Not much to say but thanks to my best friend Myst for proofreading.
One day the rights will come..uh but for now, I don't own anything..::sigh::
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Locks Mess
Let me tell you about the knots in my hair. Not sure what I mean? I'll tell you.
I've read tons of the wonderful stories written about me and the glorious love I share for my mamo-chan. In most, and usually very accurately and passionately, we share a physical commencement of this unique bond we share. In each, and every one, mamo-chan has an almost worshipful lust for my hair.
I agree, he does have a thing for it. I know he likes how long and silky I keep it. Knows that I take special care of it, it's my pride and joy. It's long and gorgeous. I've been called Rapunzel on more than one occasion.
I am overjoyed at the descriptions about it in stories. I've asked his opinion on the way people have described it and without hesitation he replies with the same answer 'Their descriptions would never do it justice.' But I digress.
As I said, I am very proud of my hair. It's taken a long time to get it this long. I remember as a child the first time I realized that I wanted my hair that long. I was on a weekend shopping trip to the Mall with my parents. I couldn't tell you what we were there to do at the time; my ten year old brain wouldn't have made anything of importance of the whole trip, until I saw this woman. I remember clearly, at the edge of the food court watching as she walked out of one of the local stores. She was short, probably not much taller than 5'2", but her hair trailed all the way to her ankles. The thick ebony locks faded all the way to the bottom straight and trailing, brushing her socks as she walked away in the opposite direction. All I could do was stare as she walked away, as it would catch the light here and there from the overhead windows and shine until she was out of sight.
I knew I wanted my hair like that from that moment on.
At the time it was already fairly long, longer than most people kept their hair. It almost hit my waist, long and golden, and I had been proud. But now, I wanted my hair like that! Well, I'll tell you, it took some doing on my part. I told my mother not to cut it ever again, that I was keeping it and letting it go. I couldn't count on all my fingers and toes how many times she tried to convince me it needed a trim so she could get near me with scissors. Fearful for a long time, I slept with my door locked at night.
For a while after it became longer I had no idea what to do with it. Ponytails only stayed up for so long, as heavy as it had become, and when they did stay I had horrible migraine headaches. I liked the some up and some down thing, but it still got in the way all the time. Buns became too intricate. French twists too difficult and leaving it down was way too much trouble as it got into everything.
I also had a friend at the time that was a few years older than me and related a story of similar long hair she had had in her youth. As a result of the same predicament I was in, not being able to find a comfortable style, she simply left it down, and accidentally peed on it. That frightened me. I knew the moment that something along that line occurred my mother would sneak into my room in my sleep and hack it off. This friend of mine did make a suggestion that had helped her though: pig tails. It kept it up higher, it was separated so as not be quite so heavy in one spot alone and was simple and easy to do.
After several attempts I not only had my hair up and parted but, after a little experimenting, had invented a unique style for myself as well. The style my mamo-chan so lovingly adorned a nickname for and my dear followers sometimes attest as the hairdo of the monarchy of the late moon kingdom. I do agree that this was the hairstyle of my moon family, but I couldn't have known that as a child. It was, simply put, what the mother of ingenuity and invention had come up with. Perhaps maybe there was a sense of memory that triggered that particular style, but we'll leave that for now to the imagination.
Alright, so why have I related this long rambling story about the mane that adorns my head, even to this day.
The stories.
In every story I make sweet passionate love to my mamo-chan, my hair fanning around me on a pillow or spilling over me in waves, even drenching me like the Boticelli's Venus.
Have you ever made sweet, passionate love lying on your hair? Yes, say a few, it was fine. But how long is your hair? Your shoulders? Mid-back? If your hair passes your shoulders in any way, you know where I'm going with this. Making love is beautiful, loving, a showing of the most intimate feelings you posses for another person.
But everyone gets hot and sweaty like animals.
Every time I have done this, I end up with rats nests in my hair that I swear real rats may at some point have actually crawled from while I was looking away. It's ten times worse than any bed hair you may have ever received. If you've ever been sick and laid on a couch or bed long enough that a massive ball of hair forms you know what I mean. Picture undoing that and then add four more feet of hair.
No shampoos and no conditioners ever help. You wash it and then the long process of small strokes with a comb begins. I have spent hours undoing the mess. I've even made my precious mamo-chan do it; grumbling the whole time about remembering a scrunchie next time.
Why do I bring this to everyone's attention? Because no one ever thinks about the horrible mess it makes. Plenty of stories have me washing it afterwards, have mamo-chan help me wash it afterwards, play with it, etc. I thought I'd just set the record straight, it's simply not possible. It's just too long. It will make a mess.
I do love my hair. I will never cut it. As for my seemingly never-ending predicament, well, maybe one day I will remember to grab a scrunchie. Until then, in my stories, I will forever have perfect hair and make sweet love to my mamo-chan every night.
