Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction concocted entirely within my imagination. Any resemblance to real people shouldn't be surprising since most of my stories are based on people I know. While I hope you enjoy this story and are compelled to provide feedback, I don't expect the subject matter will appeal to everyone who reads it. As such, I discourage venomous, nasty feedback full of violent wishes against essentially fictional characters in fictional situations. If this story does not appeal to you, there is undoubtedly one somewhere on Literotica that will, so your energy will be better spent on finding it rather than on vilifying me.
Because I didn't have much hair to be concerned about it the first place, I always went to one of those chain salons where anybody who could handle a trimmer could buzz down my remaining hair at a reasonable price when it needed it. Until the economy went south, it would be rare if I'd see the same stylist more than once, so I was surprised to walk in and see the same woman behind the counter as I'd seen on the last three or four visits. She was a cute Asian woman, probably about my age and with a nice figure, but she also had an incredibly freckly face. She recognized me even though it had been a couple of months since I'd been in there and welcomed me back. When I made a comment about not typically seeing the same person behind the counter on subsequent visits, we got into a brief conversation about how the economy had stabilized their typically transient industry.
After we'd chatted for a couple of minutes, she apologized, saying that she was going to have somebody else cut my hair that day.
"That's fine," I replied, "but I'll be fantasizing that it's you."
She pretended to be shocked as I headed off with my stylist for the day. A few minutes later, when I was freshly shorn, she offered to take care of the transaction for the stylist and handed me a note along with my receipt that said "Meet me in the alley." When I looked back up at her, she tilted her head in the direction of the alley that ran along one side of the salon. She raised her eyebrows as though to ask if I was onboard and I gave her a slight nod before heading out the door. By the time I got to the back door of the salon, she was coming out. She looked around to make sure we were alone, then stepped closer and started brush some hair off my shirt before running her fingers through my scant hair as though checking on the job her stylist had done. Our faces were so close together at this point that the next logical step was to kiss.