just minishorts.

Always, now, when I remember my very first, I would be tickled to spasms of laughter. That bunch of hair (which is now cut off, no less), and the wonders of its usefulness in the midst of Mark's trying to make me bare all.

My hair was tied up in a single, perfect braid, the day Mark devirginized me.

He had been kissing me for what seemed like forever, and finally, when the waiting became unbearable, I let out a frustrated gasp. 'Get down…' I demanded. 'Down. Down.'

Mark obeyed. Delightedly. His response was to move down, his teeth rapidly lifting the shift off my skin, and in a bit, I was there, lying bared, in the flesh, well, except for the laces that covered the remainder of me.

At the tossing off of my satin nightie, my braid stumbled lazily across my breasts and the rest of it, refused to move and instead, remained snaked up in a coil by the corner of my bed.

'Playing peek-a-boo, are you?' Mark whispered as he nibbled on my lobes. He propped his head up on his elbow and ravished me with his eyes, fingers stroking the stray blonde strands that refused to stay within the braid.

I smiled meekly, and shifted a little.

'What am to do with this?' Mark whispered again, lifting the single perfect braid off my chest. Hands still holding my tied up hair in a perfect arch, Mark bent over to trace his tongue all around the areola of my bead-hard nipples, and then…

'Ooof.'

Look, it was heavy, my braid. Longer than a coconut tree's entire length, tied up into a single, perfect braid, the entire bunch of hair weighed at least 3 kgs, and Mark scowled annoyingly when he realized a single hand's strength was not sufficient to keep the hair bunch in its perfect arch.

The braid had fallen over his neck and he plodded onto my tits. I yowled-lah, of course, you would too, if a grown man's head had fallen unto your tits, MOUTH STILL OPEN, TEETH STILL BARING.

Tip #3: Be in control. Don't lose yourself. No matter how bad the temptation, keep your strength in check. And don't, don't, let the matters of her hair length (and weight) weigh you down into worshipping her breasts.

Lucky for me, Mark was is a man who knows his methods. Saving the day, he shoved the braid out of its imprisoning position, and proceeded to caress the woundsmarks left behind by his teeth.

'Urhhh…' I moaned. Now, I'm not entirely sure whether it was out of pain or pleasure, but anyway, it was good. Even if it was painful (later, the pain would be excrutiating).

'I'm so sorry…' said Mark, and then suddenly, I was overwhelmed. Like a baby, he had crawled onto the tips of my mountains, and like a screaming volcano, I was erupting into …

Sheesh… too graphic again. OK CONTROL CONTROL.

Tip #4: Suckle. Bite. Lick. Squeeze. Whatever. Just make her scream like an erupting volcano. A woman's breasts are after all the pinnacles to her sexual convulsions, your own key to manhood discovery. And also, those things you call nipples? Liken them to buttons on your nintendo joypad to control the rest of the entire session.

Previously on Rapunzel Speaks:
RS 1 RS 2 RS 3 RS 4 RS 5 RS 6 RS 7 RS 8

Rapunzel shares her lovemaking tips:
RS 9: How to do it right #1

I found a cool story, and like your daily storyteller, oft do I recommend links that are very worth a visit.

Excerpts from Barnett's atheist site:

The line seemed to stretch back forever. Hundreds of millions of souls, waiting patiently for their turn before the throne. The date… Well, the day is Judgment Day, so you won't find it on any calendar. The queue of people winds its way down the mountain, through the valley and off into the far distance. Everybody in the queue can see the final destination at the mountain peak. A hundred miles away, they can see it perfectly clearly. And they wait, moving forward a couple of steps at a time. Towards God, and the Decision.

At the head of the we find a young Christian, wearing an expression of awe and joy. Behind him, an atheist, looking slightly astonished, examining a leaf she has picked from a nearby bush, trying to decide if it is real or not. Heaven, she thinks, should be whiter, with more dry ice swirling about; not look like a Welsh hillside on a hot day.

So, be thou a believer, or a non-believer, I thought knowledge is Truth and best we decide for ourselves.

Now judge me to Hell.