LAWRENCE BOUGHT ELECTRIC hair clippers a few years back. He’d asked Ruth to give him a hand cutting the few wispy hairs he still had, but she’d stared at him blankly. The idea of touching her husband anywhere, even just his head, made her cringe. She couldn’t explain why, exactly. It was a deep feeling, a sour squirm—that same sensation she got any time some joker said, “Just think of your parents having sex.”
But Ruth had plans. She retrieved the clippers from Lawrence’s pristine subterranean bathroom before he got home from work.
So much hair down there. She’d never had cause to do anything about it until now. Now, all she could think about was how much Agnes would love a smooth p***y.
Pussy.
Just thinking that word sent a tingle through Ruth’s core.
Pussy was an Agnes word,
