Fingerprints

A single fingerprint can reveal so much about who you are, your unique identifier in this infinite expansion of time and space. An impression left by the friction of your finger. An identifier that is detailed, unique, unchanging, and durable over the span of your life – making it the perfect marker and symbol of your identity.

If we look at a fingerprint as a concept, rather than the physical definition, is it possible that we each have an endless equation of infinite fingerprints applicable to all facets of our lives?

A painter’s brushstroke is his fingerprint, specific and unique only to him. In the same way a writer’s idiolect, language, and vocabulary represent their unique written fingerprint. We drop personal clues, like burglars who secretly wish to be caught, we leave our fingerprints on broken locks, our voiceprints in bugged rooms, and our footprints in wet cement – why do we leave our mark?

What about lovers? Over time, we build a database, for the fingerprints of our lovers, past, and present. Their motivations, desires, and trends. Eventually we begin to familiarise ourselves with their patterns, their rhythm, and touch.

Plain Arch – I remember him well, he lacked imagination and didn’t like to kiss, but he would always run his fingers lightly up the back of my thighs, applying pressure as he lost control, his signature. Radical Loop – was an exhibitionist and would pull me in tight when he noticed other people looking at us, his eyes always trying to catch mine, trying to look into them, no matter how hard I tried to evade him. Double loop whirl – was passionate and all consuming, he would bite my bottom lip after every third kiss and whisper my name into my left ear. Ulnar Loop teased me, he liked seeing me hungry, and jumped between soft and sharp so radically that I never knew what was coming next.

Do we all have a unique and individually distinct style for love? Do we place our fingerprints on each and every lover we touch?

I always wondered what it was about him that made the way he touched me so profound. Even after great reflection I just couldn’t make sense of it. How can you explain to someone in no uncertain terms why they are so enigmatic? I wanted to tell him, it was his fingerprint.

I wanted to ask him, I wanted him to tell me what made him so special. In the most flirtatious of ways I provoked him;

“The way you touch me isn’t how other men touch me, it can ruin a girl.”

“You want to know my secret? When I touch you, I don’t want to fuck you, I want to see your soul.” 

If you were to place my body under a black light, uncovering things naked to the eye, I would be illuminated by the swirls of his fingerprints all over my body. If you were able to pull prints off human skin you would be able to track his fingers – all over my neck, his prints telling you that that was his favourite part of me. If he were to ask me where I felt his mark the most, in the most flirtatious of ways, I would tell him, my heart.

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