One day the rights will come..uh but for now, I don't own anything..::sigh::
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Locks Mess
Let me tell you about the knots in my hair. Not sure what I mean? I'll tell you.
I've read tons of the wonderful stories written about me and the glorious love I share for my mamo-chan. In most, and usually very accurately and passionately, we share a physical commencement of this unique bond we share. In each, and every one, mamo-chan has an almost worshipful lust for my hair.
I agree, he does have a thing for it. I know he likes how long and silky I keep it. Knows that I take special care of it, it's my pride and joy. It's long and gorgeous. I've been called Rapunzel on more than one occasion.
I am overjoyed at the descriptions about it in stories. I've asked his opinion on the way people have described it and without hesitation he replies with the same answer 'Their descriptions would never do it justice.' But I digress.
As I said, I am very proud of my hair. It's taken a long time to get it this long. I remember as a child the first time I realized that I wanted my hair that long. I was on a weekend shopping trip to the Mall with my parents. I couldn't tell you what we were there to do at the time; my ten year old brain wouldn't have made anything of importance of the whole trip, until I saw this woman. I remember clearly, at the edge of the food court watching as she walked out of one of the local stores. She was short, probably not much taller than 5'2", but her hair trailed all the way to her ankles. The thick ebony locks faded all the way to the bottom straight and trailing, brushing her socks as she walked away in the opposite direction. All I could do was stare as she walked away, as it would catch the light here and there from the overhead windows and shine until she was out of sight.
I knew I wanted my hair like that from that moment on.
At the time it was already fairly long, longer than most people kept their hair. It almost hit my waist, long and golden, and I had been proud. But now, I wanted my hair like that! Well, I'll tell you, it took some doing on my part. I told my mother not to cut it ever again, that I was keeping it and letting it go. I couldn't count on all my fingers and toes how many times she tried to convince me it needed a trim so she could get near me with scissors. Fearful for a long time, I slept with my door locked at night.
For a while after it became longer I had no idea what to do with it. Ponytails only stayed up for so long, as heavy as it had become, and when they did stay I had horrible migraine headaches. I liked the some up and some down thing, but it still got in the way all the time. Buns became too intricate. French twists too difficult and leaving it down was way too much trouble as it got into everything.
I also had a friend at the time that was a few years older than me and related a story of similar long hair she had had in her youth. As a result of the same predicament I was in, not being able to find a comfortable style, she simply left it down, and accidentally peed on it. That frightened me. I knew the moment that something along that line occurred my mother would sneak into my room in my sleep and hack it off. This friend of mine did make a suggestion that had helped her though: pig tails. It kept it up higher, it was separated so as not be quite so heavy in one spot alone and was simple and easy to do.
After several attempts I not only had my hair up and parted but, after a little experimenting, had invented a unique style for myself as well. The style my mamo-chan so lovingly adorned a nickname for and my dear followers sometimes attest as the hairdo of the monarchy of the late moon kingdom. I do agree that this was the hairstyle of my moon family, but I couldn't have known that as a child. It was, simply put, what the mother of ingenuity and invention had come up with. Perhaps maybe there was a sense of memory that triggered that particular style, but we'll leave that for now to the imagination.
Alright, so why have I related this long rambling story about the mane that adorns my head, even to this day.
The stories.
In every story I make sweet passionate love to my mamo-chan, my hair fanning around me on a pillow or spilling over me in waves, even drenching me like the Boticelli's Venus.
Have you ever made sweet, passionate love lying on your hair? Yes, say a few, it was fine. But how long is your hair? Your shoulders? Mid-back? If your hair passes your shoulders in any way, you know where I'm going with this. Making love is beautiful, loving, a showing of the most intimate feelings you posses for another person.
But everyone gets hot and sweaty like animals.
Every time I have done this, I end up with rats nests in my hair that I swear real rats may at some point have actually crawled from while I was looking away. It's ten times worse than any bed hair you may have ever received. If you've ever been sick and laid on a couch or bed long enough that a massive ball of hair forms you know what I mean. Picture undoing that and then add four more feet of hair.
No shampoos and no conditioners ever help. You wash it and then the long process of small strokes with a comb begins. I have spent hours undoing the mess. I've even made my precious mamo-chan do it; grumbling the whole time about remembering a scrunchie next time.
Why do I bring this to everyone's attention? Because no one ever thinks about the horrible mess it makes. Plenty of stories have me washing it afterwards, have mamo-chan help me wash it afterwards, play with it, etc. I thought I'd just set the record straight, it's simply not possible. It's just too long. It will make a mess.
I do love my hair. I will never cut it. As for my seemingly never-ending predicament, well, maybe one day I will remember to grab a scrunchie. Until then, in my stories, I will forever have perfect hair and make sweet love to my mamo-chan every night.