The first time I saw her hands I felt shocked while I heard a strange music in the air. I thought she was a special person, maybe the woman of my life but, in spite of speaking to her, I decided to look at her beautiful hands with pleasure -the hands of a pianist or an artist- catching the cup of cofee or caressing the pages of her book. I was mesmerized by her beautiful grace.
When I arrived at my house, and the woman in the cofee shop was far away, I began to think about the skin of her hands, so smooth, her movements so gentle, her fingers so perfect. That night I couldn't sleep, I was only thinking about falling on my bed. I imagined her hands lying near me, touching my foot, ascending my legs, caressing my penis, arriving to mi face.
I started to walk throught the city, forgetting my job and my friends, only moved by the idea of finding her hands. Unfortunately, Madrid is too big and the destiny too strange. I was completely mad about those hands, I think I am still obssessed with it. I finished alone and I began to get thin because I also forget to eat and I couldn't sleep well.
One day, drinking cofee in the same table, sitting on the chair that was in front of her that evening, a woman began to speak to me. She put her horrible hands, rough as a man's ones, near me, soiling the magic presence of my idolatred hands. I decided to kill her for her irrational action.
I began in that moment my hand collection. I was finding the perfect hands in other women, but it was impossible objective and I kill about twenty women because they don't have the ones I was searching for. Take care if a non-known man speak to you, I'm still looking for her hands.