I steal another glance in the mirror. She’s still impassive, eyes down, on her work. They don’t meet mine. I try, and fail, to stop my own eyes from dropping. To the velvety expanse of skin under her throat, and down, down to that taunting, nascent cleavage. So little, yet enough. Just like the front legs of a spider, waiting at its lair. It’s a sign of danger.
This is April. My April. And this is my second haircut with her.
Two tiny dark patches, just where her chest begins to flower. Where that artful, gentle rise begins, infinitesimally, before the peeking line of her bra steals the show. Those little patches are my hair. They’ve dropped down on her while she’s cut me. They’ve settled in perfect symmetry. I close my eyes, utterly defeated by the thought that a part of me is nestling against her there.
April doesn’t seem to have noticed. Snip. Snip. Snip.
Oh, but she is beyond beautiful. And I have nothing to do, in this chair, but marvel at her doll’s face in the mirror. I am drawn to her deep brown eyes. They’re round, set wide apart. So wide apart that they don’t look at you straight. Each one looks out to the world from its own side of her face, as if keeping a secret from the other. It’s bewitching. Doe. And it’s impossible to look away from them. There’s a dark tint of makeup around their edges, and confident black lashes above and below. That makes her expansive whites stand out like boiled eggs in onion soup. Everything else about her is so dark, you see.
She tilts my head to one side. Ever so gently.
Yes, dark. Her brown hair, her tanned olive skin, her delicate little eyebrows, wide and high above those mysterious orbs. She is born and bred English, but she’s almost dark enough to be a mix. It’s not a Mediterranean kind of dark. Maybe a parent, or a grandparent, is black. Those eyes. There’s something about them that makes me keep flying closer. I want to drown in them, like some wretched fly.
Snip. Snip. Snip. Not a frown, not a worry. Not a word. She gets on with it. Oh, April, could you know my thoughts?
There is an acre of space in the triangle between her eyes and the subtle bridge of her nose. Less so beneath her bold, round nostrils, where her proud dimple meets an exaggerated cupid’s bow. Ah, cupid. Her lips, lightly touched with pinkish lipstick, are thin yet juicy. Her orderly, white upper teeth peep out now and then when she smiles. But it’s a cute little mouth, lips sealing seamlessly together. Zipped, but with a dimple either side. Truly a doll’s face.
It’s a boiling summer day. The air-conditioning in the salon is not in great form. She’s got too many layers on. Not just the modest turquoise tank top and the black bra beneath: there’s something like another tank top in between those layers. Brown like her eyes. Cut higher, more modest than the outer garment, it’s a cleavage stealer. I am relieved she’s showing less than last time. But I’m surprised that she needs this many clothes on such a day.
It’s silent in here. We finished exchanging polite pleasantries some time ago. The online radio stream has cut out again. A couple of fifty-something ladies flick through magazines as some poor soul crafts their complex styles. I feel smug that I’ve got April.
I look at her pale, tight-fitting jeans. She is a picture today. It’s a very trendy look. But her legs look skinny in those. Momentarily I am terrified, the memory of our conversation about the contents of her fridge – just cheese – screaming at me inside my brain. Is she anorexic? God, please, no. I hate that. I look at her bronze, shiny shoulders and bare arms. They are normal and fleshy. Not matchsticks. I relax a little.
Her face: still expressionless. Can you see anorexia in someone’s eyes? Can you see lust? I see neither. Snip. Snip. Snip.
She has moved around me now, near my left temple. She’s working across me. Touch me. Bend closer, April. I look in the mirror. There is too much daylight between the mound of her torso and my shoulder. No, wait, stay where you are. I am hardening, thinking of her naked, shorn of all that garb. I close my eyes, try to think of anything else. Oh, but that skin, it would be molten caramel, to taste and to see. Not a tan line in sight.
I feel warm breath on me. Was it hers, a delicate caress from her flat little low-bridged nose? Or was it a mere gust of air from the door?
Oh no. Her elbow. It’s under my nose. Her bent left arm is doing something to my hair with scissors. But my world, now, is just me and this flesh of hers. I am close enough to smell it. Do. Not. Lick. Oh. She does feel heat. There is the most feminine, delicate trace of tacky perspiration on the crook of her arm. It makes morning dew look like a flood. I have to close my eyes. Or I will kiss April’s arm.
