He wasn't coyote ugly by any means, but he wasn't what he appeared to be at midnight. Now in the glaring light of day, his lopsided smile was ok but not drool worthy. His overall appearance was 'cute' in a grown masculine way. By all standards he was a catch. It was his hands. Those things that should be able to grip tools as well as hair, now in the stark light of day were tool small for his body. Looking like doll hands on overdeveloped arms. They were the hands of a young boy, not that of a man and it made my stomach do a flip-flop that had nothing to do with butterflies and everything to do with loosing my liquid lunch.
Yes, I can be shallow and picky. Often times after the point of no return. My bad. Still, this is just not something I can overlook. It will matter not how kind he is, how smart, or funny, or how good in bed he could be. Those hands are just not ever going to do it for me.
What can I say, sometimes I want to make sweet passionate love; other times I want a man who'll pull my hair, smack my ass and say, "You're mine!"
Tiny hands need not apply.
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