Date: Fri, 12 Aug 2011 21:55:16 +0100 From: Zero Minus Zero Subject: Date with Hairdresser This is a work of fiction. Feel free to email comments. Enjoy! I of course thought nothing of going to get a haircut: how many times before in my life had I done the same thing, without consequence? At least fifty, if not closer to 100. But I didn't normally go to a cool place like Luscious, where all the famous hairdressers had been trained. My usual hairdresser was the same small family business that my mum and grandmother went to, but I had been given a voucher for Luscious for my birthday, so didn't really have any other option. And besides, I needed a good new haircut and it was probably time to improve my look. Two years without sex: I couldn't blame that *entirely* on the fact that I was a lesbian in a small town. I suppose somewhere in the back of my mind it had occurred to me that I had become nervous and insular. I was only 24 and yet was too quickly turning middle aged spinster. The hairdressers was intimidating. Loud R&B music blasted out from the speakers; young girls, plus a few guys, danced around the shop. All wore sheer black; all looked about eighteen. "Alright Kirsty," said an impossibly suave receptionist with electric blue hair. "Take a seat. Fancy a beer while you wait?" "Er... it's eleven o clock?" I ventured. And how did she know my name? And what made her think she could shorten it? Everyone called me Kirsten. "Cool," agreed the girl. "Black coffee it is then." I tentatively sat as, from nowhere, a teenage boy brought me a caffettiere and the latest Vogue. I didn't object, as ten seconds later, yet another darkly dressed adonis told me that Zara was ready for me. "Zara?" I asked, confused, as if there could be any ambiguity as to who might possibly want to see me in a place like this. The adondis just shrugged and pointed to a seat. I got the message: Zara would be my hair dresser. I obediently walked over to the seat and clambered in. Why did I feel so nervous when it was *me* who was a client of *theirs*? I was the one paying them money! Why was I so worried? I sat in the chair biting my fingernails when I saw reflected in the mirror the most beautiful girl I had ever seen before in my life walking towards me. Surely I wouldn't get *her*, would I? Her mouth moved in the mirror and her voice spoke from behind me. "Hello... Kirsten, is it?" "Yes," I whispered, nodding. She was gorgeous. She had chocolate coloured skin and long, straight black hair. It looked like she had spent about an hour with hair straighteners on it. Perhaps she had. She was so dark, I though perhaps she was Indian, or that one of her parents was Indian. And her black clothes: they hugged her body so tightly it looked as though the seams would rip. She wore tight black jeans and a figure hugging long sleeved t shirt. The rise and fall of her perfectly shaped breasts (C or D, I would guess) was a curve to rival any Ferrari or Porsche. To reach out and touch them, right there: I would never have dared, yet could barely resist. "So how are you doing today, then?" She had one of those confident voices, the sort I had always wanted for myself but could never master. "Not too bad thanks... I just came in for a, er... haircut." She grinned. "Well, you've come to the right place. You could have also tried the coffee shop next door but really they aren't quite the experts that we are." I giggled, and then embarrassed myself by snorting with laughter. Oh dear. "So what would you like? Surely you don't want to lose all this lovely hair, do you?" She ran her hands through my mousey blond locks. I knew she was only being kind; I had not taken very good care of my hair in the last year or so. I had let it grow long but messily. "I want it a bit shorter," I garbled, suddenly confused by what I wanted. Zara merely nodded, absent mindedly and continued stroking the back of my head. It felt wonderful, but was very off putting. "I..er... I suppose one thing I was thinking was to have that crop thing... the, er... I can't quite remember its name. The fairy cut?" "The pixie crop, you mean," corrected Zara gently. "That could suit you really well and it's so in right now. But it's a bit of a drastic departure, don't you think? You know that once I cut it, I can't put it back on?" "Well, yeah... but I need something different. And I should really take advantage of this, someone bought me a voucher, you see and I don't normally come to a p.... a place like this." "A posh place, you mean?" she laughed, having read my mind. I blushed furiously. "That's OK, heaven knows it's expensive to come here often." She lowered her voice. "Some of our regulars, I mean, *Christ*. They