She had me sit at her vanity as she took a brush and began toredo my hair. Like many of the young boys in my school, my hair was solong that I wore it...in a ponytail. She put rollers in my hair and thenshowed me how to apply just the right amount of makeup, which for a 9year old girl was very little. When she took the rollers out of my hairshe brushed my new curls out and sprayed them with hairspray. Mom usedtwo barrettes, one on each side of my head to hold the hair in place. Ilooked just like. I inhale you with that gasp; the elegance of your expensive perfume co-mingling with the naughtiness of the cheap whiskey on your breath.“Nah, that’s ok.” you whisper “I got it.”, and I understand. It was just a pretense for a wholesale invasion – a means for you to wholly occupy my space and wrecking-ball demolish that itty-bitty imaginary line between us that I thought was so daunting.“You sure do” I agree, running my fingers up your soft thigh, giving you a little squeeze. I couldn’t help. More

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