Everyone is 18+ in the this story of love and lust with family.
I rode the short bus in school and am dyslexic and use software and editors to make it easier to read.
It's just a haircut. Book 1
It's Just a haircut. Well, my good friend Jim from work says. "You have to go get your hair cut. She makes you feel like you are the only one in the world. When she cuts my hair, I feel connected to her."
I say. "You are such a dweeb sometimes. If you feel that for her, you should ask her out like the girl at the gym you still have not asked out. It is 2010."
Jim says. "I don't get a vibe off the gym, lady, but we have never talked. The hairstylist she's not like anyone I've met. She has these superpowers that keep you from crossing the line, that and a beat-up old baseball bat it's got scars it's within arm's length. Her name even sounds like bells. It's Belle."
I say. "Jim, you are different. It just means her folks loved
Beauty and the Beast.
But to shut you up, I do need a haircut. I've gotten a bit werewolf-looking with my shag."
I took the number from Jim. He would not give up and texted her telling her I was Jim's friend. We get drinks after the gym sometimes; we live in the same building in lofts his once was one, but it was divided up into three. I own my loft and the building; Jim, like the others, just rents as he works for me.
I received a text saying.
"I just had a cancellation, and I could have her seven pm slot
."
I need clarification; after leaving the bar we were having drinks at, the photo on the website showed her hours were till five pm. Her picture looks like my Mom did when she was here four years ago before dying in a commercial airline crash soon after. I walk to the breezeway across the street, staying out of the chilly rain of Houston's mid-November.
I use the Houston Tunnel System as I live in a downtown Houston loft. I go up to the street and see her salon. I step in, a bell rings, and a twenty-seven-year-old woman walks to the door and locks the door behind her. You led me back to wash my hair. You stood six foot to my six foot two; you look maybe one hundred and forty pounds, maybe less to my one hundred eighty. Your hair was short with five colors. Mine was brown now a few months ago, lightened by the sun closer to a lighter brown mid-length. I used to wear it short at twenty-eight years old and go for the longer length.
You flash me your green eyes when you say. "I'm Belle; Jim insisted that we meet; he said I look like your mother, and we could be brother and sister. So as I was growing up, my Dad never said a word about my Mom, or if I had a brother, we had no secrets. He even knew when I lost my virginity."
My blue eyes flashed at your smile. We touched a spark jumped between us. Weird as hell as it's raining out; no way is it dry enough for a static shock. You were putting the cover on me to wash my hair. You kept talking about your school days, your basic small talk. You rub my head, drying it with a towel. It felt good. My moan sounded like I just had the best sex ever. I flashed red in the face and looked at you; your grin was one of she liked it, and she glanced at a beat-up metal softball bat within easy reach.
I felt no danger, but I liked her touch, I say. "Your touch is magic. I had a bad day. I found my lawsuit had been delayed for another year. It has gone on for three years now. I had to start over on ten days of code. I had to redo it my neck is killing me. All I wanted to do was go home and soak in a hot tub with some beers, maybe order a pizza, but Jim talked me into calling you. I'm sorry for the moan, but if you keep making me feel that good, you will need that bat on me. Excuse me; my face went redder."
You used a massage gun on my shoulders and neck as you led me to a chair and sat me down. You even did my head. It was sending the right signals to my seven-inch, fairly skinny cock but the wrong signals next to a beautiful woman who does not need to see my charms this way.
I say. "I'm sorry, may I have a cover for my legs? There damp, and I'm chilly, please."
You covered my legs, but you saw my tent.
Belle says. "Well, it looks like you carry a bat, too, I don't feel like I need it, but it's there if needed. May I give you a second?"
You turn away as I move my cock in my pants, hoping that is the end of it. I look up, and I see your smile in the mirror. A twinkle in your eyes said I was good as you watched. We small-talked, and it went to what I do for a living. Well, it's not working when you own a company that runs itself, and it just got bought by Google, but I did not say that I say. "The company sold, and I'm between jobs right now."
You served me great fresh espresso as you trimmed my woolly mammoth and my mound of unkempt hair.
You say. "You got the guts for color? You seem at home with your maleness."
You squeeze my bicep. I refrained from popping a pose, making it bigger you slapped my arm, impressed, but you're not making any passes.
I say. "Your hair is hot; it makes you even hotter."
My face went red as my dumbness hit me. It was a skill, or mine at least was, but I often trip over my words next to beauty; you smile at my rookie remark.
You answered. "Well, you look cooler than Jim, but you're just as big of a dweeb as he is."
I say. "In my defense, none of my lady friends found me a dweeb over a glass of wine and a good dinner. I said shit, why am I defending myself?"
You say. "I guess the only way for me to find out is to find out your hair will be done in a few; a steak house was discussed."
It's just off downtown, a fun drive in my 1972 Cutlass 442, but I plan on something other than drinking and driving. So I called for an Uber. We arrived there, and they know me. I bring many dates here, and I'm a good tipper.
I got my usual table overlooking the pond, and the white geese under the soft lights looked magical. As was dinner, our talk was on point; we talked a little about everything from religion. Neither of us had gotten bitten by that bug, but we talked about our morals and politics. Ours matched, as was our family history. Our dads were doctors our Moms were school teachers. Her Dad died a few years ago, giving her almost enough to open the hair salon. It had twelve chairs, and from the looks of the appointment book at the front desk, it looked as thick as a bible.
I looked as you grabbed your coat. I glanced at your book. You had no opening for weeks; she did this for Jim? Dinner was stunning as they brought me my dish. As a side dish, I cooked for the chief asparagus and brandy toasted garlic and truffles. After great steaks, the chief came out with a flaming desert, and brandies poured and lit it.