must have money to burn, you know what I mean?" And then I realised that Zara herself wasn't posh, she was common, and I felt more at ease. But then again, in some ways that made her all the more desirable. Common, and yet beautiful beyond all description. She was impossible to categorise. "Here's what I'll do, Kirsten," she said, more loudly, having perhaps realised that we had wasted a lot of time on small talk and she hadn't even got started. "What if I give you a bob? It's a great chin length hair cut that I think would make you look gorgeous. And then if you still think it's too long you can come back tomorrow and have a pixie crop for free. But I just think a bob might be just the thing for you and it would be a crime not to at least try it out." "OK," I said. I would have agreed to anything at that point. I would have put up no resistance to her shaving my head entirely. I looked her in the eye, via the mirror. "I wish I had hair like yours. It's so thick and shiny, not like my tangle of straw." Zara laughed, a little hollow in tone. "Ha! I never used to like it. When I came to Luscious they told me it was too short and I looked too much like a lesbian, or something. They told me to grow it and be more feminine, which I did, and now I'm finally used to it, short hair is back in. The other day someone suggested I get it cut short again! They can't make up their minds. The thing is, this is the longest I've ever had it and I want to keep it for a while longer before I get rid of it all. Plus, my parents love the fact that their little tomboy finally looks like a 'proper lady' as they put it." I wanted to say something. I was so desperate to respond. But I couldn't. My stomach was tied up in knots, like the worst period pain I had ever had. I was thrilled and petrified all at the same time. All I could do was smile and nod as I was tipped backwards and had my hair plunged into the sink. Zara stood over me and massaged my skull with water, humming along to some pop song on the radio as she did so. My face was inches away from her chest: I could make out the outline of her bra. It took all my effort to sit still and enjoy it; if I hadn't tried, I might have screamed, or burst into tears, or maybe even leant over and bitten that breast. Anything seemed possible. I grips the arms of the seat, my knuckles turning white as they squeezed. Zara occasionally interrupted her humming with the odd comment: "Oh, I can see that you dyed this a while back... but you must have washed it out - did you know there's a bit you missed near your scalp?" and "this could really be a lovely head of hair if we can just get the length right," and so on. When she began cutting the conversation became increasingly banal. She asked some questions about my job and I could see she was descending into 'regular hairdresser' mode. I had become just another customer. I was hardly the bravest woman in the world, but I felt an opportunity slipping away, so I just managed to part my lips and utter, "I don't think there's anything wrong with it." "Sorry, what?" I had spoken completely out of context and she hadn't even heard me. What a failure. "It's OK, nothing," I said. "No, I'm interested. What did you say?" "I, er... I said there's nothing wrong with it. Your hair, I mean. When it was short. Not that I saw it, of course, I didn't know it... but I mean, if anyone ever had a problem with you having short hair... I think that's wrong." "Oh, well, thank you honey. That's lovely of you to say so. I liked it too, but it just wasn't en vogue at the time. My mum hated it the worst, though. She used to call me Zack because she said I looked so much like a boy." "I bet you didn't," I said, more daring. "I bet you looked like a girl... just a particular kind of girl. Different... but still beautiful." "Thank you," whispered Zara, staring into my eyes through the mirror. "And can I ask, Kirsten," she continued, still breathing deeply with her voice low, "have you ever had your hair cut like that, in the past?" "It's been shorter, yeah... not super short, though." "But short enough that people might think you were... different?" She raised an eyebrow, quizzically. My heart pounded away, beneath the cover I was wrapped in. My fingers trembled. "Yes," I mouthed. I wasn't certainly I had actually said anything, so I nodded as well. Above us, the song on the stereo suddenly changed and a rapper's voice blared out. "Put your hands up! Put your hands up!" the song screamed, and Zara suddenly changed. She picked up the scissors again and began cutting with energy and when she spoke, she was breezy. "You'll love this cut," she chatted, "it's so in right now. I saw a film just the