I picked up a job in the Midwest in a tiny agricultural town -- if town isn't too big a word for the place. Mostly, it was a huge old processing facility that was getting a major overhaul and modernization. I was pulling wire and putting in new fixtures. What should've been a month project ran into several months because the owner kept insisting that everything that could possibly be salvaged or scavenged be retained. The job site management was a catastrophe and all the trades were working on top of each other. It went on and on. A job's a job, though -- life in these United States.
The area had a guy-to-girl ration of something like a zillion-to-none. If you wanted to see some female skin, you tipped at the titty bar or you queued up at a couple trailers. The titty bars didn't exactly have babe #1 and the trailer whores have never been interesting to me. So, after work it was killing time doing anything you could find, then hitting the bunkhouse rack at lights out and jerking off with twenty other guys who were also pretending they weren't jerking off.
I turned up to the job shaggy and needed a haircut my first week there. There was a guy part-timing as a barber who'd do it with electric shears in about thirty seconds, who hung out his shingle every other night, but I didn't get along much with him anyway. The town had a one-chair haircut place that was open almost always. The girl cutting hair wasn't anything special to look at. Nothing wrong with her, but not some kind of walking fantasy. Probably mid-20s, average height, average build, dirty blond braid half-way down her back. She had a nice smile but a plain face, a good-enough figure, and then of course a diamond ring on the finger. She was always in cowgirl boots, denim jeans, and some type of rodeo T-shirt. She gave a good cut, though, and I liked the way she ran her fingers through my hair and how her breasts occasionally would slightly graze the back of my head. Sadly, she always wore a bra. I didn't think all that much of it, but that haircut turned into some good jerk off material and I was back in her chair only a week later. Her name was Lizzie.
This girl liked to make small talk about anything except her personal life. Any questions like that and she'd just flash her ring and remind you she was the married type. I still liked her a lot, though, and as the weeks rolled by, she started looking better and better, and in my jerking-off fantasies she got kinkier and kinkier. After a month she'd recognize me when I walked in; after a couple months we got along OK and she started telling me personal details and doing some flirting. Then she started asking about how long was I planning to be around and I didn't know what to tell her because the boss couldn't even tell me. I figured it was my horny, hopeful imagination but I swear she started rubbing her boobs against my head more and more. I started tipping her more and more, too.
I'd learned to show up for my haircut just after she'd closed the shop -- she'd let me in, lock the door, flip the sign, and flick off the outside light. Then she'd do my cut and we'd shoot the breeze for a long time. I was wondering if her marriage wasn't doing so great because she never seemed in a hurry to leave and she started being pretty blatant about flirting. My ex-wife had up and cheated on me about a year earlier, though, and I was still pretty sore about that so I wasn't in any hurry to pass that sort of pain on to somebody else.
Well at work, we finally pulled in the last wire and started working on the last punch list. I figured it'd be one or two weeks and then I'd be moving on to some other job in some other shithole in some other State. I told Lizzie as I walked in the door that this was either the last, or second-to-last, time I was going to bother her. She looked downright distressed. That made me feel pretty good, obviously.
She sat me in the chair, locked up out front, came on back, and then told me to wait -- she had to do something in the back really quick. When she came back, she started giving me my cut. I noticed right away she was way more handsy than ever before. Running her fingers through my hair, even rubbing my shoulders and neck, and telling me how handsome I was looking to her. I was trying to decide if I was just letting my imagination go crazy or if she was really coming on that way, when she walked around to my side and leaned way over to get a comb and her breasts pushed right into my face. For the first time, she wasn't wearing a bra. I was positive. She worked really slow and I relaxed really well into the chair, my cock started raging up no matter what I tried. When it was as obvious that I had a massive hard on as it was obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra under her tight T-shirt, I tried -- and failed -- to casually mention her lack of a bra.
"No bra, tonight?"
"I just took it off in the back, for you," she said. "I thought you'd like the change, this maybe being your last time and all."
"I like it a lot," I said as she rubbed her breasts across the back of my head again. My resolve to not wrong another man was evaporating rapidly. I had very little blood circulating in my brain and it was getting a little hard to think.
"Lizzie, you're married though?" I said it like a question. She held her ring hand in front of my face -- no ring.
