The first time it happened was accidental. And innocent. A packet of biscuits fell out of one crate and into another. Must’ve been that bump in the road that shook it loose. Anyway, the woman rang Customer Service and complained that she hadn’t got her biscuits. Nobody rang to say that they’d got a packet of biscuits that they hadn’t ordered. The joys of being a delivery driver in the “New Normal”. That call got the Customer Services Manager on my case and I had to do an extra trip to get a replacement packet of biscuits to the woman before her body went into full-scale biscuit-withdrawal.
I don’t even want to be a fucking delivery driver, but what else can you get when you’re in your last year at uni and there’s thousands of freshly-redundant people looking for work because of the virus. I should count myself lucky, people keep telling me. Well, sorry, I don’t. I want to be at uni, without restrictions, free to come and go as I please. Instead, I was stuck indoors for weeks before a friend of a friend put a word in for me and got me this job. So, instead of being able to sit around campus observing rather delightful young ladies, I’m forced to go from door to door in the often vain hope of seeing a female under 60, let alone one that I’d look twice at. I’ve had a couple of near-misses with old harridans, but other than that, hardly anything,
The one other benefit that had used to come with this sort of job is the mobility, getting round to different towns round and about. Obviously, even in the good times, this job wouldn’t have allowed me to indulge my interest in the comings and goings at hair salons for any length of time. A quick peek as I go past would be the limit, but what’s the point when everyone is wearing masks. How can you appraise anyone when they’re concealed like that? You can’t get the full impression that way. Maybe decide that the bodywork is great, but the face matters so much. A mask could conceal a multitude of sins, so there was an avenue of pleasure closed off for the foreseeable future.
The job did allow me time to think, time to day-dream. After all, it wasn’t as if I needed to be at the top of my game to perform my duties. Find a house, off-load, job done, so I had plenty of scope for my own purposes. In the first couple of days, I thought that it would be the ideal opportunity to draft my first novel. The drawback with that is that you need an idea to develop and I didn’t have one. Hard as I tried, nothing sensible would force its way into my mind. That left me alone in the van with energy drinks, chocolate and trying to come up with ways to either get laid or immerse myself in my hair fantasies.
Getting laid wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility. I wasn’t the most confident in the world, but I could talk to a girl without dribbling and I had been known to get lucky from time to time. As luck would have it, I’d broken up with a girl just before the lockdown and then the government had interfered in my sex-life by making us all stay at home. Since things had started to ease, I’d seen my new temporary career as a potential way to address the issue. I’d initially thought that a major part of the job description involved visiting houses, houses which may or may not contain lonely ladies who were as frustrated as me. Well, perhaps not, but somewhere out there was a lonely lady who would respond to a friendly smile in an appropriate way. If not that, then there would be a lady with super-short hair who would provide fodder for my alone-time in the evenings. Combining the two scenarios was the dream outcome that occupied me as I wove around careless pedestrians, cyclists and fellow motorists.
It was the biscuits that provided my inspiration. After that, it was down to the combination of a young male mind and plenty of time.
Thankfully, I used the same van each day. The company thought that it would encourage ownership or something. For me, it just meant that I could have a stash of nibbles and drinks and not worry about someone else dipping in. It also meant that I could store the prop for my cunning plan.
I was on the lookout from that moment: single car on the drive, no kid’s stuff cluttering the front garden, attractive lady answering the door. Not as common as you might think though, with so many people still working from home.
The first couple of attempts didn’t go well. Frosty, you could say. Just trying to be helpful. Sorry!
Then another door opened. A smile, which probably had more to do with the grocery delivery than me. Old enough to be my mother, but why hold that against her? Slim, jeans, shirt that was sufficiently baggy that I had to check from a couple of angles to make sure that it contained boobs. Hair? Shortish, dark blonde. Worth a try.
We said our goodbyes and I heard the door close as I turned back towards the van. I put the empty crates in the back, took a quick mouthful of fizzy drink and reached into my hiding place. Out of the van, I closed the doors and headed back to the house. I rang the bell and waited, trying to keep my breathing under control.
The door opened. A quizzical look.
‘Sorry to bother you madam, but I think this must’ve fallen out of one of the crates. When I went round a corner or something’ I said proffering the box. I couldn’t remember her name for the life of me. I should’ve looked at the docket before I knocked.
She looked at it. She looked at me.
‘That’s not mine’ she said. ‘Can’t you tell?’ she added.
‘None of my earlier deliveries has got in touch to say that they’re missing it. You’re my last one, so I thought that it must be yours. Anyway, you might have fancied a change. That’s why you’d ordered it’ I gabbled, still holding the carton of russet hair dye. The box promised all sorts of miracles for whoever used it and I’d thought that they might stretch to me too.
‘Not me. This is 100% natural’ she said, putting a hand the tendril of hair at her cheek.
‘You can have it if you like’ I persisted.
‘Are you telling a lady that you don’t like the way she wears her hair? That’s very forward of you’ she said with the same expression that one of my teachers used to deploy.
‘I didn’t mean.., I just thought.., no problem’ I stammered, my fantasy dissolving before my eyes.
She reached out to touch my forearm, making almost imperceptible contact.
‘I’m only kidding. Who knows, maybe I should take it. Flame-red might attract a better class of man than dirty blonde’ she laughed.
How I’d love her to be my dirty blonde! At least it didn’t look like she was going to ring the office to complain about the weird driver that had just dropped off her breakfast cereal.
‘Take it if you want it’ I offered. ‘It’s looking for a home, so why not yours?’
‘And you think it would suit me?’ she asked.
‘It’s not my place, madam’ I replied, transporting myself back to days gone by.
‘Nonsense. You don’t ask, you don’t get in this world. Didn’t they teach you that at school?’
‘University’ I corrected, pointlessly.
She looked at me.
‘You look hot. Can I get you some water or something?’
‘That’d be lovely’ I said, as if still addressing my grandmother.
‘Hold on then’ she said, turning away.
I watched her shapely backside head for the kitchen. Looked up to see her hair struggling to touch her collar. I looked at my watch when she disappeared into the kitchen. No time to go back for another load. I’d head home and document my encounters. Draw up a “lessons-learned” spreadsheet. Take it seriously. Refine it. Do better next time. My dad would be proud that I had taken on-board some of his urgings. His urgings, my urges, I mused. She was coming back. I tried not to stare, but it was difficult. The hallway was narrow. She was the only thing in it. I couldn’t look away.
‘I thought this might be better’ she said, exhibiting a can of Coke. Have a Coke and smile. I did.
‘Lovely, thank you’ I said.
‘You’d better come in while you drink it. I need to get the rest of that frozen stuff put away’ she said, opening the door slightly wider.
‘Sure?’ I asked.
‘I think I’m safe enough when your van’s parked outside my house’ she smiled. I followed her in and closed the door behind me. Maybe there was something to this scheme, after all.
She opened the freezer and picked up a couple of things. I moved towards the table to pass her the next couple of items.
‘Thank you, you’re a dear’ she said.
You wouldn’t say that if you knew that my eyes were travelling around the curve of your backside, my Spidey-sense making precision measurements of your thigh-gap.
She repeated the crouch/stand/crouch thing. I was so grateful for freezer compartments on the lower-level. She looked at me.
‘You haven’t opened it’ she observed.
‘Sorry, no drinking on the job’ I said, wishing that I hadn’t just said “on the job” and that she hadn’t smiled when I’d said it.
I helped her with the rest of the stuff, which gave me the opportunity to watch her give her shirt a workout when she stretched for the far-reaches of her cupboards. Not even 21 and a dirty old man already!
