The daily and not so daily ramblings of my life, creativity, relationship with my husband and the rest of the world.
Warning: This is about my whole life, real and fantasy, and may contain adult content. Read at your own risk.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Naturally Messy Hair
Today at work a kid had an emotional meltdown. His lunch did not look exactly like he had imagined and he totally freaked out. (I do work with emotionally disturbed children after all.) Anyway the little freak out monster threw his chocolate milk all over my head... into my hair. Arghh... you have no idea how much work it takes to get my hair just right.
All the rest of the day I would touch my head, feel the dried in chocolate milk, the curls stiff and sticky instead of soft and silky... shudder... I was in the shower within seconds of getting home.
More than once someone has asked me if my hair is naturally curly. It always amazes me that someone would think that I actually paid someone to make my hair do this. Or maybe they are sympathetic and are hoping this is just temporary... maybe this was just a bad home permanent disaster and will eventually grow out and go away.
I shake my head and ruefully answer, "No, I have naturally messy hair."
It is fine, soft, fly-away, slippery, frizzy, unmanageable. Master calls it squirrely hair. I asked him, "Squirrely like the fooffy end of the squirrel's tail? Or, squirrely, like how a squirrel can be all still, and then leaps up and squirms around, wiggling, jumping, tumbling around like a wild, crazy squirrel epileptic fit? Of course he meant the latter. You just never know what my hair is going to do one minute to the next.
And yet is it deceptively beautiful, shining, ripping blond ringlets. And oh so soft to touch, like silk, softer than silk... baby soft. Master cannot resist, and all it takes is one touch, one hand gripping pulling twisting, fingers tangling and poof... shining water fall is transformed into a tangle of cotton fluff. But he likes it messy, loves it squirrely. I swear he messes it up on purpose. He will have me kneel at his feet and endlessly run his fingers through it. And I find it ultimately sensual when he does that.
Master requires I keep it long and I dye it a soft buttery strawberry blond... the color he selected. If I let it go natural it would be white and I am not ready for old lady hair quite yet. (Darn family genetics). I use three kinds of conditioners and carefully comb it out and arrange it carefully with my fingers... as fine as it is I don't often use heat to dry it... It breaks off so easily now. (I know... dye... it's a bit fried... vanity... sigh).
Early this morning, before my chocolate milk adventure, I woke up and slid closer to the warmth of his body and he turned lifting his arm to urge me closer, to lay my head on his chest. And as I did, my wild squirrely night hair must have floated up and settled down over his face because he smoothed it down and back. And being full of piss and vinegar, I waved my hand, stirring it up like a pile of eider down, causing it fly up and away and over his face once again. He called me a poop... one of my favorite nick names.
Old enough to know better, young enough not to care. I am in a long term, heterosexual, monogamous, formerly total power exchange relationship with my husband. We are exploring where we go from here. I am a once published writer of erotic fetish fiction novels.