Lending a Helping Hand

Author's note: As always, I have to thank Little Alison (a great author on this site) for her constant encouragement, guidance and support. As well as adding a few wonderful words here and there for this story. I also need to send out a HUGE thank you to my editor Viola Moon (Also a great author on this site) for doing a stupendous job. Her many suggestions and over a thousand edits make this story shine.

Lending A Helping Hand

They tell me that women don't usually stay in the military too long. It wasn't easy, but I made it the full twenty years, attaining the rank of Master Sergeant. I'll have a decent pension when the time comes. Although at 43, retirement is at least another twenty years down the road.

I was able to make it because I had a couple of things going for me. First, I was, and still am, a tall, athletic, strong woman. Some might even say, a slightly masculine woman, except for my breasts-they're anything but masculine. I got up early every day and did PT. I enjoyed working out.

Second, I genuinely liked the military. I liked the daily structure, the chain of command, and ability to see the world.

And third, I didn't tie myself down, I wanted to play the field. Which, as we all know, is just a euphemism for wanting to sleep around. But that was fine by me. I had a hard time being anything more than a short term fling for most women anyway.

Yeah there was the occasional homophobic guy who would call me dyke, butch or carpet muncher. But after I beat the crap out of a few of them, the negative comments died down. I never worried about any repercussions. No ego-maniac American male is going to report to his superior officer that a woman, let alone a lesbian, kicked his ass.

Plus, as I moved up the ranks, I gained more respect, and fighting was no longer necessary. As I matured, I let those negative comments and the side eye disapproving looks roll right off my back.

Separating from the military was a huge adjustment. They even made me take a class to learn how different things would be. I never realized how much the military did for me until I had to do everything for myself. It definitely caused me some stress and anxiety. Many days, I didn't feel like my normal self.

I decided to restart civilian life back in my hometown of Sharon Springs, Kansas. I had no particular plans, but some old friends and lovers still lived there.

My parents passed away two years before I got out. I came home as soon as I got the call, but my mom died just before I got to the hospital. Two weeks later, my dad went into the hospital and died. At least I had the chance to say goodbye to him.

I had a strained relationship with my parents. They figured out early on that I wasn't a girly-girl. I was a tomboy through and through. I never came out to my parents. Just like the Army, it was don't ask, don't tell. But I knew they knew; never once did they ask if I was dating someone.

They never said it, but over the years, I believe they resented me. They knew that I could never give them the grandchildren they desperately wanted, which caused their attitude towards me to change to the point that the last few years were contentious. I think I greaved more for the relationship we could have had than their actual deaths.

The doctors tried to explain to me why they died so young (early sixties). But it fell on deaf ears. I mean, I don't mean to be insensitive-why does it matter how? They're dead, right?

It was tough losing both parents so quickly. The two years between them dying and the time I got out was a daily battle to fight the guilt that I felt.

Anyway... The house I inherited was bigger than most. A five-bedroom, three-bath home on the outskirts of town. My paternal grandfather had it built in 1930, expecting to create a large family, but unfortunately, my grandmother died soon after giving birth to my father. My grandfather never remarried.

To keep myself busy, I spent a few weeks giving it a full top-to-bottom cleaning. It still looked dated, but at least it was clean now. One day, while cleaning, I happened to look in the gold-framed oval mirror in the hallway. It hit me that I was overdue for a haircut.

It was a warm morning as I took a walk around town looking for a place. I keep it shaved on both sides and a little spiky on top. I'm naturally blonde and I like to experiment with different color tips.

I came across an older house on the edge of downtown that was converted into a storefront. There were many houses that had been converted to storefronts around here. The old-timers at the VFW I visit told me it happened right after WWII.

I liked visiting and drinking with the older vets at the VFW, even though I was usually the only woman there. I was widely accepted. No one cared that I was gay. They all treated me like one of the guys. I felt a sense of comradery there. Serving abroad in Desert Storm was my claim to fame. I personally didn't engage the enemy. I was in the military's version of HR, but my job involved processing paperwork for the deceased when we lost someone. It tore me up every time.

