In my dream, I was a princess, a king’s younger sister.* I had been promised to somebody since I was young, but some sort of political trouble recently made my hand available again, and ambassadors have started to swarm around the palace.
I knew I would never be allowed to marry for love, but my brother promises to listen to my preferences as far as possible. Portraits of dukes and princes are delivered to me, and I walk around the makeshift gallery of possible husbands. I look at their faces, sure, but most of all I look at their hands.
Which one looks strong? Which lap would I most like to tumble over? Which one of them looks like I could push him just far enough, but not further, before he grasps me by the upper arm and draws me to his rooms for a spanking?
I guess, if I were a princess, I’d be a little bit shallow.
* Why, yes, I’ve been reading horrendous amount of fantasy over the last week; how can you tell?
I’m imagining that such a girl would keep a secret notebook, in which she’d write frankly about her potential husbands-to-be, and how they might deal with her. She’d surely be whipped when the diary was discovered…
She may be whipped but hopefully it would be in the manner she’d written about… so she’d be a happy princess
Smiles…Oh Haron…I always look at men’s hands!! Some of them make me postively swoon!
I used to have a collection of “hand pictures”..but lost them when my compter crashed.