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A Tail of Many Braids by haircoward


I recently shared the story of how I started hanging out with a "hair hobbyist" I met online (not a hair fetishist, just a girl who really enjoyed playing with and styling hair) and how she wound up giving me my first ever braid " this is another (true story) experience I had with her.

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In the weeks and months that followed my first braiding (and subsequent tassel-snipping), my hair was in braids almost every night. It was amazing… like something out of a dream. As my hair-hobbyist friend began to realize that I was becoming more and more comfortable in "femme" styles, she became more creative and experimental. She would usually wear her hair in braided pigtails that hung over her shoulders, and so, many nights I did as well. Sometimes she would do a reverse braid, a french braid that started at the nape of my neck and went all the way to the top of my head. She would go online to check out new and interesting ways to braid and style me... every night was a new adventure.

No matter what it was, I was in heaven. I had known that braids and being braided were a part of my hair interest, but I didn’t realize how MUCH of a part. I just loved the feeling of a thick rope of hair, and how beautifully intricate it was. I couldn’t help but to think about her forcibly cutting it off, destroying something that I loved and that also drove me so crazy. It was a very conflicting feeling.

One night as I was falling asleep, she stayed awake and braided my entire head, in what must have been a hundred tiny, thin braids. When I woke up, I couldn’t believe how amazing it felt. The texture, the tightness, the fact that she braided me from the root to the tip. It was like nothing else I’d ever felt. It took forever to take them out that day, but left me with a headful of tiny waves, which was a look I never realized I wanted to seem myself with.

I remember she tried talking me into going out with my hair like that, but I was far too self-conscious. I still kick myself for chickening out. In hindsight, I’d have loved to see peoples’ reactions to my hair.

Having my entire head braided that night reminded me of my high school "hair buddy" who I recently shared a story about... which led to me having my entire ponytail cut off. On her last day with long hair, she came to school with a ponytail full of dozens of small braids. Her entire head wasn’t braided, just the ponytail.

At this point, it occurred to me that I could finally have that style which I’d dreamt of and coveted for so long. One evening while we were hanging out, I mustered up all my courage and asked if she could do that for me. Luckily, I was able to explain it as being like something out of Lord of the Rings, rather than "this girl from high school whose hair I was (and am) obsessed with".

She didn’t find the request to be strange in the slightest, though it was the first time I’d ever actually come out and asked to be put in a certain style. I was very afraid I’d shown my hand here, but she either played it off or didn’t notice.

That night, my hair was pulled into probably the tightest ponytail I’d ever worn, which was then braided into a dozen or so thin-ish braids, all tied off at the tip. I remember swinging my head back and forth and having the braids bounce off my cheeks. I couldn’t believe I was actually wearing THAT style. The one that I’d been obsessing over for years at this point, ever since the day I’d first saw it. The style that my high school "hair buddy" wore into the salon the day she had it all cut off.

While I sat there, with my "tail of braids", I made another request. I wanted as much of the full "hair buddy" experience as possible. I asked if she could hold a pair of scissors up to the base of the ponytail, and take a picture… because I wanted to "freak out" a (fictitious) friend of mine.

Shockingly enough, she didn’t miss a beat. She thought it would be hilarious, and quickly grabbed the same large pair of scissors that she’d cut my braid tassel off with. She opened them and jammed my "tail of braids" between the blades. She joked about what might happen if she slipped… and, how I wished she would. My heart was in my throat… part of me wanted to beg her to close the scissors. Part of me wanted to grab her hands and force the scissors shut. I ached to see those braids spilled out on the floor behind me. I did not. She snapped a picture with her cell phone and sent it to me. I probably still have that picture on one of my ancient cell phones.

The following morning, my braids were undone. Since these were far thicker than my last "headful", the resulting waves were much "bouncier" and less crimpy… and so soft. Seeing this as an opportunity, I played dumb, and asked why these braid waves are so "wavy" instead of "curly".

She responded by saying something along the lines of "we COULD go curly". That’s another story though.



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