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Contents:
  1. Tagged Collections
  2. What does trichophilia mean?
  3. Translation of "Trichophilia" in French

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Trichophilia

Not to be confused with Unhairing. Shaving — This article is about the use of a razor. For the thin strip removed from the surface of a piece of wood by planing, see Plane tool. For the metalworking process, see Piercing metalworking Shaving. We are using cookies for the best presentation of our site. Continuing to use this site, you agree with this. Trichophilia Trichophilia , hair partialism , or hair fetishism is a paraphilia in which one becomes sexually aroused by, or is extremely fond of, human hair; commonly head hair.

Hinsza, David C. He waited until the next day, to see if he could rid himself of the dream of little brown-haired children and a mother who knelt down to hug them, before he broke up with Jessica. He flipped over the last picture. Angela was a fourth year med student specializing in anesthesiology. He'd been careful, examining her hair, pointing out small children and pregnant ladies to a favorable response, and inquiring delicately how she felt about short hair. I used to Hula when I was little. Which led to a request for an authentic hula dance, which involved her wearing only a grass skirt and a few flowers, her sensuous long straight hair skimming her hips as she danced.

That was one of the more erotic moments of his life, not captured in any photograph but burned in his memory. She was perfect, until that Saturday. He'd bought tickets weeks ago, as soon as he'd heard about the showing of all three of the original Star Wars movies, in the new theater with the comfy seats. It wasn't easy to clear the day so they both could go, but he'd begged and bribed people as needed to make it happen. He'd wanted to wrestle up some costumes, but that would have ruined the surprise.

He brought tee-shirts they could slip on.

Hers had a picture of Princess Leia holding a weapon with the words, 'I don't know where you get your delusions, laser brain! He intentionally left his hair extra wild for the event. He couldn't wait. There would be a short intermission between each film with food: In the morning, Luke Skywaffles, in the afternoon, Han-burgers on Obi-buns and Frozen Yoda-gurt and Wookie-Cookies for dessert. As they drove past the banners hanging outside the theater, some people in costume already lined up, Edward smiled waiting for her reaction.

Angela looked up and down the sidewalk. I don't know what anyone sees in those movies, like grow up already people. It had been a few months since the Star Wars debacle. Edward had poured himself into his studies to the point of exhaustion, benefitting his GPA as well as his sympathy quota from his mom, who was outdoing herself with breakfast making cinnamon buns, French toast, bacon and omelets.

His father had less sympathy, having done the same when he was in school, except according to Edward's dad, medical students 'studied 48 hours a day, days a year, without these pansy breaks' such as Edward was currently enjoying. He ignored his father's harrumphing at all the carbohydrates on the table, and focused on consuming a few thousand calories dipped in syrup. He wasn't paying attention until the tail end of his mother's story. After all these years she comes back to—".

Grabbing the freshly squeezed orange juice Edward took a big gulp to clear his throat, but the maple syrup made the orange juice taste toxic. His instinct was to spit the mouthful out but he forced himself to swallow, then slurped his coffee to offset the sugar overload. His mother was already rambling about a new trail clearing project her 'Friends of the Parks' group was sponsoring. Surely this was the babysitter his mother was talking about, the other was too much to hope for. It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt out 'Princess Leia is back!

Really, he thought, how many twenty three year olds still harbored a secret crush on their babysitter? His father looked up from the last of his omelet. Let him. As she moved to leave the room she said to her husband, "Feel free to jump in and help Carlisle.

Carlisle laughed, rising from his seat with his coffee mug in hand. Clean away Edward. Stacking the dishes on the counter, Edward finished the last piece of French toast folded in half in his hand, dipping the corner into the remnants of maple syrup left on his plate as he refined his plan. As soon as his mothers' car left the driveway he started searching through her stash of plastic bags under the sink, hoping that one held the receipt.


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  • As he looked he realized, Organic food store—probably not using plastic bags. In the pantry his mother had a stash of reusable grocery bags. Rifling through the totes there were birds, barns, an American Flag, but nothing from an organic food store in Forks. He felt like slapping himself. He took out his phone and punched in a quick search.

