How I Got A Lot More Than A Haircut

When the last spasm was over and his dick had gone limp, he sat up against the pillow and said simply "That's just about the quickest I've ever cum." Then he smiled and said "Give me a minute or two and I'll return the compliment."

With his beautiful body close beside mine on the bed, together with the comfort and the knowledge that this was a relationship which meant as much to me as it did to him, I felt no urgency about cumming because I knew that as soon as he was ready he would do me as well as I had done him, so I lay on my side and put my finger in one of the several pools of spunk on his belly and smeared it all over his midriff, joining up the pools as I did so. He giggled at this and it was not long before he was ready for me. He started by kissing me on the lips, then gradually working his way down my body until his face was level with my throbbing dick. Then, while I ruffled my fingers through his hair, he sucked me slowly at first, almost sipping my engorged glans, then placing his hand on the shaft and gently stroking it. The combination of his lips on my knob and his hand on my shaft quickly brought me to the edge and when I told him I was "close", he withdrew his lips and wanked me vigorously until I shot wad after wad onto my belly amidst waves of orgasmic pleasure..

"That's wonderful" he said admiringly. "I bet you've been keeping that one for me!" and I told him that I had laid off wanking during the second half of the week in preparation for this evening. "Lets go downstairs now and have a drink. My mother usually gets back just before ten and it's nine o'clock now. It might be best if she didn't find you here, but if she does, I'll tell her you're a friend, interested in cars like me. She'll understand that."

So we drank a couple of whiskies together and agreed to meet the following Saturday. Before I left, however, I asked him if I should continue to have my hair cut by him in the department store. He thought about this for a moment and then said that that might make things a touch difficult for him in case he suddenly got an erection. Instead, would I like him to cut my hair on one of our Saturday evenings?

He didn't need to ask twice and two Saturdays later I arrived punctually at his home via the back door with hair that definitely needed trimming. Once again he was waiting for me, opening the door before I could knock. As he embraced me he whispered "I'm all ready – let me show you" and he led the way upstairs where I discovered that he had laid a double sheet on the floor in the open space at the foot of the bed, set a chair in the middle, and had the scissors and razor ready to hand on the chest-of-drawers.

"Lets do this naked" he said. "I've never done it like this before" – and he began stripping off his clothes. I did likewise, looking forward – as I had done all week – to the use of those most important tools of all. These were not long in appearing and we seemed ready for action in more ways than one!

"Sit down," he said "And I'll spread this cloth over your lap to catch the hair. We don't want my mother to find red hair on the carpet the next time she hoovers it – and I don't want it added to what you've already got down there. It could be a bit messy!"

So I sat there, his wonderful dick brushing my knees and thighs as he moved round me, trimming my hair. Before he started he said archly in "hair-dresser-speak "And how long would you like it, sir? About seven inches?" – which is what was waving in front of me as he spoke. I couldn't resist taking it in my hand and saying "Seven inches will do very nicely, thank you," but I noticed that the more he concentrated on his cutting, the softer his dick got, especially when I had to let go as he moved to the side and then behind me. But it was still enlarged and when he had finished and was pleased with his handiwork, he stood in front of me, stiffly erect, and I started my own handiwork by wanking him gently at first, then rhythmically and then, as he started to breathe hard, quite fiercely. As he felt his orgasm rise inside him, he pressed down heavily with his hand on my shoulder and at the moment of ejaculation he gasped and almost lost his footing. The spunk fell neatly onto the cloth on my lap, just missing the great hump that my own dick was making. Whenever I have my hair cut today I think back to this most sensuous of experiences and almost always get a hard-on. I hope the barber doesn't notice!

Then it was down on his knees with his head between my knees, the cloth removed and my raging hard-on exposed to his urgent lips. What a ride he gave me – and he only just avoided being hit in the face as my first gob flew vertically into the air. It was the best, er .. haircut I ever had.

We now settled down to a regular routine of meetings, and I know the latter days of each week were spent by both of us in keen anticipation of the Saturday evening to cum. Fred threw in a haircut once a month for good measure! Just occasionally his mother did not go to bingo, in which case we drove out into the country and stopped at the field gate where we had first had sex with each other. Once, however, we managed to meet on his half day off because neither of us could make the weekend. This meant getting permission for me to absent myself from work on the Wednesday afternoon, but I was able to free myself for three o'clock without raising any suspicion. Fred said his mother worked as a caretaker as a local junior school and always left home before three, so it would be safe. Famous last words!

There was an extra frisson about doing it in the afternoon, and we were just getting into it, lying on the bed together, embracing passionately and fondling each other's dicks, when we heard a kind of scraping noise. We looked at each other, wondering what it was, and then there was another scraping noise and we looked towards the window. As we were not overlooked by any other house, Fred had not closed the curtains, and now, as we looked, we saw the top half of a man, with a hard hat on, standing on what must be a ladder, cleaning the window. And he was looking at us – and beginning to gesticulate with his free hand!

