Carol lives in the apartment next to me. Every morning we leave for work at the same time, go to the same bus stop, and take the same bus to New York. It’s been that way for more than a year now. We say hello, we walk together, and if it isn’t too crowded we sit together on the bus. And every morning, and every evening, I dream about getting my hands into all that gorgeous hair of hers.

Today is no different. I stand behind her on line for the bus and dream. Her hair hangs to her waist in a thick shimmering mass. It is a deep, rich brown, the color of expensive milk chocolate with strands of gold sparkling in the highlights. I have dated blondes, brunettes, and redheads. Tall ones and short ones, some that were too thin and some that were too plump, but all had one thing in common: their beautiful hair. Carol’s hair, however, is the most beautiful of all.

"I haven’t seen Jack in couple of weeks," I said, changing the subject from the threatening clouds in the sky.

"And if we’re lucky, we won’t be seeing him again," Carol said with contempt in her voice.

"What happened?"

"I came home early the other day and caught the son-of-a-bitch in MY bed with MY best friend... bastard."

"I’m sorry to hear that," I said sincerely, all the time leaping for joy on the inside. I’d been hoping he would drift out of the picture.

"I’m not. I was getting ready to throw the SOB out anyway. There was only one thing he could do with any skill."

"Good lover?" I said with a chuckle.

"No," she laughed. "He could give a great shampoo."

"Is that right?" I said. My throat went dry, almost taking my voice away. I remembered seeing Jack toweling and combing Carol’s hair out on the balcony that adjoined mine. I cleared my throat as our bus pulled to a stop right in front of us. "I give a hell of a shampoo myself. Give me a call sometime."

"Right!"

"I’m not kidding. I’ve cared for most of my girlfriends’ hair. I’m really very good."

"I’ll keep it in mind," she said, clearly not believing a word of it.

We got separated by the crowd on the bus and that ended our discussion, but my heart became a bit lighter that day.

We continued our usual routine, day after day. I had planted the seed and would wait awhile before leading the conversation in that direction again. I didn’t want to appear pushy. That would end my chances real quick. I did ask her to dinner about a week after the revelation. She declined, saying that she wasn’t ready to be with anyone. I backed off and gave her the room she wanted. I would be there if she changed her mind.

It was less than a week later that I heard a knock on my door at about 8:30 on a Sunday night. Carol stood there holding her hair in a pile close to the side of her head. "Were you telling me the truth when you said you were good with hair?"

I nodded. "Yes, I was."

"Could you help me, please?" There were tears ready to fall and an emotional tremor in her voice.

I opened the door wide and gestured her inside. "Come in. Tell me what’s wrong."

Carol let go of the pile of hair that she was holding and revealed a gigantic knot, the center of which circled a round brush.

"My God," I said. "What happened?"

"I was trying something new and somehow, I don’t know, It got tangled and the more I tried to fix it the worse it got." She was crying now. "Don’t tell me it has to get cut out! I don’t want to cut my hair. Please don’t cut my hair!"

"I would never cut your hair. Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of it."

I took her hand gently, led her into the kitchen and pulled out a chair. She sat down and I began examining the knot. It was a monster, to say the least. I began untangling slowly. First, I moved the free sections over her shoulders and let them fall down to her lap. Her hair was even softer than I imagined and smelled like fresh apples. I was glad I stood behind her so she could not see my excitement. I worked on those luscious locks small sections at a time, pulling it free, untwisting, and trying not to break too much. After half an hour, I had cramps in my fingers.

I took a break, sitting next to her and shaking my hands trying to get some feeling back into them.

"I’m so sorry for this," she said. "Thank you for helping me."

I reached out and took her hand. "Don’t give it a second thought. I don’t mind a bit."

"Well, you’re very kind to do this."

I just smiled and nodded. "I’m almost done. You’ll be good as new in a few minutes." I stretched and massaged my fingers, then returned to my pleasant chore.

She looked up at the clock a while later and sighed. "Damn. It’s getting late and I still have to wash this mess before I go to sleep so it’ll have time to dry before morning."

With that, the brush came free and the last of the monster tangle gave way to my prying fingers.

"Looks like we got it," I said, still stroking her hair, gently combing and smoothing it with my fingers.

"Did much of my hair break off?"

"No, it’s not too bad." I handed her a twist of broken hairs to look at.

She reached up and ran her fingers through the spot where the monster had just been vanquished. "Thank you so much. You have no idea how scared I was. All I could see was having to go to a hairdresser tomorrow and having them tell me the only thing they could do was cut all my hair off."

She put her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly. She then kissed my cheek. "Thank you for saving my hair."

"It was my pleasure."

"Now I have to go wash it and hope it doesn’t get all knotted up again."

"Why don’t you let me take care of that for you? I guarantee you won’t be sorry."

She smiled at me warmly. "You’ve done enough for me tonight." She ran her fingers over my cheek. "I’m not going to impose myself on you any further."

"It’s no imposition. It would be my pleasure." She looked at me intently apparently trying to decide if I was sincere. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely!" I took her hand and locked my arm around hers, then pointed. "Sink? Bathtub? Your place? Whatever - where did Whatzisname give you those shampoos you loved so much?"

