theferrett

“You’re a squeezer,” Bec said.

“A what?”

“A squeezer when you hold hands. Some people just put their hands in yours and leave them there limply. Others constantly play with your fingers. You? You squeeze my hand periodically to let me know you’re there – you’re a squeezer.”

I hadn’t really thought about it. I’d guessed everybody was a squeezer.

“And you always interlace your fingers, too,” she added.

Another strangeness. Why would you hold hands and not interlace fingers? That’s the intimate part. Then again, for me, holding hands is always a very intimate thing – there’s that little squirmy first-date thrill of sliding your hand into someone else’s and feeling them hold back.

It’s not just me, either. At one con, Gini didn’t have a problem with me vanishing up to my room for a hot makeout session with a girl I’d met. But when I held that girl’s hand in public, Gini asked me to stop.

I dunno. There’s something to me about hand-holding that’s a little romantic, a public connection that’s viewed as endearing and not PDA. I love holding hands in movies, over dinner, in all the spaces one can.

But I’d never thought of people as having preferences before, though I suppose they must. I assumed that the folks who’d just shoved their hands into mine and left them there were getting my squeezes and knew what they meant. But now, I guess, there must be styles of it, and thus preferences, and so I ask:

How do you like to have your hand held? If at all?

Cross-posted from Ferrett's Real Blog.