Thank you.

It was all so wrong. Perfect but wrong.
But then wrong is enjoyable. Or so it seems. Or seemed.

At the time I was jumping and in between girlfriends, which was not much of a new thing. What was fresh and beautiful was that she was the best friend. And my, she was beautiful.
Plait my hair. Will you? Of course, she knew he could. She was the best friend. She lay in his lap, her arms stretched over head, fingers interlaced with her long flowing hair. He laughed at her statement and gave her an incredulous look.

You can, you plait her hair, please plait my hair.”

He sighed out in annoyance, of course she would make this difficult, she'd pout, stick out that luscious bottom lip and bat those thick dark eye lashes of hers at him and all resolve would melt away instantly. There was no point in trying anymore.
Fine”

He surrendered, she was up and out of the room in a flash, but soon returned, naked as the day she was born with a box of tools in hand. He blanched as the natural lighting reflected off of her sun kissed brightly colored yellow skin.

“Where did your clothes go?”

She laughed, walked past him into the bathroom and began to assemble her tools of trade. Taking a few moments to admire herself in the mirror before she plugged in the clippers and turned around towards him expectantly.

“I'm ready”
He hadn't moved from the bed, and just stared up at her with a slack jaw. She was utterly insane, but in such a beautiful way, every day there was something new to catch his attention, would he ever be free? Throwing his head back, he stood up ready for the battle ahead. She arched her back as she handed the comb to him, their fingers overlapping momentarily, spiking the energy levels in the air around them. A coy smile here, a soft touch there, she sat awaiting his touch.

He stood behind her, long fingers caressing her scalp, the comb moved smoothly in his left hand, as his right tickled her senses.

“I could fuck up you know...”

He whispered threateningly, a double meaning in all speech. She smiled, eyes closed, bringing her own hand to his.

“You won't”

He bent over and kissed the tip of her skull, eyes closed in a silent prayer. The elevated music buzzing in the background was the only sound heard between the two humans. Strands of hair fell down around her, lightly touching her shoulders before moving down to her feet. He watched the tips of her breasts rise and fall with each breath, taking a glance every now and then at the adjacent mirror, marveling in the gift that sat before him. Naked of all things, materialism, vanity, ignorance, stupidity, a gift indeed.

He was almost done with her hair, he could feel the difference about her already, she opened her eyes and watched him in the mirror, his light shone so bright to her in everything he did, he gave her freedom but he gave her love, gave her the world if she asked for it, but she didn't need it, because she had him, and he inspired. He inspired everything.

He was done. He placed the comb on the bathroom counter, then stood before her, knees almost touching her own. She opened her legs, eyes never leaving his, and rubbed her scalp as she stretched her neck, arching her back just a little more.

She stood up, closing the distance between them, her small hands splayed gently on his chest, lips reaching higher to touch his own, she stopped a few centimeters from his face. Feeling his warm breathe against her lips, savoring the scent of his cologne, his left hand touched her cheeks as he brought his forehead to her own.

“Thank you”.