Barbershop Affair

I had been shelving a haircut for three days now. My moustache was badly unkempt and hair in a state of utter unruliness, pretty much like someone shot with a crossbow from abyss. I strictly needed grooming. There was no putting this off for a day more.Driving home, I pulled off at the next hair-shop. Rogue sexual manouvres The Grooming Lounge was an obscenely swanky place. There hang in the atmosphere of this roomy facility a sweet fragrance of intrusive notes of a mixture of Jasmine and grapes. The facility was bedecked with everything attractive and modern: clippers, aftershaves, lotions, clinical spirits, towels and electronics.  A large Gangnam-style-size flat screen occupied virtually the entire left wall. When I stepped in, three young ladies sat chatting animatedly in posh reclining chairs. My entry chocked their talk. One of them sprang up, and letting out a wickedly infectious smile, she invited me to a seat. The enthusiastic trio Returning the smirk with a half infectious version of my own, and blushing from ear to ear like aVirunga Forest gorilla, I sank myself into the cosiness of the beige leather couch she had indicated. "How may I attend to you, sir?" Asked she with gentility as soon as I had sat. "I need a haircut," I said. "Thank you." I quickly added to sound equally civil.  "Welcome, sir." Truly in my wildly hairy state I did not quite deserve the title 'sir'. Yet that was far from what caused me ceaseless discomfiture. Rather for three reasons. One, this lady that was diligent at my service was of a sumptuously pretty frame. She was the very essence of beauty. Two, her smile, which she generously brandished, was otherworldly, simply. Three, she stood only a barleycorn away from me, holding my oxt at ransom, and heartbeat on a rapturous race. Presently, her buddies excused themselves, sneaking grins at us. We were suddenly on our own devices. Such a snare! I could not have been worse on the edge of a slippery precipice. Madame Awesome-sauce Sitting here with this near-mythic goddess for a minute more was tormenting. In fact it was already apocalyptic down south –my underwear was soak with...semen. With my inside stark tremulous, I wondered when a man would emerge from anywhere, to serve me.

Meanwhile, miss made herself busy. She cleaned her beautiful hands of long and oh-hell-delectable fingers in a sink with warm water. She then wiped them in a decidedly seductive and measured manner that oozed expertise in this that was her trade, every few seconds casting my way a lascivious glance. How I avoided our eyes locking. For she looked every sense a bully in a stare combat, I understood that half staring at her would be the nadir of my unstable sanity, morality.  Missy proceeded to clean and sterilise her tools of work: shaver, clippers and tweezers. By now, it was no longer oblivious to me that for the next half hour or so I would be under her care. Done, she spun around and faced me. Her succulent lips hardened into a thin line of smile. Again!! Then a natural killer dimple formed on her left cheek. Shit! Was this a weapon she was using against me?  If she was determined to unsettle me, she was succeeding in that. I was immediately thrown into a trance. Then said she with her trademark congeniality: "I was wondering if we may start, sir?" My subconscious jumped inside me. "Hell no. Get me someone else, if you may, Madame awesome-sauce!" He screamed. Relax, friend. Relax. I implored my inner self. “Call me Jim." I said casually, more to alleviate my shuddery self and less to her question. "Kindly tell me whenever you are ready," she went on. "I'm ready, please." I said nearly losing my breath. She smiled, closing in on me and adjusting her apron straps. "Liar!"  my little moral man yelled at me. "I’m ready." I repeated, in response to my opposing inside. "Fine! Get the darn thing done," the exasperated subconscious whined as the lady started attending to me. Poor thing, he had conceded. Damnit! Her soft hands on my head were a completely insane turn-on. My head was overly super-sensitive, and I was getting badly pushed to the cliff-edge. "My name is Agatha," she said as the shaver began ploughing my scalp. "That's a pretty name, I must admit." Her face glowed. "I know, thanks." A moment passed. "You stole that, didn't you?" I asked tracing my elusive equilibrium. "I bet you're right." I saw her smile through the mirror. "I did." "You must fancy the writer, Christie?" I fanned the conversation. "Yes. Mystery works are my cup of tea." Wasn't that a striking similarity between the shearer and the shorn? More jam continued. Client and practitioner discussed the subject of life, analysing sports, politics, literature and trends, wheeling from random to particular topics, spicing up our chat brew with worthy subjects and trivia alike. It was a sensational moment where my interest and marvel met her wit and vitality. Ours was a heavenly blend. At some point I felt it was disgraceful for this height of brilliance to belong here. I was prompted to ask her. I encoded the question in the following carefully chosen words and indirect fashion: "You must love your job?" She sighed, then pouted her lips, gestures whose meaning I could not decipher. My gut knotted quite uncomfortably. Had I pressed the wrong button? Immediately I regretted the possibly misfired shot. What followed thereafter was an edgy silence. While I lost enthusiasm to steer on, her mien did not lose its sparkly glee. Cheer was a permanent feature on this lady's countenance, I could tell. "I bet I do," she said finally. Relief got the better of me. "You seemed to consider, for so long?" I said emphatically. "Did I?" She smiled impishly. "One must love whatever sets bread on their table." "You are very right," was all I afforded to say in response to her wisdom, and sighed as an acknowledgement that I had been mean in my response.