As I approached the old storefront, a bright neon sign caught my attention: Rock, Paper, Scissors. Cute name I thought. I walked the narrow sidewalk and up two creaky steps. I stopped at the old beveled-glass front door. The faded red and white flip-around sign read, 'Open,' but as I peered in, I didn't see anyone. It looked fairly dated as well. There were three cutting/styling stations, two hair wash stations and two old time hair dryer chairs. I snickered to myself. Does anyone really use them anymore? Maybe it's an older woman that runs the place.

I couldn't be more wrong. Bursting through a bright green curtain at the back of the room was an attractive, petite, 30-something woman carrying a broom. A bright smile popped onto her tired face when she saw me staring through the window. She excitedly waved me in.

The customary bell at the top of the door announced my entrance into the air conditioning. She said, "Hi I'm Candy. Can I help you with something?" Her body language and the way she spoke gave her an air of confidence. Her blonde hair was long, really long, with bright blue streaks. Not styled in any way, just pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her ruby red colored lips looked... I want to say... inviting?

She was wearing a simple, bright, knee-length yellow dress with a short black styling apron covering the front. It was all fairly wrinkled, but I don't judge. Maybe she had a rough night or a hectic morning.

I guessed that she had kids because she had wider hips and that extra little weight mommy-hood tends to put in some women. Her B size breasts sat low on her chest, but fit her smaller frame well.

As I stopped just a few feet away, her big eyes completely distracted me. Baby blue with dark blue flecks, along with a dim sparkle that was probably brighter in her earlier days. Time stood still for those few seconds as I just gazed at her.

Why am I staring at her? She WAS pretty... Very pretty. But she had that 'I didn't sleep well' look... And yet there was still something mesmerizing about that dim but persistent sparkle in her eyes. I just couldn't look away. Her smile was warm and did its best to light up an otherwise tired look. I felt attracted to her in a way that was hard to explain. Physically for sure, but also in the way you're attracted to a lost puppy. I felt like she needed help. I felt an extraordinarily strong pull to be the one to help her. I just wasn't sure how or what I could do.

She just stood there, looking back at me with her pretty but weary smile. She patiently waited for me to stop staring and say something. Finally I snapped out of it.

"Oh yeah, I wanted to get my haircut and maybe green tips on top." I smiled back, but my eyes wouldn't let go of hers.

"Okay, sweetie, sit down in the chair, and let's see what I have to work with," she said in a forced upbeat tone.

"I should tell you that I'm kinda particular about my hair," I mentioned as I settled into the comfortable chrome and black cushioned styling chair.

"Haven't met a woman yet who wasn't," she said, while smiling softly back at me through the mirror.

"It has to be just the way I like it. Normally I don't let it grow too long, so I get it cut often." I returned her gentle smile.

"Okay, Okay, I got it, honey. You're not the first military girl I've seen in here. I've heard the term the guys use. High-n-Tight."

"Well, almost, I guess. I mean, I don't want to look like a jarhead," I replied, smiling and gazing into her delicate blue eyes.

"I think I get it. You're looking for a shorter version of what you have now."

"It sounds simple when you say it like that," I said approvingly.

The whole time we were talking, her fingers seemed to effortlessly weave through my hair, lightly scraping my scalp. It caused small tingles to course through my entire body. My nostrils couldn't get enough of her perfume. It was vanilla mixed with something woodsy-a captivating fragrance mixing sweet with something strong. The combination of her fingers dancing through my hair and her fragrance weaving through my olfactory glands, gave me wonderful little goosebumps.

My heart fluttered as she took my hand like we were walking out to a dance floor, but she was only guiding me to the sink across the room to wash my hair. The tingles and goosebumps continued, and I couldn't help but feel a certain arousal... I noticed her hands, dainty, with short, unpainted fingernails.

I lost myself in the blissful sensations her magic hands were giving me while she washed my hair. I admit, I started to feel even more aroused. Some of the tingles even traveled to that special spot. You know the one... I could have stayed there all day letting her wash my hair.

When she finished, she delicately held my hand, guiding me back to the chair. This time, her other hand was on the small of my back. I'm sure she did that for everyone, but it stirred something in me. Somehow, this small gesture made me feel special.

