My hair is growing. I hate to get it cut. I would love to have it curledand highlighted. I imagine walking through my office, and having thewomen poin... and the men laugh. I imagine lipstick. I imagine fingernailpolish. I imagine pantyhose. I think about getting kissed while wearinglipstick.I stripped, and I shimmied into a pair of pale blue panties. In thestories, I know, the subject is made to shave or remove his hair rightaway. In real life, hair is but a momentary inconvenience. It would. I’ve got the reasons to get it done.”He kept petting Janine, playing with her hair, like Blofeld of SPECTRE.“Fuck you,” I told him.“Yeah, thanks,” He smiled, “I should have told you from the first day. You too, Ryan.”Goddammit! He called him Ryan. There was no getting through to this Matthew. He had retreated. His contrition would mean dick all. He legitimately was ashamed of himself. My displeasure would be a consequence to face. He’d take it as absolution.“So what the fuck then?” Craps. More

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