It feels so good, almost better than the massage.
Next comes the conditioner, which he expertly finger combs starting at the bottom and working his way up. He tells me about how he used to help his mother with her hair when he was a boy, and that like mine it was a full tangle of curls. "It was just us for a long time after my father abandoned us," he explained. "I was the only one left to take care of her when she grew ill."
"Sly," I open my eyes and ask for the soap with a look and an extended hand. "Let me take care of you."
Using a cloth, I start with his shoulders and work the soap down his back along his shoulder blades, and down into his spine. His muscles relax beneath my touch and I feel a wave of tingling pleasure as my fingers dance their way down to his hips. Carefully an