‘So, that just leaves this’ she said, picking up the stowaway box of hair colour. ‘There’s no point putting it away, is there? If I’m not going to use it, you should take it back to the shop’ she said. She put the box down and reached for my can. She pulled the ring. I wished that she hadn’t. Didn’t she realise that I’m at an age when I misinterpret everything.
‘I can’t take it back. It’ll cause havoc with the inventory system’ I said.
‘So, use it or bin it?’
She looked at me.
‘It’d be a shame to waste it’ I ventured.
‘That’s easy for you to say. We’re not talking about a bottle of milk here’ she chided in a very pleasant way.
‘Yeah, you’re right. Shame though’ I said, finally taking a swig of my can that she’d held in that dainty hand of hers, fingers curled around it like…Stop it!
‘Can you see me as a redhead?’ she asked.
‘What would your husband say?’ I ventured. Too personal?
‘Nothing. He likes platinum blondes. That aren’t me. That’s why he doesn’t live here anymore’ she replied. Fuck, what do you say to that? I took another pull on my can.
‘What colour is your girlfriend’s hair? Maybe you’d like her to use it’ she continued.
‘It’s any colour I want it to be’ I replied to a puzzled look. ‘We broke up, just before all this stuff started. Makes it difficult to get a replacement’ I replied.
‘My, so jaded for one so young’ she chuckled. I blushed. ‘Hypothetically then, would you want your girlfriend to change her hair for you?’ she asked.
Fuck, straight in. Now what?
‘I don’t know.’
‘Surely, you must’ve thought about it before. What are the chances that any of us get everything we want? You must’ve looked at your girlfriend and thought “if only she’d do this, she’d be perfect”.’
‘Maybe I was just grateful to have a girlfriend’ I joked, trying to deflect this line of questioning.
‘Rubbish, you’d be a catch for any girl’ she fired back. I drained my can, wishing that I hadn’t, because now I had nothing to pretend to occupy my attention at awkward moments. Time for a tactical withdrawal. Take the learning and re-group.
‘I’d better be off. Thanks for the drink’ I said, holding up the can in case she’d forgotten what she’d given me.
‘You’ll never know whether I used it or not’ she said. I looked at her. ‘If you go now’ she added.
‘I’ll probably be back when you order next time’ I replied, putting the can on the table.
‘If there is a next time. It might be safe to venture into a supermarket again soon’ she said with a tantalising smile.
‘Hopefully it will, because then I can get back to uni and I won’t have to do this anymore’ I replied.
‘So this isn’t your forever job?’
‘God, no’ I replied a little dismissively. ‘I’m hoping for a bit more than this.’
‘What are you studying?’ she asked.
‘Geography’ I replied.
‘Ah, field trips with girls’ she said with a knowing wink. I smiled my reply, not wanting to get drawn into territory where she might draw the wrong conclusion if I said that there was only one girl in my year that I’d look at. And I already had.
She picked up the box and looked at me. She walked across the kitchen and pressed the pedal on the bin with her foot. The lid opened and she held the box over the void.
‘Your choice’ she said, looking at me intently.
‘No’ I said hurriedly.
‘”No, don’t use it” or, “no, don’t throw it away”?’
‘Don’t throw it away’ I said, hoping that my nerves weren’t audible outside my head.
‘You’re going to have to help me. Are you ready for that?’ she asked.
‘Aren’t those things designed to use at home?’
‘You’ve seen too many commercials with some young-lovely with a pristine white towel wrapped around her while she expertly dabs this on. Reality is that it’s more Jackson Pollock’ she observed.
I looked blank.
‘Sorry, should’ve known. You do geography. He’s an artist. Look him up.’
‘Oh, that Jackson Pollock’ I said, delighted with the smile that was forming on her face.
‘Well, are we doing this or what?’
Maybe I wasn’t going to need to spend too much time on my “lessons-learned” spreadsheet after all.
‘Seriously?’ I asked.
‘I feel like a bit of fun after all this time being stuck here on my own’ she shrugged. She angled the box to read the instructions.
I watched her. Watching becoming looking, which in turn became looking really closely. Jeans, long legs. Just a hint of a belly, but way less than you’d expect. I’d certainly had girlfriends my age who had worse bodies than hers. Not that I wasn’t grateful, of course.
‘You’re going to have to do a Poldark unless you want that uniform ruined’ she said. ‘I need to get a big towel. Back in a sec’ she said cheerily.
Poldark. I’d seen him in the papers. Guy who couldn’t keep his shirt on. Six-pack that most men could only dream of. She was heading for disappointment if that’s what she thought I’d got under my shirt.
‘Come on, don’t be shy’ she said, coming back into the kitchen. She had a large towel wrapped around her shoulders. There was no sign of the shirt that she’d had on when she’d left the room. I started to unbutton my shirt. It would be rude not to. She glanced up from the box that she’d just opened to check that I was playing along. I’d only met the woman half-an hour ago, if that, and here I was with her and not a shirt between us. She glanced at me again, just in case I had a body worth looking at. I kept fit, played soccer, went to the gym on occasions, but Poldark I wasn’t. She turned her attention back to the box. That was me put back in mine.
She pulled out a chair from the breakfast table and sat down. She fiddled with the bits and pieces in the box and then paused.
‘Seems simple enough’ she said, holding out the bottle to me.
I never thought that I’d be in this position. Wishful thinking is all well and good, but that’s all it ever is. There was no way that this should work, but here I am, a couple of paces from a real woman and a bottle of hair dye. A couple of paces from getting involved with any other person’s hair for the first time ever. No amount of videos in a darkened room can prepare you for the real thing. The one advantage that the darkened room has over this situation is that you can get comfortable and take matters in hand, so to speak. Doing that now would probably spoil the mood and any chance that I have of ever getting a proper job.
I took the first step. She was still there. I took the second step. The bottle was within reach. As was a woman, old enough to be my mother, without a shirt on. I took the bottle from her outstretched hand.
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ she asked.
‘You’re sure you want to do this?’
‘The decision is yours, young man’ she said.
I looked at her. ‘I haven’t even introduced myself and look at us!’ I laughed.
‘Let’s keep the air of mystery, shall we?’ she replied with a wink. Maybe I wasn’t the only one with a slightly deviant streak.
‘I don’t know how you do this’ I said, reality starting to dawn. I started to assess the morality of what I was doing, how I’d schemed to get to this position, how I never thought that it would happen, how I thought that it would provide material for a little solo-pleasure later on. I turned the bottle upside down and dabbed it on the centre of her crown.
I went in again, seeing the first drops emerge.
‘Gently’ she said.
‘Sorry’ I replied, wondering whether I should get a knife and treat it like a bottle of ketchup. More came out. Now we’re going.
She let me daub away for a few more moments. ‘I suppose I’m going to be a redhead after all’ she chuckled.
‘Probably is too late now’ I said, my proficiency improving. I was getting the hang of the process so quickly that I was able to drink in the swell of her chest where she wasn’t holding the towel tightly enough. This was probably going to be my eternal conflict: hair fetish or good old-fashioned nooky.
‘You’d ought to put those gloves on otherwise you’ll be going home red-handed’ she joked, just as I was about to start to move bits out of the way, so that I could get at the as yet untouched sections.
‘Good idea’ I said, putting the bottle down on the table, before realising that any drips might ruin the surface. She reached forward to move it to the safety of the instruction leaflet, letting the towel slip further from her shoulders as she did so. I was rewarded with an uninhibited look at her bra-covered boobs , which turned out to be fuller than I’d thought based on my original assessment when she had her shirt on. The day was getting better by the minute! Table protected, hands protected, towel adjusted, I carried on.
