Oggbashan Stew Pt. 02

We re-erected the double beds in the two smaller bedrooms, leaving the largest bedroom for the storeroom's contents. By the end of the evening we were both tired. We shared a take-away Chinese meal in the bare kitchen. As I left, Sandra hugged me and kissed me. That made up for being bossed around all evening. Until that kiss I had felt used.

Friday morning I slept on the train on the way to work. I had aches in places I didn't know could ache. Even so I was hoping to get another kiss from Sandra tonight.

That evening we started on the shop's storeroom. The largest piles were plain white boxes that felt light. They half-filled the van in minutes because we could carry so many at once. There were four shop mannequins and six half mannequins, all obviously female with large busts. One of the full mannequins and one of the half mannequins seemed to be giantesses -- why?

While we were unloading at the flat, Alice had been packing the contents of several shop drawer units into cardboard boxes. Again they were light but bulky. We added a few pieces of furniture, a couple of small tables and a few chairs. I drove to the flat and we unloaded. The spare bedroom was piled with boxes stacked high along one wall. As we carried items I noticed that Sandra had made up both double beds in the other bedrooms. Why both?

I found out several trips later at 10pm. We had just finished emptying the van and I had shut its doors.

"Lock the van, please, Ian," Sandra asked.

I pressed the remote locking.

"Come in."

She shut the flat's front door behind us. I followed her into the kitchen to be greeted by the pleasant smell of cooking.

"I've made us a meal," Sandra announced. "It's only a pasta bake but we can't live on takeaways. Will you open the wine?"

"Wine? I can't. I'm driving."

"No you're not." Sandra threw her arms around me and kissed me hard. "You're staying here tonight. That's why there are two made-up beds. Your dad dropped a change of clothes, your pyjamas and toothbrush off at the shop this morning. They're in a box in the second bedroom."

Who was I to object? I couldn't anyway. Sandra's lips had claimed mine again.

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Story 039

New Year Hair

It started at last year's office Christmas Party. Chloe, who had just ended a course of chemotherapy, had lost her hair and was wearing a wig. She mentioned a charity that collected long hair to make wigs for those like her who lost their hair temporarily.

Several of the women decided to have a competition to see who could grow the longest hair by next Christmas. Their hair would be measured and then they would have their hair cut and donated to the charity Chloe had mentioned. Julie wanted the men to take part as well. Most refused except to sponsor some of the women. After persuasion from Julie, Chloe and a couple of others, as well as sponsoring Julie, I agreed to grow a beard until next Christmas.

Several of the women already had long hair so only the increase would be measured. During the year they met monthly to compare progress. I was part of the group, to have my beard measured -- and pulled.

Margaret, one of the older women, who worked part-time and worked from home as a hairdresser, had agreed to be the judge and to cut everyone's hair for the charity. She would also cut my beard even though my beard hair wasn't wanted.

One thing I had found difficult about the hair challenge. As their hair grew longer, the women had to spend more time caring for it. They began to hate having it messed up because of the hours of work necessary to keep it in good condition. Although I liked long hair on women, I was beginning to dislike it because I couldn't touch theirs and certainly not play with it without turning the woman from a pleasant friend into an annoyed and angry virago. By the Christmas Party almost all of those involved were looking forward to having normal length hair again that could be fixed in minutes instead of hours.

I actually mentioned my frustration at the meeting in April. Most of them agreed with me that caring for their hair had been a pain. They too missed playing sexual games with it, but the consequence of misusing their hair was hours of remedial care. Marion, who had started with the longest hair but who already knew she was not in the running to win the competition, sat on my lap, took her hair in her hands, and covered my face and whole head with it. I enjoyed several minutes of revelling in the soft touch of her perfumed hair. Some of it became tangled in my beard. Marion had to ease her hair away gently. Afterwards she insisted that I repaid her by brushing and combing her hair back to its former state. Margaret, who was present at the time, showed me how to brush and comb properly. I had to repay Marion for several minutes of enjoyment with half an hour of hairdressing.

My attention to Marion's hair was apparently so effective that each of them wanted half an hour of my hairdressing. At subsequent meetings a succession of long-haired women sat on my lap to have their hair brushed by me. Every time their hair and their warm backsides produced an embarrassing erection. By July, Chloe asked me to brush her short hair because she felt she was missing out. She was celebrating a six-month check-up that had shown her still free of cancer. She wriggled on my erection so much that I had difficulty keeping the brush at work.

As the year went on almost all of them became more tactile at work. The women stroked, hugged, and kissed me several times a day, so much so that some of my few male colleagues became slightly jealous. There was a real advantage for me. I could ask any of my women friends for advice or help, and I would get it. Of course I reciprocated whenever I could. I became more productive, so did they, and the whole office became more efficient.

By September there were four main contenders in the hair-growing contest. Julie, Annabelle, Marion and Frances had a longer increase than any of the others. My beard had reached my chest and I had to shave under it to stop it merging with my torso's hair.

This year's office Christmas Party was on the 10th of December.

I had enjoyed the monthly meetings. If they hadn't been office colleagues I am sure that I would have been out with one or more of them during the year, but I wanted to keep work and love separate. Several times during their meetings I regretted that. They treated me not just as a friend, but as a male friend, to kiss, to cuddle, and to use to make each other jealous. I had a couple of fleeting encounters with other women but nothing really worked. If those women had been Julie, or Annabelle, or... But they weren't and I was just as unattached at this year's Christmas Party as I had been at last year's.

One thing had changed. After New Year I was leaving the office and the town. I would be giving up the flat I shared with a couple of my male colleagues and moving, not far, about twenty miles, to a new job. I hadn't told anyone what that job was, only that I was leaving the office and town.

I think it was Frances who suggested that I ought to have a leaving party. We couldn't fit it in before Christmas, so they persuaded me to host a New Year party at my flat for all those who had taken part in Chloe's hair challenge. My flatmates would be away, visiting parents, so they wouldn't be disturbed. I was slightly worried that I would be the only male but we had been good friends during the year, so I thought the party would be a reasonable success. At least I wouldn't have to brush everyone's hair because they would have been shorn.

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End of Part 02