On she goes. Snip. Snip. Snip. Why do they always do that in threes? She is a haircutting machine. Is she thinking anything? A thousand Pounds for your thoughts. She is a student. At least ten years my junior. And I want to ravish her.
The radio is back on. It pumps out chart-topping beats. The kinds of tunes that repeat and repeat, urging, pushing, spiralling you in directions you don’t want to go. These songs goad me beyond reason with their relentless thumping.
Where exactly can I look? Perhaps the floor is safe, free from temptation. But no, she wears open shoes, and her bare toes, painted jet black, keep homing into view. It’s the only bit of skin I can see anywhere south of her bra line. How can she ignite me with so little? These toes are gorgeous, cute, neat. Clean. Ready to suck, right now. Or do I look to the heavens, to her elaborate hair, pinned in some kind of complicated style I don’t understand? I am drawn to the strands that frame her smooth, angular cheeks. I am envious at how they can brush lightly on her soft skin, cupping her face. I want to do that.
Oh, sweet April. If only you knew how much I want you. Right now. Please don’t ask me to stand.
“Can you fit another gentleman in at five?” It’s the voice of one of her colleagues. Does she have to word it like that?
April frowns for the first time. Then she nods. No trace of a smile. Why isn’t she on the same dirty page I am?
I’m at my own mercy now, helpless. Those words have steered my thoughts in a u-turn from the relatively respectable path down which I’ve been trying to direct them. I am fully erect beneath the cloak, as I think of her fitting me in. All of me. And then agreeing to take another. Well, I’m not sure about that, April, but I admire your willing.
Snip, snip, snip. The music is beating itself up to a frenzy. Her hand is steady, but my mind is racing. Thump. Thump. Thump. The beats. My heart. My blood. Who knows? April.
Finally the snipping stops. She stands up straight, admires her handiwork in the mirror. She cocks her head to one side – I think she’s pleased. Yes…a modest little smile lights up her face, and those upper teeth appear. Don’t do that! And now she catches my eye, unafraid, hands on hips, scissors hooked on her index finger.
“How’s that for you?” she says, in a brisk tone that suggests this is always just a formality for her. The smile went away. It’s all business again.
She’s done a neat job. Slowly, yes, but I’m not complaining. The view was too good. Oh, fuck, she wants me to talk.
There’s a huge lump in my throat, and my pulse has quickened in time with the music. I can feel perspiration on my forehead. What am I, thirteen?
“Oh yeah,” I say, sounding far more together than I feel. “You’re a star, April.”
You’re so much more. I just can’t say it. You’re so young. I shudder. There’s a pregnant pause. Lethargic heat. Building beats. Behind us, her colleague pushes a broom around the floor. I look at me, in my cape. I look at us. Then her. Looking at me now, in the mirror.
“Would you like a shower?”
A what?
I’m startled, and she can see it. I am stumped for words. Have I just dropped out of reality?
She smiles, warm and full this time. “It’s a new idea we’re trying. You know, get all the hair off properly. It gets everywhere, doesn’t it?”
“I guess it does…” I say, my eyebrows raised in curiosity. And now I’m thinking about those locks of mine that landed on her upper chest. I steal a glance – they’re still there. Stand still while I flick those off…
She takes this as a yes, and jerks her head towards the back of the shop.
“Come on then,” she says, pulling the cape off from my neck.
I wish I could read something in her voice, in her eyes. Is this normal?
Oh hell . I’ve got to stand up now. My dirty thoughts are coming home to roost. I think quick, and pretend to take a big, lazy stretch. I think about board meetings. It’s a monumental effort, but somehow I manage to soften a little, and re-arrange myself as I stand up. Her colleagues seem oblivious. One’s on the till. The other keeps sweeping. The others are engrossed in their styling.
“This way, follow me,” she says, turning on her heel. She leads us to a door right in the far corner of the salon. We pass through it into a tiny kitchen. Nothing unusual there. Beyond that I can see an open door to a toilet, but to the left of this is another door. It’s closed.
She opens it up and stands aside to let me in. It’s actually a decent-sized shower room. There’s a bench with a clean towel and hand towel folded on it. And there’s a stool and a hairdryer and a dressing table with a mirror, but my eye goes straight to the clear Perspex doors on the shower. It’s tastefully tiled, looks squeaky clean. It’s one of those simple, minimalist ones: a large, high-mounted, powerful head and two taps.
