Getting your hair braided can be quite an experience. As they work around your head, the hairdresser may engage you in intimate body contact, touching you with parts of themselves that make you want to ask them if they mean what they just did, because you feel the same way. For instance, once, when getting some braids done, the hairdresser wiped my face several times with her cushy bosom, the loveliest pair of breasts to ever cover my face. She would unknowingly let her cleavage linger on me for a while as she reached for the back of my head, before moving and breaking contact as she plaited on towards the end of the braid, just when I had started warming up to her boob sweat. She would hold me against her chest and lovingly smother me with those gentle mountains until a button got lodged inside my eye, and then pull away just as I was about to tell her that I could hear her heart beating for me. I couldn’t bear the teasing, so I asked her to stop playing with my head, to stop hurting me, that I couldn’t take it anymore. She apologized, and then told me that I could hold them at the root while she plaited, if that would make me feel better.
Only that she thought I was talking about the hair, and I thought that she was talking about her breasts. We agreed to pretend that it never happened.
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