"Stop that, Mark! It tickles!"
Ah, and it tickled me, too. Tickled me pink. It isn't often that I get to dig my fingers into a beautiful woman's hair, feeling the taut nap of her scalp and the smooth fissures of her skull. And because it was Roxy, I was all the more excited.
Roxy was going steady with Bud, my best friend. I'd always been attracted to Roxy ... something about the way her face was shaped--a semi-oval disk of a head, with strong, sharp cheeks, all surrounded by wondrous tresses of blond--had always driven me to stare at her, blushing (especially when Bud was around). I had always wondered what it would be like to touch her, to inhale her perfume, to kiss her, to hold her. But it was truly the shape of her head that pulled me toward her like a magnet, and now, finally, I had the chance to discover just what it was about that bone structure that enchanted me so.
Of course, I'd never voice my opinions to Roxy. Not even now. After all, it was Bud's idea for us to get together in my dorm room like this in the first place. He had suggested that I give Roxy a phrenological exam, to possibly help her in choosing a major. He couldn't be there for the whole affair because of football practice, and I didn't have time until nightfall, because of my work-study duties. So when Roxy came over--alone--shortly after dusk, I couldn't help but think of it as a date. I couldn't express my emotions to Roxy, but still, I caressed her scalp like a lover.
The vibration of her voice through my fingertips interrupted my concentration: "Where'd you pick up all this phrenology nonsense anyway? I thought this sort of thing went out long before Freud."
I sighed. "It's still around, though no one takes it as seriously as I do." I continued to seek out the lumps and fissures of her skull with my fingertips, being careful not to pull her soft, wonderful hair. "I found a book on phrenology in the library a long time ago, and have been practicing it ever since. What impressed me the most was how scientific it all was. It's not like palm reading or tarot cards, you know. Every inch of scalp tells something about the mental functions of the person in detail, and my diagnoses haven't been wrong yet!"
"I seriously doubt that," Roxy said.
"It's true. Bud recommended me to your for tonight because I helped him so much! The large lump over Bud's right ear told me that although he has a strong intellect, he was mentally suppressing his athletic abilities. It was because of my phrenology that he joined the football team two years ago, and look at him today: first string quarterback, on a full ride scholarship!"
Her eyes rolled up to look at me, and I avoided their magnetic, cobalt blue. "And what does my scalp tell you?"
"I can't tell, you keep moving. Hold still."
She obeyed.
My living room was silent, save for the slight wispy sound of my probing fingers, rambling like spiders amid the blond shafts of her hair. I found it difficult to concentrate--not because she kept moving, but because she was there at all. Especially right there between my legs, with her back to me, sitting on the floor Indian style while I sat above her on the couch. To an outside observer, we might have looked like two lovers returned from a recent campout, checking one another's scalps for tics.
But without Bud being there to watch, I felt more like a rapist than a lover, stealing these little moments of pleasure from Roxy, violating her without her knowledge.
And when I realized this, I began to lie.
)