other day and Megan Fox, or someone, had one just like it." And then her tone changed again. "Do you like Megan Fox?" It was the subtlest manoeuvre, but as she said it she briefly glanced in the mirror and caught my eye for a tenth of a second. "I like her very much," I replied. "Still a beautiful girl like you, you must have such a hectic love life." I shook my head, sadly. "Try not to move your head," she scolded. "No, but I mean you must be going out all weekend, meeting people and so on." "Er... sometimes, I guess. I go to pubs with my friends." "But not on dates? I find that hard to believe." "I don't tend to go on dates much... or ever, actually. I rarely meet the right... people." "I know, it's hard isn't it? My friend Donna who's working on the till over there, she's always talking about how the guys she meets are such wankers. They sound awful. At least I don't have to worry about that." And again, a glance at me through the mirror. She was conveying her message well, but I was just sitting there like a lemon, not giving her any signals back. I felt frozen, or encased in cement, when all I really wanted to do was throw my arms up and scream "Yes! I am a lesbian too! Let's go into the nearest cupboard, rip our clothes off and fuck!" But instead all I could manage was, "I guess I'm waiting for the right person. Maybe I should spread my net a bit wider, look outside of this small town for her." I hadn't been thinking, but I realised I had just made it clear with my use of the word "her". Brilliant! But the only trouble was that Zara had gone back to cutting intently and didn't make any sign that she had heard. Then, after a long silence that comprised large chunks of my long blonde hair hitting the floor, she looked up and said, "this haircut is going to look amazing on you. I'll be out tonight at the Hop and Grapes if you want to drop by and show it off. I'll even let you buy me a drink, to, you know, thank me for my amazing talents." She winked. She actually winked at me through the mirror! I mumbled "that sounds nice," as my heart exploded inside my chest. * * * Six hours later, I was sat on my own in the Hop and Grapes. It was one of my favourite bars in town, but I didn't like it enough to enjoy sitting in it on my own. My new cut, a bob, gave me a lot of confidence when I got home and had a proper look at it, but now I was starting to feel self conscious again. I was sure that people were looking at me and laughing at me. It must be obvious that I was some lonely, unloved dyke. I had spent hours choosing my clothes: a black T Shirt that hung off my shoulders, exposing the straps of my black bra (a daring move, for me); my nicest jeans and boots. When I had left the house I thought I looked pretty good, but now I worried that to Zara these clothes would look boring. I shuffled in my seat and almost stood up to leave, when a figure approached me. She was in silhouette but I could make out Zara's outline. God, she looked incredible. I could see those beautiful curves, the just right, gravity-defying pert boobs. The silky, jet black hair. She walked into the light and smiled at me. She wore black trousers, black heels and an expensive looking red t shirt. She held out two wine glasses with one hand and a bottle of Pino with the other. "I know I said you should buy me a drink," she laughed, "but that cut is so fucking beautiful on you we should both celebrate and the smile on your face will be thanks enough." She flirtily ran her hand over my head. "Yep, that was a good job if I do say so myself." We worked our way through the wine quickly; as we did, my nervousness melted away. I discovered that Zara was not so different to myself: long term single, had had the odd lesbian relationship in the past, had had her heart broken a little but was now looking for more; had dated guys as a teenager but had soon seen that it wasn't for her; wasn't especially taken up by feminism or gay rights, but obviously wanted to live in a socially liberal society; had not formally told her family of her sexual preferences but assumed those closed to her had probably guessed anyway. As the alcohol started to affect us, the conversation became naughtier: our first experience with a girl; thoughts on giving oral versus receiving oral; fantasises; female ejaculation. We emptied the bottle and I went to the bar myself. I remembered a game from my student days and thought Zara might enjoy it, so I bought a variety of shots: two white sambukas, two straight vodkas and two tequilas. I placed them in front of my date. "Here's how it works," I told her, completely loose, with a rediscovered confidence, "you have to guess things about me and if you guess