‘I bet you never thought you’d be doing this today’ she said, breaking the slightly awkward silence that had descended. Not in my wildest dreams, I thought.
‘You never know what’ll happen when you’re a delivery driver. One of my colleagues rescued a pensioner who’d fallen over in his house last week. Heard the faintest cries when he got to the door, ended up being a real hero’ I recounted.
‘Well done him’ she commented. I returned my focus to the sloppy mess on her head.
‘I’m not sure if there’s enough in here’ I said. ‘Too little stuff or too much hair’ I added.
‘Maybe you’ve put it on too thick. It must be meant for women with longer hair than mine’ she replied.
‘If I make sure that I work out from your scalp you could always cut the bits off that don’t get covered at the ends’ I ventured. Maybe that was expecting too much from the Hair Gods. I should content myself with the bounty that I’d got in front of me: colouring the hair of a real-live woman who had no shirt on.
‘Or you could do it properly’ she said.
‘That too’ I replied, trying to eke out the colourful mess on her head.
‘If you don’t hurry up, I’ll be multi-coloured anyway.’
‘Then you really would have to cut it off’ I said aloud without actually meaning to.
‘You know, I’m starting to think that you’ve got a thing about hair and cutting hair’ she observed. I wanted to puke. She’d rumbled me.
‘Happy to help, that’s all’ I said awkwardly.
I was almost relieved to have got to the end of the bottle, using my inadequately-covered hands to work the mixture through her hair.
‘That’s about it’ I said.
‘Now we wait’ she replied.
‘I’d ought to be going.’
‘Don’t you want to see the end result?’
‘I’m sure it’ll be lovely’ I offered.
‘Who do I shout at if I hate it?’ she asked with a smile. She had a point. I looked out of the window towards my van.
‘I should move my van, people will be calling the depot if it’s there too long.’
‘It’s communal parking. No-one will know which house you’re at, so don’t worry about it. Cup of tea while we wait?’
Tea? Please let it be in a mug. A cup and saucer would be too much of a give-away when she hears it rattling with every tremble of my hands. What I really need is relief of a different sort, which will require privacy and total recall.
‘Yes, thank you’ I said, unable to think of a reason not to.
She stood up, clutching the towel around her and then deciding that it was too much trouble. She draped it over the back of the chair.
‘Hope you don’t mind’ she said with a smile.
‘No, you’re fine’ I said, wondering what I could do to beat down the semi that was starting to make itself known. I turned away from her to look around the room, look for signs of other people. I heard sounds of tea-making.
‘Here, have one of these’ she said from far too close to me. I hadn’t heard her approach. I turned and looked round, catching a full view of her bra-covered chest. I quickly sought out anything other than lovely boobs in pretty bra and lighted upon the packet of chocolate biscuits that she was holding out. She’d seen, though. She knew. I took a biscuit, trying to raise my gaze while blanking out boobs and pretty bra.
‘Thanks’ I said.
‘You never know, it might be a while before you get back for dinner’ she said.
‘I’ll get something on the way back’ I said too quickly. She went back over to where the kettle was starting to boil. Thank God for rapid boil kettles!
I went back to gazing out of the window until she announced that the tea was ready.
‘Thanks’ I said once again. My gratitude was for far more than the tea. We sat at stools at her breakfast bar. She looked at me.
‘So, you like girls with short hair?’ she said.
‘No, yeah, I don’t mind’ I replied, caught completely off guard.
‘You seem pretty keen on finding an excuse for me to cut mine’ she said. Who was this woman? Someone with mind-reading powers?
‘It just seemed a practical solution. If you haven’t got enough stuff to do the job, you have to work with what you’ve got, make it fit somehow’ I muttered.
‘There’s the wisdom of a practical man. A man who works with his hands’ she observed.
‘Not really. It’s just common sense’ I replied.
‘Your girlfriend wouldn’t cut her hair. That’s why she’s not your girlfriend?’ she observed. Fuck! Have I got something written on my forehead or what?
‘We just decided that we weren’t right for each other’ I said evasively.
‘Because you wanted her to cut her hair and she wouldn’t’ she persisted. Double fuck! I tried to take a sip of my tea to gain some thinking time, but realised that I’d need skin grafts if I did. It was too hot.
I shrugged my response. She looked at me with the eyes of one who is burrowing deep into your very being. She smiled.
‘Hypothetically, if I gave you a choice of me taking my bra off or letting you cut my hair, which would you choose?’ She sat back slightly as if to allow me to consider my options. I almost hoped that she’d go back a little further and fall off the stool. She cocked her head to one side, waiting.
‘I’d have to give you the politician’s answer and say that I don’t respond to hypothetical questions.’
She reached behind her with both hands. It took me a nano second to realise what she was doing.
‘Looks like you don’t get to cut my hair’ she said, poised.
‘I’d better go’ I said, pushing my undrunk tea away from me.
‘Really? This was just starting to be fun’ she replied. Trust me to find someone who’d gone stir-crazy during lockdown.
‘I’ll get the sack’ I replied.
‘Would that be so bad? Who’d tell? Not me.’
‘My van’s outside’ I said.
‘Move it then, if you’re so concerned.’
‘I’d need to take it home, anywhere else and people would wonder what it’s doing there.’
‘Do that then, but you might find that the moment has passed when you get back.’
‘You want me to come back?’
‘Only if you want to’ she replied, bringing her hands back round the front.
‘It’ll take me an hour.’
‘There’s an industrial park just down the road. Two minute walk. You’ll be back before I need to wash this off’ she said.
‘You’ll probably call the police while I’m away.’
‘Only one way to find out.’
I looked at her sitting there without a shirt, hair full of promise. I stood up and headed for the door.
All the way down the road I was like a kid on Christmas morning. Would I get what I wanted so much? Would Santa have decided that I’d been good enough to merit any presents? I found the industrial park, decided that it looked safe and sufficiently anonymous and left the van. I headed back to her house, trying not to run so that I didn’t turn up all sweaty. I turned into her street. No police cars. That was good.
I rang the bell. Nothing. I rang again. No sign of life. She’d come to her senses. I headed down the path towards the road. Something made me turn as I reached the pavement and I saw the slightest flutter of the curtains in an upstairs window. She was watching me go. I started to walk again, but turned one last time. The front door was open. I turned on my heel.
‘You give up too easily’ a disembodied voice said.
I looked up the empty stairwell to where the voice had come from. I still couldn’t see her.
‘I’m just washing this off, so make yourself comfortable’ she called down.
I went into the lounge and looked around. Tidy, well-thought out, a woman’s room. That was all the confirmation that I needed that there wasn’t a man on the scene. I studied her bookshelves and was suitably impressed with her choices. Suitably intelligent, evidence that they’d been read. I heard the sound of a shower. I picked up a book that I’d always thought that I should have read, but never had. I flicked to the first page and had a scan. I liked it and kept going. I heard a hair dryer. I’d just started the third chapter when I sensed her walk past the lounge door. She was downstairs again.
‘Do you want me to make you a fresh cup of tea?’ she called from the kitchen.
‘I’d prefer something cold again, if that’s okay’ I replied, impatient to see the result of my handiwork.
Moments later she appeared with another can of Coke. She’d covered her modesty with a satin dressing gown. She wasn’t wearing jeans anymore. Her hair was vibrant red. Because of me. Fuck. I thought it was a great improvement, but then I would, wouldn’t I. She still had it in that sort of bob that was in-between. Neither frumpy, nor interesting. It just was. She could be stunning if she got it cut properly.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
That question could be answered in several different ways given the circumstances.
‘It looks good’ I said, deploying my full quota of male reserve.
‘That good, eh?’ she said.
‘Sorry, I’m not good with compliments. It looks really good’ I ventured.
