Date: Tue, 15 Aug 2000 17:26:50 -0700 From: J. Ocean Subject: 17th summer 17 My Seventeenth Summer, Part 17 Thursday was like a dream. Everything seemed to happen automatically, with no input or effort from me. But it was a good dream. I slept late and kind of floated through a long breakfast and shower. It was midafternoon by the time I drifted over to Madeleine's and opened the envelope marked "Thursday." A piece of map floated out. It had been cut out from a larger map with scissors and had an address marked on Pasadena Avenue. I didn't even know where that was, but fortunately there was a section of freeway near it that I recognized. By comparing the fragment with a complete map that I had in the car, I was able to figure out that Pasadena Avenue was all the way on the other side of town. Whatever I was supposed to be there for wasn't until 5:00, though, so I had plenty of time to meander over there. I took surface streets and drove slowly, enjoying the cool breeze that was blowing through town. It was a perfect summer day--not too hot, not too cold, endless sunshine. The address turned out to be a smallish storefront tucked away on a quiet, shady cul-de-sac. The only clue that there was anything there was some tiny lettering on the front window that said "Reflections: A Salon." On the door there was a handwritten note that said "Please ring bell" and a bell hanging from a nail. I jingled it and a minute later the curtain moved and a pair of blue eyes peered out at me. The door opened, revealing that the eyes belonged to a blonde who now stood smiling in the doorway. She gestured to me to enter and turned into a hallway behind her. I followed, and after traversing the hallway, we entered a sunny room in the middle of which sat a pair of barber's chairs. There was a big skylight above us, and three walls were mostly taken up by giant mirrors, with the fourth dominated by a bay window that looked out over a glimmening blue lake. I fell in love with the place immediately. The blonde turned and extended her hand. "Miranda," she said. "Morgan," I responded, doing a double take as I got a good look at Miranda. She looked familiar. I checked her out in the mirror to my left; she looked *very* familiar. She looked, in fact, like me. About 5'8'', strawberry blond, blue eyes, big in the hips and bust. There were a few differences in our features, but on the whole we could easily have been mistaken for one another. Our hair was different, or course; mine was shoulder-length and a little raggedy-looking because I hadn't gotten it done for months. Miranda's was a bit shorter, neat and chic as befits someone who cuts hair for a living. "Have a seat, Morgan," she said, indicating a chair. "Make yourself comfortable. You're my last customer for today, so we've got all the time we want. Mind if I play some music?" I told her I didn't, and she walked over to the stereo in the corner. I remember the record she put on very well--it was "Last Splash" by the Breeders, which I hadn't heard before. I remember it so well because it played over and over the whole time I was there, which turned out to be quite a while. Miranda started washing my hair and I daydreamed. I've always found the process of getting my hair done very erotic. It's sensual, it's intimate, and of course it takes place in a private setting where women are together. Before I figured out that I was a lesbian, I used to be confused by the feelings of arousal I experienced at the hairdresser's. Today it's one of my favorite secret thrills, especially when the stylist is as sexy as Miranda. It wasn't long before I started having dirty thoughts about her, what with her braless tits bobbing over me as she washed my hair. When she was done with the wash, Miranda picked up a pair of scissors and went to work. It was only later that I realized that she'd never asked me how I wanted my hair cut; at the time it all seemed perfectly natural, like it was part of a routine I'd been going through for years. My eyes were drawn to Miranda's image in the mirror. The similarity was really quite striking; we were even wearing similar clothes--loose shorts and a tank top--though mine were both turquoise and hers were amber and white. Her untethered breasts shook enticingly as she moved around me with the scissors, pausing now and again to dance to the music. I relaxed back into my chair, feeling content and well taken care of. A familiar smell wafted by; turning to where I could see Miranda, I saw a lit joint dangling from her lips. She caught my eye and grinned conspiratorially. Still dancing, she took the joint between her fingers and put it in my mouth. What the hell, I thought, and took a long, deep drag. It was powerful stuff. The room immediately grew even brighter and the music seemed to get louder and to acquire intricacies that I hadn't noticed before. It was really, I thought, too bright; then I remembered that I had my sunglasses in my pocket, so I took them out and put them on. That turned everything a little green, but it was much less blinding. I looked around for Miranda, but she was gone. There was a puff of smoke behind me that she appeared to have vanished into. So I took another hit and just spaced there for awhile. Then Miranda was back, leaning over me to pluck the joint from between my lips. She smelled fantastic, like strawberries and vanilla. I felt my nipples begin to come to attention. Miranda went back to my hair, snipping here and there and in between spending a long time walking around me, looking at me from every angle, considering her next move. One time when she walked behind me, I was distracted for a second by a boat rolling across the lake; and when I turned around, thinking I was ready for another hit, she had disappeared again. Then she reappeared leaning in the doorway to my right, smoking and shirtless. Her breasts, round and tanned, seemed to shine in the sunlight. She walked over to me and gave me a toke, her tits dangling over me as she leaned forward. I closed my eyes and savored the taste of the weed, picturing Miranda's tender flesh and pink nipples in my mind's eye. Feeling very stoned and uninhibited, I opened my eyes ready to grab a big mouthful, but she was gone again.