Me:One out of three ain’t bad?
Hen:Lol. Careful with that, a hangover isn’t going to make doing your work any easier tomorrow.
Hen:Wait, sorry, that sounded really paternalistic. Do whatever the fuck you need to do, is what I should have said. Sorry.
Me:Stop apologizing. You’re right, anyway. I just need to feel relaxed a little and this is the only way I know of to force that to happen given that I don’t have any edibles handy.
Hen:Oh damn I’d kill to spend an afternoon high but high-me is useless and I really gotta get this laundry done or I’m gonna be free-balling it tomorrow.
I giggled to myself. Somehow the phrasefree-balling itwas never not funny. Then, mid-giggle, I got a mental image of Hen’s balls, which was somewhere between funny - because balls - and hot - because, well, balls. I choked on my giggle. He’d had nice balls. Not too large and not too hairy, but not tight and hairless like mine, either. I hadn’t gotten a chance to suck on them the way I liked to do. I wondered what that would have been like,how he would have reacted. He’d been a grunter during our sex. Were grunts his thing? Or might I elicit a whimper or squeak or two if I played with him just right?
My hand stole down to my cock, pressing gently, before I could catch myself. A slight shiver ran through me. Then I realized I was still holding my phone and was mid-conversation with someone who had no idea I was touching myself and would probably be weirded right the fuck out if he did. Not appropriate, Jamie. I pulled my hand away and gritted my teeth, focusing back on my phone.
Me:Tell me you’re not one of those people who puts off laundry until there’s literally nothing left to wear except a pair of ratty sweatpants that only come down to mid-calf.
Hen:That’s…oddly specific. And ok, I’m not the best at doing laundry but I’m not usually this bad. I just…the focus thing this week. I kept thinking ‘Oh, gotta do wash’ and then I’d get distracted thinking about my test results or a project or hell, whether to braid my hair, and then boom, laundry forgotten.
Me:Wait, you can braid hair?
Hen:That’s what you got out of that statement?
Me:Sorry not sorry.
Hen:Yes, I can braid, but only regular braids, not French ones. But it comes in handy when I’mworking. You really, really don’t want to get your long hair caught in your circular saw, believe me.
Me:Oh, ouch. Yeah, I can imagine. Do you think you could teach me to braid?
Me:Uh I mean.
Me:Nevermind. I didn’t mean to assign you work. Or force you to see me again.
Hen:I mean I’m not an expert hairdresser or anything. But braiding isn’t hard. I can send you some YouTube links if you want to try it out on ribbons or rope or something. But I’d also be happy to let you practice on my hair if you want sometime.
Hen:Wait, was that weird? You didn’t mean you wanted to stick your hands in my hair. Sorry, sorry.
This guy and his apologies. I wondered who’d taught him that he had to apologize for what he thought.
Me:Hey, no apologies necessary. I kinda was imagining your hair. Just because you’re the only guy I think I know with long hair right now. But yeah, send me the YouTube links, please. I’m not sure what I have to practice with but I’m sure I can find something.
There was no reply for a few minutes, long enough for me to worry I’d made it weird by saying I’d imagined his hair, and then a quick series of texts came through with links to four YouTube videos.
Hen:These should get you started. But really it’s easy once you get the rhythm; you just cross left over center, then right over center, and then do it again. The pieces kind of move themselves once you’re doing that.
Me:I just crossed and re-crossed my legs as if that was going to help somehow lol
Hen:If you manage to braid your legs, I’ll be both impressed and worried.
This time I tried crossing and re-crossing my fingers, with no more braiding success. Turned out my fingers weren’t long enough, who knew? I couldn’t stifle a laugh at myself. What the fuck even, Jamie.
Hen:We could, um, we could like get together some time? To practice?
Hen:Wait holy shit
I froze, looking at the screen. ‘Holy shit’ what? That didn’t sound good. Was he that shocked at having proposed meeting up again?
Me:What’s wrong???
Hen:No, sorry, nothing’s wrong didn’t mean to scare you. Just got the text from the clinic though. Hold on, let me load the page.