‘Better than before?’
‘Much.’ I couldn’t say what I wanted to say in words that would be acceptable to a woman that I’d only just met.
‘So you don’t want to cut it off now?’ she asked, fixing me with a look that meant business. How do you answer a question like that?
‘What I said before…it was just a potential solution to a problem that didn’t happen, that’s all.’
‘And if I presented you with some scissors, you wouldn’t want to use them?’
‘No’ I lied.
‘Hasn’t anyone ever told you to grab opportunities when they present themselves?’
‘Not in so many words.’
‘I may as well sit down then’ she said.
She sat down across from me. She crossed her legs and caught the edge of her gown just as it started to slip off her thigh. She smiled. She looked at me. She uncrossed her legs. She parted her knees.
‘You were saying that you’d like me with shorter hair, but you don’t want to cut it yourself. Would you suggest that I go to a salon?’ she asked.
If I was crude, I’d say that she said that without moving her lips, because the lips that filled my vision didn’t move when she spoke.
‘Didn’t anyone tell you that it’s rude to stare?’ she asked.
‘Sorry’ I said, feeling the colour in my face rise like something out of a cartoon.
‘It’s fine, young-man-with-no-name, but I think it’s time for a little honesty, don’t you’ she said, closing the window of opportunity. ‘How about you tell me the truth about you and that bottle of hair colour? I like to think that I’m a good judge of whether someone’s telling the truth. Tell the truth and you get to choose what comes off. Tell me a story and it’s time for me to find a different online shopping provider.’
She could see that I was about to launch into my cover story.
‘Think carefully’ she cautioned, straightening her gown. Apart from the fact that she was sitting in front of a guy less than half her age, wearing a satin gown and apparently nothing else, she was quite demure. She could’ve been a headmistress admonishing a pupil. I need to stop that train of thought. That’s one ingredient too many in the current mix.
I looked at her and took a deep breath.
‘It was a bit of fun. I just wanted to see if I could get someone to actually accept the box.’
‘That’s all? You were happy to give them a box and let them close the door, never knowing what they’d done with it?’
‘Well, I thought that I could check on the next delivery.’
‘And? What then?’
‘I don’t know. It was a bit of a schoolboy prank’ I said, before the change in her expression told me that her lie detector had just spiked.
‘I mean it was a prank to see if she’d use it. The pay-off would actually come if she did.’
‘And what pay-off would that be?’
‘You know…’ I said, starting to wither under her gaze. ‘It’d be a turn-on’ I continued, sensing the spike recede slightly.
‘And what form would that turn-on take?’
I paused. She waited. ‘I’d pleasure myself’ I confessed demurely.
‘And you were going to do that over me’ she asked.
‘Well, not “over you” as such’ I admitted ‘but the memory of you with red hair would serve as the trigger.’ She nodded.
‘But you never expected to be there at the scene of the crime, with your fingerprints all over the show’ she said. She saw me tense at those words.
‘Don’t worry. I was speaking metaphorically’ she said. She had indeed read those clever books on her shelves!
‘No, I didn’t expect that.’
‘Did you like it?’
I paused. I considered the consequences that she’d set out.
‘I liked it, but I don’t think I did very well.’
‘You were fine. I can’t see any bits that you missed, can you?’ she asked.
‘Not from here’ I said.
‘Have a closer look if you want’ she invited.
‘I think I got it all’ I said, not wanting to move.
‘But the colour isn’t enough, is it?’ she asked. She was relentless. She deployed that look again. She sensed my hesitation. She sensed my discomfort.
‘I need a drink’ she said, getting up suddenly. She left the room, giving me the opportunity to rearrange my assets. I’d defy any red-bloodied male not to be responding to the situation, even if he had no interest in what a woman did with her hair. As for me, I was getting it from all directions. A woman who’d taken up the challenge of a stranger bearing a bottle of hair colour, a woman who’d opened up the topic of short hair and a woman who was sitting in the same room as me wearing the flimsiest of gowns. One or all of those elements would be enough to raise a response from any man with a pulse and probably quite a few women too.
She returned with a glass in each hand. Gin at a guess, possibly vodka. She took a sip out of one.
‘Mmmmm’ she said, licking her lips. I started to reach out for the second glass.
‘Not so quick. This next part needs you to be completely open’ she said.
‘I am being open’ I objected.
‘I need to see ultimate proof’ she said. I waited for her to expand her definition of proof. She nodded at my trousers. ‘It’s the only way to gauge just how interested you are in the next part of our conversation’ she said.
‘You mean…?’ She nodded.
‘You’ve already counted the hairs on mine. I want to see yours’ she said, taking another sensuous sip from her glass.
‘I didn’t see anything’ I claimed.
‘Thanks to my beautician and some not inconsiderable discomfort while she ripped it out by the roots’ she chuckled.
‘It’s been a long day. I’ve been lugging boxes up stairs and all sorts’ I said.
‘There’s a guest shower down the hall. Clean towels. Feel free’ she offered.
I ran through everything that had happened today, from the snarky put-down from one woman when I offered her the box to sitting here being offered the use of a guest shower. Memories of this would be the antidote to any negativity I felt about my current job for as long as it lasted. I got up. ‘That way?’ I asked.
‘Down the hall. Can’t miss it. Not sure why someone put a shower there, but they did, so you may as well use it if you want.
I found it and closed the door, leaning back against it, looking skywards. How had I got here? I had to be dreaming. I turned the shower on and stripped off, not looking forward to having to put the same clothes on afterwards. I got under the powerful jet and tried to think of ways to have a shower in the current circumstances without giving in to temptation. Somehow I managed it and just as I turned the water off, I heard her at the door.
‘There’s a gown in the airing cupboard if you’re shy, but you can’t come into the lounge with it on, so you may as well not bother’ she said. Or was that in my head? I pinched myself. What if there really was a boyfriend and he was waiting in the hall to kick the shit out of me? A robe probably wouldn’t help me in that scenario, I decided. I dried myself quickly with the largest, fluffiest towel that I had ever encountered and opened the door. No-one there. I walked down the hallway, towel in hand, trying to act as if it was something that I did every day. It wasn’t, even when I had a current girl.
‘That’s better’ she said as I walked into the lounge. She still had her gown on. I still had a semi on. ‘Now I can see what you really think about things. So, where were we?’ she said as I sat on the floor so that I could prop myself against one of the armchairs.
‘You were just re-enacting the Spanish Inquisition, I seem to remember’ I replied. She smiled.
‘I’m just trying to get to know you. I hope you don’t think that I’m in the habit of inviting men into my home and letting them take advantage of me before they’ve even told me their name’ she explained.
‘You didn’t want to know my name’ I clarified.
‘You know what I mean’ she said. ‘Anyway, move that hand out of the way. I want to see what you really think about things.’
I did as she asked, annoyed that she now had more clothes on that me.
‘So, would you prefer me with shorter hair?’ she asked, with the air of someone chatting with an acquaintance in a supermarket. She paused. ‘You don’t seem sure’ she said. I could feel myself withering under the attention.
‘It’s late night opening. Would you like me to ring the salon and make an appointment to get my hair cut?’ She paused again.
‘You don’t seem to want that at all. Would you like to cut my hair yourself?’ She waited and then pulled a little face. ‘That looked like a “maybe” to me’ she said with a little smile. I was starting to wish that I’d just gone home.
‘How about if I said you could do whatever you wanted?’ she ventured.
‘Are we still talking about your hair?’
‘You’re not really talking at all and your body language isn’t giving much away if I’m honest’ she replied.
‘You must admit, this is a bit weird’ I said.
