Carrying the FlagChapter 6 PTSD
The girl on the other side of the spa's front window was probably five years old. Nearly flat on my back, the barbers' chair fully reclined, I was sprawled out like a frog on a lab table, my pussy in her face. Clutching her momma's hand she fidgeted, her kneecaps dancing. She wasn't bored. Watching me getting my Brazilian wax made her eyes big. At least her pigtails didn't stick out like Pipi Longstocking's. She'd outgrown her yellow sundress with its short puffy sleeves, lace bodice,...