I would like to thank Gauche for his guidance and comments regarding the editing of this story. I didn't take all his advice, and therefore the mistakes are all mine.
This is my first attempt at writing an erotic story. I hope you like it.
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Finding a person to cut your hair just the way you want it is not always so easy to do. They either cut it too short, making it look like you could get TV reception by just closing your eyes, or they take so little off you wonder what they cut after hearing the "snip, snip, snip" of scissors in your ears for twenty minutes. I guess I am a dirty old man, since I normally visit a hairdresser rather than a barbershop. I much rather have a pretty girl cut my hair so I can close my eyes and fantasize - Wonder if the brushing of her tits on my arm is by accident or a subtle hint.
I met Marcy quite by accident. A couple years ago I was riding bicycles with my two children. We were just goofing off, riding around the neighborhoods that were not so familiar. I had bought a new digital camera and tried it out whenever I found something interesting to shoot or where the children could pose in front of something.
As we were riding past the stores of a small strip mall on the way home, my son wanted to stop and get a drink out of his saddlebags. As he was fumbling around, I noticed three ladies sitting on the steps outside a beauty salon smoking cigarettes.
One of the ladies was pretty cute -- a full-bodied Mexican girl with shoulder length wavy black hair wearing a loose fitting blue sundress. The way she was sitting gave a nice voyeuristic view of her long tan legs under her flowing skirt when the wind blew.
Since we were stopped and I found the girls attractive, I asked them if I could take their picture. All of them starting giggling and chattering in Spanish... and I wasn't too sure if they understood me or not. I pulled the camera out of my bag and asked again for permission to take their picture while gesturing at them.
The smallest of the three girls said that it would be ok to take the picture. I took a few pictures of the ladies, who never could keep a straight face, and then showed the images to them using the small picture viewer on the back of the camera. Considering the brightness of the summer sun, the smallness of the image viewer, and the way they squinted while trying to see the pictures, I was pretty sure they hadn't really seen anything resembling themselves.
On the way home, my son asked, "Daddy, why did you take a picture of the ladies?"
I fended off the question with "Why not?" With that, the subject was dropped.
After I got home, I decided to check all the pictures for the day, delete the bad ones and see what I got overall. Naturally, I was curious to see how the pictures of the ladies came out. To my disappointment, there was really only one good picture in the bunch, a group shot. As I looked at the image, I became aware that the one that had talked to me in English was quite cute with her sly smile, dancing dark eyes and pinned up hair that allowed everyone to enjoy the features of her pretty face.
I have to admit... I was attracted to the ladies in the picture, especially the English speaking one, though I had expected to find the girl with the blue dress the most interesting.
As I looked at the image, I decided that I would really like to go back and check out the girls without the kids asking me why I was taking pictures of the ladies.
As an excuse to return, I made a full size print of the group shot and then cropped it to make three full sized individual pictures of each girl. I printed the pictures, put them in an envelope, and then rode my bike back to the salon hoping it was still open and the girls were still there.
The salon was pretty much a shotgun layout with chairs lining the left and right walls, hair washing station at the rear of the room, and what appeared to be a storage area for products at the very back.
There were only three people in the salon. One guy was sweeping and cleaning up a work-station on the left. The English speaking girl was blow drying the hair of a customer. She smiled when she saw me and indicated that I could wait on the sofa located under high set windows at the front of the room. I guess she thought I wanted a haircut. Not wanting to just drop off the pictures real quick and make a beeline home, I sat and waited.
As soon as the guy was finished cleaning up, he went in the back and came out with his stuff saying "I'll see you next week Marcy."
Marcy. Now I knew her name. One part of me wanted to watch her every move. Yet another, the shy part, wanted not to stare. I guess the result was that I didn't act too weird while I was waiting since she would look up every once in a while and smile at me. Sometimes I would direct my attention at the mirrors, trying not to be obvious that I was checking her out. At the same time, I wondered if she noticed.
My heart pounded a bit as I realized that the salon closing time had come and gone, and once she was finished with her customer, we would be alone in the salon.
As I watched her finish with her customer, I noticed that she was quiet small, perhaps only five foot tall, and was wearing stiletto heels to make her appear taller. Her blue jeans were tight in the ass, accenting the smallness of her very compact behind. Unlike many Mexican girls, Marcy was pretty thin and, though it may sound awful, her boobs were not very big.
Once her customer had paid her and left, Marcy motioned to the adjacent chair: "Why don't you sit over here?"
I got up from the sofa, crossed the room, and sat in the chair still carrying the blown up pictures in an envelope that I placed on my lap.
Two things happened as I sat there watching her clean up her work station and we chatted.
First, I learned that here name was indeed Marcy, that she was born in Mexico and had lived with her parents in Texas for most of her life. I asked her if she was married, and she said no and further explained that she had a boy friend, and they would probably get married, but a Mexican wedding is very expensive and she was working to save the money needed for the lavish reception expense. To tell the truth, I wasn't paying a lot of attention to the substance of what she was saying, but rather was enthralled with her natural sexuality -- an effect that she did not realize or chose to ignore.