"So," she said wiping hair from the shaver, "where do you work? I mean, what do you do?" She was all interest.

"I'm an underwriter at an insurance company."

"Well, that's a kickass job you have," she said, unable to conceal hwhat I could tell was total admiration.

"Fate landed me here, said she applying Aqua Di Parma on my chin."I've learnt to like this job though." There weren't the faintest undertones of regret in these words.

"I admire you already." I did envy her, and her work ethic.

"You do?" She asked with delight and a blush. "Thank you."

"You are doing well here?" I said in half a question and half a remark.

"I must say the job is on an even footing. For as long as if sets food on my table and takes care of my needs, without much of a strain, I'm thankful."

With my chin clean, she took the tweezers. She began pulling out with seasoned skill and care, the stubborn overgrown hairs on my face.

Inasmuch as she performed the exercise so tenderly, this did not prevent the pain that accompanied the small surgical procedure. That she was the one doing it, however, tempered the pain, pain that seared through me with a sharp prickly pleasure of every strand uprooted.

A shudder went through me when I realized that miss was attending to me while lewdly looking at me. She would press her body against me so much, as she went about her work. Minutes passed, and now she openly indicated her intent. I looked at her. Our eyes collided. She pressed harder. I waited. Then...it happened. Hastily putting off the equipment, she marched toward me. Another shiver trickled through me. The red flag was up, and dancing. She clasped her right hand with my left, and a frission most ethereal went through me. Miss Daring then grabbed my head by the cheecks, and tilted my face toward hers. Then she planted her mouth onto mine.  That was enough temptation. "Are you sure you want to do this?"  The man was back with his morality.  Ignoring him, I buried my mouth into hers. Our tongues locked. I started eating her lips, as her skilled tongue stroked and defiled the inside of my mouth.  She was a bully. I was hungry. We sucked. We moaned. We worked. Desire was insatiable, sucking irresistible. My heart thumped, thumped with a splitting verve. Blood surged all over, carrying with it the fire that had been built, first slowly, then fast, and spreading it all over to the last cell. Breathing came in fast, short and hard, hoarse spouts. It was heaven with pleasure, hell with insatiety.  She then unbuttoned my shirt, halfway, that my chest hairs were exposed, all the while fastened to the seat, immobile. Her soft warm hands on my thorax were like a potassium ball in water. She started rubbing the hairs, with meaning and supreme prowess, pressing them against my unruly body, and whipping my face with her moist Ricola breath. Her determined hand navigated further south, committing atrocities along its path, and leaving me pitilessly at the very brink. All the while, her sexy eyes of intimidating steadfastness did not depart my countenance, following keenly my reactions. The voyage halted at my navel, whereupon reaching it, the naughty fingers started circling around it, pulling and stroking it in a manner that sent my sense of reason into a forced hiatus. Another fireball built up and quickly threaded to its apex, on the way causing every muscle in my body to tauten and clench, yet sending all nerves to the rooftop of sensation before splattering into billions of tiny fragments of pleasure. I had not known this part of my body to hide such a divine secret. It was a massive discovery I made on the night. Passionate smooches She firmed me on the seat, setting my feet apart and up so that my profile rested in the air in a U-shape. She was an expert in this "sudden" enterprise. Aphrodite herself. Her eyes emitted fire as she worked with intent and savagery,nailing indeterminable kisses on my chest and driving me irreparably crazy. That the door was wide ajar did not trouble us in the least, our rational thinking so eclipsed by the blinding sensation of the moment. Every cell in me was goddamned sinewy, brutalised and condemned into infinite ripples of incredible zing that erupted from across my body with indescribable spontaneity. She slightly unbuttoned her top and...that went with my rationality. Her cleavage was the sort for which one would pawn their decency, least without a second thought, and the duo of apples on her chest, their life too. Decidedly juicy. Wickedly yummy. An enchantment. Pick your choice. I was immediately drunk in this sorcery of allure. She pulled my trousers zipper down, and slipped her hand into my pants! Hell, I knew the height of indecency I was diving into. But what decency did I care for now? As her deft hands exercised  their mastery around my pecker's shaft and bulb, my pair dug into the thick of her overflowing crimson hair, and mouth into the feast before me: her chest. My lick of her now devilishly inflamed nipples was a touch of gold, which she expressed with a sharp short moan of pleasure. Her cheeks had flushed from pink to white, breathing doubled as her heart-rate tripled in its throbs.  