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Windows to the soul

I had a dream last night, it unnerved me and laid me bare and then soothed me so I woke up wishing it would never end.

I went to a hairdressers, not particularly unusual except I have very difficult hair to style, its thin and slightly kinky and does its own thing, bit like me really except for the thin bit… My ‘usual’ lady was not available so I left and wandered to a salon down the road, why I had no appointment strikes me as odd but then in dream world odd happens so frequently.  I found a salon where the hairdresser, huge lady with peroxide blonde hair and shrill pink lipstick, shredded my hair as I sat gobsmacked in the chair.

How many times have I been horrified with a trip to the hairdresser? Countless, I can’t tell you how many, which is why when I find someone who can manage to make a serviceable job I latch on to her like a new-born baby (not literally you understand) but for each time I’ve had this ghastly upset feeling, I’ve paid the bill and slunk away to lick my wounds in private.  Not so dream me! She ranted and raved, refused to pay, was powerful and commanding and left satisfied everyone in the street knew her displeasure – Go Me!

And yet my heart was breaking and I just wanted to wake up.

I found myself at my usual hairdressers where she and her friends exclaimed in horror at my coiffure, I was handed a stiff drink but she could do nothing, apparently I needed her friend Derek.

She rang him, he could see me, she wrote his address on a piece of paper and smiled at me, apparently I was a ‘lucky girl’

I’ve had male hairdressers before and I have found they don’t particularly fall into the gay, scissor waving, ‘So did you see what Petra was wearing at the Roxie last night! I almost died!’ variety that you see on the television. But Derek was not exactly what I did expect either.

The address was a private one, a townhouse in a terrace made of pale cream Bath stone, elegant and refined with expansively blooming hanging baskets by the door.  The door was answered by a huge, tall Black man of about 6ft 5″, he was wearing shorts, that’s all and his pecs and wash board abs make my mouth drop open now as I type remembering him, oh my, lucky girl doesn’t even go there. I introduced myself and he reached out and ran his fingers through my hair, uttering in the deepest voice I have ever heard “You really need me don’t you darlin'”  Need? This goes beyond what I need, this dream just entered the realms of I Never Want To Wake Up!

So, he led me the garden, a courtyard affair with high walls keeping the neighbours eyes away, it was sunny but comfortable with many flower boxes, he asked me to sit on one of two stools, I did as I was told meekly and felt a thrill as he pulled the other stool up behind me close, sitting on the stool so his thighs encircled me, his long legs wrapping around mine. Running his fingers through my hair, I closed my eyes and relaxed as he worked methodically, his strong hands pulling gently at my hair, the sound of the scissors slicing overlaying the soft sound of his breathing so close to my ear.  After a while I felt his finger tips brush my shoulders and then something softer, his lips kissing behind my ear crooning “You smell so incredible, like strawberries” his hands held my shoulders firmly as he kissed my neck, slowly turning the stool, lips tracing my collar-bone, up my neck to my jaw, his hands cupping my breasts, thumbs slowly caressing my nipples through my blouse  as I melted into his kisses my lips exploring his mouth, my hands on his thighs….

I woke up.

Yeah, crap eh….

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