Short Hairs

NOTE: This story is based on a real experience. For many, many years I felt it was too personal to share, even with my closest, trusted friends. So it remained trapped deep within flash memory as a bunch of digital ones-and-zeros. Some of the details have been modified to avoid giving away too much personal info. Enjoy!

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It is a beautiful fall day as we begin the enjoyable hour and a half drive to the Transportation Museum. Along the way we banter back and forth noticing different sites along the way. A car with a big smiley face on the back window; a group of five or six deer prancing across a field; a pasture where a herd of cows are sleeping; a gas station with Regular for under two dollars! Whoa! It has been years since I have seen gas for under two dollars -- I snap a picture. She and I are looking forward to a fun day walking the grounds and seeing all the trains in various states of (dis)repair. We may even learn some trivia or perhaps some useful information. Who knows?

Temperatures in the low forties, a tad cooler than we would have preferred but not unreasonable. Getting out of the car she asks, "Don't you want to bring your jacket?"

"No. It's not a very big place. I can come back for it if I get cold," I reply.

Crossing the grounds we take note of a number of vintage locomotives -- diesel, coal and electric -- on the property, as well as a number of rundown warehouse-type buildings and one, large diameter circular building, the, 'Roundhouse.'

All of the trains outside appear to be permanent fixtures. Rather than using huge cranes to move them into place I imagine that they temporary rails were laid down and later removed, so that they could slowly chug, or more likely tow the various locomotives, coal tenders, passenger coaches and others to their permanent resting places. Now they sit, wheels welded in place on short sections of rail.

Spinning around slowly, surveying from horizon to horizon in all directions, I notice a rail loop running completely around the outer perimeter of the property. Later we learn that the loop is almost two miles long and several times a day they offer train rides with several antique passenger coaches, pulled by an antique steam locomotive. But for now I am left wondering whether any live trains -- ones that actually run -- are kept here.

Arriving at the museum office we step up to the counter where I request, "Two, 'Senior,' tickets please."

"That will be thirteen sixty-three," Ruthie, the older woman behind the counter says without asking for ID to verify my age.

I am proud of myself for remembering to request, 'Senior Tickets," but then realize we only saved a whopping sixty cents on each ticket. Oh well, every little bit helps I guess.

My lady friend asks Ruthie for suggestions on what to see and in what order. She starts her spiel telling about the Roundhouse. It is the biggest one on the east coast, at least according to her memorized script. Inside, many volunteers regularly work on restoring the coaches, cabooses, locomotives and tenders. There is a lot of work being done today and she suggests that we tour that first. Then there is the museum which consists of three interconnected buildings. Even though it is a cold day and the buildings are unheated, she recommends that we should take our time and tour all three buildings. Then she encourages us to buy tickets for the train ride around the grounds, "They are only $6.50 each and well worth it," she says.

We think a train ride is rather childish for two adults with no kids in tow but we do not want to offend Ruthie, so we decline with a sincere, "Not today, thank you."

Taking our tickets and a brochure we head toward the Roundhouse. Along the way my lady friend says, "That's the first time I ever got a, 'Senior,'anything!"

I just smile. Being a, 'Senior,' is nothing new to me -- I have nearly a dozen years on her and so have had plenty of time to get comfortable with it. As a side note I get the sense that she is scared to death, pun intended, about getting old but that's a story for another place, another time.

The Roundhouse was quite intriguing. There were twelve tracks running out of the building, like spokes of a wheel and in the middle there was a working Turntable. All but three of the twelve tracks had some type of train on them with walkways alongside. A man is welding a part on one locomotive. There are a half dozen coaches inside and someone is replacing a window pane on one of them. On another someone is touching up the, 'Old New England,' logo on the outside with green and blue paint. A man is removing the cow catcher from the front of another locomotive. And several people are working inside another coach. The windows are severely scratched and stained making it is hard to see inside but it appears that they are repairing the seat upholstery.

After a time we head over to the museum buildings for a few minutes to check out the various educational displays. We quickly realize that these buildings just make up another boring museum with a lot of "old stuff."

Outside there is another, smaller, open air, Turntable, which is actually operating.

"I'm gonna 'hit the men's room,' before we explore the grounds," I tell my lady friend.

"I'm good," she replies even though I DID NOT invite her to join me in the men's room!

"I'll be out here looking around," she adds.

