Remittance Girl started a recent post with the following excerpt from a Twitter exchange (and no, of course, this isn't RG talking!):
There comes a time when wrinkly women should cut their hair [...]I read on for a few lines and then just couldn't take it any more.
Now, OK, I admit that I'm not as wrinkly as most women my age (61 tomorrow, February 9th, there's still time for you to buy me a present). And I'll admit that many wrinkly women have grey hair, which some snotty men might think unseemly to display in large quantities. Me, I think of my paternal grandmother with her hair down to her tukhes, still blond at the bottom and white at her scalp, with every shade of her natural aging progression in between. I never thought it was anything but beautiful, and adored combing it, reveling in its smooth oiliness and sheer profusion.
So I have nothing against long grey hair. It can be a crowning glory, no matter what the color. But it so happens that I don't have grey hair. I have red hair. Real live long natural red hair. Sexy as shit and just begging to be seized. It is a dancing halo, and a waiting handle. Wrap it around your fist and drag my head down to your cock or haul me across the room and throw me onto the futon...
Ahem. Sorry about that. Now what was I saying?
Long hair on old ladies.
My long hair which is sexy as shit.
I suppose 61 used to count as old. Certainly, 61 used to look old. Even now, 61 can sometimes look old. Not me. I'm beautiful. I'm young and beautiful and sexy, not just because my Master says so and therefore I'd better believe it (which I admit is true). But because he enabled me to see it.
Thank you, my Master.
My long hair I owe to the philosopher, who ordered me to grow out my dyke haircut even before we met. And he was right. Both because long hair suits my face better (which he didn't realize) and because long hair is sexy. Not to mention useful. He wanted to use it for hair bondage. He could have a fine time with it now if he ever wanted another shot at it. But that's not likely. Even a birthday e-mail is unlikely. But he left me many gifts, and this long hair is one of them.
Thank you, John...
So Tuesday I turn 61, in a city still buried in snow and expecting more. I think that's a fine way to celebrate. The clean white snow makes everything look bright and young and beautiful and new. The sun's rays bounce off the sparkling white mounds and leave everything they touch laughing.
I want to go out into my back yard and dance naked in the snow, the sun's rays bouncing off the sparkling white mounds of my sexy-as-hell breasts with their attention-demanding nipples. Beautiful hair, adorable tits, outrageous nipples, and a hot, moist, tight pussy that just begs to be used.
Not bad for a 61 year old woman who wears her hair too long for decency.
Happy birthday to me.