This is weird, in a hairdresser place. But why not? I might just take a cold one. April has got me far, far too excited for mid-afternoon, and I have to get back to work.
I turn around to thank her for the suggestion before she goes.
“Aw, thanks, April, this is a nice…”
I freeze. What’s she doing? She’s closed the door. And she’s still on my side of it. In. Here. With. Me. She flicks the latch. We’re locked in.
My heartbeat goes completely nuts.
April shoves me against the wall. She’s stronger than she looks when she takes you by surprise. What the…
“Okay, Mister, I saw how you looked at me out there.”
Her doll’s face looks stern, harsh. Now I’ve got adrenaline thrashing through me. Was I too leery? Am I in some kind of trouble here? Careful what you say now.
She looks mad.
“You can’t do that,” she hisses, her grip on my elbows tightening. I can definitely feel her warm breath on my shirt front now.
“Do what?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral. Okay, maybe I pissed her off. But it’s not a crime to look at a pretty girl. Is it? Maybe it’s considered harassment these days. The world’s pretty fucked up. And she’s young, she’s never known any other world.
“Look at me like that without fucking me….you jerk!”
She presses hard up against me. I’m grateful for the wall - I’m reeling in every sense. I’m shocked and I need to catch my breath, but I can’t because she’s stood up on her tip toes and she’s kissing me. With feeling.
Wow. April. This can’t be happening.
And yet. Her tongue is darting every which way in my mouth, wrestling mine as it goes. She cannot seem to get as deep as she wants, but that doesn’t stop her trying. Have I ever been kissed with such need? How long has she been wanting this? Our appointment…did it torture her like it tortured me? Right now, as she pulls my neck closer with her hands, it looks like it did.
I’m fully hard again, but this time I don’t care. There’s a locked door and a willing, comely, doll-faced babe attacking me. This girl is not shy after all. I love it.
I need to gather myself. Poor April is at full stretch. I take her by the waist and shuffle her gently across the room so I can sit on the stool. Reading my mind, she straddles my lap, wraps her forearms around my neck again. Oh, that forearm. Yes! Before her mouth assails me again I reach behind for her left arm, the one I wanted to lick as she worked.
This is some of the softest skin on a woman’s body. I bring it to my lips, losing myself in the sensation of smoothness and delicacy. Yes, I can taste a tiny trace of salt on this hot day, mingled with whatever body wash she used this morning. I nibble gently at that magic spot, the inside of her elbow, and then I part my teeth so my tongue can gently lap at that place. I feel her whimper.
I let her reclaim her arm, and she wriggles her waist closer. If she didn’t know I was hard before, she knows now. We’re wearing way too much.
We kiss some more, only now there’s a hand roving under my shirt, making me tremble and gasp as it moves. I have a feeling this is going to be animal. I sense she needs a quickie. She’s at work, after all. Is this a regular thing she does? What do her colleagues think she’s doing? I decide I don’t care. And animal is fine with me right now.
She can’t get enough kissing. I love it. Just when I think I can’t get any more aroused, she pushes a little deeper, our tongues find more of the other, and she holds the back of my head a little tighter. I let her take charge, keeping my hands on her hips. Or we’ll overbalance. I love the sounds she is making. The groans and the pants and the heavy breathing. April is so into this, and doesn’t mind showing it. She’s taking charge, taking what she wants. Which also happens to be what I crave. That’s so fucking attractive.
I haven’t even replied to her little jibe. But the time for flirty banter is long past. Yeah, she made me a little worried for a moment back there, but things are turning out just fine. I’m all the more turned on for the contrast. Though she deserves a spanking for scaring me like that. Next time, April.
For now, I’m enjoying letting her have her way with me, the saucy little fox. Oh, what a thrill to see revealed the passion hidden behind those dark eyes! Abruptly she hops off me and stands in front of me. And yes, my hair is still there on her, though one tuft has fallen right down to her bra line.
“Are you going to give it to me then?” she says, hands on hips, eyeing the bulge in my jeans.
“Yes, April,” I reply, slowly, meeting her eyes as they look back up. My confidence back in residence. “I am going to give it to you. I will do as you ask.”
“Good. Then I’ll get naked for you,” she says, raising one eyebrow naughtily.
