Hairbrush by n.Roman

She came in, fresh from the shower, gnarly old bathrobe belted around her slim waist, and baggy pink socks, wrinkled around her ankles.  The hairbrush dangled in her hand.  She stood in front of him, blocking his view of nothing in particular.  He look up and smiled.  She smiled back and came over to the couch where he was seated.  She handed him the hairbrush, then sat down there, between his thighs, her back against the couch.

He loved brushing her hair, the way she moved her head, the smell of the shampoo, all were swirling about in his head.  Her hair, so silky, just below shoulder length, moved through the brush easily.  Tangles seemed to disappear, much like his problems did when she smiled at him.  He held the brush by the handle and started each stroke, with medium pressure, just above the hairline, and pulled it back toward him, slowly, giving the tresses time to settle into their natural place.  Her hair was a beautiful sandy auburn, with highlights that would sparkle in the sun, or shine full in the moonlight.

He was careful to avoid her ears, so tiny and precious.  The brush
moved forward again and was pulled ever so slowly the first time through a
new unbrushed area.  And then the rest of the strokes in that area were
applied  with medium speed, so the hair would move out of the brush and
settle in a natural state.  He repeated this set of motions, slowly moving
across her head until her hair was damp, then repeated the process.

He must have brushed for a half hour with that old wood and wire
brush.  His arm was tired but it didn’t matter.  She was humming a little,
very lightly, while he brushed,  and his face was as tired from smiling as
his arm was from brushing.  He swallowed her up, he drank from her presence and felt refreshed, just having her here, touching her, making her happy.  She would turn her head every so often a little to the side so he could brush the sides.  At those moments, he saw her profile, and felt stirred.  He could feel a pressure in his chest for he never was able to completely get over her beauty.  She truly was a treasure, and he brushed on. Brushed until her hair was dry and silky and laid about her like a halo.

She turned to thank him, and as she did, her robe parted and he caught himself staring down her chest.  Soft skin scented from the shower wafted in his eyes and mind. He leaned forward to accept her kiss of thanks.  She turned back and started to stand up, and, as she stood, the robe slipped from her shoulders and hung loosely at her waist.  He shook his head and his hands could feel her softness without even touching her.  And that damn little girl grin.

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