YES!!!!!!!!

So this past weekend I had my first orgasm in quite some time. I was riding my SO while it happened, and then I just kept going to he could ejaculate all over my back. The lack of orgasms is not the fault of my SO; it really is my fault. The medications I am on makes it harder to have an orgasm (but not harder to become aroused). I just wanted to share my joy. I promise I will return to a more philosophical stance on coitus next week.

Oh Rapunzel, Rapunzel, May I Pull Thy Hair

Some believe that the payment for vanity is to lose that source of pride. I know this all too well. My hair was my crowning feature. I held it above all else. I was quite vain about my appearance and my hair was the greatest embodiment of my vanity. But then I became ill. My body began to wither away. Yet my hair remained strong and shiny. My hair was the last part of my exterior that felt the toll malnutrition was taking on my body. When it began to fall out I was devastated. I even cut it off to hope that the loss would stop. However the hair loss increased. I was effectively going bald. Now, as of writing this I have a very thin pony tail.

My hair was an integral part of who I was. It was long and luminous. It graced my lower back with its natural beauty. My luscious hair was not only beautiful but strong, strong enough to put Rapunzel to shame. Slowly I pray that this new hair growth I am experiencing will return my beautiful prized possession.

This sudden hair loss and lack of glorious locks has impeded my sex life. My hair took a paramount position when it came to attracting my partners. My long hair helped showcase my “exotic” facial features and highlight the thinness of my face. Now I keep it pulled back to hide my unattractive mullet (yes you read right MULLET). I cannot run fingers through it to display my desire to be approached and caressed. Flipping my hair around is no longer a viable option for arousing men (and some women *wink*). The worst part besides being less attractive is the sex. I cannot lie their, writhing in pleasure with my hair spread out behind me like some angelic halo. And being called a cum slut while sliding my lips along a hard cock is not the same without the affectionate hair tug. Hair pulling really puts me in my place; my complete submission is demanded by this tool. I am subjected to his will while he has a fist full of my hair wrapped around his hand twice. The pain serves as a motivator for me to please. I become more eager to please with every tug, yank, and gentle stroke. I would even be willing to be dragged around by my hair.

The fantasy most impeded by this lack of luscious glowing hair is my Rapuzel fantasy. I have the desire to be like Rapunzel, locked away alone waiting for a man to come and fuck me silly. He would call for my to lower my hair, so he could tug on it as he hoisted himself up into my bed chamber. His thanks for a heroic rescue would be he could have me to be his. With all that hair, the pulling and the tugging and the riding would be fantastic. He would be able to pound me from behind and grad a fist full of that hair and give his thrusting an added punch.

But this is not an option at the current time. Sad, but true. So until my hair returned to its full gorgeous self, I will be longing to hear “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, may I pull your hair.”