He dug his hands into my hair. Past my kinky curls, straight to my roots and rubbed my scalp. And I let him. I regret nothing.
During one of our usual ‘binge watch a new show on Hulu’ nights, I got a dose of a simple but overwhelmingly loving moment of intimacy. I was laying on his stomach when he, while laughing at some ridiculous joke, slipped his hand into my hair and started rubbing my scalp. Before I could protest about the audacity of him putting his hands in a fresh twist out, I was comforted with a moment of bliss. Yes, bliss is the proper way to describe how I both my spirit and overwhelmed mind gradually calmed down.
I didn’t ask him to do it but somehow he knew I needed it. Like he could feel my overactive thoughts bouncing around as he massaged my temples (while being careful to be gentle around my edges) and rubbed the center of my scalp. He twisted my curls around his fingers with no regard for the knotting he was doing to my hair but what’s a little sacrifice?
Him: Your hair smells nice, did you put something in it?
Me: Yes, it’s a curl pudding. I used it to twist my hair.
Him: I don’t know what that is but it smells good and your curls are nice.
Me: *Stops being self conscious about my kinky hair and realizes that he likes/loves my hair exactly how it is and he doesn’t think it looks a mess*
The head rub was short lived, he became hungry, but the bond between us was strengthened that night. I felt like we played a scene in a 90s black movie, two lovers weirdly laying on a couch while attempting to be closer and embrace the moments shared between them. I’m sure to him it was just a head rub while he watched tv but it was a million times more than that. Infinity times more.