The Haircut


I love getting my hair cut. It is such a sensual experience. Skilled fingers run through my hair, stroking my cheeks, holding my head steady as the scissors snip and trim. Afterwards, I look good and I feel good.

Barbara is my usual stylist. She is beautiful, in an approachable, everyday kind of way. She could never have been a model, but I'm sure she turns a lot of heads when she walks through the mall. Her hair is soft, brown curls that brush her shoulders. Her skin and features are exotic without being specifically foreign. Sometimes she looks vaguely Irish or Asian or Hispanic. I think she's from California.

Barbara is only 26 years old, but she is definitely skilled with the scissors. I had been going to her for several months before the mundane haircut experience became something so exciting. It was relaxing and therapeutic, and it left me somewhat aroused, but it had always been very professional.

She likes to wear revealing clothes to work. Her tight pants and low-cut shirts are a delight. The gentle, fruity perfume she wears is soft and feminine and never over-powering. To sit so close to her as she works on me is simply intoxicating.

Her cleavage was almost in my face and there was a lot of it visible. She did not seem to know or care what it was doing to her male customers. That beautiful valley was never far from my view. It was difficult to keep my eyes on safe, polite territory away from her lovely breasts. One day that became almost impossible.

I'd been having a really bad day. My girlfriend had been in Montreal for the past two weeks, visiting her parents. She'd called me that morning to say that we'd both have to think long and hard about whether she should come back. When I sat in Barbara's chair, I was feeling a little angry, a little guilty and a whole lot of depression.. I was also just beginning to realize that my lonely bed was going to stay that way.

Barbara's ample cleavage was a welcome, needed distraction from my problems, and I had a really hard time tearing my eyes away. Keeping my gaze respectful was quite a task that day. Eventually, my attempts to be polite became frustrating and annoying for Barbara because my head kept moving as well.

She slammed the scissors down on the counter and grabbed my face with both hands. There was frustration in her eyes, but an amused smile on her face.

"Look," she said, "I had to go to school to learn how to do this. You have to be educated and licensed before you even think about touching a customer's hair. I think it's an important job. People come to me before their wedding day. They come to me before important meetings and interviews. Politicians and movie stars rely on people like to me to make them seem real."

"I do a very good job," she said. "And there's a reason I dress this way. I give you something to look at so you'll keep your head still while I work. I'm not self-conscious. Go ahead and stare. Just stop fidgeting. You can look at some tits or you can lose an ear. It‘s a simple choice."

After that, I did as she suggested. I indulged myself. I let my thoughts wander as I lost myself in that beautiful bosom. Barbara became my regular hair stylist. Her permission to ogle created a kind of intimacy between us. She would stroke my arms and massage my shoulders. Her fingernails would tickle my neck before she started cutting.

I started getting the shampoo option with my haircuts just to prolong the experience. To feel her fingers massaging my head was wonderfully relaxing. The strawberry scented shampoo was sweet and strong. The feel of her breasts pressing against me as she leaned in was more than pleasant.

During one of these wonderful shampoo sessions, the relaxation turned into erotic tension. I could feel my cock stiffening under my pants. I just went with it. Fantasies and images flowed through my mind as my hair flowed through her fingers.

She was giving me a long, slow blowjob. Her tongue was as talented as her fingers. She licked my balls and kissed my thighs. She stripped off all her clothes and climbed onto my cock. She rode my like a mechanical bull. Then we switched positions. I did her in every imaginable position. I fucked her pussy and her ass and her tits. She begged me to come in her mouth.

"It looks like you're enjoying this," she said, interrupting my erotic daydreams.

I opened my eyes and looked up at her in confusion. She gestured with her head and her eyes were definitely looking down toward my crotch. I looked down myself and saw an obvious bulge poking up from between my legs.

I was horribly embarrassed, and I apologized, but she said it was all good.

"Don't worry about it, " she said. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. It means I'm doing a good job. I hope you were thinking about me."

I was still embarrassed, but I nodded. I couldn't really deny it. It wasn't the first time I'd fantasized about her. It was just the first time I'd been caught.

"So tell me about it," she said. "Did I treat you right?"

Again, I could only nod. I wasn't about to tell her the dirty little details of my day dream.

"Let's get you in the chair," she said with a smile. "I can give you some time if you don't feel like standing up right now. The shop is closing and the other girls are just cleaning up their areas. We're not in any rush.

I smiled and thanked her, but my embarrassment had melted my erection, so I stood up. She winked at me and walked to her little corner of the shop. I followed her, trying to recover my dignity.

Once I got in the chair, and that sheet-like apron was fastened to me, I was feeling a little more in control of myself. It was just an illusion, however.

Once her magic fingers went through my hair again, the sensual eroticism flooded through me again. My erection returned, throbbing and pulsing. This time the sheet hid me from her view, so I let myself sink back into the fantasies.

We were sitting in the hot tub, and had just slipped out of our bathing suits when I decided to get a little more daring. Under the sheet, I started rubbing myself through my clothes. As I touched her in my fantasy, I touched myself in secret.

She was standing behind me, and her scissors stopped moving. She leaned down close to me and whispered in my ear.

"Go ahead and pull it out," she said. "I finished with your hair and the other girls are in the back. They'll leave through that door. The front door is already locked. Go ahead and enjoy yourself."

I was past being embarrassed. I did what she suggested. Under the protective sheet, I undid my jeans and pulled them down a little, just enough to pull out my cock. She put down the scissors and just massaged my neck and shoulders. She leaned against me, pressing her breasts against the back of my head.

It was incredibly arousing, but she wasn't finished. She moved around to my left side. I saw her glance toward the back of the shop, then she leaned forward. My face went into her cleavage. I could smell her sweet perfume in there. She grabbed my left arm and pulled it up between her legs then went back to massaging my shoulders.

My hand went straight for her pussy. I couldn't feel every detail through the fabric, but she wears tight, thin pants to work. I could feel enough. I could almost push my finger into her. If the pants had been a little looser, I could have.

It didn't take long. Barbara's pussy in my hand and her tits in my face were almost too much stimulation. I had an intense orgasm. I could feel my cum shooting through my cock and getting all over my hand. It was incredible.

Barbara was breathing a little hard, but I don't think she'd come. I would have loved to help her, but she wasn't inviting me. She disengaged herself from my hand and went to her shelf of tools. She tore off some paper towels and used a spray bottle to wet it down. She picked up my left hand and put the paper towel into it so I could clean myself up.

"Don‘t worry about the mess on the chair or the apron," she told me." It‘s my area. I‘ll clean it up.

"Next time," she added, "Make an appointment a couple of days in advance. Make it for just about this time. Leave your name and ask for me. Maybe I'll wear a skirt for you. I won't guarantee anything under it."

I got dressed, and fumbled for my credit card. She charged me for the shampoo and the cut and I left her one hell of a tip.

"Thank you," she said, "but that really wasn't necessary. My profession is cutting hair. The rest of it was just for fun. Come back as soon as you can."

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