This is a romantic adult erotic story with fictional characters and plot, targeted at fingernail fetish readers. If extremely long fingernails and/or toenails gross you out, then you’re in the wrong place.
‘Dream chasers – The Comfort Noon’
by V. Tarransky
May 2022
…And then: The Comfort Noon
Five minutes later, as I was smiling to myself and slipping into my shoes preparing to go out, on a background of some undistinguishable melody humming coming from below, sustained rhythmically by what I suspected was clapping and dancing steps, I heard a shriek and then a few seconds later Helen started crying. Loudly.
‘What the-…?’ was all I could think and rushed out the door. I didn’t bother to knock, I entered directly and found her in the hall, dressed to go out, bowing down crying her heart out.
“Helen?… What’s going on?… What happened?…”
She was crying so hard, she was unable to speak. I crouched down caressing her on the back waiting for her to come around and tell me what happened. Two minutes later she started slowing down to sobs and brought up her right hand to look at it.
“Oh… no…” I said after I saw what it was all about.
The pinky nail was broken to the quick, hanging by a thin strand from the nail bed. Fortunately it wasn’t bleeding, I figured it was rather sore, but I was pretty scared of what was going on in her head. I knew well that nail growing in general is a very… self-rewarding thing to do, even addictive, and super-long nails in particular tend to become a very precious… possession. Knowing about her obsession made it even more of a problem, I was worried about her reaction.
She straightened up and started crying again. I got up and embraced her, caressing her back. She buried her face in my shoulder still crying with all she had. A few more minutes later the storm started to subside.
“Hey… hey…” I started trying to comfort her.
She looked at me with despair. “I blew it, didn’t I?”
“Come on… it’s not that bad… is it?”
“‘Not that bad?'” she looked at me with an angry ‘are you kidding me’ expression.
“Okay! Okay! It’s bad. How… bad… is it?”
“What, are you blind? Didn’t you see?” she yelled at me.
She was obviously… enraged. Downplaying it was probably not a smart move. ‘Okay… damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Nothing I can do or say can make her feel better before she calms down’ I thought.
“Helen… There’s nothing I can do to make… this… go away. Just tell me if there’s anything you want me to do.”
She looked at me fighting an impulse to… probably, scream at me. Or slap me. Or punch me. Then she looked away.
“I’d like you to leave, please” she said through her teeth.
I was taken aback. “If this is what you really want, I will go. But… please, don’t push me away because of… what… just happened, okay? I’ll be upstairs. I don’t feel like going out anymore. Not alone, anyway.”
She didn’t say anything, she just looked blankly through me, obviously distraught by the event. I backed away to the stairway and she pushed the door shut, avoiding my eyes.
I went back up to my place and started working right away. It was still quite early, but I figured that if Helen would want to talk some time during the day I’d have at least something to report on at work, even if I’d skip a meeting or two invoking an emergency. Which would in fact not be that far from the truth. Later, while I worked, I heard her crying again in short episodes, but softer, in longish wailing moans.
She called when lunch break was about to start. Probably she had been waiting for it so that I could give her attention without the interference from work. I answered unhesitantly.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” I charged directly.
I heard her sigh deeply.
“Sorry for… earlier. I couldn’t think straight.”
“It’s okay, I figured that much. How are you feeling?”
“Can I… come over? Do you have a few minutes?”
“Yeah, sure. Unless you want me to come down. Or go out. Whatever you think is better. And don’t mind my work schedule, I have time to spare.”
She was thinking.
“Okay… Whenever you can come down, I’ll be waiting for you. Thanks.”
Five minutes later, freshly showered and refreshed, I knocked on her door and she let me in. I took off my shoes before she would ask it of me and I followed her to the living room. She was back in her house robe and colorful socks. Swollen eyes from crying.
“Do you want anything? Coffee? Drink?” she asked.
“Not unless you’re getting anything for yourself, in which case I’ll have what you’re having” I replied, giving her the choice.
She went to the kitchen, and two espresso-machine buzzes later she came with two mugs of which she placed one on the coffee table for me. She crouched up on the sofa while I took a sip, and looked at her waiting for some… words. She just made the funny ‘sad-kid’ face at me and raised her right hand, showing me her pinky dressed in a band-aid. All her other nails were still intact and I felt some relief that she didn’t immediately cut the rest off or shorten them, but what her plans were in this respect was not a thing to bet on.