Her black pinafore dress, as though by design, spilled from her body, falling freely to the floor. Holy macarone! Only a while ago draped like an honourable woman, her stark nude and oh-hell-attractive silhouette now stared at me with both enticement and begging. There was no earthly way of helping this. I -or we - had plunged headlong into a gaping pit of fathomless iniquity. What remained now was to look ahead, focus and address myself to the task before me. Obediently. How to start was clean beyond the range of my unsteady thinking. I let out a deep sigh to firm myself. Vanity. In what was a spectacular fit of lunacy, missy scooped me from the seat, and in a flash, hauled me to an inside room. Now at the height of enchantment, I was flung into what looked like a massage bed, where I was pinned under her unbelievably strong arms. I was suddenly a captive, a captive of heinous sexual manouvres.  She then fell over me, with hunger and voracity. Behind the guise of the wall, our transgression ran riotous. Soon we were rolling in bed, kissing and sucking, kicking with wild bliss, and surrendering ourselves into the deep of this sexual assault with abandon. Drunk with lust and desire, I was dealing with her overly hot and needy body, a body that not even a dedicated archangel in their right senses would turn down. For nearly one hour, we laboured to cool the virtually interminable fire of our corporeal desires, until we could have no more of it. My lady was a generous giver, and, lithe like a jaguar and hell indefatigable, played with flawless adroitness. I hammered, and dug, and excavated her bottomless wells of bliss. Until no energy was left in my muscles. After the act What was left of us were powerless panting, sweating and barely breathing masses of our exhaustively used selves. For the next few moments, we lay in the bed resting, saying to each other small, sweet, silly things of an enamoured pair. Whether I would get the haircut finished or otherwise was totally unclear to me. Sitting under this queen of seduction again would end up in all too familiar style. I might never get a full hair cut. Peradventure her barbershop doubled up as a brothel, where this goddess satiated her copious libido with her male clients. It is at this point that it first occurred to me that we had not used rubber, my first ever such risqué encounter. Fuck! Yes, fuck we had, minus rubber. Quite strangely though, I was certain I would cheerfully go for one more trip, and another, if she so wished. She did invite me. Who was I to reject? The early part of the night was spent letting ourselves loose in this erotic orchestra of unparalleled proportions. It was way past mid night when all our cartridges had been spent. Unable to fire anymore, for soreness in the right places, fatigue all over and hunger, we retreated from the battlefield. We just lay talking idly, cuddling, and getting lazy. In what was a procedural oddity, we got down to a chat, to make proper acquaintance of each other. That Lady Agatha was a kindly and witty shot was my instant conclusion. The opportunistic venereal gymnastics aside, miss was just the admirable fellow. Manners, politeness and self-belief were her indiputable virtues. Insatiable bastards After the shave -which had taken a record six hours- we had dinner together at a nearby food court, interacted more, played even more footsie, and exchanged our cards. Thereupon I stumbled into my car. It had been a darker and longer emotional combat, bigger than the Star-Wars, to let go each other, stuck and twitterpated as we were. As I fired up the engine, my head smote with no end. I did not know whether to be guilty or grateful. I thrived in confusion. I drove away determined to put the dramatic one-night-stand behind me. See Agatha again though I would, MUST. It was a sworn obligation.