“Here, let me help you.” Theo reached around me and took the bottle of shampoo from the shelf built into a corner wall of the shower. He worked up a lather, flexing his fingers in my hair. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back. The last person to wash my hair had been my mom, and I had been five years old.
Theo seemed obsessed with my hair, and whenever he had the opportunity, he had his hands in it, finger-combing it, winding the strands around his fingers, tugging on them. He would knead my scalp, and I would be reduced to a quivering mass of Jell-O.
There was that spot behind my left ear that produced the same results. What was it with my head? It had never been an erogenous zone before. Or was it just my lover and his very educated fingers?
I came back to the present to find thos
