Six: Abandon the bike. Buy a one way ticket to New York from the machine. Pay cash. Seven: Board the train, wait a few hours, get in a bathroom, cut m... shoulder length hair into whatever isn’t shoulder length hair. Bleach the fuck out of it. I don’t want to change my hair colour, I like my natural dark brown, but I have to change it. If Emily and Josh report me missing, they’ll be looking for a brown haired girl with shoulder length hair, not a blonde with a short do. Eight: Find a pawn shop to. We could furnish the place tonight if we wished.The kitchen looked done, too. The floor now had the Formica tile. I hadn't realized it was part of the design, but the countertops matched the floor. And it was also on the walls above the countertops up to the bottom of the cabinets. It wasn't a perfect match; that would have been too boring. The counters and walls had the same white that was on the floor without the gold specks my women had chosen. I felt the wall above the counter. A wet sponge. Sophia is a 38 year old brunette, she's married to Ryan and they have an 8 year old son. She has been my hairdresser for a few years now and I've always had a thing for her. She is a self-employed hairdresser with her own hair salon at home. This story took place last week. On Tuesday I called Sophia to make an appointment to cut my hair. She told me that I could come around 7 PM on Thursday. It was 6.35 PM when I started to walk to her salon, her house was close to my house, I arrived around. She seemed to know all about the particular sensitivities of the arrowpoint under the knob. And gave that spot the majority of her tonguishattentions.And then there was the digital intervention.As I approached liftoff, Alicia stopped her astounding attentions and didtwo things.She produced a tube from Goodness knows where and slowly and carefullyrefreshed her lipstick.As I panted in pre-orgasmic disorientation.Then she licked two fingers of her right hand. And stuck then into.