Gray Jedi Ch 5
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Gray Hair free porn video
-May 6th
Gray hair is the most courageous kind of hair. It starts as one
strand, alone, unnoticed atop your head, hidden in a sea of darker
strands, and yet it remains steadfast. It waits. It is not deterred.
And soon enough, it finds friends, and those friends become steadfast
as well. And eventually, that single gray hair has lead a revolution
and your entire head now reflects what that single initial gray hair
wanted to see in the world.
And on the morning of my fortieth birthday, I had found that first
single gray hair among the jet black crew-cut follicles just above my
left ear. I stared at its reflection in my bathroom mirror, and
couldn't help but admire it. You, you single insignificant speck
among thousands of insignificant specks, you foretell a future that is
unchangeable.
But it was a future that I invited. I couldn't wait to cultivate that
"distinguished middle-aged man" look. My forties were going to be my
best decade yet.
-May 7th
Revolution, at times, is known to come swiftly and uncompromisingly.
As I stood in front of my bathroom mirror on the morning after my
fortieth birthday, a dozen other white strands had already joined
their friend from yesterday, split between both sides of my head.
While that may be unusual, however, it was nothing I wasn't prepared
for. Everyone goes gray eventually, and I was sure that Donna would
love my new look anyway. I was going to own this.
-May 12th
Somehow, it seemed that the grey hairs were growing more quickly than
my other hairs. Not just in number, but in length. The handful of
white strands drooped low enough to tickle the tops of my ears, and I
had to brush them back to keep them tame.
Donna came into the bathroom as I was examining myself. She gave a
muffled smile at my reflection, then went on her way. I'd have to
make an appointment at the barber's. Dignified graying I can handle,
but this was verging on the silly.
-May 15th
More gray hair. More long, gray hair. I'd run an electric razor
lightly over my temples just to trim the longer strands of hair, but
they came back, and they brought friends. Long, stringy friends.
What was happening?
I took the electric razor out again and nipped the newcomers once
more. As I was putting the razor away, Donna joined me again. She
was all smiles, like she hadn't noticed anything was wrong, which was
just as well. She just brought her hand to my cheek and said, "You
look wonderful today, honey."
Then she left, and I realized something. I'd used my electric razor
on my temples a lot recently, but not on my face. Yet Donna's hand
had touched only smooth skin.
-May 18th
The individual strands of gray hair had graduated into full-on tufts.
This morning, Donna came into the bathroom before I had a chance to
get out the razor.
"Oh," she said, surprised, "Nestor, you look so young!"
"Young?" I grabbed at my protruding plumage. "Look at all this gray
hair!"
Donna just laughed. "Nestor, you don't have gray hair."
"What?"
"Look," she approached me and grabbed a handful of her own hair, "it's
the same shade of blonde as mine. It makes you look younger!"
I stared at the mirror in disbelief. She was right. I wasn't growing
gray hair, I was growing blonde hair.
-May 25th
The first strands of gray... of blonde hair had appeared at the top of
my head. Donna was right, I was definitely looking younger. Maybe
even, smaller? Was that possible? I started to button up my shirt,
but my fingers fumbled. Something wasn't right. The buttons were
wrong. On the wrong side.
This was Donna's shirt. How was Donna's shirt managing to fit around
my frame? I was definitely getting smaller.
-May 28th
Why did I keep my razor on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet? I
had to stretch on my toes to reach it, and this morning I wasn't
managing to get my fingers around it.
Deflated, I gave up. My hair would have to be uneven today, I thought
to myself as I buttoned up one of Donna's blouses.
-June 1st
"Ugh, I look like a hyena!" I grunted at the mirror in frustration.
Blonde hair at my temples, blonde hair flowing from my widow's peak to
the nape of my neck, and shorter black hair in between. It was not a
good look.
"Honey, you look fine." Donna came into the bathroom to reassure me.
"It's just a little messy. We need to do some styling with it is all,
come with me."
She grabbed her hairbrush from next to the sink and pulled me back
into the bedroom.
-June 4th
The blonde portions of my hair were long and thick enough now that I
could sort of do a reverse-combover, and it looked fine even if I
didn't brush it out. I still wanted to style it anyway.
My gaze got lost in the mirror as I pulled Donna's brush through my
hair. My face looked out of place now. It seemed somehow too rough
for my silky new hair. It didn't really look right sitting above my
blouse. Furtively, I glanced at Donna's makeup brushes. Should I?
-June 6th
I've been forty years old now for a month now, but the person looking
at me in the mirror doesn't appear to be forty years old. She looks
youthful. She looks happy. Part of me wants to say that's just the
makeup, that it's masking my real age for me, but as my blonde hair
bobs around my shoulders, I feel younger, too. There's only a hint of
black now as I pull my hair behind my ears. There's only a hint of
the person I used to be.
"Used to be." That seems appropriate. I'm not thinking in the same
way as I used to, not acting in the same ways. It's like with every
new strand of blonde hair, my life has become a little more blonde.
I've started to wear Donna's clothes all the time now. Not just
because they fit me, but because I think they look cute on me. I kind
of like being short. I stopped into a stationery store the other day,
and was lost among the shelves for an hour before I thought to let
Donna know where I'd disappeared to. The mirror I find myself looking
into is now bordered by the stickers I walked out of that store with.
There was a small part of me still screaming in the back of my head
about respect, about being dignified, but I wasn't really
contradicting any of that. I had new interests, and could maybe get a
little more obsessive about them than-- you know what? No. Sitting
in a stationery store for an hour is no more obsessive than going to
four different tailors in search of the right suit jacket. Brushing
out my hair every morning is no more obsessive than staring at my
freshly-shaven face. I'm the same person, I'm just more fun now.
More fun in the same way that bouncy blonde hair is more fun than a
strict black crew-cut.
-June 7th
"Nessa!" Donna opened the door behind me. "What are you doing in my
bathroom?"
I demurred sheepishly. "I was just borrowing some of your makeup. Is
that okay?"
She sighed. "It's fine, just ask first. And please use the guest
bathroom, I don't expect anyone else to be using mine."
Donna was right. She was being nice to me, letting me stay with her
until I found my first job. She's a good friend.
My first job. I knew that wasn't right, that I'd been working full
time for two decades, but somehow I couldn't remember any of it. It
didn't matter, that wasn't me anymore.
"Your makeup is so much nicer than mine," I complain as I retreat from
the bathroom.
"Nessa." Donna stopped me as I reached the bathroom door. "Come
here."
I walked back to her.
"Look in this mirror."
I did so, and she put her hands on my shoulders, placed her blonde
head right next to my own.
"What do you see?"
"I see myself, and I see a madwoman holding me by the shoulder."
Donna laughed. "Well, I see courage. I see a person ready to face
the world, ready to change the world, ready to take it on and make
everyone out there see things the way that she does. I see someone
who cannot be deterred, who will find her friends and stand steadfast
with them. I see someone who can lead a revolution, and make the
entire world reflect what she wants to see. She may seem
insignificant, but she represents the world to come."
I was speechless. What could I even say to that?
"And," Donna added, letting go of me, "she doesn't need my makeup to
do it."
I laughed. She laughed. She shooed me out of her room, and I never
went into that bathroom again.
Cathalina
- 05.07.2021
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