In a pre-Internet world, stories like this would almost always start with, "Dear Penthouse Forum." Today, there is no universal opener of that ilk, and few are the sources of literary porn capable of triggering a horny man's (or the occasional woman's) imagination well enough to satisfy. When gold is everywhere, it glitters less brightly.
Shall we revive the phrase? Can it rise like a Phoenix? We shall see...
Dear Penthouse Forum,
I never thought anything like this would happen to me, but I had an experience this past weekend that I had to tell you about...
I moved to a new part of town recently, and was forced to find a new hair stylist. Luckily, a friend from work lives fairly close by. He gave me a referral to the girl he uses, so I made an appointment with Han. I would learn later that in Vietnamese, Han means 'moral, or faithful'. As it turned out, she was neither.
Due to COVID restrictions, and because she is in demand, I had to wait more than a week to get in to see her. We were texting confirmations and such, so when I arrived, she was looking for me. The salon was pretty busy, virus or no virus, but an obviously Asian girl waved at me from across the shop.
She was wearing a mask, as was I, but I could tell that she was cute. I guessed her to be about 5'6" tall. She was wearing some kind of apron to help minimize the amount of hair that would inevitably cling to her clothes, but it didn't hide her chest. For an Asian woman, she was stacked.
Her deep brown eyes sparkled, and betrayed the smile hidden just below. "Steven?" She waved me over to her chair. She held her hand out, and we shook. Thin, well-manicured fingers grasped my hand. "It nice to meet you! Sit. Sit." She directed me into the seat of the big leather barber chair, then stepped in front of me to retrieve the black cape she would fasten around my neck in a moment. It was on the small shelf in front of her station's mirror.
I'm a normal heterosexual male; she gave me a look at her ass, so I checked her out. The jeans were tight, doing a nice job of highlighting a tight little butt. When I looked up and into the mirror, she was looking at me. Again, I could detect a smile. And was that just the slightest little wink...?
Han turned back around, shook out the cape, and draped it over me, moving behind me at the same time. She snapped the collar closed, then let her hands slide over my shoulders as she leaned forward to speak to me in the mirror. Those boobs pressed against the back of my head.
"So, you work with William?"
"Yes. He raves about you."
She laughed. "Ha ha ha. He very nice man." The accent was strong; almost the perfect stereotype. I flashed on comic Anjelah Johnson's bit about a visit to a Vietnamese nail salon, and had to smile.
"William say you just move here?"
"To this part of town, yes. Too far to drive now to go where I used to get my hair cut."
"You had favorite stylist before? In your old place?" Her hands were on my chest, and those fun bags were still pressing against my head. She was in no hurry to cut hair.
"Yes. She was very good. I hope you can help me forget her!" I joked.
In the mirror, her eyes widened, then narrowed as she smiled. "I help you forget! No worry." There was laughter in her voice. Then, she put her head close to my ear. In a low voice, she asked, "Was she hot?"
"Ha!" I blurted out. My turn to laugh. Marjorie had been 250 pounds, if she was an ounce, but she was great with a pair of scissors. "No. She wasn't hot."
"Ohhhh... Too bad..." Then, abruptly, "But not now! You lucky man!" Again, with a low voice in my ear, "Me love you long time." Her laughter was infectious, as was her sense of humor. I assumed it was a joke, but the blatant come-on still stroked my ego.
Now, she moved to retrieve the tools of her trade, and dragged one hand across the back of my neck, along my shoulder, and down my arm as she did. This girl knew just what she was doing. So did I, and I was happy to play this game, but was it
only
a game? My cock was beginning to stir.
She took her time getting out her shears, this time giving me a nice long look at her ass. The jeans she wore looked
painted
on. I also got a decent look at her chest from the side. Thin white blouse. Well-filled. No bra. My mind ran to images of what she would look like without that apron.
Finally, she turned around. "You like something special?"
"I'm sorry?" I was still daydreaming about those tits.
"You hair. You like something special?"
"Oh! Ah... Short on the sides, not quite as short on top. You decide. Pretty women seem to know what looks best on a man." It was my turn to flirt.
Han giggled a little. Women like to have their egos stroked just as much as men. "Okay. Okay. I take care of you..." She hesitated a bit. "You hair, too..." She trailed off and we both let that promise hang in the air.
The whole time I was in the chair, we chatted and flirted. She seemed not to care if the stylist in the next station and her client could hear, so I decided I wouldn't care, either; I didn't know these people, and I didn't have to come back if I didn't want to.
She used every opportunity to caress my shoulders and arms, run those beautiful fingers through my hair and brush the side of my face with them. She joked about having a handsome man in her chair, and slid one hand under the cape to rub my chest.
My cock was rock solid the whole time, of course, forcing me to adjust my shorts. Han saw the movement in my lap, and made sure I knew. "You comfortable?"
I looked her reflection straight in the eye. "Better now."