A lock of Susan’s hair

I didn’t have a locket for my lock of Susan’s pretty hair. I kept it in my wallet wrapped in wax paper. It was a perfect curl, light brown and thick. I cut it from her pussy myself. My intimate relationship with Susan’s pussy allowed for such a privilege. I coveted that curl, asked for it, and was granted removal and ownership rights. I don’t recall, but I might have kissed her twat in gratitude for that incomparable gift. Years later I dispensed with my prize during a weak moment of concern for posterity.