And with that she pulls the turquoise top over her head. Then the brown one. Now she’s only in her black bra, but she doesn’t hang around. She reaches behind her with one hand, flicks the clasp, and her delicious breasts spring free. I sway at the sight of them. She looks down at them for a moment, frowns at the bits of my hair, the ones that had me fixating. She brushes them away with the side of her hand.
I tighten further as she does it, her left breast wobbling a little from the flick of her hand. It doesn’t oscillate much though. Just enough to excite me. These are young, ripe, firm and precious. Her fresh, taut nipples are a dark brown. Of course they are.
I’m stunned at the sight of her. Literally gasping. Cherish moments like this. Give your mind, your soul, your everything to this. Yeah, fixate. Let her pull you in. Feel it. Live it. Every touch, every breath, every flash of her dark pupils: bottle them.
I am terrified I am about to wake up, this dream snatched from before my eyes. I cannot believe we are here, now, like this, holed up in the bathroom while at least two middle-aged ladies were having their perms done outside. How? I wanted her more than anything I’ve ever wanted anything. And here she is – I have her.
I reach out and grasp her by the waist, as if to satisfy myself that she’s really there. Flesh and blood, the purest April. I have to hold her, so that she can never melt away. I need the touch for belief. She pauses a moment as I jam my fingers under the tight belt of her jeans, enthusing in her body heat, and I gently run my thumbs across marshmallow skin just below her rib cage.
She indulges herself a moment, and I know it’s doing something to her. And then she remembers where she is.
“Quickly, mister. They think I’m making a fucking cup of tea!”
I nod. No boss of hers is going to get between me and my April right now. In fact, even if this building went up in flames, I’d stay right here with her. As it is, I feel fire in my belly and se flames of lust dancing in her dark eyes. We may have to call the fire brigade anyway.
I don’t want to take my hands away from her, though I know I need to escape my clothes. There’s still this fear that she’ll disappear. She seems to sense this, and deftly unpicks the buttons of her jeans with her fingers. Her belt slackens, and my instincts take over.
I slide my palms down the outside of her thighs, my forearms dragging her denim down with them. I sink to my knees, eye level with her miniscule sky-blue panties, and keep pulling them down. When my hands reach her ankles, she lifts her cute feet out one at a time. The first wave of her feminine scent hits me, and I swoon. I am mesmerized again.
This would take all day if it were left up to me. It can’t. “Pull down my panties,” she whispers through her teeth, all urgency and need. Ah yes. Panties.
I could break these with one finger, so I’m gentle as I can be. I grab the string holding up the flimsy triangle covering her mound, and peel it down her legs. A strand of her wetness clings to that place at her core, reluctant to leave her, and dangles like a string of broken spider’s web. She steps out of her underwear.
April is naked. It tears me up that I only have her for a couple of minutes now. Kneeling before her, it takes everything I’ve got not to put my tongue there, right in that moist, gushing brook between her legs. But I know that if I start, I will have to finish. And we don’t have time.
She tugs gently on my chin, pulling me up to my feet. “Okay, quickly now…keep your shirt on.” Her fingers are already working at the buttons on my jeans. I love how she’s taking charge here, unafraid to ask for what she wants from a man. It drives me wild when a woman seeks pleasure like that.
There’s no ceremony as she yanks my jeans and my boxers over my colossal bulge and down. When they get as far as my knees she loses interest and grabs my hips. “Back on the stool, Mister. You’ve got everything I need there,” she says, eyeing what’s just sprung free from my trousers.
I do as she asks. I think she’s going to ride me. I push the stool closer to the wall, so I can support her better. Fuck, this is exciting.
April is on a mission. Before I even know it, she’s astride me, standing on the tips of her toes. She takes my erection in her fingers and guides between her legs. Look into my eyes. Oh yes, that’s it, baby. She’s looking right into my soul as she slips seamlessly onto me. I fill her completely. She is so wet.
She wants to get going. And she doesn’t need my help. She’s going to do this. Now that she’s sunk onto my length, her feet are comfortably on the floor. She slips her arms beneath my shoulders and curls her hands up beyond them to grip the back of my neck. It feels sensational already.
Now April begins to ride. I was right – this is animal. I have to brace myself, holding the stool steady as she thrusts. But I’ll do anything I have to, to keep on having what I’ve got now. Her soft throat is just in front of my face, her head thrown back as she slams on and off me, powered by her determined little legs.
