Gone with each clipping was the long hair of Shame, and the Bukkake Night Memory she could never completely wash from her hair, no matter how hard she tried or what shampoo she used.
Oh, it seemed fun at first: just some alcohol and a bunch of men, ejaculating on her face and hair. But when they were done the stickiness set in: the stickiness, and the Shame.
Weeks later she would be walking down the street and be convinced that people were staring at her chin, where some remnant of dried semen somehow was not washed away. They SAW it, and she saw that they saw it.
Her eyes still watered at the memory of trying to unglue her eyelashes from the rivulets that splattered her face; that was indeed bad, but The Hair. The Hair was where the Shame subsided.
So she got a haircut.
I am Laslo.
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