin this perfect moment.

  He leans down to kiss me again. It’s so very sweet and polite. But I’m done with polite. I want him to bite me and squeeze and make the headboard bang into the wall. Except there is no headboard. So I’ll just have to settle for regular banging.

  He lines up (finally!) and, with an exhale, he eases in. He just keeps easing. For hours, I think. It takes a long, wonderful time.

  He bottoms out with a manly grunt, and we are both still. For a minute everything stops. I can hear the lake in the distance and the music from the party. I can hear laughter. The boathouse smells of wood and turpentine and his musk. I can even smell the earth he was digging in. He is inside me, and he fills me in a way that I didn’t know I needed.

  Then he moves. Just a bit. It’s too much and too little. A slow circle. A slight thrust. I run my heels down his ass and give him a tiny shove. I don’t want slow. I want to be shattered. “Fuck me,” I say, softly at first and then with more force because it feels good to say what I want.

  Who knew?

  I’m rewarded with another smile. Seriously, a girl could fall hard for that smile. He has big brown eyes that crinkle at the edges.

  When he begins to move in earnest, though, the smile falls away. His thrusts are serious work. I hug my knees against his sides and breathe into the motion. He’s overwhelming. His tongue strokes across mine, and my synapses can’t even absorb all the sensation.

  It’s…

  It’s…

  I’ll get back to you. Words…

  Ungh.

  We are two bodies, slapping and sweaty and thrumming. It shouldn’t be this easy with a stranger. It shouldn’t, but I can feel my climax edging closer. It feels like the best kind of being alive, this being whole and desired and wrecked by this man.

  I don’t want it to ever end. But I can’t hold it off anymore. “I’m going to…” I start. But then he grunts and clenches and I can feel his dick spasm within me. Impossibly, the sound of all that masculine power tips me over the edg
e. With him. It’s like a blast of white heat and light, and I clench my muscles so hard that the room goes blurry.

  Wow. I feel spent, but also luminous.

  We cling to each other, catching our breath. It takes a while for the world to start up again. We’re still joined, and I don’t want him to ever leave. But admittedly, it would be hard to walk around like this. Go shopping. Eat a sandwich.

  He pulls out and collapses next to me. His leg is over mine, and he reaches across my naked breast to grab my hand. “I’m Tom,” he says.

  “Brynn,” I breathe back.

  “Well, Brynn… It’s really nice to meet you.”

  We shake hands.

  10 One Long Week Later

  Tom

  This is getting ridiculous. Braht thinks so too. He’s frowning at me from across the breakfast table.

  It’s been a week since I had that woman under me in the boathouse and all I can think about is that woman under me in the boathouse.

  No—that’s not quite true. I also think of her tits in my mouth, of my hands cupping her everywhere, of the way she kissed me like she was dying for breath and I was air. I even think of her name: Brynn. Brynn. Brynn. It’s become a little bit of a mantra in my head, and I am starting to creep myself out.

  I’m thirty-eight years old, and I have had some sexual adventures in my life. Literally, adventures. I’ve been all over the world doing Mr. Fix It Quick episodes for H&G, with long breaks in between filming where I may have hooked up with one or two or four local women, but none of those memories has ever stuck with me like my night with Brynn.

  Braht slams his hand on the table. “Stop it!” he says. “You’re all mopey, and it’s fucking distracting.”