My eyes feast on the scene as she lets herself go, burying herself in and out of my laps. For her they are hammer blows, but for me it’s just pleasure. A delicate woodland fairy having her way with me. I can feel the pace, the urgency, the mighty effort she’s putting in, but she’s so soft and tiny that she won’t hurt me. All I need to think about is keeping our stool steady, and the wonderful thing that’s happening to me.
She’s breathing hard, lost in what she’s doing. Her eyes are closed now. I know she’s building and it’s an effort for her to keep silent, but she has to. Her energy is terrific, and she’s pressing closer to me now, keeping the delicate balancing act going as her bouncing breasts slap and slam – gently as a woodland creature! – into my forehead. I want this always, April.
This closeness has me going now, and I feel myself reach the point of no return. She’s gulping huge, silent gasps, now, her thrusts no softer, but I sense she’s at that place too. Controlling everything as she is, turned-on as she was, it hasn’t taken long. Building, building.
I can’t resist a tiny whisper. “I’m coming, baby, I’m coming….” She responds from somewhere deep in the back of her throat, animal yet almost imperceptible. The sound tells me she’s desperate to scream out loud, but this is the best she can do. Hearing this suppressed groan of unbridled lust is the last straw for me. I tighten, twitch, unleash into April. Wave after wave as I dance inside her and she clenches around me, pulling hard on my hair and digging her elbows hard into my armpits, uttering that otherworldly screaming whimper again.
And now she slows, not moving her upper body from that clasping lock she’s got me in. Her hips are gyrating gently now, doing a couple of victory laps as they slow down. She buries her chin on top of my head, as if she wants to cling to me all day and all night.
I know she can’t do that. I feel physically ill at the thought that she will have to pull off me now. She seems to have lost her will. She’s still somewhere up in the clouds. Something inside me makes me sense I have to take the reins now, if just for a moment. So, flying in the face of everything I want right now, I whisper to her again, “April…you gotta go.”
I want to slap myself for saying it, but I’ve done the right thing. She relaxes her lock just a little as my words sink in. Even that tiny hint of uncoupling is awful. Closing my eyes at the dreadful thing I have to do, I pick up her tiny bottom from my lap and place her on her shaken, overworked legs. She smiles, sniffs and wipes her nose.
“You look perfect, don’t worry,” I reassure her. “Get dressed and get out there.”
I want to slap myself again. April nods, her wits coming back to her. “You should actually have that shower,” she says, jerking her head at the cubicle as she picks up her panties from the floor. I nod back, but first I want to watch her get dressed. I can take my time.
She smiles, looking completely relaxed again, as she puts her panties back on. I feel my spirits drop as her nakedness slowly starts to disappear like a beach beneath a rising tide. But she never takes her eyes off mine as she tugs her jeans on, does up her bra and quickly pulls her tops back over her body, and that makes me feel better. April’s eyes are enough of a feast on their own.
God, she’s dressed. She’s going. I want to sink. She skips quickly to the shower and turns on the taps, taking a moment to adjust them to a comfortable temperature as she holds her hand beneath the stream. Then she steps across to me, pulls my head down towards hers and places a soft kiss on my lips.
A final smile, a quick check for the all-clear outside the door, and she’s slipped out. I undress completely and shower, my brain feeling like fudge. Did that really just happen? It seems so outlandish that I don’t have the capacity to soak up the last waves of pleasure.
I stare at the closed door and wonder if anyone noticed she’d gone for a while. What an incredibly daring young woman. I love that she did that. I love that she let her lust overcome her and cornered me in here. And if she’s done it before, then good for her. April gets what April wants. Fuck, yeah, anytime, baby!
I’m so turned on by her taking me that even now, towelling myself down, my erection is only just starting to fade. I’d almost forgotten this is exactly what I wanted too. I smile to myself once more. It might be awkward out there. Yeah, I might be best off finding another hairdresser. But boy, April…you made my day today.
***
This is me experimenting with a first draft, so I’d appreciate your comments if you see any typos or inconsistencies.
Also, I am going to run out of energy doing this for next to nothing very soon…so I’d appreciate any sales or (even better) kindly reviews of my work over at my Amazon page. . Most of my published Amazon work has been on Lush at one time or another. Your support in this regard will keep me going!!
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