A Sexy Haircut

A Sexy Haircut

By ArchieB

Everyone was showing a bit of wear and tear by the third week of the lockdown. Even Mark, the office gay guy, who was usually immaculate in his appearance, began to look a little ragged. It had to do with hair.

Only that morning my lover Eve had upbraided me. She could turn from deep passion to irritating nagging in a flash. I guess that is what married women do.

One moment she was gasping and moaning loudly, her whole body jerking with pleasure and writhing in ecstasy beneath me, her vulva and anus contracting wildly in spasms, her nails digging into my buttocks as she encouraged my thrusts. The next she was complaining.

'You need a haircut, Jerry.'

Her sudden outburst caught me unawares. She had climaxed, had not even waited for me to come and believed it was time to get on with the more prosaic business of our lives. I didn't even try to fake an orgasm. I just went limp. I could have told her that it was hard enough trying to conduct an affair, eluding a husband and the enforcers of the lockdown without also trying to find an illicit hairdresser to give me a shave.

Her frustration with my hair may have been projection. With hairdressers and barbers closed during the lockdown, all of us had to make do as best we could. It was harder for women like Eve, who was used to going to her hairdresser once a week. When I arrived at the office later that day, I realized that the bad hair day had become the bad hair fortnight, and even longer. The women were in open revolt about the government ban in an attempt to curb the corona virus. They were gathered at the water-cooler bemoaning their fate.

I heard his high-pitched whine from Bertha, the office manager: 'My hair! I just don't know what to do with it anymore.' Shave it all off, I suggested, but she sneered. We had just heard that the lockdown would be extended for another three weeks, with no hair relief in sight.

'We think we're having a bad time with our hair, just look at Jerry.' I had just come into sight and Danel, whom most of us lusted for, with her long legs, big breasts and wide mouth. I had tried to persuade her to come to bed with me, without success. Now she had a special admonishment for me.

'Jerry, your hair looks awful. Why don't you do something about it?'

The rest of the women stared at my hair and began to feel better about their own. At least there was some order to theirs; mine was a mess.

'Fuck off,' I said, as politely as possible and on the sotte voce side. But she heard.

'No need to be so rude. And defensive,' said Danel. 'You should do what Mark has done. He looks so delish now.'

Just what Mark had done was still a mystery. He had been waylaid by another group of office women on his way to his desk opposite mine. They were gushing about his hair. Women admiring a man's haircut is unusual, but these were unusual times. When Mark finally came into sight, I had to admit that it was a shave to be admired. His hair was sleek and trim, cut and styled in a formal way. The fade was short, down to the neck while the top had a matte hold and the hint of wave. Even I stood in awe. Cleary he had broken the lockdown regulations over the weekend and had a professional take care of his coiffure. I was as jealous as hell. Not only did he look good, he was being chatted up by the women who were not only fawning all over him, but actually touching his head. What a waste, I thought.

'What the fuck...?' I said. 'Where'd you get that?'

'Like I'm about to tell you,' he said. He'd misunderstood my jealousy and admiration for disparagement.

'No, serious, Mark,' I said. 'That is the coolest haircut I've seen, since ... since ways before the lockdown. How'd you do it, man?'

'Well, if you're nice to me, I might let you into my little secret,' he said. I was sure he was flirting, but I didn't let it go. Here I was, beginning to look like some orang-utan, and there was Mark all spruced up. The girls ignored me all day, and kept complimenting Mark. I began to indulge him too, just subtly at first, then with open admiration.

'You know, buddy [I had never called him "buddy" before] I must admit that not only do you look cool, but you're damn fine looking, man.' I was desperate to have my appearance match Mark's, if only to steer some of that female attention away from the little creep.

'Well,' said Mark, and immediately began to patronise me. 'If you can keep a secret, I will let you in on it.'

'All ears, mate,' I said. And I'd never called him 'mate' before either.

'I know this woman,' he said. 'She's quite old, so she might not appeal to you. But she gives a damn fine haircut in her home. In private. She's brilliant. She really takes her time to make sure she gets it all right, she kept me in the chair for almost an hour, cutting, snipping, making sure I was happy with her direction. She only works on recommendations, however.'

'Mark. I'd doing anything for a recommendation,' I said.

'Anything?' he was beginning to be his lascivious self again.