‘There’s plenty of men who’d love to be where you are now’ she replied. She took a sip of her drink. I was thirsty, but didn’t think that alcohol would be beneficial right at that moment.
She put her glass down and stood up. ‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked, looking down at me.
‘Another Coke would be good, thanks’ I replied. She left the room, but was back quickly, can in one hand, glass in the other. I’d gone up in the world. She made a show of popping the can and then pouring it tantalisingly into the glass. She handed it to me and put the can down. Still standing in front of me, she loosened the belt on her gown. She eased it open, giving me an unrestricted view of her lower half. I looked up, meaning to look into her eyes, but pausing at her chest. Her boobs were fabulous. Conical, pointy, way more enticing than they had a right to be. The best pair of naked boobs that I’ve ever been in the same room as.
‘So you’re a tit man, is that it?’ she said, shedding the gown so that it puddled on the floor. She motioned for me to stand up, holding out her hands to take mine. There was no stopping my cock from trying to reach out too. She adjusted our clasped hands so that one of hers was free, while the other snaked down to encircle my more enthusiastic cock gently. He nodded a “hello”.
‘I think he’s a traditionalist’ she said, nodding down towards her new friend. ‘You, on the other hand are a lot more interesting’ she said, confirming her comment with a little squeeze.
‘Now that we’re such good friends, how about you tell me exactly what it is that you like so much, that you haven’t properly shared with him’ she urged with another squeeze.
There seemed no point in being coy any longer. There was nothing to hide behind, and having your balls cupped by a naked woman was just about the best encouragement that a man could get.
‘I like short hair’ I said simply.
‘How short? Shorter than mine obviously.’
‘The shorter the better’ I confessed. I wondered whether the good feeling was to do with the opportunity to speak freely or to do with her fingers playing with my sack. Her expression showed approval.
‘So what’s your optimum hairstyle?’ she pressed. I paused.
‘Nothing’ I said. There it was. My fetish in a single word.
‘Nothing?’ she repeated. I toyed with the idea of dropping in a little Shakespeare quote, but thought that this probably wasn’t the right time. I’d just look like a smart-arse.
‘You mean stubble or properly bald?’
‘Bald’ I confirmed.
‘Wow! That’s cutting down your pool of potential mates to next to nothing. No wonder your girlfriend did a runner.’
‘I didn’t ask her. She found stuff. On my computer.’
‘With an interest like that, your computer is probably your best friend’ she said, before realising that she’d just landed an almost mortal blow. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that, we can’t choose what turns us on. I have this thing for grocery delivery men. Can’t get enough of them!’ she chuckled. She ran her fingertips the length of my shaft, looking deep into my eyes.
‘You’re such a good boy. Most men would be grabbing at me, but you haven’t laid a finger on me. I think I like you’ she smiled, letting go of me all of a sudden and taking a step back.
‘Do you think I’d look good bald?’ she asked. ‘After all, I think I’m tired of being a redhead.’
‘I think most women would look good bald’ I replied.
‘Of course you do. Does that go for me?’
‘Especially for you’ I replied, aware of my growing self-confidence. After all, I was standing naked with a woman I’d only just met, talking about my innermost secrets. I had to seize the moment.
‘Really? And what do you think we should do about that?’
‘You could go and get some scissors and a razor’ I joked.
‘You think I’d do that for you? I don’t even know your name’ she replied, rubbing that second part in. I looked at her. If you don’t ask, you don’t get.
‘We could go to the salon in the mall if you’d prefer’ I pressed.
‘I think we’re comfortable enough here at the moment, don’t you?’ I nodded and she left the room without another word. So there I was, stark naked in a strange woman’s front room wondering what to do. Looking through her book collection again seemed inappropriate while sporting an erection, so I just bided my time. Several minutes passed before she came back, but it was worth the wait.
‘Sorry to keep you. My mother would have a fit if she ever found out that I was naked in front of a man whose name I didn’t even know’ she said. She smiled. I looked. She was wearing some sort of red and black corset thing that I don’t know the name of. Sort of a tube thing the pulls her waist in but has shelves to support her boobs while leaving them fully exposed. Black stockings attached with straps that dangle from the corset thing. High-heeled shoes. It all formed a frame to showcase her naked pussy and boobs. Good of her to go to all that effort.
‘I was going to slick back my hair, but I thought that we might do something different’ she said, holding up a small plastic case. ‘A previous boyfriend left these behind when he ran out on me’ she explained. I was intrigued.
She rested the case on the back of an armchair and opened it up. She peered inside, ferreted around and retrieved a set of hair clippers. I knew what they were, obviously, but I’d never used them. Never even experienced them at close quarters. I’d been going to the girl who cut my hair for a couple of years and I didn’t want to spoil a good thing by giving her the slightest peek into my private world. Scissors all the way for me. Barberettes in tight jeans and tee-shirts are few and far between and now that I have one, I really don’t want to spook her in any way.
I watched her stretch over the chair more elegantly and nimbly that she had any right to. I’m sure that it was all for my benefit and I appreciated it. I’ve never derived so much pleasure before from watching a plug being put into a socket. She reversed out and stood upright, clippers in hand. A cursory glance and the sudden buzzing sound confirmed that she’d found the switch.
‘Looks more promising that the kitchen scissors’ she said, turning them off. She looked at me. I looked at her, unable to decide between lower half, chest area or head. A quick tour took in all three. ‘The cord isn’t long, you’re going to have to come over here. Bring him with you, won’t you’ she said, nodding at my midriff. I suppose that ogling somebody’s naughty bits isn’t a male preserve. Equality and all that!
I did as asked, trying to decide where I should get her to sit, how to approach it to get maximum enjoyment. Whether she was just teasing and would back out at the last minute. I reached out to take the clippers from her.
‘Not so fast young man’ she said. I looked at her. ‘Haven’t you learned that a lady needs a little attention before getting down to the main event? Now, if you kneel down, see if there’s anything that takes your fancy’ she urged.
I did as she asked and came face to face with shiny stockings, straps and slick, hairless pussy. The little forward buck of her hips told me all that I needed to know. I planted a kiss on the smoothest mound that I’d ever encountered. I have a requirement that any woman I get this close to has to be shaven, which has cost me on more than one occasion. Running my tongue over this specimen will mean that I’ll have to up the stakes for future encounters. I’ll have to have a rider demanding that all prospective conquests are professionally waxed where it matters. I licked the length of her slit, traced the contours of her mound, convinced myself that her beautician would be my friend for life, all the while running my hands up the backs of her stocking-clad legs. I exerted a little outward pressure to ease my way in to where it mattered and she complied.
There’s something strange that happens to your senses when you’re burrowing between a woman’s legs for the first time. It’s all consuming, some senses are heightened, some take a back seat. There’s no real reason why you need an acute sense of hearing just then, so that’s the first to step aside. That’s probably why I wasn’t aware that she’d turned the clippers on, why the first I knew was when the clippers made contact with the top of my head and ran through my hair without hesitation. That was enough for me to lose interest in what I’d been doing and to look up at her with a hand clutched to the top of my head.
‘What the fuck?’ I said, having another feel, just in case the almost bare skin that I’d felt the first time hadn’t been the correct impression. It was. She was smiling down at me.
‘Just wanted to make sure that they worked’ she smiled. ‘Now, be a good boy and hold still for me’ she added.
‘What am I going to say at work?’
‘You didn’t seem too concerned about me or whoever took that hair colour off you’ she countered.
‘Yeah, well, you had a choice’ I said.