She stood behind me looking into the mirror. I watched as her fingers continued to run through my hair. I loved every second of it. She wore a gentle smile, sometimes catching my eye. She kept her hands moving all over my head. Hemming and hawing like she was trying to figure out where to start.

Several times I closed my eyes and just let the tingles carry me away. I shouldn't have, but I was definitely getting aroused.

When I opened my eyes, I noticed that she was staring off into space. Her mind was somewhere else. But her fingers continued to glide through my hair, evoking more tingly goosebumps ... Unable to contain myself any longer, I let out a soft moan. Candy finally popped out of whatever daze she was in.

"Oh my, sorry... Um." I could tell she was searching for my name, but I never told her.

"Danielle, but everyone calls me Dani." I sighed. Disappointed that the goosebump raising experience was temporarily over.

"Well, I'm sorry Dani. I seemed to have lost myself in thought for a few minutes." She plucked a dark blue cape from an antique clothes hook and wrapped it around me.

I chuckled, "I didn't mind. I could have sat here for the rest of the day. Your hands are magic," I said with a smile, trying to catch her eye.

"Humm, what?" She didn't hear me, but it wasn't worth repeating.

"Something serious must be on your mind," I inquired.

"Oh, nothing for you to worry about," Candy said, as she nervously organized an already perfectly laid out styling station.

"I don't mind," I said, with a friendly smile. "People tell me that I'm a good listener."

"I don't like to talk too much while I'm cutting hair. Why don't you tell me your story Dani, THEN I'll tell you mine."

"Fair enough sweetie." I quipped. Where did 'sweetie' come from, I usually don't talk like that?

She started running the comb through my wet hair. As I listened to the snappy sound of the scissors, I regaled her with some highlights. "Well I'm 43, just got out of the military after twenty years. I was a Master Sergeant, so I'll have a decent pension when I retire. My parents died two years ago and I'm living in their old house. I like to work out, I'm gay..." She quickly interrupted me, yet her scissors never stopped snapping away. I noticed a twinkle in her eye and her lip curled up as she spoke.

"That's funny." Her pretty eyes made contact with mine,"I'm Presbyterian..." Ha, she made a joke.

This kind of thing happens to me now and then. Some nice people will tease me in some way, because, for most people, it's obvious that I'm gay. I just have that look. But it's also their way of putting me at ease and letting me know that they don't mind at all. Over the years, I've taken it as a way of people accepting me without actually saying the words.

I came up with something funny to say back to her. "We'll, I'll bet I'm more gay than you are more Presbyterian."

She stopped cutting for a few seconds to laugh heartily along with me. That was a really nice icebreaker, I thought. From that point on, talking became easier and more comfortable.

The whole mood of the place felt light and airy. I felt like Candy and I could be friends. Making her laugh made me feel like I was helping her to momentarily forget her troubles.

After the laughing subsided, and going against what she said earlier, she started talking. "Oh, it's my husband," she said, snipping away.

"What about him?" Snip, snip.

"He's an ass." Snip, snip.

"Aren't they all?" Snip, snip.

Candy laughed at my comment, then continued to share her story. She told me how she married shortly after beauty school, which was right after high-school, to a man ten years her senior (probably around my age). They had two children, born only a year apart. I heard the term 'Irish Twins' used to describe that.

Like many couples, things were good in the beginning. But after only a few years, her husband had become distant, emotionally unavailable and quick tempered. She stayed with him for the sake of her kids, but recently, things had worsened. He was never around, was verbally abusive, and showed no interest in their kids.

He worked on THE pipeline. The one that a lot of men worked on around here. He would be gone for a few months then back for a few weeks. It was a stressful job, but he made great money.

She said that when he wasn't working, his routine involved going out and having several beers with his buddies, returning home late to complain that dinner was cold, and then lying down on the couch and snoring for two hours. Meanwhile, she helped their teenage son and daughter with their homework.

Candy stopped cutting and made direct eye contact with me through the mirror. "We haven't had sex for years now, let alone any kind of cuddling or intimacy... I mean, I come to bed with my sexiest lingerie, or sometimes even naked. But all he says is that he's tired," she sighed. Her eyes grew sadder. "I miss being cuddled and having sex."

