HaircuttingStories.com

I could think of nothing more innocent than sitting on a bench eating your lunch. An oasis of calm while the world bustled around me on errands. What could be better. Bench to myself, a nice sandwich, a newspaper. I couldn't tell you much of what was happening in the world though, because I hadn't actually read any of the paper despite appearing to have studied it intensely for fifteen minutes or so. In the finest tradition of Cold War spies I was using the paper as a prop whilst my gaze was actually fixed just above the banner headline.

I had long since given up on the idea of trying to video the comings and goings from the salon as I just could not come up with any practical way to conceal the camera and still get a decent picture. I could set it on the bench beside me, but who wants pictures of every hemline going in and out of a hairdressing salon. Well, I am sure that there would be a taker somewhere out there, but I didn't want to meet him!!

Today hadn't been a particularly good day. I had had to content myself with just watching the staff come and go past reception or if I was lucky, actually come in to reception for a chat. The only client that I had seen go in was an older lady, and whilst I have nothing against older ladies, they have usually settled in to how they wear their hair and are rarely a source of any makeover excitement.

I was about to hit the jackpot. A stylist was coming into reception. She kept on walking towards the door. She was going out. A chance for an uninterrupted view of one of the staff in their lovely white smock uniforms. She turned left out of the door towards the bakery. Gorgeous. Straight brown hair, down to her collar. Pretty features, mid-thirties. Smock tight where it mattered. Perhaps a pound or two too much on the hips, but rather that than some stick insect. I carried on watching her as she walked away. A sexy walk, slow, perhaps a little self-conscious. Well worth sitting on the bench getting a numb backside for.

In a minute she was out of the shop and walking back to the salon. I was in danger of hurting my eyes as I squinted, pretending not to look at her as she came back. The strain should have eased as she approached the salon and the angle got more favourable, but instead it was getting worse. She wasn't going back to the salon. She was coming right for the bench.

I looked at the paper. Budget deficits. Shit - nobody reads that stuff. too late. She had sat down. I tried to turn the page, but only succeeded in making a mess of it. I continued to struggle as I could sense her opening the packaging on her lunch.

"Lovely day" a voice said. I continued to struggle.

"You know, for sitting" the voice said again.

It was talking to me. It had to be. There was no-one else close.

I stopped fiddling with the paper for a moment and turned my head towards the voice. She was indeed talking to me.

"Yes, beautiful" I replied, somewhat embarrassed that I was being out-witted by a newspaper.

"Don't worry about it" she said, motioning to the paper. It seems to me that you weren't that interested anyway. You've been looking at the same page since you got here. Just like yesterday.....and the day before.

My own lunch was threatening to make a re-appearance. There wasn't much that I could say to that. I was busted.

"You know, it's the same old, same old. I only buy it out of habit. There's never anything worth reading in it."

"Then why don't you just forget about it and sit and watch us without the distraction."

She wasn't letting go.

"I need to go" I said.

"No you don't, you were here well over an hour yesterday." she said. The watcher watched, I thought. She took another bite out of her sandwich. I tried to hold on to lunch. Should I just get up and run? She carried on eating. I carried on sweating.

"I like to watch people getting their hair cut" I said in a moment of bravery.

"People, or women?"

"You don't miss a trick do you? I replied.

She smiled.

"I like to see transformations, like to see how different a haircut can make someone look, that's all", I said.

"Whatever turns you on" she replied.

"It doesn't" I said. She smiled.

"Look, I don't care, it's just that it's getting a bit obvious. Like we're under surveillance or something and it's not very nice".

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean......"

"Don't worry about it."

"I won't come again." I said eventually.

She scrunched up the packaging that her sandwich had been in and turned to one side to drop it in the litter bin.

"What do you hope to see anyway?" she asked.

I said nothing. Riveted to the spot, not wanting to look like a complete dork by running away from her.

"Go on, tell me" she said.

"I like short hair" I said after some consideration.

"That used to be long hair?" she probed.

I nodded.

"So let me get this straight. You sit here, hoping that some long-haired woman is going to go in to the salon and get it all chopped off".

"That's it in a nutshell" I said.

"Weird".

Now I felt very small indeed. "I have to go" I said again.

"I'm not stopping you" she replied.

It was my turn to smile. I looked at her. If she was mad, she wasn't showing it. Her legs were crossed. Left leg away from me, her smock had ridden up perhaps a little further than she intended. Nice thighs, I thought.

"So why do you sit out here? Why don't you come in?" she asked. "At least that way, we'd get some money out of you and you could see the action up close".

"I was thinking about it - you just have so few male clients".

"You could always help boost the numbers".

"So you sit there and accuse me of being a weirdo and then you ask me to come in for a haircut?

"I wasn't asking you in, I was asking why you hadn't come in - there's a difference" she said.

I was struggling with this. I had been rumbled, she had made the effort to come and tell me that I had been rumbled and she was almost being nice to me.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why what?"

"Why don't you call the cops?"

"And tell them what? That some guy has been sitting on a public bench eating lunch. I'm sure they'll lock you up and throw away the key for that."

I looked at her and smiled.