‘Don’t be such a baby!’ she chided. She held the clippers poised. There was nothing that I could do except position myself to make it as easy as possible for her to finish what she’d started. I’d fantasised about shaving my head so often, but I’d always thought that it would be my barberette who’d take it upon herself to do it one day if I dropped enough hints. The clippers ran while I played off the current scenario of a near-naked stranger doing it, against my favourite hair-cutter, with whom I’d got such aa history. It was a close-run thing, but as they say, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. I wondered what value a bird without a bush would be assigned. That particular bird was proving very accomplished with the clippers.
‘This isn’t the first time you’ve done this, is it?’ I asked.
‘The previous owner of these was balding, so he liked me to do this for him rather than go around with a comb-over’ she chuckled.
She was re-positioning my head as needed, leaving me with twin concerns about what people would say, and whether I’d be able to stand up after so long on my knees. The pile of hair over my thighs and on the floor was growing. She circled me as she needed, with no regard to parading around in front of me fully on-show. Eventually she switched the clippers off and did a tour of inspection.
‘Stand up for me’ she said.
‘Easier said than done’ I replied as I struggled to my feet. ‘Old football injury’ I explained.
She stood in front of me, smiling that smile. She switched the clippers on.
‘Hold very still’ she instructed. I watched the hand with the clippers approach. She wasn’t? She was.
‘Why should you have pubes and not me?’ she replied with a tone to her voice that told me that there was no right of appeal. My pubes were doomed. That was something else that I’d thought of doing, but never actually done. I didn’t want any potential bed-mate to think that I was some sort of fetishist or anything. I’d have to steer clear of communal changing rooms for a while, but at least the lockdown restrictions made that an unlikely prospect for the near future. The blades made contact and a clump fell prey to them right away. I watched the tumbleweed become loose and go into freefall. I was grateful for the protective cordon that her hand formed around my cock.
‘Bet you didn’t think you’d be doing this today’ she said, her eyes where they needed to be.
‘Funnily enough, no’ I replied. I watched her work, sneaking a hand up to get my first feel of my denuded scalp. There was nothing there.
‘Don’t do that while I’ve got these poised’ she instructed. There had been a reaction, a favourable one, downstairs and it was probably not a good time. She worked away, free and easy with my dick, steering this way and that so that she could get at the bits that she needed to. I looked down to see myself without pubes for the first time in as long as I could remember. Different. Makes me look bigger, if I may say that myself. The clippers went off for a second time and she planted a kiss on the newly-revealed skin just above my shaft. She stood up, her left hand trailing to cup my hairless balls, up my shaft, onto my abdomen.
‘That’s better don’t you think?’
‘I still can’t believe I’ve got to go into work tomorrow like this’ I said.
‘You’re a guy. Guys shave their heads. Big deal’ she replied without compassion for my predicament. She tried to clear the clipper blades, but then gave up, putting them back into the box on the chair. I looked down at the mound of my hair.
‘I’ll help you clear this up first’ I said.
‘What do you mean first”?’
‘Before we do yours. Or are we doing yours somewhere else?’ I asked as she unplugged the machine. I couldn’t help but admire her curves as she stretched across the chair and contorted down to the socket.
She looked at me.
‘Oh, I’m not doing mine’ she replied. She had a fabulous poker face. Expressionless. I waited for it to change. It didn’t. She closed the lid.
‘But…’ I said.
‘I changed my mind’ she said.
‘Just like that’ I commented, feeling more deflated that I could remember.
‘My mother said that a lady shouldn’t give it all up on the first date’ she said. I stared at her, oblivious to the charms that had previously drawn my attention. Something that had seemed to be going so well, had gone off the rails. I could feel the urge to vomit begin deep down. I’d lost my hair for nothing. Inspiration struck.
‘Did you always do what your mother told you?’ I challenged.
‘Well, get those clippers plugged back in and get on you knees’ I said, trying to sound as if I wasn’t about to cry. It was her turn to challenge me with a look. I raised an eyebrow to signal that I was waiting and that I wasn’t going anywhere. I have very expressive eyebrows.
She opened the lid and turned back to look at me, clippers in hand. She reached behind the chair again, presenting me with a perfect split peach. I wanted to stroke it, lick it, penetrate its flesh, but didn’t dare deviate from my primary purpose. She stood upright, clippers in hand and looked at me. I looked down. She knelt and I reached down to take the clippers from her. She looked up at me, realisation dawning that she was seconds from losing her hair. She reached up to touch my dick that still wasn’t sure whether to stow itself for travel or ready itself for action. I took a handful of her hair in my hand and tilted her head back to look at me. She smiled up at me.
‘We should probably take a picture of you as a redhead’ I said.
‘No pictures’ she said as I turned away to get my phone.
I fumbled with my phone in my excitement, pleased to see that she hadn’t moved.
‘Head and shoulders’ I said in a bid to convince her. ‘Say “cheese”‘ I urged, trying to be as serious as possible while naked. She managed a half-hearted smile, which was matched by my half-hearted attempt to restrict the picture to her head and shoulders. ‘One more for luck’ I said, ensuring that the picture captured a kneeling woman at her sluttiest. Well, maybe she could get sluttier than this, what did I know. To me, it was payback for shaving my head without warning.
I put my phone down and resumed my previous position, handful of hair in one hand, clippers in the other.
‘I like to think that I’m a decent guy, so just say if you don’t want me to do this’ I said, wondering where this streak of decency could have emerged from at such a time. When would I ever get the opportunity again? Was that a tear in the corner of her eye? Go on, make it difficult for me. I waited for the words, but then could wait no more. I flicked the switch and pushed them back from her forehead in one easy motion. I thought that I’d cum at the sight of the bare skin that was being revealed. She knelt there, arms by her side, placid, expectant. I repeated the clipper pass and then stood back from her to take in what I’d done.
‘Another picture, don’t you think?’ I said. There was no objection, no editorial guidance at what was allowed or not, so I went for it. ‘That’s great. Fabulous’ I said as I rattled off a couple of pictures. ‘Touch your tits’ I instructed, expecting her to tell me where to go. Her hands went upwards slowly, covering her boobs, fingertips sliding downwards towards her nipples to reveal her boobs again. She appeared to be entering into the spirit of things, particularly when she licked a finger and trailed it southbound. She sat up on her heels, presenting me with a view of the finest pussy that I had seen first-hand. She teased her lips apart and smiled as I watched her finger disappear. I clicked off a couple of shots and decided that it was more important to live the experience than take pictures of it. Perhaps I wasn’t as young as I liked to think.
I picked the clippers up again and went behind her. I could get a good view of what she was doing without losing sight of my main aim of clearing her head of hair. I looked down and was reminded of seeing circus clowns as a kid with bald pates and curly hair around the sides. I never liked clowns. I held the clippers to her head, allowing the vibrations to pulse through her for a moment before moving them up her temple and over her right ear. She looked less like a clown now. She let out a soft moan, which was probably self-induced as much as anything to do with having her head shaved.
I pushed her head down, giving her a full view of her busy hands. I reached down to fondle her left boob, finally having sufficient confidence that even if she threw me out now, I’d as good as shaved my very first woman. She tilted her head to touch my trailing forearm. Approval! I lingered long enough to appreciate the wonderful shape and then returned my attention to her head. I took a firm hold of the remaining hair on the left side of her head, tugging it hard enough for her to notice, but not so hard as to hurt.
‘Having fun?’ I asked.
‘Best part of my day so far’ she replied.
