I've been going to the same barber shop for years -- a little one-woman storefront in my neighborhood run by an old lady who works cheap, chain-smokes, and cusses like a sailor. All her customers call her Granny.
I went in late on Tuesday this week. Granny was getting ready to close up shop. But I was pretty shaggy and needed a trim badly. As Granny was explaining to me that she "just can't fucking stay late" because her ex-husband had "some kind of fucking thing" (I don't know what she meant) a young lady walked out of the back room and stole one hundred percent of my attention.
She was gorgeous -- petite and bouncy, wearing a light sun dress that swung playfully across her tanned, skinny thighs. She had hopeful blue eyes, a thin nose, and long, looping blond locks that fell over her shoulders and the spaghetti straps of her dress. She walked toward us.
Granny followed my gaze and said, "This is my granddaughter, Eloise."
She nodded and offered me her delicate hand.
"Hi Eloise," I said, but held onto her hand longer than she expected. She looked at me with a little surprise and then her eyelashes fluttered and she looked away, smiling.
Granny said Eloise was in training, and that she might take over the shop some day. The young beauty seemed to force a smile in response to that.
I asked, "Well, Granny, if you have to go now, could Eloise cut my hair?"
"Oh, no. She's still pretty shitty. Best to come back tomo--"
"I can do it," Eloise interrupted. Granny looked surprised.
"I've been watching you all day. I think I've got the hang of it," the beauty said.
Granny frowned.
"And he definitely needs it. Look at the back of his neck," Eloise said. She reached up and touched my neck, delivering a shock of excitement through me.
Granny looked at her watch. "What the hell," she shrugged. "Lock up when you leave." And then on the way out the door she turned to me and said, "No fucking refunds!" Then she left.
"Sorry about Granny's language," Eloise smiled. She stepped to the door, locked it, and turned the "OPEN" sign to "CLOSED." Then she switched off the lights in the waiting area and gestured further back where the shop's only barber chair was.
"Oh, I'm not offended. That's just Granny," I smiled, following her and sneaking glances at her tight little ass. "So you're taking over the family business?"
"Well, yeah, maybe. Or at least for a while? I'm not sure." She swept off the chair and put a hand on my shoulder as I sat down.
"You didn't seem too eager when Granny mentioned it."
"You noticed?" She looked at me in the mirror, reached around my neck and unbuttoned the top button of my shirt and folded it back. She paused briefly and I saw her bite her lower lip. Then she undid two more buttons and pulled at my shirt until my pecs were mostly exposed. "Just getting this out of the way so I can get the hair off your neck," she said, rolling the shirt back and replacing it with one of those white collars.
Her movements were soft but purposeful. This close, I could smell her perfume, which was lovely. I decided I was really going to enjoy this hair cut.
"Yeah, I noticed. You don't want to be a barber?"
"I mean, who does?" She exhaled, as if saying it out loud was a load off. "Maybe for a while? Maybe until we can sell it or hire someone else. I want a career in business, not cosmetology. I've been talking to Granny about updating, adding more staff and new services."
"I don't know. People love Granny because she offers a good hair cut for a good price. And a shave, too, if you need it."
Eloise felt my chin and cheek as if deciding whether I needed it. Regrettably, I had shaved that morning.
"What else do guys need from a barber? Nails and waxing?"
She punched my shoulder playfully. "Hey! Some guys like those things! And all the big chains do shampoos, beard trims, eyebrows, shoulder massage..."
"True. That's true. Got to be competitive, I guess. Smart of you to study the market."
She grinned and unfurled the black cape that settled down over my lap.
"Now," she said, running her hands through my hair and looking at me in the mirror, "Are you sure you want a hair cut?"
It was an odd question but I answered it. "That's what I'm here for. I like it tight. A number one on the sides and maybe an inch off the top?"
Her hand in my hair was pleasant but I could see her frowning. She kept playing with my hair, not really making progress.
"That's how Granny cuts it," I prodded.
"Yeah," she said, a little more nervous than she seemed before. She kept running her fingers over my scalp.
"You ok?"
"Yeah, sure. I can do this," she said the last part almost to herself. "But I should tell you, you're my first."
"Your first?"
"I've never actually cut hair before."
I let out a nervous laugh. "You seemed so confident when you told Granny--"
"Sometimes I can be overconfident," she admitted.
"Oh, it's fine. Go ahead. If it's not perfect, I won't even notice. I'm not that vain."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. And I wear a cap most days anyway. Just do your best."
"Thanks."
For the next 15 minutes the conversation was effortless. She was interesting and smart, a little giggly. She was curious about me. She laughed at my dumb jokes.
She had a much more physical style that other barbers. She touched my arms and shoulders. She put a hand on my chest. When she would square up my head in the mirror, she would leave her hands on my face and run them over my neck. She pushed my head to one side so that she could use the clippers on the side of my neck, and when she finished she blew off the clippings with her mouth instead of a hairdryer.
At one point, angling for better access to the very top of my head, she threw one leg over the chair and sat in my lap, straddling me. That got my attention. Before that, I had been telling myself not to read too much into her flirty attitude. Maybe that was just her personality. Or maybe when you're that hot, everyone always imagines you're flirting with them. But this was an unmistakable signal.
"You're too tall," was her excuse, looking up to the top of my head. "I just want to get at the very tip of your head..." She lifted both hands to the top of my head, putting her supple, petite torso right in my field of vision. I tried to be modest but she pushed my head forward. "Look down," she said,"And pulled me within inches of her bust.
I could see much of it because her flower-printed sun dress gapped loosely as she worked, and because -- I was surprised I hadn't noticed before -- she wasn't wearing a bra. Growing harder, I shifted in the chair and she half-giggled. She leaned severely and put her tits against my face. I'm not sure she did anything to my hair but she played with it a moment and then pulled back.
"There," she smiled.
After that, there was more snipping and more soft hands on my neck. More teasing conversation. But if the banter was easy, the barbering was difficult. She paused often and scowled at my head. She switched from scissors to clippers and back to scissors, and seemed unsure of both. She made little noises. Once I thought she cursed under her breath. And the longer she worked, the more worried she looked.
Finally, she stepped back and crossed her arms and looked despondent. I thought she was about to cry. "I'm sorry," she said.
Surprised at the change in mood, I said, "What for?"
"This is really bad." Her flirty air had escaped, and she seemed deflated.
"Oh, I'm sure it's fine. Maybe you just need to find the right angle again," I said patting my lap.
"No, really. I feel awful." She spun the chair around to face the mirror and handed me a hand mirror.
She was right. I looked ridiculous. In some places, she had almost shaved to my scalp. Other places looked like she hadn't cut them at all. Nothing was even.
"Well..." I searched for something positive to say.
She put her face in her hands. I reached out and touched her arm. "It's ok."
"Full refund," she said, looking up with resolve. "I'll give you your money back."
"Granny said no refunds. And I don't want to get you in trouble."
"And she took the cash till. Can I Venmo you?"
"Seriously, don't worry about it. It'll be fine."