“Helen… I can’t presume that I know how you feel, but I guess it’s… quite… tough.”
She scoffed. “‘Tough’? It’s not just… pain and… frustration, it’s… a feeling of… loss, of… something you’ve put so much of yourself into and… stupidly lost it in an instant, and it cannot… be… undone! Imagine that you’re… creating… something. Like a-… like a-… like a painting. Or some… art. And you painstakingly and constantly work on it, on all its… finest and minute details, every day, for a long time, never feeling that it’s finished but with each… change you can see it get better, more expressive, more… of yourself in it. It grows… out of you, out of… your… soul. And then one day, your… creation gets shattered. Even worse, you, the creator, shatter it by a… monumentally-!… stupid-!… mistake!, in a moment of… excitement and… self-glorification centered around exactly the thing that was bringing you so much… joy, so much… fulfillment! Your creation! And top it off with the loss of… that… rewarding feeling of being finally appreciated for my… art. It’s downright depressing!”
She just let it out. I had no idea what words could be comforting to say.
“Helen, I wish I could turn back time and prevent… this… from happening… By the way, how did it happen?”
“I was… umm… dancing. …If you can imagine an elephant dancing. Or a whale. And I… bumped… my hand in the wall! Stupid! Stupid-stupid-stupid! Nnngh!”
“Hey… hey… calm down, don’t get worked up again. But… just in case you can’t keep it in and you need to yell or scream at someone, then by all means… let me have it” I offered myself as a punching bag.
She gave me a smile and then looked down. “I blew it.” She paused. “Didn’t I?” She was still looking down.
“Helen, this… doesn’t… change… anything. I stand by what I said earlier. Things like this happen. Even Kung Fu masters make mistakes once in a while. And get hurt.”
She chuckled remembering our conversation in the park. “Thanks… for saying that.”
“Helen… look. I’m not going to downplay it, I can understand that it is a big-… no, a really-really… big deal to you, you’ve made that very clear. But to me, the bigger deal now is seeing you suffering. I wish there was something I could do, to… help you… to… I dunno… to heal this… wound. Tell me if there’s anything I can do to make it easier for you. Anything.”
She raised her hand again with just the short pinky sticking out upwards, making the same funny ‘sad-kid’ face.
“Does it hurt?”
She replied with a ‘so-so’ head gesture and shrug. “Now… we… have a deal which… includes my nails.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“I am.”
“Helen, do you… honestly… believe that I am… here… and now… just because we got to know each other on the pretext of a deal? I don’t know about you but I am no longer thinking about… being… here with you under the assumption or premise of that… deal.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because… I… care. About you.”
“‘Care’?” She obviously wanted something more… committed than what I just said.
“Helen, you can’t expect me to say ‘I love you’ if I’m not… ready for it …yet. But I can say that for the past week, since I’ve known you, I feel… more… alive than I’ve felt in a long time. And I’m more and more looking forward to spending time with you. And pleasing and… pleasuring… you. Why else would I be here?”
“To… maybeee… see if I’m going to cut the rest off?”
I looked down, confessing to this part of my… motivations.
“Yeeeah… Look. I admit to being curious in that sense, but I still stand by what I said earlier. Nails or no nails, you are the nail-ob-…, no, the… fat and nail-obsessed and clean-freak… girl that… I care about. Put me to the test if you want, but… don’t cut them off just because of a… dare. Honestly I wish you’d continue growing them as they are. Have you considered fixing or repairing the broken one?”
“No, no, no… I know that it’s… possible… but I’d know that it’s… not… a… perfect streak. That it’s… repaired.”
“But… you know?… some of the world’s greatest art master-pieces have been restored and repaired. Some of them – more than a few times. And they’re still just as awe-inspiring to those passionate about them.”
“Yes, but the artists that created them are not around anymore to be asked how they feel about it!” she got worked up again, but then paused and calmed down. “It… just wouldn’t be the same.”
“Of course, but… how would it make you feel having it… restored, by comparison to how you feel right now, having it missing altogether? I’m convinced that it cannot be ‘the same’, but one of these two ways should feel better than the other, I should think?”
She was thinking. “I’ve never tried it. I’m scared that it will damage my nail.”
“Well… I think it comes down to the… abilities and knowledge of the one doing it. And luckily, your boyfriend knows exactly what it takes and how to do it.”