I started to tackle the hair that I’d just grasped, but decided that it was too awkward from that angle. I moved round to the front and ended up sitting cross-legged in front of her, which surprised me. Who knew that I could do that! We looked at each other for a moment, me bald, her a work-in-progress. She touched a finger to my lips, a finger that tasted of imminent promise. I made the acquaintance of her other boob, tracing a fingertip around the hazelnut of her nipple. I flicked the clippers on again and slid the blade up the side of her head before leaning in closer to go around her ear. I felt a hand on my thigh, squeezing, travelling. The bulk of her hair was gone now, only the occasional uneven patch remained, where I’d been less than professional in my approach. I re-visited these bits, easing them off before her hand could distract me too much. I stood up, breaking her hold, but wanting to make sure that I’d done as good a job as possible.
I stood in front of her, making a big thing of turning the clippers off to signal that my work was done. The red hair that she hadn’t had a chance to get used to was lying around her. I swapped the clippers for my phone and took a couple of pictures of what was essentially the finished look.
‘Happy now?’ she asked, striking a pose for the camera. I held out a hand to help her get up.
She went over to the mirror above the fireplace and assessed what I’d done. She was silent, keeping her counsel. I stood behind her and circled her with my arms, intending to provide comfort if any was needed.
‘You do realise that that sort of gesture is more effective when you haven’t got a raging boner’ she observed.
‘Sorry’ I replied, drawing back from her.
She turned to me and looked me in the eye.
‘Well, for one who says that he finds bald women so attractive, you’re a bit slow in showing it’ she said. She walked away. I thought that I’d blown it, but she perched momentarily on the edge of the large sofa before reclining, one foot up on the seat to showcase everything that she had.
‘You like bald women. I like being pleasured for hours by the tongues of young bald men’ she said with a quick flick of her own tongue over her lips. Fair exchange, I thought, getting to my knees. I fixed her gaze for as long as I could, feeling her hands on the back of my head, drawing me in to her. I’d loved astronomy as a kid and my mind was full of metaphors of spacecraft docking, objects being drawn irresitibly towards black holes before being swallowed, never to re-appear. If that was my fate, I was at peace with it. The pressure of her hands on my scalp told me all that I needed to know. I didn’t need the moans or the squirming, but I took them as a compliment. My jaw was starting to ache.
Eventually I had to give in, kissing her mound, her belly, her inner thighs above her stocking tops, anywhere that was away from the pleasuredome. (Yeah, I know, but I was down there long time). There was only one thing left to do. I stood up and stroked myself while she watched.
‘Where do you think you’re going to put that, young man?’ she asked.
‘I’ll find somewhere’ I replied.
‘That drawer over there’ she said, motioning with her left hand. ‘A small supply, in case of urgency’ she indicated, smiling at her own joke.
I opened the drawer and found an assortment of condoms. I wasn’t sure if that meant she was an avid consumer or never got the opportunity. I made do with one in my wallet.
‘Any preference?’ I asked.
‘You choose’ she said. It just had to be ribbed, for her pleasure.
She watched me open the packet, roll it on and then stand there expectantly.
‘All dressed up, with nowhere to go’ she joked. At least I hope she was joking.
‘Stand up’ I urged. ‘Let me see you in all your glory.’ She stood. ‘Wow!’ was the only thing to say. It might be sad to say, but I didn’t think that I would ever be able to top what I was looking at right then. There was only one thing left to do. I did a little circular motion with my hand and watched avidly while she turned her back on me. It certainly wasn’t the first time that a woman had turned her back on me, but there’s a purpose when the woman is dressed as this one was and naked where it mattered. I wanted to command her to ‘Assume the position’ but there was a risk involved that I just didn’t want to take. Instead, I went with the gentle caress, the trailing fingers, the tiniest pressure to urge her to bend at the waist and support herself on the arm of the chair.
One hand delved between her perfect buttocks, while the other guided me home. Her enjoyment of everything up to now was obvious. I savoured the moment of another notch on my belt, not moving, just pausing to take in the view. Buttocks giving way to corset, giving way to bare shoulders, neck and ultimately to bald scalp. I could expend the effort involved in conquering Everest and not enjoy the view as much as my current vista. Not that I ever would of course! I leant forward to cup those twin cones of pleasure in the palms of my hands and plant a kiss on the back of her head. It had cost me my hair and my pubes to get where I was, but nobody could take this memory away.
‘Don’t just stand there, fuck me!’ she urged. I’d almost forgotten that there were two of us in this experience. I eased back, placed my hands firmly on her haunches and started the trip to heaven. I prayed for the staying power of one of those guys who appear in the films that grace my browser from time to time, but knew that I’d endured unreasonable provocation and couldn’t take too much more. She pressed her arse into me, which I wanted to tell her wasn’t helpful just then. I could see the writing on the wall, well a landscape picture, and tried to immerse myself in it, in a bid to take my focus away from the bald woman in lingerie that I was currently hanging out of the back of. I remembered the words of wisdom from a previous girlfriend, how my outlook and approach to women was unacceptably sexist, and that last observation would probably have raised her hackles. It probably would’ve annoyed her too if I’d told her that this woman who was twenty years older than her had a better body than her, was more receptive than her and was bald into the bargain. That said, she was probably right. I needed to be a little more PC in my outlook.
I decided that it was time to mix it up. The gentle sliding ended abruptly with a thrust that would’ve put the arm of the chair through the plasterboard in lesser houses. She grunted and tightened her grip. Fasten your seatbelts lady, here I come. Well, I did after three more of those thrusts anyway. I gasped, she gasped and then squealed when the pain registered from the handfuls of buttock flesh that I’d just squeezed too hard. I stood upright and rigid behind her, inside her. Well, most of me, anyway. Part of me just couldn’t join in. She pulled away from me and turned to look at me.
‘Enjoy that?’ she asked, dipping a finger into the warmth that I’d just helped to increase.
‘It’s not about me’ I replied, trying to keep a straight face.
‘Well, if I were one of your teachers, I’d be telling you to do it again. Must try harder, that sort of thing’ she smiled.
‘Let me dwell on that for a few minutes’ I replied, wondering what I should do now.
‘There’s a couple of rough patches. If I get a proper razor, can you sort those out for me while you’re doing your dwelling?’ she asked, apparently not expecting an answer.
She left the room, leaving me to look around at the piles of hair. Hers, mine and the sad little pile of my pubes. I ran a hand over my own scalp, coming to the same conclusion that she had. I heard running water upstairs and decided that I may as well jump in the shower again too.
It was so strange, feeling near smoothness where so recently there had been familiarity. I soaped myself, trying not to dwell for too long on the new areas of interest. It felt good just to cool down.
I towelled dry and sauntered back into the lounge with a fresh towel wrapped around my waist. I heard her in the kitchen. There were sounds of the fridge being opened and drinks poured.
‘Best we do it in here’ she called out.
I joined her in the kitchen, slightly disappointed that she was wearing a light robe and that the good stuff had been discarded. At least she had the decency to leave the belt unfastened so that I got a view of the important bits. She handed me a glass of what turned out to be sparkling water. There was a can of shaving foam and a packet of pink safety razors on the table.
‘I hope you’ve got a steady hand’ she said with that smile of hers.
‘If I haven’t, it’s your fault’ I replied. She saw where I was looking and pulled the gown around her.
‘Focus’ she urged.
She sat down and I picked up the can, willing myself to be calm in the face of intense provocation. I wondered how long my towel would stay in place. I thought back to all of the shaving films that I’d seen, the excitement of the very first one that I saw, the thrill that some of them still induced after many viewings. None came close to this moment. I squirted some foam gingerly onto her scalp, not quite sure how forceful the spray would be. It was okay and then I was off, spreading it with curious fingers. I’d found my calling in life! Once I was happy that I’d got full coverage, I wiped my hands and took a razor out of the packet. Designed for legs, but it’d do the job that I planned for it. I glanced at her to check that she was okay with me proceeding and then made my first tentative stroke with a blade. Her knees parted and her right hand ran up her thigh until she had it just where she wanted it. How could I ignore that? I stoically continued with the task at hand, ignoring the potential distraction as far as possible.