She looked at me and smiled again. "OK," she said hesitantly, still not quite sure about me. "I used to kneel by the bathtub. I have one of those hose-shower things."

I gestured toward the door, her arm still wrapped around mine. "Lead on, Milady," I said, giving my best impersonation of a chivalrous knight. She laughed and together we strolled toward an appointment with delight.

Carol’s bathroom was exactly the same as mine, only cleaner, and smelling as fresh as she did. The sink and mirror were near the door to the left and the tiled tub/shower was along the same wall. The toilet was in the back leaving plenty of room for two people to kneel next to the tub. Carol released the shower head from the clip that held it high up on the wall and let it rest on the floor of the tub. She handed me a bottle of shampoo and one of conditioner, then took two towels from a shelf over the toilet and dropped them, still folded, on the floor at the side of the tub.

"To soften the floor," she said with a smile.

Carol kneeled on the folded towel and began to gather her hair. I moved her hands aside. "Not yet," I said softly. "Just relax and let me take care of it."

Carol sat back on her heals and rested her hands in her lap. "OK," she said. "My head is in your hands, sir."

I laughed at her tone, but was equally aroused by it. Not only was she allowing me to shampoo her beautiful hair, but she was submitting to me as well. My excitement became intense.

I took a brush from the counter and began brushing her hair with long, sweeping strokes. She closed her eyes and cooed softly. "That’s nice," she said. "I miss having someone do that to me."

"You need not miss it again," I whispered.

I know she heard me, but she did not move. She just kept her eyes closed and let her head get lightly pulled back by the beautiful stroking of the brush. The shine in her hair was enhanced by the natural bristles of that expensive wooden brush. When I was done I could almost see my reflection in her glossy tresses.

It took only a moment to adjust the water from the spray hose. As I gathered her hair and swept it over her head, she yielded to my direction without the slightest resistance. I lifted the collar of her shirt then tucked it in so it would not get wet. The nape of her neck, long and silken, seemed to call to me, almost demanding to be nibbled. I’m not sure how I resisted the temptation.

My fingers stroked and smoothed her hair as the water sprayed down over her head, making the glossy hair even glossier. I lifted and smoothed and spread and caressed, making certain that every strand was soaked, then I turned off the water.

The shampoo bottle had a click top that flipped open with pressure from my thumb. I poured a glob of thick, white liquid into my hand. This was the part I loved best, the moment the shampoo first meets soaking wet hair. It spreads so easily, becomes so slippery, then begins to form clouds of billowing white foam. My hands filled with suds as I swept them over Carol’s long, long hair.

My fingers circled her scalp with short scrubbing strokes, then filled with mounds of gorgeous soapy hair. My mind was floating on the cloud that filled my hands. My head was spinning in a sea of lather so thick and so soft that I never wanted to be free of the grip it held on me.

I heard Carol moan softly. "That feels so good," she said, barely audible.

"I told you you wouldn’t be sorry."

"Mmmm. I’m not."

I massaged the back of her head and let my fingers slowly work their way to her forehead, then down the length of her hair. Again and again I did this, until her hair could not have been any cleaner, then I did it again. Time was suspended. I don’t know how long I worked her soapy locks. It did not matter to either of us. Carol’s shoulders and chest rested on the edge of the tub. Her head hung low, completely at the mercy of my caressing fingers. Only her soft moans from time to time told me she had not been put to sleep by the total relaxation and pleasure I was giving her.

A long, sustained sigh slipped pleasantly from her throat as I began to rinse the lather from her head. The water was as warm and comforting as a down quilt on a cold winter morning. The suds slid from her hair and flowed to the drain. My fingers continued to probe and massage her hair until it was certain that not a single bubble had escaped the spray. There would be no residue in any head of hair that I washed.

The conditioner had the same apple scent as the shampoo. It made her hair soft and slippery and when the rinse water washed it away, her hairs clung together forming a glistening wet curtain of inviting fragrance.

When I was finished and the shower was off, I squeezed the water from her hair, sliding my hand along the silky length and shaking out the last drips. I wrapped a towel around her head and blotted up as much moisture as I could.

"I don’t want to move," Carol moaned. "That was fabulous. Do it again!"

"Next time," I whispered in her ear.

Slowly, like an exhausted marathon runner, she sat up and back on her heals like when we started. I held her hair in the towel and moved along with her, wiping and rubbing and stroking her hair. When most of the water had been blotted up and there were no more drips, I put the towel around her shoulders and helped her to her feet. Her knees were weak for the first few steps. She groped for a wide tooth comb as we passed the sink counter and headed for a kitchen chair. Before sitting down, she pulled the towel from her shoulders and rubbed it over her wet hair. She then held one end of the towel and threw the other end around my neck, catching it with her other hand. She pulled me to her and kissed me with a fiery passion. She reached down and felt the hardness between my legs.

"Oooh, nice, I thought that’s what I’d find there," she said.

"What can I say?" I asked, pulling her head back and suckling her mouth.

"Don’t say anything. Just promise that you will never stop making me feel like this."