I am usually a hand person.  I like rough hands, callus, classic working hands.  It’s often the first physical thing I notice about a man, even before the obvious eyes, lips or arms.  My body part observations vary based my mood, or where I’m at in the story I am writing.

I’m into necks lately.

I find myself noticing them everywhere.  Necks are as varied as any other part of the body.  They are strong, and quite literally, keep your head up.  The brain needs the neck, it’s the powerpoint. Necks are corded with muscles, they hold the throat, the voice, they are the beginning of the spine.  They are essential and yet sensual.

There’s an intimacy, a vulnerability, to the neck that I really love.  It’s not lips, or the tongue, but it’s close enough to feel breath.  Feel the vibration of a hum.  A neck can be smooth, sweet smelling.  I’m partial to the stubbled, sweat mixed with something else smelling, neck.

There’s a pulse tucked in there, but it’s not the full heartbeat of the chest.  It’s more subtle, sort of like a wrist.  Oh, wrists are lovely too, but I need to focus.

Lips to the neck can be a tingly, eye closing, secret.  I suppose it’s not as soulful as touching the face, melting into the eyes, but the neck is hidden warmth.  There’s no doubt when you lace your fingers behind a man’s neck, or lean in to whisper just below the ear, that things are…friendly.

Necks are fun dark corners in the dance that is physical connection.

My thoughts from the laundry room.  Spoon.

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