"So what do we do?" I asked.

"you can do what you like as long as it's not here" she said. "As for me, I'm going back to work".

She gathered up her things and slid forward to get up.

"I've got a slot at 4" she said as she took her first stride towards the salon.

I sat. Silent. Transfixed. I watched her walk away, but didn't really see her.

After several minutes I got up and went back to work. It was a waste of time really as I just couldn't concentrate on anything. 3:30 came. 3:40. I got up.

I walked back into town, not really knowing why. I moved through the shoppers, barely aware of their existence. I didn't even turn my head at the customary points in town. There could have been all manner of transformations going on in those salons and I would have been none the wiser. I didn't stop at the salon. I couldn't. I just put out an arm and walked straight in.

I smiled at the girl in reception. "I've got a 4 o'clock appointment" I said. Please don't ask me who with, I thought.

"Oh yes, Mr Benchley is it, it's with Paula. She'll be right with you".

I smiled. The girl had a sense of humour.

Sure enough, there she was, walking towards me. White beauticians' smock shimmering as she walked.

"Come on through" she motioned with a well-rehearsed smile.

As I followed her, she turned to me. " I don't even know your first name, Mr Benchley" she said, with a wicked smile.

"Rob" I said.

"Have a seat then Rob" she said.

As I sat, I had a look around. Very nice. Tastefully presented. Good displays of products. No other customers. No staff up this end of the salon.

"So do you approve?" she asked.

"Yes, very smart" I said.

She had already picked up a gown and swathed me with it. She smoothed it and then moved her hands up to my head. She ran her fingers over my scalp and through the strands of my hair. It was longer than usual, probably 3 or 4 inches at its longest. She bent forward a little.

"So, what are we going to do with this?" she asked, her fingers still moving through my hair.

"I hadn't thought about it" I replied.

"That's right, you only like women's hair" she said.

"There's no need for that" I said.

"You're right, I'm sorry............ Friends?" she said, fixing me in the mirror.

"What would you like me to do?"

"I don't know". I said.

Her finger stopped.

"I'll do anything you want" she said, before realising what she had said.

"You sit here then" I replied, quick as a flash.

"And you'd do what?" she asked.

"I'd have to think about it" I lied.

Another stylist walked towards us.

"2 coffees, please, Theresa" Paula said. It gave us a chance to slow things down a bit.

Paula sat on a stylists stool as the other girl came back with the drinks. She set them down and walked away silently.

"You'd like that, Mr Benchley, wouldn't you?" she said.

I sat there silently, disappointed that my coffee would be too hot to act as much of a distraction just yet.

"OK, is it about time we were honest with each other here?" she said.

"I suppose".

"In your little mind you're hoping that I will sit down and get my hair cut off" she paused while she sought some sign of agreement from me "and then you hope that I'll strip off and let you screw me, I bet".

I was shocked and it showed.

"I probably wouldn't be good for much if I had just watched you get your hair cut" I said.

She smiled. "A little honesty, I like that" she said.

"And what is your ultimate haircut for a women" she asked.

"Well...."

"Come on" she urged.

"Shaved". There, I had said it.

"My, my, you don't do things by halves do you" she said.

Regardless of temperature, I reached for my coffee. Just as I suspected, it was too hot. It had bought me a little time to compose myself though.

"And are you going to shave yours?" she asked.

"No" I replied, a little too quickly.

"And why not?"

"Work" I said feebly.

"And you think that a shaved head would go down better for a hairdresser than for you".

I reached up to undo the gown.

"This isn't working" I said.

"Aren't you going to stick around to watch me shave my head" she teased.

That got my attention.

"You wouldn't" I challenged.

"You'll never know, if you leave now. And you're banned from sitting outside the salon."

I was standing up by now. "It's a chance I'll have to take", I said. "Look, I don't really understand what's going on here. I like to see women get their hair cut, you know that, but I don't understand what you're doing".

"You're right, I'm sorry" she said.

She motioned to me to sit down. "Look, I've just split up with my boyfriend after four years and I'm just being stupid. I'm just trying to get him out of my system. You seemed like a nice guy and I just thought that we could play a little. I didn't think that you'd be into shaved heads or anything. I was just after a little fun, that's all".

Just my luck to have got hit on by a frustrated hairdresser, I thought.

"Look, don't worry about it. No harm done." I reached across to put a comforting hand on her knee. She looked down. I realised what I had just done. I squeezed gently. She put her hand on mine and lifted it off. I put it back, but this time managed to get the tips of my fingers underneath the hem of her smock.

She stood up. "Just because I'm single, doesn't mean I'm easy" she said. I turned pink.

"Tell me what you want" she said, covering me with a gown again.

"Whatever you want" I replied.

Clippers popped to life. She turned my chair around so that I was facing her. She looked down at the clippers to examine the guard. She took it off.

"Whatever I want?" she said, as she stood up.

