My Very, Very Last — Seriously, I Mean It This Time — Non-Jewish Boyfriend
It was a Sunday morning, the third or fourth time I slept over. I woke up to the feeling of his hands running through my hair, like a novice hairdresser procrastinating making the first cut. “Hey,” he whispered. “Ggghhh” I mumbled. “Can I ask you something?” He sounded nervous. I opened my eyes and saw…