Standing at the urinal doing my thing I notice for the um'teenth time today that there seems to be something stuck between two of my teeth. Earlier this morning I had thought that it was a protein string from my fried egg at breakfast. You know, those strings created when you crack the egg and drop it in the frying pan, but the shell continues to dribble a little onto the hot pan as you go to toss it in the trash.

During this morning's hour and a half drive I had made several unsuccessful attempts to dislodge it before finally giving up. It was not a big deal; just annoying enough. But eventually I had forgotten about it. Until now, that is.

Finishing my business, I tuck myself back in and zip up. Washing my hands in the icy cold water I glance in the mirror. Staring back at me, my reflection gives me the perfect opportunity to find and expunge the invader between my teeth! Admiring the handsome devil in the mirror, I watch my tongue scour the surfaces of my teeth. Finally it locates something that seems to not belong but I cannot see what it is.

Maneuvering my tongue around, I move in closer. Still nothing. I try pushing the invader around with my tongue hoping to drag it out into the light of day but still nothing. But I am no quitter!

Probing with my tongue, I can feel it but still cannot see anything. Moving in closer still, I focus on two teeth in particular. "Ah! There it is!" I call out.

Silly me! In my excitement and verbalization it slipped away, out of sight!

Starting over, with more dexterity thanks to the first round of practice, I quickly locate it again. 'There it is!' I think to myself, keeping totally silent and not moving a muscle. 'What is this strange invader,' I wonder, zooming in on the spot between two front teeth.

A string of protein from this morning's egg? No. That would be part of the egg white and would be either white or burned to a golden brown. This is reddish... and as my tongue pulls it away from my tooth, it stretches out about a half inch. Then it slips free, curling back up, hidden from view!

Dragging it back out to full length, I suddenly break out in uncontrollable laughter and it immediately snaps back and disappears yet again.

After a moment I am able to calm myself. Pinching the free end of the invader between my fingernails, I give a gentle pull. Slowly it uncurls itself from around my front tooth I discover it is actually about an inch and a half long. Free of my tooth the invader immediately springs back into several tight, golden-reddish loops rising from the tip of my fingers. Examining the loops closely for several seconds I quickly flick it down the drain and head toward the door, chuckling all the way.

Back outside I am laughing so hard tears are running down my cheeks. My lady friend asks straight away, "What is so funny? Maybe I should have come with you!"

"Well, part of you did," I tell her between giggles. Then I shush her until we are out of earshot of an elderly couple who are strolling by.

Regaining my composure I start to explain, in between random outbreaks of laughter, "There has been something stuck in-in-in my... he-he-he-he...

...in my... ha-ha-ha-ha-ha...

...stuck in my teeth sin-sin-since break... ho-ho-ho-ho...

...since breakfast this morning and I finally got it unstuck."

With a sigh and a deep breath I compose myself and continue, "I thought it was a protein string from my e-e-ha-ha-ha egg th-th-ho-ho-ho- this morning but it wasn't!"

Losing it again, I am unable to continue, laughing out loud for nearly a minute as we continue walking toward one of the outdoor locomotives.

"What was it?" she asks, wondering what could possibly be soooo funny.

"Remember this morning while-while-he-he-he while I-ha-ha-ha, while I was," I begin between fits of laughter. "While I was standing at the foot of the bed and you were still in bed?"

"Mmmm, yes," she replies, a satisfied grin enveloping her whole face.

Continuing on, "I had leaned over you, spread you wide and went down on you, diving in, tongue first."

"Ummm," she confirms, her face aglow with an even bigger, devilish smile.

"Ahhhh, so you do remember!" I continue, "The tongue lashing; your multiple orgasms!"

"How could I possibly NOT remember!" she responds. "You were truly amazing!"

I continue, "Well, my teeth were grazing on your pussy just before my lips puckered and formed a tight seal with yours, as I sucked your clit. At that moment one of your hairs tangled itself in my teeth. I remember, at breakfast, feeling something stuck in my teeth but I was not able to locate nor identify it. On the drive today I tried, several times, unsuccessfully, to remove it. Just now, while washing my hands I looked in the mirror and finally found it. One of your cute, curly, golden-reddish pubes -- the right color but far too curly to have come from your head -- was stuck between my teeth."

"The thought that every time I opened my mouth today, one of your red pubic hairs would be peeking out from between my two front teeth cracked me up!" I say, between outbursts of wild laughter. "I wonder if Ruthie noticed!"

With that she gives me a playful, 'roundhouse,' punch on the shoulder and says, "You're terrible! A typical man!"

"Um-hmm," I agree. "But you love me anyway!"