Porn Nails and Ponytails

As a general rule, I tend not to make New Years’ Resolutions. I make resolutions all the time, but I don’t feel the need to make any extra effort at the beginning of the calendar year. The thinking behind this is that resolutions ought to be made when they are needed. For example, if I needed to do more exercise – which I do – it wouldn’t do me much good to shelf that resolve until January. However, just before 1st January 2014, I did make one resolution, and that was to spend one hour a week doing my nails. Whilst the appeal of having well-manicured, beautiful nails certainly played a part in this decision, really I was following in Alle’s footsteps and simply finding something that meant once a week I would have to focus a full quiet hour on myself. The basic idea of this personal hour works wonders and I have every intention of continuing this little ritual.

However, the nails themselves may have gotten a little out of hand. Pun intended.

and I put my hand around his dick

Alle’s nails are nothing short (pun, again, intended) of masterpieces. And more than once I have reached the heady heights of her magnificent talons. At their longest I had the following (curious) exchange with an optometrist, in the dark of her testing room:

Her: Are your nails real?
Me: Yes!
Her: Wow! You’d never know.

Which I’m sure is what you’re supposed to say about fake nails.

Anyway, the point is I have neither the self-discipline nor the self-awareness for such talons not to get me into trouble. As much as I adore rhythmically tapping inch long nails on my desk at work, or holding a well rolled cigarette between my elongated fingers, they simply do not lend themselves well to the hands of someone who uses a keyboard and bakes as often as I do. (And I do not advise doing these two things at the same time, as getting 500g of sugar out of your laptop is no easy feat, and rather sticky.)

But here’s the real rub: when I am in bed with a lover, and I put my hand around his dick, and I stroke, and I glance down at my claws gripping him… I simply cannot help but feel a little like a porn star. For some this may be a good thing. For me, not so much. Don’t get me wrong, I have marvelled at many porn manicures, but personally it’s the grit of reality that gets me off, not the shine of glossy lips and fake nails.

So I have taken scissor to finger – something you should never do, by the way, but I was on my way out the door with blunt emery boards and a broken nail, so in a pinch… – and although my hands are back to looking near childlike, I think we’ll get on far better if I continue with a more modest look.

And I suppose my inner little girl and eager orgasm fiend will appreciate the dexterity of sensitive fingertips once again.

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