'Fuck off, Mark,' I said. 'Just help out a colleague man. You can see my hair is out of control.'

'Well, it is a bit of a haystack.'

'More like a bloody bushveld thorn three,' I admitted.

'Tell you what,' said Mark. 'If you can stand in for me next Monday, I'll see what I can do.'

Of course I agreed. I stood in for him, which was always a pain because Mark dealt with overseas clients who could be snippy, demanding, critical know-alls. I kept thinking of my hair. By Tuesday, when Mark had got back to the office, he had a phone number.

'It's Renee,' he said. 'Make sure you tell her it's me who recommended her. Otherwise she might just put you off.'

'Amazing, mate. Thanks. This is really generous. Thanks, thanks a lot.'

'Oh, Jerry,' he said. 'Just be careful. She can be a bit ... You know, touchy, feely.'

'Don't worry,' I said. 'It never bothers me with women like that.'

'Yes, I suppose not. But remember, she is 60 years old.'

I called the number once I'd got home and at first it sounded as if I had reached an all-night garage. The response was abrupt, almost grumpy.

'Yes?'

'Is that Renee?'

'It is, but do you know what time it is?'

'I'm sorry,' I said, trying to sound apologetic. 'But I thought...'

'Nine o'clock at night is a helluva time to call a lady,' she said.

I apologized again, then offered an alternative.

'Shall I call in the morning?'

'Well, we're on the line now, so speak up.'

I explained my desperation to get a haircut, how unmanageable my mop had become, all in an attempt to gain some sympathy from a woman who didn't like being called at nine in the evening. None of it was working, until I mentioned the magic words.

'Mark Malone suggested I call you,' I said. It sounded quite pathetic, as if I was blaming Mark for my own embarrassment. But suddenly her tone changed; I swear I even detected a smile in her voice.

'Oh, that sweet boy. Lovely hair. He gave me a very generous tip to. So what did you say your name was?'

I gave her my name and she appeared to be examining her appointments book. I heard pages being turned as she hummed to herself, and probably to me. Her next question caught me off guard.

'You and Mark go to the same clubs?'

'Clubs?' Where was she going with this. 'No. No, he's a colleague.'

'So you didn't hook up with him at those clubs he goes to?'

Those clubs gave it away. It struck me that she thought I was gay, and she didn't want to ask it outright.

'No, no that's not me. Those clubs? Not for me. Will that count against me? We're colleagues. We work together at Smith & Weston.'

'Okaaay.' She dragged out the word, as if I had suddenly shed some light on a conundrum that had been puzzling her.

'Mark sent several of his friends from his club here,' she said. 'Lovely young men. Very neat, very polite, very ... gay.'

'Oh, I'm very un-gay,' I said. 'Will that disqualify me.'

'God no!' said Renee with some emphasis. 'On the contrary, it would qualify you. Eminently so. How about Saturday at two?'

I was relieved, and grateful. The time was not the most convenient because Eve and I had a tentative arrangement as her husband looked like being out of town again, but Renee had seemed a lady in demand. And I needed a haircut, desperately. I agreed, and tried to sound not too fulsome in my thanks.

'Good,' she set. 'Then it's settled, Jerry. That's your name, right?'

'Jerry it is, ma'am,' I said.

'Lovely, Jerry,' her voice now full of charm. 'I'll set aside the entire afternoon for you. And we can enjoy it.'

'We' and an entire afternoon. And 'we can enjoy it'? What did she mean. Her voice had changed from its initial gruffness to a honeyed sound: 'We can enjoy it.' I had never heard a hairdresser describe a haircut that way. I began to look forward to meeting this Renee, 60 or not. I know that over a telephone, voices can be misleading and that I would probably be meeting a frumpy old granny who spoke in mellifluous tones. But she sounded, well, sort of sexy. For just a moment I allowed my imagination to take over and there was a frisson of arousal.

I had been on a few blind dates and all had been disappointing. There is always an element of desperation about such events, on both sides. Usually it's some woman forgetting a broken affair who has been forced to accept the date, and remains resentful, or someone whose incompatibility is obvious from first meeting. Needless to say, none of my blind dates led to sex. One or two of them were just dreadfully plain, with little personality or charm to compensate.