I know things felt very comfortable between us, but I didn't expect her to talk about her sex life. Although, I did tell her I was a good listener, so maybe I should have expected something like that. I mean, she got real personal, real fast... I had to say something encouraging. "I don't know what to tell you, Candy, like you said... your husband is an ass." I tried to think of something better to say, but the silence dragged on.

I didn't want to say the one inappropriate thing that popped into my head... But, of course, that's what came out. "All I know is Candy, if you were playing on my team, cuddling and sex would be the last thing you'd have to worry about." I rebuked myself for letting that out. It didn't sound like the compliment that I meant it to be... It sounded like I was hitting on her.

She gave me a strange look for a second, then a huge smile covered her face. Another hearty laugh spilled out of her. "Well, Dani, if I don't get some soon, I might just take you up on that." I don't think she realized the dull sparkle in her eyes suddenly lit up the entire room, and her smirky little smile suddenly grew to a naughty ear-to-ear grin. She was hiding something.

Now the strangest part... Yes, it got a lot stranger. From that point on, as she kept working on my hair, she often bumped her crotch into my hand as it was gripped around the front of the armrest.

I tried to tell myself that it was incidental contact. But time after time, when she leaned towards me to do something on the top of my head, her yellow dress covered pussy would make steady contact with the back of my left or right hand.

Twice she even stood on her tippy toes at the same time, making the contact feel like she was lightly rubbing herself on the back of my hand. I could feel the heat of her pussy through her thin dress.

I kept telling myself I was letting my imagination run away with my libido. She couldn't be doing this on purpose, I thought. There had to be SOME plausible explanation. I did my best to ignore her, but I have to admit, it gave me a little thrill.

She flashed me her cute, funny smile that fluttered my heart again as she removed the cape. "All done."

I looked in the mirror and I looked fantastic. I mean the cut, the style, the colored tips, it all looked fantastic. Candy was a real professional, I thought. I was genuinely impressed! I told her how great I thought it looked, and just out of appreciation, when I stood up, I gave her a quick hug.

But when I loosened up on the hug, she didn't. It felt odd at first, but then I realized, this woman really needed a hug. A friendly, non-sexual hug. So I hugged her back with a caring snug grip. She re-tightened her grip, sighed, then rested her head sideways just under my chin. My one hand reached up to cup the back of her head and gently pet her hair. My other hand slowly slid down her back, all of this in a friendly way.

Feeling her warm body next to mine was quite enjoyable, and her fragrance made me think of summer. No words were said. She tightened her grip even more, then sighed again. My heart was pounding, but why? She was straight, I thought.

I wanted to say something, but the last time I opened my mouth, I sorta hit on her. So I just shut up. We stood there hugging for a good two minutes. I felt myself slowly twisting one way then the other, feeling a genuine connection with Candy. Our hearts beat against each other, while my mind and heart debated whether my feelings for Candy were just friendly or something much deeper.

My heart didn't want her to, but she loosened her grip on me. Then she whispered, "Thank you, Dani." She leaned back with her arms at my sides, her head pointed down. "Not including my kids," she continued, then looked up. "That hug was the MOST human contact I've had in six months."

Talk about feeling sorry for someone... The debate between my heart and mind raged on. But why? She's obviously straight. Then again, I've slept with many 'seemingly' straight women in the military.

I looked into her pretty blue eyes. "Candy, I feel bad for you, I really do. But honey, if you want things in your life to change, the only person that can change them is you..."

My hands caressed her upper arms. "Candy... Life is too short, I've seen young men and women go out on a mission and return as amputees. I've had to send personal effects back home to loved ones because some never made it back alive. I, more than anyone, know that life is too short to be miserable all the time."

I kept my hands on her upper arms, she looked away for a second, but my eyes searched out hers, and we reconnected. "Candy...Honey ... You deserve to be happy."

With Our eyes still locked, my hands slid down to gently hold her soft hands. "Take some time and really think about what you WANT from life, what you NEED from life. Then, even though it may be difficult, make the changes necessary to make YOU happy."