We both turned over on the bed to cover our full frontals, and Fred suddenly remembered that his mother had told him that if the window-cleaner came, the money was on the kitchen table. Window-cleaners must get to see some funny things! Anyway, I watched the man at the window as I lay on my tummy and I saw him bend down and place his wash leather below the level of the window sill and then, with his two hands free, he stuck one of his thumbs up, encircled it with the fingers of his other hand, and moved them lewdly up and down. Looking into his face, which was shadowed by the glare of the light behind him, I could see that he was grinning; and then he stopped his wanking movements, pointed at the catch which held the window closed and made a gesture, unmistakably asking us to open it and let him in.

Fred and I looked at each other; and it was Fred who wrapped a towel round his waist and walked to the window and opened it. "You want to join us then?" he asked; and the window cleaner, hoisting himself in through the window, looked up, smiled broadly and said "You bet!"

Then he took his helmet off and we saw that he was as black as the ace of spades!

"Hi, guys, I'm Lenny. Guess I kind-of caught you napping, but it was a real turn-on for me." And with that he took off his water-proof top coat and stood there in his shirt and jeans. Then, as casually as if he was in his own home and had met us many times before, he hoisted his shirt over his head, took off his trainers, undid his belt and let his trousers drop to the floor. I guess he was about our age and both Fred and I were by now sitting literally on the edge of the bed with excitement as the package in his underpants came into view. I had heard the quaint expression that Afro-Caribbeans were often "talented" down there, but if some are "talented" then this guy was a genius! The bulge – and the depth of that bulge - were fantastic.

He saw that our eyes were transfixed, so he grinned and said "Never seen a black guy naked before?" Fred shook his head, whereas I remembered quiet, shy Trevor. But even Trevor had never been this big!

"Look your fill!" announced Lenny, and with that he stepped quickly out of his pants and revealed a dick of superlative proportions, maybe nine inches long – and thick with it. Some long dicks I've seen never seem to stand up straight, but this one did; and the balls which swung beneath it were full and meaty.

"Like what you see?" said Lenny. "So who would like to have first go?"

Like a well-trained school boy Fred half lifted his hand, then dropped it again, but Lenny had noticed the instinctive reaction. "Well now," said Lenny, seating himself comfortably on the end of the bed, "Have a feel of that." And he took Fred's hand and placed it round the thick girth of his dick, peeling back the foreskin and revealing a purple glans of shining, ample dimensions.

Fred slid to the floor on his knees, keeping his hand wrapped round Lenny's tool; Lenny lay down where Fred had previously been lying; and I lay down next to Lenny, who put a hand out and clamped it firmly round my dick. "Nearly as long as me" he said, as he started to wank me, while Fred, who was busy with his own dick with his other hand below the level of the bed-clothes, speeded up his strokes on him.

There was an intense silence in the room as we concentrated all our feelings into our dicks. A tape-recording would have picked up the noise of heavy breathing, the occasional gasp or grunt, even the muffled noise of foreskin slapping on glans. And it was Lenny who broke it first. "I'm goin' to cum, guys," he said, and he whipped his free hand out, removed Fred's and jacked himself to an amazing, spurting climax. Meanwhile Fred, who had been dying to see Lenny cum, was cumming with his own hand by the side of the bed and Lenny's other hand was jerking me to a climax.

I don't rightly know who came first but there was an awful lot of spunk around when we had finished. Fred's had gone on the carpet by the side of the bed and Lenny's lay white and glistening on his shiny black skin. Mine had gone all over the place.

Gradually we came down to earth. Lenny sat up, took a towel Fred had placed on a nearby chair, and cleaned himself up before tossing it to me. Then his clothes, socks and shoes went on, and finally the coat and hard hat. "Back to work" he said simply, with a grin. "Best if I go downstairs, let myself out and climb the ladder. See you!" – and he was off, leaving us stunned by what had happened. By the time he reappeared at the window, cleaning it vigorously, he was smiling again – and we were almost dressed.

Fred went outside with the money his mother had left on the table. "My mother left this for you" he said, projecting his voice so that Lenny could hear it up his ladder. But Lenny waved it away. "Don't want no pay. I enjoyed it. See lots of people doing it on their own, but it's rare to see two guys – and rarer still to be able to join them. See you again some day – I hope!"

Well, as it happens, we didn't see him again but we saw a lot of each other and looking back on our relationship I can see that it was our youthful generosity of response to each other, the way both of us never teased the other or held back from orgasm, our reliability and (old-fashioned word) fidelity to each other which held us together. We considered ourselves bisexual, believing that almost all men and women were basically bi-sexual by nature, but that society imposed strong psychological conditioning in favour of heterosexuality and a compensating inhibition against solo masturbation as well as sexual contact between members of the same sex. Why some people (like us) lacked the inhibition we could never work out. There was an urgent sexual attraction between us, but there was more to it than that. Though we loved each other's dicks and built up technical expertise in terms of wanking each other to a satisfying climax, there was also a deep friendship between us based on neither of us being over-demanding of the other, both of us admiring gentleness and both sharing a love for the countryside, for cars, for books and music. It's true, by the way, that Fred knew every bar of the music in "The Marriage of Figaro" and "The Barber of Seville." Nor did either of us feel compelled to adopt a specific role. We were both pretty "male", I guess!