The foam mass on her scalp fragmented into smaller continents, which disappeared from the map one by one until we were back to skin again.
‘That’s you’ I said, my fingers seizing the opportunity for a stroke across its surface.
‘Let me go and rinse it and then I’ll do yours’ she offered. Once more, I was left alone to ponder my good fortune. I tightened the towel that had started to work itself loose around my midriff.
When she returned, she looked radiant. Far better bald than as a blonde or a redhead. She slid the gown from her shoulders as she approached and indicated that I was to sit on the chair that she had vacated. Her preparation to shave me differed from what I’d just done for her. She used her teeth to tear open the little packet and then crouched down to roll the sheath over a very interested recipient. She smiled and gave my cock a little tug before straddling me. Hands linked behind my neck, she leaned back and just looked at me, a broad grin on her face.
‘Just in case he should happen to get too close’ she said.
She changed to a one-handed grip on the back of my neck so that she could reach the can on the table. Then she checked her balance before going into ‘hands-free’ mode. I heard the squirt, felt the foam and then revelled in the touch of her fingertips as she slid the foam around. This was almost worth losing my hair for! I felt a twitch down below, confirming the wisdom of her safety-first approach. She used both hands to smear the foam, eventually clapping her hands on my cheeks in what I thought was a rather childish gesture. She wiped her hands clean and then reached for the razor. She was poised to start, but then smiled, lifted off me slightly and positioned herself.
‘What do you want, an embossed invitation?’ she asked.
I fiddled about in the small space between us to ensure that my aim was true and just let my tip nuzzle her lips. She slid slowly down on to me, never losing my gaze. She smiled and reached up to make the first stroke with the razor. My hands rested on her haunches simply because that was the natural place for them to be. I wanted to play with her heavenly tits, but thought it best to let her do what she was doing without distraction. Apart from my cock implanted inside her, of course. From time to time, she’d tense her muscles and give me a little squeeze to let me know that she hadn’t forgotten that I was there. She pressed close to me to reach the back of my head, concealing her boobs, but letting me feel their warmth against my chest. Then I was finished apparently. She reached across to put the razor on the table, ran her hands over my scalp and stopped being passive. It started with gentle muscle contractions, then she wrapped me in her arms and started to work up and down on my shaft slowly. She was purring, I was just trying not to cum. My eyes were closed, I hoped that hers were too. She started to get more vigorous and I decided to do what I’d seen in a few movies. I stood up, taking her with me. I wished that I hadn’t. It looked so easy in the movies, but I teetered before I regained my balance. I probably needed a wall too brace against. Between us, we managed to make it safely to the floor where she wrapped her legs around me once more.
I stared into her eyes as I pressed myself as deep inside her as I could without actually climbing in. My thrusts were insistent, grateful. She let out a tiny gasp as each one hit home. This wasn’t love-making, it was pure fucking, pure pleasure. Well, I hoped it was for her, because it certainly was for me. I was trying to drive her into the floor and she was putting everything into matching each thrust with resistance. We were going faster, panting, probably crying out. Just a couple more and there it was. I felt her shudder, felt my own body go rigid for a moment before we reached the awkward part where your body ceased to be weightless and she tries to get you to climb off her. I rolled to the side.
‘You should be more considerate to a frail old lady’ she panted.
‘That’s the last thing you are! You should be taking pity on an inexperienced boy’ I replied.
‘Call it a tie?’ she offered, getting to her knees. I nodded. ‘Shower-time’ she added, holding out a hand to me.
This time I got to accompany her to her own shower and I suspect that it wasn’t the first time that it had seen multiple occupants. It was bigger than the kitchen in my student flat. She fired it up and we got in, giggling like a couple of kids. We stood under the jet to rinse our heads and then she started to wash me. Pretty good service, I thought. I tried to take the soap from her to return the favour, but she held up her hand to signal to me to stop. She turned the water off. Her back was against the wall and I watched her slide down slowly to achieve a squatting position. She looked up at me with a wicked grin and then I realised what she was doing. She reached up to touch my cock, which was starting to think that all of its Christmases had come at once. I was watching a bald woman shamelessly taking a piss in front of me. I was embarrassed at first, but then thought that it would be rude not to watch. Then decided that it would be rude not to join in. My hand joined hers on my cock as I fought every instinct that told me that someone watching me piss was wrong. That pissing on someone was wrong. I’d been brought up to be polite, but felt elated as I saw my stream start. She closed her eyes as I played it over her shaven head. How much would that be worth as a film, I wondered. I was grateful for all the liquid that I’d put away since I’d arrived, a sense of relief washing over me as I played fireman with a hot, bald woman.
The supply ran out and I turned the shower back on, holding out my hand to help her up.
‘The things you fantasise about when you spend too long on your own!’ she said, letting the hot water hit her scalp.
‘I hope you didn’t mind.’
‘You could safely say that I started it’ she confessed, starting to soap me again. I returned the favour without interruption, savouring the contours of a woman’s body under my soapy hands for the first time. There was so much that I hadn’t done with girlfriends so far, that I’d got to experience with a random acquaintance on a job that I never had any intention of doing. Showering complete, drying was a joint task, involving much giggling. She told me to go and get dressed downstairs and that she would join me in a few minutes.
When she came downstairs, everything was different. The cougar had returned to its cage and I was looking at a perfectly ordinary housewife, wearing a plain dress that was simple, but elegant. The only thing that would catch your eye about her was the fact that she was bald.
‘Will I do down the supermarket?’ she asked.
‘You’d do anywhere. You’re stunning’ I replied. She blew me a kiss.
‘I’d better be going’ I said, looking around to make sure that I’d got everything.
‘Just like that? Love ’em and leave ’em, is that your approach?’
‘Well, no, but..’
‘But what? You’ve had your way with me and now you just toss me aside, is that it?’ she said with a hint of a smile.
‘Not at all. I thought you’d want me to go’ I replied.
‘Up to you’ she said.
I felt awkward. What was I meant to do?
‘Are you going to make me order more groceries?’ she asked.
‘No, but I haven’t got your phone number’ I replied.
‘You could get it off the order. Or you could ask your mum’ she said with that mystifying smile. What?
‘It took me a while to put it together, but you look like someone from my yoga class. You’ve got the same eyes. I bumped into her last week. She told me about how proud she was about her son, who’d taken a job as a delivery driver rather than sit around and wait for things to improve. It’s Cathy, isn’t it? Your mum’s name’ she said.
‘Yes’ I said uncertainly.
‘Say hello for me. You’ll probably see her before me’ she said.
‘You haven’t told me your name.’
‘That’s right, I haven’t.’
‘Are you going to?’
‘Probably not, but you’ll never know unless you come back.’
I reached up and stroked her head, wondering how best to leave. Should I give her a kiss, say thank you?
She sensed my hesitation. ‘Go on, go, but give me a call if you feel like something to drink.’ She pecked me on the cheek and opened the door. I walked down the path, a myriad images going through my mind, most of them unsuitable for a family audience. For a moment I couldn’t remember where I’d left the van, but then speed-walked back to the industrial estate to get it. I sat in the driver’s seat, exhilarated, exhausted. I pulled out my phone for a little refresher to get me home. I doubted that my pictures would win any awards, but they’d be good enough for me. I opened my gallery. I scrolled through. Pictures from the pub at the weekend, but nothing after. I thought back. I’d been in the shower longer than her. She was in the kitchen when I got out. She’d deleted them. Fuck! I fired up the van and headed for home wondering how to explain my new look.