My Love Affair with Mark

Today, I am finally getting to see my beloved hair stylist, Mark. I have to admit that I love him. Like I love him enough, I'd nearly offer to carry his child, and not just because he's hot. The love. It's deep. I haven't gotten to lust after him properly because he ended up almost killing himself on a motorcycle last year. He's been not-cutting-my hair for six months (perhaps longer), and I was forced to cheat on him once with an overpriced hair stylist who doesn't possess his magician-like hands, and she somehow ended up giving one of the most OCD people on the plant an asymmetrical cut, which I was over on day 2. I'm not sure why I agreed to that one. I think it was because she has this incredibly cute British accent, so I sit there with a smile on my face and just nod at her a lot.

I have been so excited about this date, I have been dreaming about him. I got my calendar all mixed up and thought I was going last Thursday. I feel like I'm six and waiting for Christmas all over again. Either way, I'm looking forward to staring at lusting after his hands (because he has long, slender fingers that I love on dudes) and smelling his hands, which smell like shampoo and sometimes a hint of cigarette smoke. I often fantasize about how great it would be to be married to him and have him dry & flat iron my hair in the morning. I think I would perform sexual acts just for that benefit. I hope his woman appreciates that one.


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