them right, you can make me drink. But if you're wrong, I drink. They can't be really obvious and you get bonus points if they're sexual." "Fuck me, Kirsten, talk about coming out of your shell! You weren't this wild in Luscious earlier. OK, let's do it. My first guess is that... you've been with two other girls at the same time?" I shook my head: she drank the vodka. "OK," she said, spluttering. "Maybe you're more innocent than I thought. How about this, then, an easy one: you're an anal virgin." My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I shook my head again and made Zara drink the sambuka. "So you've had bum fun?" Zara asked. "Don't sound so surprised... OK, actually, maybe you should. Yes I have. When I was 17 a guy asked if he could and I said no. But when I was 22 I was with this girl and she was pretty into keeping our sex life fresh and interesting... so I thought why not? A few years ago my sex life was quite exciting, you know. It's just, well... been a bit quiet of late." "In that case, I'm giving you the tequila and saying that you have both given and taken with a strap on, in the past." I drank the tequila without complaint. I reached for a shot myself. "OK, my turn," I said. "You've slept with someone at Luscious." Zara laughed. "No, they're straight! Some of them are sluts but they all dig boys and boys only." I hesitated. "But the guys, are they straight?" "No, some of them are gay, but that doesn't matter for this conversation. Drink it, Kirsten!" I drank it, it was the second vodka. This was the most I had drunk in years, my head was swirling. "Maybe we should take it easy, I think I'm going to puke." "Hey, it was your idea to buy six shots! But fine, we can leave the last ones if you want to. We could go home and have an early night, I suppose." Oh no! Cool Zara had worked out I was sad and boring. She'd never want me if she thought I was a party pooper. "Oh no, we can stay out... we could go to that club.. whatsitcalled. The expensive one." "Kirsten, you might not have heard me correctly. Maybe we should have an early night. You live just up the road, didn't you say?" "Well, it's about a fifteen minute walk... Oh! Oh right. Yes, yes of course. Please come back to mine for a coffee, that would be great." And with that, Zara downed one of the remaining shots, took my hand and led me out into the night. *** We had barely left when I realised I hadn't been to the toilet in the pub. I figured we would be home soon enough for that, but Zara insisted on getting some chips from a kebab shop we passed. We were about ten minutes away from my flat when the pain on my bladder became too much. "Oh fuck, seriously Zara, why didn't we use the facilities before we left? We'll have to go back." "Don't be silly, you can wait till we get to yours, it's not that much further." "Oh Jesus, I'll never make it that far." A tear came to my eye. Could such a perfect night be ruined by something so trivial? "I wanted tonight to be special, I don't want to wet myself in front of the most beautiful hairdresser I've ever seen." "Well, thanks for the complement. And I can assure, it would not make this night less special if you were to wet yourself, far from it. But if you really want to, you can just squat down behind those parked cars over there. Look, the road's deserted, everyone's asleep." "Oh... I'm not sure, I'm not one of those people who does that. I'm a 'hold it in' kind of girl." "Come on, you have to. I'll go with you, if you like. It will be like we're best friends, and not just lusty lesbians on a hot first date." Rendered powerless by her kind words, I allowed her to lead me over to some cars, and we both squatted down between two, clumsily pulling at our jeans as we did so. I was too tipsy to do it quickly, and so blatantly exposed myself to her before I could crouch, and she made no pretence to avoid staring at my cunt. "I'm pleased you're not one of those girls who insist on a completely bare, porn star pussy," she smiled. I had trimmed myself earlier but left a nice landing strip, as I always did. Zara was more subtle in her actions, but I caught a glimpse of thick, dark hair. It was only a small patch just above her lips, but what was there was dense, like a forest. We relaxed and pissed merrily away onto the road, giggling at each other as we did so. I rocked back and forth and almost lost my balance and fell into our expanding pool of urine, but steadied myself just in time and laughed even harder. Zara was right: it *was* as if we were close friends having a fun night out. The best thing was, though, that the real fun had not even begun yet. I had another quick look of that beautiful pussy of hers as we