I had a hard time in school. I took the exams when I was little, and they showed, quite definitively as it turned out, that I was not even close to being college-bound material. I didn't know that the tests were a crock, that what they really measured was cultural knowledge and the ability to take tests, and so I just passively accepted the results. All of my life I have accepted what people tell me, especially if they are men. Often the men are wrong, but what can I do? My naiveté in listening and obeying them makes me culpable, I'm sorry to say.
At some point during my early teen years, in consultation with my counselor, I decided the career for me was to be a beautician. I would cut hair and style it, wash it while giving the woman a nice head massage, maybe continue with her shoulders and neck if need be, cut her hair the way she would ask for it to be cut, blow dry it, and perhaps try to sell her some products of the beauty salon. I was good at it, both at cutting hair flawlessly, and at sales. I was a quick learner and I always knew all of the latest styles. I figured maybe someday I could go into coloring hair. There was more money in that.
I also quickly learned that if you're sensual when washing a person's hair, it can be a non-threatening erotic experience. It relaxes people, puts them at ease, and makes it easier to cut their hair. I became really, really good at giving a sensual hair wash, I can assure you. My clients loved it and they always asked for me by name.
The thing about hair is that most everyone has some, and it keeps growing and so within a certain elapsed time, it always needs to be cut again. Hairdressing will never go out of style. And as women age, they get gray, and the demand for colorists will never ebb, but only continue to grow. Nowadays, dyeing your hair is also becoming more common for men. In the business world looking old and gray is a great way to be forced into premature retirement. It all made sense to me, even without a bleeping college education.
I decided to branch out a bit from my skill with women's hair, and also learn to cut men's hair. Men are easier than women, but I'm a perfectionist and I felt I needed to practice before doing it for money at the salon.
I began with one of my old boyfriends. We were definitely former, with a capital F, but I also knew he still lusted for me.
"What's in it for me?" he asked when I approached him, offering him a haircut.
"You get a free haircut, Ethan. You'll save money," I said.
"Why are you offering me a free haircut? What's the catch? You want my body some more?" and he crudely stroked his cock through his pants, in case I was brain dead and could not understand English.
"I'm branching out from cutting women to cutting men, and I need some practice. Ethan, I'm over you. Deal with it," I said. I was grossed out by his crude behavior.
"You want to practice on me? Do you think I'm stupid?" Ethan said.
"It's free," I said again. "Think of the money you'll save." Ethan was a penny pinching cheapskate.
"Think of the money I'd save if you put out for me one more time? I wouldn't have to pay a whore," Ethan said, licking his lips while he looked me over, up and down. Why did I ever like this guy? Oh yeah, I remembered, as he whipped out his absolutely huge cock. He was already hard. He was hard just from being near me? In a moment of extreme weakness, I felt flattered.
"Tell you what," Ethan said. "I'll let you cut my hair if you promise to give me one of your patented blowjobs afterwards." I give the best blowjobs in the county. All my former lovers say so.
"The patent's pending," I said, and I giggled. Ethan smiled broadly.
I wasn't stupid. He sat for a haircut first. Then I gave him the blowjob from heaven. He wanted more, and remembering how his cock felt inside me, I was tempted, but I said no.
"If I recruit a few more guys, can I fuck you?" he said.
"Five more men, and then well yes, okay," I said. "Don't promise them anything. The blowjob was only for you."
Ethan failed miserably. He wanted sex nevertheless, but by then my moment of weakness had passed, and my lust no longer controlled my brain. He got nothing.
I needed to cut more men than just Ethan. Who could I ask? I swallowed my pride and approached my brother. I'm nineteen, and he's twenty-one.
"Can I cut your hair?" I asked him.
"How much do you want?" he replied. My brother always was a cheapskate; not as bad as Ethan was, but nevertheless he was one. Money comes hard in small town Indiana.
"Nothing. It's free," I said.
"What's the catch?" he asked.
"Well, you're my brother, first of all. Taking money from you would be weird," I said. I did not add however that it might be pleasurable! "Second, you'll be only the second man whose hair I've ever cut," I added. Full disclosure, that's me. "I cut Etan's hair, and he raved about my cut," I quickly added.
"No way. I'm not going to be some guinea pig for you. I value my appearance, you know," my brother Zeke said.
"The first was Ethan, as I said. Have you seen him? He looks great with my haircut," I said.
"That little fuck Ethan let you cut his hair?" Zeke asked. "Why?"
"It was free. He's always been cheap," I said.
"That's all you did for him?" Zeke asked. "He used to brag about your blowjobs, you know."
"He always was disgusting in that way. Anyway, he's history now," I said.
"What did you ever see in him, anyway?" Zeke asked. "He's a boor."
"How about if I pay you for a haircut? I really need to practice," I said, avoiding Zeke's inappropriate question.
"No amount of money is worth it to me," Zeke said. The man had no sympathy for me, and even more lacking was his empathy. I adored my brother, don't get me wrong, but he was far from perfect.
"Some brother you are," I said, dejected and almost on the verge of tears. If my own brother would not let me cut his hair, and a former lover like Ethan extorted sex for the privilege, what was I going to do to get more experience?
