The water is one shade less than too hot... caressing my skin, slipping over me, running, running and drumming in my ears.
I lean back against your chest, and your right arm encircles my shoulders, my chest; Holding me, stilling me.
"Lean back" you whisper, and I rest the back of my head against your shoulder. Your left hand comes up and
shields my face from the water pouring down.
The water runs through my hair, and I murmur in pleasure. I turn my head a little, back, and forth, letting the water
saturate every strand.
You nudge my head with your shoulder, and I become upright once more, eyes closed, feeling, and listening to the water and
to your breathing.
Your encircling arm leaves my chest while you pour the shampoo, and I shiver briefly from the cold and from the lack of your arms.
Then I'm kneeling with you behind me and your hands are working their way through my hair,
kneading, sliding against my scalp. Your body touches my back with the particular slipperiness shampoo
gives, and I am shivering all over from the good feelings your hands and skin give me.
Your hands stroke down the length of my hair, and I mourn again at its shortness, curse the
impulse that sent me to the hairdresser for "a change" I want my *real* hair back, to wrap around you and carry you away in silky slidyness...
I come back from my private reverie as you pull me back again, ever so gently, letting the water flow over my head and through my hair, carrying the shampoo away, and
leaving me all shiny and glistening.
Your fingers probe gently, seeking out every particle of residue, and my hair squeaks under your fingers.
You raise me up, and turn me around.
Your arms go around me and I rest my head on your shoulder again, letting the water surround us with its loving-feeling
warmth and wetness.