    Tagged Collections

    Slipping his phone into his pocket he picked up his keys from their hook and moved towards the backdoor. What if his mother was just being polite and she didn't really look the same? In any case, he needed to find out. Maybe she'd put some teen girl mojo on him and seeing her middle aged self would cancel out the spell. Now, chop chop. Was their little downtown always this crowded?

    Edward couldn't remember having to drive for so long to find a parking spot. He'd driven past the tiny store with the freshly painted sign but there wasn't an empty space on the whole street. Maybe this was an omen. He'd been talking himself into and out of the idea the entire drive. She'd been a senior in high school, so at most she was thirteen years older, possibly twelve. That was far from an insurmountable number. Maybe it wasn't her hair that he wanted, maybe it was the whole package; her sweet smile, loving disposition.

    She'd taken him seriously when he read to her, never let him just win at chess, patiently and seriously answered his questions, baked cookies for him, held his hand during thunderstorms.

    Etymologies

    Maybe that was just because she was a good babysitter, but he had to find out if there was something else. He'd just decided to circle the block one more time before abandoning his mission when he saw her. He couldn't help himself and stomped on the brake, the car squealing to a stop in the middle of the street. He watched as she walked carrying a box, her long brown hair blowing in the wind behind her, denim shorts showing smooth bare legs. He could only see her from the back but he had no doubt from her stride that this was his Princess Leia about to cross the street.

    He'd be able to see her face in another second and—. The driver behind him expressed his displeasure, giving Edward the one finger salute, forcing him to move his car. Edward searched his rearview mirror as he drove, one hand pulling his red hair, but his Princess was gone. Three blocks over he finally found room to park. He walked past store after store with their goods displayed all over the sidewalk. It was some kind of 'Shop Local Saturday' thing, now he remembered his mother mentioning it.

    The streets were packed with shoppers strolling lazily, conspiring to block him from his destination. She was still trying to get the two of them back together, but last he'd heard, Alice was living in New York City and going by the name of Alan. He nodded his head as she babbled, until he couldn't take it anymore. Say hi to Al when you see…Al. Keeping his head low he avoided talking to any other neighbors, former classmates or former girlfriends and made it to Forks-Full of Goodness.

    He decided he would not comment on the name, maybe all the good names were taken when she incorporated her business. A huge dreamcatcher hung on the door, which was propped open by a burlap sack marked 'organic potatoes'. The shelves were crowded with jars of honey and honey comb, handmade soaps in pastel baskets, jam jars covered with squares of gingham and tied with twine. He had no idea there were so many combinations of chutney, from where he stood he could see mango pineapple, ginger peach, apple guava—. He smiled, savoring her sweet voice, but stopped himself from turning around.

    This could be the moment that changed his life, and he wanted to savor it. How many people meet their soul mates at five and a half? This was momentous. He turned, his arms out to greet the love of his life who was a very round woman in a long batik pattern dress with black cat glasses and short purple hair.

    She had her arms out too. He wrapped his arms around her lightly but she gave him a good, solid hug, the kind he'd get from his mother after she hadn't seen him in a few weeks. It felt good but disproportionate.

    What does trichophilia mean?

    Their last hug they shared he only reached her waist and now her head barely reached his chin. There's someone I want you to meet. Setting muffins into a basket on the counter was teenage Renee's clone, the girl he'd seen on the street. That last part was you. Girls like their hair too, but they might not appreciate your absolute devotion to it. Get up on that saddle, Tonto. Tip 1: Make your compliments deeper and more weighty.

    Translation of "Trichophilia" in French

    Girls like abs, right? Okay, well, take that, and inverse it to hair and make it relate to me and you have hair like The Rock has abs. Perfect, strong hair. Tip 2: When you ask her on a date, make it hair oriented. You just want to be around her hair, until you inevitably try to hook up with her. Take her to places where you can tell people about her hair. Have you seen her hair? Just to clear that up. Tip 3: Stroke her hair as much as you can. Thus, you have to make every second count. Invent excuses to put your hands in it, to twirl it around in your fingers.

    Keep some of these handy, you know, just in case you get lucky. Tip 4: Give her hair-related pet names. Organize these bags by date and amount.