Holding Hands

She can't help but picture what it would be like to run her smooth, gentle hand along his sculpted arm. As soon as the thought occurred he hastily grab her hand from between her tense thighs. She leans in and rests her head on his strong broad shoulder and hopes that it will allow him to relax and enjoy the moment. She knows that he is shy because he uses it to define the boundaries of his relationships. She also knows that as she was thinking how it would be like to touch him, he was nervously concentrating on the perfect moment to do so. He must have repeated the scenario over and over in his mind - when he should do it, how he should do - carefully imagining the movement his hand is to take, where it is destined to go and what it will do when it arrives at the inviting destination.
She smiles to herself while all the eyes in the theater - few and far between - are intently watching the flickering lights cast on the gigantic screen straight ahead. Her eyes are watching the screen but her mind wanders. She is convinced she has fallen... She has fallen into the welcoming arms of temptation, she is unable to grasp hold of anything stable or sturdy, she is loose, light and likely to break a sweat. He is strong, tall and muscular - the ingredients to the universal representation of a man. She runs her free hand up and down his arm, lightly brushing the soft and vulnerable area on the underside of the elbow. At this place the veins run wild, hidden beneath the pale porous skin. Here she realizes is where the drugs are injected, where people seek refuge through artificial means. The scars left behind serve now merely as scars of addiction but of evidence that self infliction is the only way to heighten all senses - evidence of Temptation's victory.
She runs her rounded nail tips down the front of his arm where the hair is coarse and uneven. She slides her fingers between his knuckles and feels the dryness and roughness of them. She is able to feel each groove of his chapped skin - the hands of a working man. His free arm begins to slowly caress her thigh nearest to him. She looks down and senses the urge of reasoning surrendering itself as temptation and sexual tension make her stomach cringe. He could take her now, she would not fight but the movie isn't over just yet.
As soon as she has become comfortable and settled with his fingers on her thigh she lays back against and enjoys the night for what it is.
A night that allowed for clumsy movements, reassuring looks and comfort. Its was him knocking at her window late in the evening and her replying with a swift welcoming hand signal. It was him asking to be given a chance and her allowing it. It was him and it was her innocently holding hands at the movie theater - but it felt like so much more.