We sat on that old couch: she on my lap, slumped against my shoulder. She might as well have been purring. My hand was just inside her waistband tracing the structure of her iliac crest. My fingers moved back and forth over her smooth skin, tenatively sliding. Dorsal Ventral Cranial Caudal Dorsal Ventral Caudal Ventral Caudal Each fingertip whisper took me further and further towards the medial line. Two months later I would learn that she had a coiffe that an Italian woman would envy. A golden soft follicular forest.