I call her Isolde of the White Hands, but her name isn't Isolde and her hands aren't ivory white. She never calls me Tristan. Her hands are wonderful things. Most would think it's because I love her that she can move me with a simple touch, but even before I fell in love with Isolde, her hands worked magic upon me. At our very first meeting, the moment Isolde shook my hand, I felt a warm tingling sensation rise up my arm and over my body. I've never wanted anyone in my life as much as I wanted her at that moment. I was never far from her side for the rest of the evening, only leaving after we had definitely planned to meet again. The first time we kissed, Isolde held my face with both her hands and the feeling again swept over me, penetrating my brain and shooting down my spinal column. Finally, upon our first sexual encounter, she inadvertently stroked me to orgasm before I was able to even get my shirt off. I was mortified and began to apologize profusely, but she reassured me it was okay---based in no small part, I'm sure, on the fact that my erection failed to subside, a result of her continued handiwork. To look upon her hands, you would find nothing remarkable. They are not delicately small, or all-encompassing in size; not extraordinarily sensitive, or callused beyond feeling; not capable of great feats of strength, or lacking in basic sturdiness. In fact, the only remarkable thing about them is how remarkably ordinary they are. Five fingers, fourteen digits, two opposable thumbs, ten fingernails and two palms. No marks or blemishes, memorable paper cuts or scrapes. To her and most of the populace, they were simply her hands, but to me they were much more. Aside from being able to arouse me in an instant, her touch also proved able to ease my mind in a moment. I thought I was simply falling in love with her, but when she proved able to heal me, I knew there was something more. I have a tendency to imagine myself more athletically inclined than I am, so her power to heal was discovered rather quickly. While playing an unusually physical game of basketball, I jammed a finger and the pain proved to be so distracting that I was feeling anything but amorous when I saw her that night. Isolde took the injured finger and gently caressed it. Not only did the pain fade, but soon we were making love---my injured finger in one of her hands my testicles in the other. By the next afternoon, my finger was fine. While Isolde won’t not take credit for my miraculous healing---brushing off my praise for her shaman-like abilities with a shrug and a smile---she won’t deny it either, telling me what she does for her body, I do for her soul. She never bothered to explain this cryptic statement, and I've never asked. It's enough for me to know that I'm there for her. My doctor credits my miraculous healing powers since meeting Isolde to the mind's enormous power over the body, going on to cite many cases where people simply seemed to have willed themselves healthy. To him, I'm simply healing myself, my love for her acting as a catalyst of sorts. He's wrong. Isolde's hands have affected me from our first meeting, when she was just an attractive woman in a sundress. I don't believe in love at first sight, but love at first touch is another matter entirely. The only time Isolde is given to abusing her power, though it's hardly detrimental to my well being, is during sex. One touch from Isolde and I am ready to go, any time or any place. By the same token, if she is not in the mood, she can satisfy me with her hands without even looking up from her book. But it's always best when she takes her time and makes it an event. Isolde usually lays hands upon me after we've made love. Her hands aren't better than sex, just different. While I don't prefer it, I’d hate to give it up. Isolde will lie alongside me, her head towards my feet so I can have complete access to her as well. Though I sincerely doubt my touch is as effective on her as hers is on me, I make up for it with an oral accompaniment; something Isolde has not been shy about requesting. Isolde will cradle my flaccid member gently in her hand like a fallen bird. She will gently slide her thumb up and down the anterior, stimulating what would be that bird's heart. Very quickly, there will be a sudden jolt of life, as the first rush of blood fills the membrane. Isolde will smile, flattered by my response to her touch so quickly after our lovemaking. Once it reaches its full length, Isolde will gently pump it, the greater stimulation increasing blood flow, stretching maybe another inch from the organ. Satisfied that it has achieved optimum rigidity, she will explore every inch of it with her fingertips. She will close her eyes and allow her hands to transmit all pertinent information about me to her brain. "The eyes can deceive you," she once told me. "Don't trust them. Besides it's hardly the most expressive part of the body. If you wish to know what it's trying to communicate to you, you must feel its message." Damn if that wasn't the deepest thing I'd ever heard. Upon opening her eyes, Isolde will use one hand to pull the foreskin taut, making the organ even more responsive to her touch. With the index, middle and fourth finger of the other hand, she will lightly strum the organ while moving up and down its length. Grateful for all the pleasure she brings to me, I gently stimulate her clitoris with my thumb at this point, following whatever rhythm she is using on me. As much as I like to taste her, I selfishly resist doing so that I can watch her perform her art. The visual thrill of seeing her work on me is the cherry on top of this dessert. My penis is so erect, so aroused, it begins to take on a reddish hue. Semen is leaking freely from the tip down the shaft. I feel ready to come at any moment, yet somehow very distant from that point. Isolde looks up at me and smiles. I love this woman. With one hand holding the shaft, Isolde places the other on my scrotum, where it will remain until the end. There, she stimulates me with her middle and index fingers, occasionally sliding down to my anus, causing me to stiffen and raise my hips from the bed with pleasure. Isolde will chuckle lightly at this and then gently kiss my penis. Isolde takes pleasure at my pleasure, so she becomes more aroused with my continued arousal. Her pelvis moves with me as I easily slide two fingers inside her and begin to ease them in and out, as slow and as deeply as I can. Isolde stops her machinations for a moment to enjoy this. This is when I have no choice but to place my lips to her, as I too, draw pleasure from my lover's pleasure. Her scent, still strong from our recent lovemaking, fills my nostrils and sets my brain aglow as I take her clitoris in my mouth. An audible groan arises from Isolde's lips as she pushes her hips against me even more. In her rising excitement, Isolde begins to pump my organ with a greater intensity, adding the heat of friction to whatever energy always seems to come from her hands. I begin to find it very difficult to concentrate on my actions. Inspired by her secondary hand actions, I spread her buttocks to allow me access to her anus. I then begin to probe it with my tongue in time with her fingers' stimulation of my own anus. This prompts Isolde to grunt and bury her face in my leg, gently biting me. Though I usually prefer for the two of us to share an orgasm, I'm eager to get back to my watching, so I replace my tongue with a finger and move back down to her clitoris, where I began to flick at it with an unrelenting intensity. The dual stimulation on both orifices is enough to put Isolde over the edge. She orgasms, cooing, then laughing afterwards, as she sometimes can’t help but realize just how silly it all is. I gently kiss and lick her until she cools down. I then return to my vantage position to watch the final act. Smiling up at me, Isolde prepares to finish me off, using her shaft hand to make corkscrew motion to the head of my penis. She bites her lower lip and makes her eyes into slit in steely determination. I've always found this very sexy and I pretty much come at the sight of it. Again, Isolde laughs with satisfaction and delight as I grunt like a dying wildebeest and my semen is released from my organ in pulse after orgasmic pulse. She milks me with one hand and probes me with the other, as I generate a copious amount of semen for someone who'd come twice before in the previous hour, thanks to a blowjob and actual sex, previously. Once she is satisfied that I am drained, Isolde will take my organ into her mouth, engulfing more and more of it as it begins to shrink. She enjoys this, as she is unable to take me into her mouth beyond a certain point once I am fully erect. Finally, when it has returned to its original flaccid state, Isolde will release it and lay atop me, sliding upwards on the semen covering my chest and stomach. Once we are face to face, she will kiss me deeply, tasting her love on my lips, while I taste mine on hers.