Hairy HNT

I don’t wash my hair every day. There’s too much of it, and it’s not necessary. On the mornings I do wash it, I’ve formed a certain routine of what happens after I’m out of the shower.

I dry my body first, wrap my hair up in the towel, put in my contacts, brush my teeth, and only then put on my bathrobe and step out of the bathroom. Often I’ll then pop out to the back porch for a cigarette, but not always. Usually I’ll wander upstairs and dress. Bra first, then jeans, blouse, socks. (I love that half-dressed stage in which I’m just wandering about in my jeans and bra.) Once I’m dressed I’ll head back downstairs and unwrap the towel from my hair, smooth in a bit of anti-frizz goo, and blow dry it straight.

This morning, however, I changed up the routine a bit without even really thinking about it. Hair into the towel, contacts, teeth, bathrobe, cigarette… then back to dry the hair before heading upstairs to dress.

I took off my robe and hung it on its hook as soon as I walked into the bedroom. Naked, I thought about dressing but decided to weigh myself first. It was as I walked into the adjacent room toward the scale that I felt my hair swing against my back. Warm, smooth, delicate brushes of silk swinging across my shoulders and halfway down my back. My skin, still freshly scrubbed and exceptionally sensitive, thrilled at that luxurious touch. It felt almost as if I were being gently stroked by a lover’s fingers, so soft and delicate was the kiss of my long hair against my skin.

I’m tempted to change my routine. Would I enjoy the sensation as much, were it a regular occurrence?

I do believe I would.