Renee, I suspected would be one of those -- all business, all haircutting, with a bit of unrequited tactility. By the time I reached her apartment, I was prepared myself to be disappointed after the voice. When she opened the door, I could not have been more mistaken. Renee, the woman in the flesh, was almost an exact match for the sexy voice that had briefly aroused me over the phone.

She wore her hair in a strong bob, split down the sides of her face to emphasis a strong jawline and high cheekbones. She had deep dark eyes, a handsome nose and a wide mouth that revealed brilliantly white teeth when she smiled, which she did when she greeted me.

'Jerry. Jerry,' she repeated my name to make me feel at home. 'Come in and take that silly mask off. We're all healthy friends here.'

'There are others here?' I had misunderstood her.

'Just you and me, darling,' she said and brushed the side of my arm with her long fingers.

Renee clearly had an eye for decoration; her apartment was tastefully furnished with huge landscape paintings on the walls and a vast array of rugs on the floor. Off her lounge, on a sunlit and enclosed balcony, with views that stretched across the city, was her salon. All her hairdressing equipment was arranged in a semicircle around a special chair that could be manipulated with a foot pedal.

'Before we even start,' Renee began, 'I need you to relax.'

She handed me a glass of cold white wine, sat me down on a sofa and took up a position alongside, close enough to begin the touching that Mark had told me about.

'Before I cut your hair -- before I cut anyone's hair -- I want to know how they want it cut. A lot of guys wind up with bad haircuts because they don't know how to direct their hairdressers.'

She touched me again and I liked it.

'I want to make some suggestions. It's no good you sitting there, with a towel around you, and then me asking questions,' she said. 'So let me first say, cutting your hair is going to take a while. It's wild. You've let it go. I can make you look good again. At least you have a lot of raw material to work with; some men come here with very little. Not you.'

'So a compliment, Renee?'

She laughed and her face lit up. She look quite beautiful when she did that. Sixty or not, I could go to bed with this woman. Easily.

'Right now, your hair is a beast,' she said. 'But I can tame this beast of yours.' Then she handed me an album of photographs of hairstyles.

'Have a look in this album,' she said. 'There are many examples here. Tell me which ones you like, and we can work it from there.'

As I paged through the album, Renee stroked my neck and ran her fingers through my hair. I enjoyed it, so I told her so.

'Then I won't stop,' she said, and she moved closer to me so that our hips touched.

'Haircuts,' said Renee, 'are one of the first things people notice when you make a slight alteration. For you, the change will be dramatic. People will notice, especially women.'

'Women, eh? That will make a change,' I said.

'Once I have done with you, even those women who have pretended not to notice you, will notice you. A good haircut makes a statement. I will give you more than that: a fantastic haircut.' She hesitated, then added: 'And if you listen to me, I will give you a fantastic time.'

I was warming to this woman. Her friendliness and flirtation could not have been more different from our first meeting on the phone.

With the pair of us now close, and the album spread open across our legs, I paged through it and eventually settled on what Renee called 'the standard fade'. It would change my hair from long to short around the temples, she said.

'It will be stylish and make you look smart,' she said.

Once we had settled on the style, she made suggestions about a few minor alterations, took away my empty glass of wine and took me by the hand.

'Come,' she said. 'It's time to get to work.'

Renee sat me down in her hairdressing chair, adjusted the height, made sure I was comfortable. She then began massaging my head, first standing behind me before moving to in front me. She spread open my legs and moved so close I could feel my cock against her crotch. I knew she could feel my erection because she pressed hard against it, stroking and massaging my head.

Then she did something quite unexpected: she lent into me and kissed me on the lips. I reached out to draw her closer, but she pulled away.

'I just wanted to make you relax,' she said. 'You're still a bit tense.'

I promised to relax, but I was really aroused.

'Best if you took your shirt off,' said Renee. 'You don't want a nice shirt like that full of hair.'

It took it off.

'My,' said Renee. 'You clearly work out. I haven't seen a stomach like that since the old washboard I used to have when I was in the army.'

'You were in the army?'

'Damn right. Nearly made it into Special Forces too,' she said. 'Just failed when I broke an ankle jumping out of a helicopter.'

I was not only beginning to like this lady, but I was impressed by her too. When I had made it into Special Forces there were no women around; I might have lost my concentration.

'They had women in the Special Forces in your day?' I was skeptical.

