Sunday, December 7, 2008


It happened in the shower. I had commenced with my weekly shampoo and conditioner ritual - lather, rinse, lather, detangle, rinse, condition, rinse. For some reason, I felt the need to break away from the mundane after I detangled. I stood there, and instead of going for the conditioner, I went for my hair.

I didn't just touch it - I touch my hair all the time - but I felt it. I felt its softness. I felt its strength. I felt its bumpy nature. It was calming - comforting even. I felt it with my hands - and then I brought the ends of my hair around to my face and nuzzled my nose in it. I smelled the clean, sweet smell of my shampoo, felt the smooth, hard and thick nature of my individual hair strands as they tickled my nose.

It then dawned on me why people are always so fascinated with my hair. Even women who have similar hair to me - who wear their hair in a similar way - they just seem fascinated with it. I've always loved my hair - but simply because it was mine. Each hair on my head, each curl and wave and kink, was God given. Why not love it? But now I understood the fascination - why people always want to reach out and touch it - why every man who has ever touched or nuzzled his nose in my hair has been turned on by it.

The realization: it may just be hair, but my hair is just sexy.

Conditioning my hair never felt so good.

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