I loved the way she ran her fingers through my hair, it was hypnotizing. It was as if she was giving my entire body a massage and the feeling trickled down from each strand of hair that her fingers stroked. My body would shiver and I’d usually let out a gentle moan to encourage her to keep going, and she usually did. It was never enough though, she could have done it for hours and it would never be enough.
The feeling was better now even more so then before because of how short my hair was. When it was longer she pushed her fingers through and the waves of hair would part as her hand made its way across my head. Eventually she would stop and twirl a digit around my hair and toy with it as if it were her own.
But now, with my hair much shorter it was completely different. She would take her entire palm and graze it over my head. She commented often on how soft it was, especially right after a shower. Sometimes she would ask permission, as if it was a comfort device to get lost running her hand over my head covered in fuzz. I never said no either.
One of my favorite things to do would be so perfectly mundane to most. Late at night we’d be on the couch together. The entire house dark aside from the glow from the TV and a lamp on the table next to us. My head would be on her lap watching a baseball game with the volume barely audible. She would be leaned against the arm of the couch, under the light from the lamp with a book in one hand and her other slowly stroking my hair.
“Mmm, don’t ever stop doing that.”
“Ever?” She would respond often without turning towards me. Her focus still on the pages of the book.
“Yeah. Until the end of time. Let’s just freeze it right here because it can’t possibly get better, can it?”
“This is your utopia? A random baseball game in May after midnight?” She flipped the page of her book and continued reading.
“Yeah, it is. But not because of the game or the time of year or time of day but because of the peace and calm. The sensation of your fingers through my hair. The warmth of your body and the comfort of my head against you. It’s the softness of your breath on my neck or the way you tense up when you yawn and stretch.”
I paused for a moment to see if she had anything to say. She hard to figure on how she would respond, which is why I was so madly in love with her. Predictability was a turn off for me and she was hard to predict. I expected a comment on how I was being a creep paying attention to each movement she made and that I should go back to focusing on the game, but she didn’t say anything so I continued.
“Then there are the smaller things. Laying here like the crook of my neck was made perfectly to fit against your thigh so my head was so comfortable against your leg. Listening to the way your breathing changes as an exciting or shocking event just happened but you didn’t want to react wildly. If I could fall asleep like this until the end of time I’d never wish for my bed again.”
I paused again but still didn’t move. She was quiet still. I thought we were just bantering and I was being overly sweet and she would knock the compliments away as she usually did in a playful way. She didn’t though and I was wondering what she was doing. Did she just ignore me? I thought so until I felt a small drop of water land on my cheek and I turned to look up at her to see her face smeared with a light stream of tears.
She shook her head and turned away, “would you just shut up and watch your game.”
I smiled and leaned up to kiss her cheek, “yes dear. I won’t even mention how pretty you are when you cry either.”
“Oh my god, I hate you.”
I smiled even bigger and pulled her face back towards mine and kissed her softly on the lips.
“I hate you too.”