A literally HAIR-raising Experience

I never seem to have common enough fantasies of being ravished by a dark knight, or being smouldered in roses on a dinner date by a hot guy… no. I dream of swimming in a huge pool where a guy in scuba diving gear falls down from the sky, whom I save, and then tells me that his helicopter exploded, and I must rip open the suit for he has acquired many cuts and bruises. But there are none. He tries to kiss me and I do not resist. Or being in school uniform and shoes, going to a lounge and meeting a guy who looks a lot like someone I know, just that he has long hair, when in fact it really was really him, but I did not know. I let him read my notebook.

But I haven’t told you the best one yet.

Picture a hairdresser’s shop with those old-fashioned adjustable chairs and mirrors back to back, hair in clumps on the ground and wheelie stools which are used by the hairdressers.  Nothing fancy, just a shop. A functional shop.

I walk into this particular shop, feeling a bit apprehensive at having my hair cut after so many bogus cuts which later made me cry.

A lady in her mid-forties glances up at me while attending to a customer. She is putting rollers in her hair. She turns and shouts to a guy standing at the counter, hip propped on an edge.

I felt myself come alive as I watched him and his slim hips approach me, as if in a dance. I did not dare to meet his gaze straight on. White t-shirt upon black stonewashed jeans. Studded belt. Weathered boots.

I followed helplessly.

Swish of cloth round my neck. My stomach tightened itself in knots. He went away and returned on a stool, legs angled open to move himself across the floor, so suggestive… so provocative. His mouth is level with my ear, I notice.

I look up at him in the mirror and find him watching me. He smiled and I summoned one from the depths of my anticipation. I felt like stroking his long ponytail.

Without letting go of my gaze he reached forward and removed my glasses. For a moment I felt naked, bare, exposed, and I could feel my cheeks heat up. I felt him laugh silently and knowingly.

Slowly he started combing my hair loosely with his fingers, and each touch on my scalp rushed through me like a freight train. It was as if he knew and was deliberately bringing it on; it felt like I was tied up and gagged, unable to return the touch, unable to moan.

Finally he raised his scissors and pin, and started snipping away. I could feel his breath on my cheeks as he went from left to right, his gaze… his nose almost touching my hair… and when he stood up to cut my fringe, I felt the heat emanating from him, his fly brushing my arm, and I felt excited when I confirmed that he wanted me too.

He was done, but I couldn’t care less. He whipped the cloak off expertly and dusted my neck and shoulders. What next? I thought as he stood back to appraise his work. I reached for my glasses and replaced them on my nose. Everything shot back into focus. My desire sharpened when I met his eyes. He came forward in that languid way of his and placed his hands on my shoulders, leaning down and positioning his head close to my ear. I did everything I could to stop myself from trembling.

“Do you want a wash?” He said hoarsely, breath hot in my ears.

Wordlessly, I got up and he brought me to the back of the shop which was sealed off from the outside by a glass partition. He was watching me with those eyes. I was against one of the wash beds, and he came forward, almost predator-like, and trapped me in with his arms pinned on both sides. He still wasn’t touching me. We stood there, so close, so agonising, so close I could hear him breathing.

I reached out and stroked his stubbled jaw and I felt his hand on the small of my back whereupon he pressed me to him, leaned down and kissed me. The hubbub in the shop swamped in my ears. I’ve never felt so turned on in my entire life. We fumbled at closed openings, giggled and shushed each other, caressed, groped and squeezed. No, we didn’t have sex. Yet.

I fucking woke up.

– 28th. Mardi 2005

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