'No chance,' said Renee. 'I was a guinea pig. The brass was looking to push for women. I was selected with one or two others. The men resented us, so they used any excuse to get us out. Even a broken ankle, I ask you. A man would have been allowed to recover. Of course, they would have loved to fuck us, though.'

'I'm sure they would,' I agreed. With a smile.

'Right,' said Renee, all business again. 'Pants off too.'

'Pants?'

'You don't want hair all over those chinos,' she said.

I stripped down to my Tommy Hilfiger cotton classic briefs. Renee looked down, but didn't touch.

'There's a lot of stuff down there,' she said.

'It reminds me of the old Scottish joke,' I offered, regaining some confidence.

'Scottish joke?' said Renee. 'I don't think I know that one.'

'A naive woman meets a Scottish soldier in a kilt and, always intrigued by the garment, she asks: "Is anything worn under there?" The soldier responds: "No ma'am. It's all in perfect working order".'

Renee laughed. I liked it when she laughed.

'Is everything in working order down there?' she asked.

'I could say it was, but you might not believe me.'

'So I should inspect?'

'I think you should,' I said.

Renee leaned forward, her hands on either side of my waist, and she began to slowly pull off my Tommy Hilfiger's.

'I could trim those pubes too,' she said.

'That would be nice,' I said.

'But first we need to get your head into shape,' she said, and she stroked my now naked and erect penis. 'We can deal with this later.'

I have never had a haircut quite like Renee's. She swivelled around me. She used scissors, a clipper and a razor with such dexterity and speed that it was hard to follow. And between it all, she brushed my cock to make sure I was kept interested.

She brushed my hair, then snipped again, combed it, cut some more. She sprayed some water, trimmed a few errant shoots. She brushed her breasts against me, kissed my cheeks, pushed her tongue into my ears, rubbed my legs. I sat in her chair, naked, erect and mesmerized. It was the best haircut I'd ever had and I didn't mind if I emerged looking bald and bad. After an hour of this, she stood back to admire her handiwork. Looking into the mirror in front of me, I thought I looked smashing. Then she held up another so I could see the back. I was convinced. Renee had tamed my hirsute beast.

'I have created a masterpiece,' she said as she stood back to admire my head.

'I love it,' I said. 'And not just the cutting.'

She didn't say anything. She just dropped her scissors and comb, stepped between my legs, took my head in both hands and kissed me full on the lips. Our tongues met and I tried to pull her towards me, but she escaped my grip and began to slide down my chest, kissing as she went. She reached the pubic hairs that she had promised to trim, licked them, then cradled my balls with one hand while inserting my cock into her mouth. She began by sucking deep, then licking the head, then sucking deep again.

'I swallow,' she said. 'But don't you dare cum yet. We still have much to do.'

I have often come across men who say they like to fuck older women because those women are just so grateful. I disagree. We younger men need to be the grateful ones; the older women show us techniques in making love that we would never have even dreamed about. Renee was proving this all over again.

I lay back in her chair, a new, smart haircut on one head and the sweet caressing of another head further down. Renee let go of my penis and balls and stood back once more to admire her latest creation.

'I want you to lick me,' she said. 'I think I deserve it.'

I stood up from the chair and began to undress her. The top came off easily. I kissed her and undid the bra, cradling her breasts and kissing her nipples as I did so. She had a slightly distended stomach (she was 60, for God's sake. She deserved to have it). I kissed her belly button. I pulled down her short skirt and then her panties. She stood naked before me and a pushed my tongue between her legs in search of the clitoris.

'I think we should do this lying down,' she suggested, and once again the took me by the hand to her sofa. By this time we were both naked. She was wet and I was hard.

It was easy to find her clitoris and I circled it with my tongue, remembering to be gentle. I had once been reprimanded for trying to chew one while carried away in my passion. Renee lay back and enjoyed my lovemaking. I thought she deserved the best I could give and I was determined to draw it out as long as possible. She squirmed as I hit the spot. I put my index finger into her vagina and searched for the G-spot, all the while caressing her clitoris with my tongue. Then I put in two fingers, then three.

Renee stroked my new haircut all the while, then I heard her gasp.

'What are you doing to me?' I was too consumed with my own lust to be concerned, but it transpired that I was going about my business the right way for I felt a squirting inside her vagina against my finger. I increased my licking. She gasped again, then moaned softly.