Pull it, twist it, bop it, I don’t care. Hair pulling is my shit.

When it’s grabbed with that grip that lets me know that I’d better take that Dee and love every inch of it. The thought alone makes me praise the Lord for such a blessing. I’m an avid believer in rough loving, however there are always a couple of bundles in the way of my hair pulling fun.

Scenario: hair done, deep strokes, flipping it, whipping it, getting mad affectionate *hears thread snap*.

The thought of that snap alone can stop any sexual encounter in its tracks, let’s be honest. That snap lets any woman know it’s time to slow that pace down before your Omarion in B2K braids are revealed.

When it comes to sex a fresh weave or any fresh hairstyle for that matter is a blessing and a curse.

Sex for me is better when my hair is just decent. When it’s fresh I’m thinking about maintaining it the whole damn time so unless I’m making love to Pretty Wings it’s going to get messy, and I’ve never made love, let alone to Pretty Wings.

The best sex I’ve had was when my hair was due to be redone, because I had no limitations. It was already a mess so I had nothing to lose. Pull it, grab it, twist it into a ball I didn’t give a damn, my hair appointment was in two days anyway.

Sometimes we all focus so much on trying to stay looking perfect, we forget to just be in the moment and enjoy it. When I’m getting down to it I don’t give two damns if he has a haircut, so as long as my hair is OK I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care about my hair either. Brazzilian, Peruvian, Mongolian, whatever it is, none of it is cheap, but if it seriously limits the fun we can have with the people we like then what’s the point?

 

Sapphire