The deliciously spikey one (Zoo) took this photo of me during lounge room picnic on Sunday. I've decided that I'm nothing but a life support system for my hair.
When you have hair that permanently looks like it's just been fucked - it's easy to slip into a space where your hair becomes a sex organ - draping, flicking, tickling,- using as bondage rope for piercings. I shed hair whereever I go. On clients, on lovers, on friends - long brunette strands - I mark my territory (at least it's more polite than pissing on legs).
However, despite numerous lovers avowed affection for my hair - very few have treated it as a sex organ - pulling, using as a handle, using as reins, grabbing great handfuls.... The options present themselves but are seldom taken up...
Maybe despite my obviously strength they still can't see past the 'delicate little petal' femininity and are afraid I'd break. So my hair fucks but goes unfucked. Did someone say stone?
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