I was silent. Transfixed. The clippers touched my forehead. She reached a bit further to get as far across my scalp as she could. My hand was on the back of her knee. She moved the clippers back to my forehead to make another pass. My hand slid further up her thigh, reaching the swelling at her buttock. She carried on working, I carried on moving, oblivious to the fact that one of the other stylists could come in at any time. I moved my hand around to the front and stroked the front of her panties with the backs of my fingers. I may not always be the most perceptive person in the world, but I can tell a shaven mound when I feel one. And I was feeling one right now. I moved downwards with my fingers, tracing the obvious line of her cleft. She clamped her thighs together, trapping me. Her panties were damp.

"Later" she said softly.

She moved around behind me, stealing a glance to see whether we had been spotted. We obviously hadn't as she kept working. Her movements were fluid and confident. I trembled slightly with the excitement. What would people say? Did I care? I decided that I should just go with it, enjoy it, try to remember every last detail, every last sensation.

The clippers fell silent. She placed a hand on my scalp and moved it around gently, assessing her work. It was gone. She had moved away. I tried to control the tremors. Tried to think about shopping in the supermarket. Anything but this, in a bid to calm things down a bit. I wanted to remember what she had done, but I didn't want to disgrace myself. There's a time and a place.

I saw her in the mirror walking back towards me, a container in her hand. She sprayed it into her hand and then spread the foam onto my head. Not the image I was looking for at that precise moment. Supermarket. Supermarket. I'm walking around the supermarket. No you're not, came reality. You're sitting here having your head shaved by an attractive woman who has just let you put your hand up her skirt. This was more than anyone should be expected to bear.

She cleaned away the stubble with the lightest of strokes. Sometimes slow, sometimes quicker. Every stroke counting. I was enthralled. I'd even get another job if I had to. It would be worth it.

She put the razor down. She caressed my head with a towel, partly to remove the last vestiges of foam and partly to torment me. She had a hand either side of my head, each one still wrapped within the towel. She bent her head down to the same level as mine. "Did you like that?" she asked softly. She smiled, knowing that she didn't have to wait for an answer.

She stood up and walked away. I was alone. I took the opportunity for a quick adjustment under the gown. This really was what you would call a pressure situation. I looked in the mirror. I don't know what I expected to see. I was bald. Strange. The journey had been worth it, but I'm not sure that I would stay where I had actually arrived. Perhaps a little too early to tell, to be fair. Maybe I would get to like it. Footsteps, coming nearer. Two sets. I swiveled the chair slightly to see who it was. Paula, coming back to dust me off.

She ignored me and walked towards a station on the other wall, followed by her colleague. She sat down. I turned the chair a bit more to try to see what was going on. Her colleague had a gown. She wafted it over Paula, fixing it at the neck. Not a word had been said, within my earshot anyway.

Her colleague reached down and picked up a pair of electric clippers, identical to the ones that had just been used on me. She checked the guard. She took it off and blew into the blades to clear them. She slipped her hand into her pocket. The hand with the guard. The hand came out. The guard didn't. She placed the clippers just behind Paula's right ear, flicking the switch just as she positioned them. She moved them upwards. Lengths of brown hair started to fall, the trajectory broken by her collar. The stylist moved relentlessly upwards. Slowly, full of purpose. She worked away at the back, revealing pale skin as she made progress. She adjusted her position and made for the forehead. She moved the clippers backwards. She was really doing it.

I had to get up, but I still needed the protection of the gown for concealment. I would hate to frighten any little old lady who happened by. I moved around the side of her. Grandstand view.

"Something like this, you were thinking of?" she said.

"Something like it" I replied, the tremor in my voice obvious.

I looked at her, almost bald now. I looked over my shoulder. I needed a bathroom, quick. "I'll be back in a sec" I said. I hurried away, knowing that I was missing vital action, but knowing that I had to. Paula was one thing, her friend was another.

By the time I was back, half of the actual shaving had been done. They stylist was quick, quicker than Paula had been with me. I tried to concentrate on what was left, although that was diminishing rapidly. I wanted to see her bald, but equally I wanted this scene to play forever. The silence was broken.

"I've got the rest, thanks Tina" she said. The shaving was finished, just the wiping of excess foam was left. She turned to me as she wiped the back of her head. Tina walked away back to the other end of the salon. She said nothing.

I thought desperately for something to say. "You've left the eyebrows" I said eventually.

Paula threw the towel at me in mock anger. "You didn't say anything about having an eyebrow thing as well" she said.

"You didn't ask," I retorted.

"Well, I think that you've had more than enough for one day."

She walked towards me, looking over my shoulder to check for observers.

"You wouldn't have seen any of that from your bench, now, would you?" she said with the world's biggest smile. She stopped just in front of me. Well, most of her did, her right hand continued to move forward stealthily until it made contact with my groin. Her hand was firm. If tested, mine would have been somewhat shaky just at that precise moment.

"I'll see you outside at 6" she said. ".....and remember, you're not allowed to sit on the bench". She winked at me, in the knowledge of what was to come. As for me, I had to go home and change and be back here in 45 minutes. There's nothing like a promise to concentrate the mind.

---

---

Rate this story now.
5- Excellent 4- Very good 3- Good 2- Needs work 1- Poor  

Enter some comments about this story or see what others have said on the forums.