Tuesday afternoons were always a drag. Most customers stopped in on Saturday or later in the week so the shop often was empty most of the day. Six o'clock closing time seemed forever in arriving. The day was endless, especially on warm, sunny, late spring days like this one.
So she was seated in the red leather barber's chair, legs crossed, head leaning back and daydreaming about – her favorite fantasies, what else? – when she heard the bell on the door ring signaling an entry. She turned, figuring it was a late-afternoon delivery and was surprised to see it was a new customer with a thick, full head of hair, wavy on top with curls tumbling over his collar.
She immediately brightened and rose, heels clicking on the linoleum floor as she swiveled the chair around to face him. "Have a seat, " she said, smiling and taking in that bounty of hair, "it's nice and warm and waiting."
He chuckled. "So considerate of you, such service" he added, settling back into the chair.
She swiveled it to face the wall of mirrors, her voice sliding into the inevitable "What'll it be" with a little more tension, a wisp of hope...
He paused, smiled at her reflection in the mirror as she stood by the chair, and said firmly, "Take it all off."
Her lips curled up into a small smile, a controlled smile as her heart raced. "That'll be quite a change," she said. "Are you sure?"
He didn't hesitate.
"Yes," he said, "it's time for my spring shearing."
Oh my, she thought, this Tuesday could be memorable. Should I? Could I? Will he?
She knew she had to do one thing before answering those questions. Thinking quickly, she muttered something about the sun coming in blindingly through the window. She left him sitting there staring into the mirror as she pulled the blinds closed, gently put the "Gone Fishin' " sign in the door and softly locked it without a telltale click.
When she returned, the striped white cotton cape still was draped over the chair's arm. In an instant, she decided to see just how interesting this Tuesday might become.
"You know," she said standing beside the chair, " to do what you want, I'll take out my big clippers, push your head down" – she grabbed a fistful of the thick curls cascading from his neck and pulled up, forcing his chin to his chest. He grunted. "Then I'll place them here," she said, her fingernails slipping under the thicket at the hair line, "and run them up to the top."
With that, she ran her hand up the back of his neck, ruffling his hair. "One pass. A second pass. And then a third pass. It will all be gone."
She smiled to herself, imagining her hands rubbing that head as she placed it.
"Then I'll run the blades over the sides. First, this side," she said, leaning in, her mouth next to his ear. "Then the other side. And finally, I'll sit you straight up, have you look in the mirror, and run the clippers right down the middle of your head.
"The hair will cascade down over your shoulders," she added, her hand tracing its path, "and bowl in a mass in your lap."
With that, she ran her hand down his cheek, over his shoulders, down his rippling chest and – YES! – over the bulge in his black jeans.
She chuckled softly. "My, my, that seems to interest you," she said, rubbing his hard-on through the jeans.
"Yes," he said smiling. "Very much so."
"And it interests me," she added, removing her hand and slipping it under her skirt and beneath her panties to briefly explore her newly warm wetness.