So it was nearly two years before Fred dropped his bombshell. It was summer and I was surprised when he phoned and said "Lets meet in the car on Sunday instead of on Saturday night. There's something I want to show you." Now I knew he didn't mean his dick, because I'd seen that lots of times and anyway with the long summer evenings it was dangerous to repair to the field-gate on the narrow lane. But I trusted him and met him on the Sunday afternoon without enquiring any further. He took a different route into the countryside than we usually travelled and ended up in a pretty village surrounded by lovely countryside and farms. There was a village green with a duck pond (and ducks) and three old pubs surrounding it. Also a church, some shops and a general air of being a tourist attraction. He stopped in front of one of the shops and I noticed that it had the sign "Gentlemen's Hairdresser" in old-fashioned lettering over the door.

"I'm going to buy it" said Fred.

I shouldn't have been astonished because he'd always told me he wanted his own business one day. But I was. And I asked if he'd seen an accountant's figures to help him judge whether he could make a go of it; and he said he had and that there was no other hairdresser for twenty miles. The villagers would all come to him, as well as the surrounding farms; and in the summer there would be tourists too.

"How about cutting ladies' hair?" I asked. "That could double your trade."

"I've thought about that too. If I refurbish the salon and employ a ladies' hair-cutter, we can both be at work all the time. I can do ladies too, you know" (we both grinned at that!) "And she could help me with the school children. Come in and see" – and he took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

"It's been in the care of a man who was a prisoner of war and he's been here for a very long time. He wants to sell up and retire. There's a lot of goodwill for him in the village which he's keen to pass on to me."

At the back of the salon was a small kitchen; and above were two rooms – a sitting-room and a bathroom. Above them, on the top floor, were two bedrooms. The rooms were all empty of furniture and needed re- decorating whereas the salon needed a complete overhaul, but Fred was sure he could raise a mortgage to cover these costs.

I offered to help in any way I could and both of us were thoughtful on the way home. It had seemed intrusive of me to want to have sex with him while we were in the hairdresser's empty house, even though I had badly wanted to and his mother would be in when we got back. So I guess it was just one of those days when we had to abstain! He was a lovely man, but he was all excited and jumpy about the new venture and was finding it difficult to relax until everything was in place for the move. I helped with the redecoration of the flat, once it had become legally his, and was able to stay the night with him – the first time we had ever slept together all night. As he didn't want the village to think he was gay and living with another man – for fear that his trade would tail off – we couldn't do this often (hardly at all, unfortunately!) but it was lovely when we did!

The time came when he was due to open the new salon, which now had two chairs, though at first he would be using only one until he had established himself and could advertise for assistance. The night before (a Friday) he asked me if I would be his first customer so that he could get used to his new milieu. (He said I could also stay the night!) There were venetian blinds over the window and the glass door which fronted the village green and his new sign in fresh paint looked very smart. Customers had already booked in for the morning so he was feeling quite nervous.

"We'll draw the blinds and I'll cut your hair like I normally do" he said, looking sexily at me.

And so my last naked haircut took place in his newly-equipped salon, with Fred moving round me and finally ejaculating in a frenzy of excitement onto the cloth covering my lap. We did it again, in bed, that night too.

The end is quickly told. So graceful was the way he cut hair, so good-looking and so well mannered in the way he treated customers, that business took off rapidly. We still met from time to time, but as he worked the whole of Saturday and took Mondays off in lieu, the opportunities to do so – and to have sex in comfort and secret – were limited. Within a year he had appointed a young lady, initially to look after the ladies, all of whom secretly fancied him. He got used to his new assistant (who openly fancied him) and in time he told me that they were hoping to get married. I was his Best Man at the wedding, stood god father for his son (born a year after they got married) and saw little of him for two years. However I always hankered after having him cut my hair, as having it cut by anyone else just didn't compare. So I phoned him and asked if he could fit me in at the end of the day on Saturday, after which I offered to take him to a pub for a drink. He agreed at once, and though the haircut couldn't be naked it was wonderfully sensual. And though we set out for a pub in the next village we somehow found ourselves searching for a narrow leafy lane and a "safe" place to park.

And so my story ends almost as it began, with my hand round Fred's wonderful dick and his thick cream spilling over onto my thumb and forefinger. We couldn't afford to meet often like this and for a period after my own marriage we didn't meet at all; but for many years now we have met once a year at Christmas, when rekindling the warmth between us takes no time at all.

But that's another story!