stood back up, and then we were arm in arm, waltzing down the road like lovers. Something about the experience bonded us more than any of the conversation in the pub had. I wasn't sure what she felt about me, but at that moment I was sure I loved Zara. *** Inside the flat I put the kettle on, but before I had even found a couple of mugs Zara thrust herself up against me, her hands in my hair and her tongue down my throat. I became squashed against the kitchen cupboards and allowed my hands to roam her body in return. I returned her kiss hungrily and responded to her tongue by ramming mine into her mouth and kissed as hard as I could. Her fingers stroked my neck (a favourite feeling of mine); mine pinched and pulled at her stomach, hips, breasts. I pulled at her T Shirt and we pulled away from each other for a split second as I ripped it over her head, exposing her beautiful blue bra. Even amid the chaos of the passion, I had to notice that even fashionable Zara's underwear was perfect, and obviously expensive. But I was more interested in what was underneath so I buried my face against her chest and enthusiastically bit at the swell of flesh on offer, where silk met skin. Zara laughed at my bites and reached over my back to pull my own T Shirt up, unhooking my own bra and she did so. I stood upright to face her as my shirt and bra fell to the floor. "I've been waiting to see these all day," she muttered, reaching out to touch my erect nipples. I was so turned on, I flinched at her touch. "I always wished them could be bigger," I admitted of my pert but compact B cups. "Are you fucking kidding, Kirsten? They're beautiful. Just about fucking perfect. And so pert!" And with that, she leant in and sucked on my tits like a newborn, stretching the nipples as she squeezed with her lips, and running the course part of her tongue around the brown areola. I just gazed down on Zara's jet black hair as she suckled and licked, amazed that after two years of loneliness I had suddenly achieved everything I had ever wanted. For a second it was almost sad, to think that this wonderful moment could end at any minute. "Come on, " I said, pulling Zara up to my level again, "let's move to the sofa." She skipped to the sitting room area, quickly discarding her bra as she walked. Her chocolate coloured body... wow. Just, wow. I had never seen anything like it, either in the movies or anywhere else. And the curve of her chest and she turned around to face me and sat down on the settee: they were perfect S shapes. I pounced on top of her, pinning her down and kissed her beautiful face, rubbing my boobs against hers, wrapping my leg around her thighs, grinding my clit against whatever part of her body was there to provide pressure. I licked and licked away at her face like a cat, and with my hands tried to feel her body without losing my balance. Her breasts were only slightly larger than mine - perhaps a C cup - but it seemed to make all the difference. And the smoothness of her skin: it was like a satin sheet. Zara made a noise that was disguised by my relentless kissing attack. I slowed down to hear her properly. "...cunt," she spluttered, "just give me your cunt, please." I didn't need telling twice. I jumped up and pulled my jeans and knickers down together, conscious that my underwear was already soaking wet from my juices, as well as the street pissing earlier. Zara slipped her own trousers down, leaving her in the most gorgeous state: wearing just dark blue knickers, which matched the bra she had had on. I guess she felt it would have been a waste removing them before I'd had the chance to admire them. I climbed onto her and straddled her sepia body, facing her feet. I shuffled backwards and pressed by ass into her face and bent forward into a 69. She immediately pulled apart my pussy lips and butt cheeks and commenced licking, working her way from my clit all the way back to my ass. I pulled her panties apart to expose her cunt and thrust my nose into her pussy. Her rich musk was intense. Almost slightly sweet. I gently lapped at her clit with my tongue, being careful to be less aggressive with it than I was with her face. As I did so, I felt the orgasm building up from within my own body, as Zara continued to go to town between my legs. She continually switched her focus from my clit, to my vagina, to my asshole. She gently probed my anus with her tongue and entered, which melted me completely. As I put up no resistance, she continued and then I felt her fingers slowly entering my hole: I remembered her bringing up the subject of what she termed "bum fun" in the pub and realised that it must be a favourite of hers. I allowed her to push two fingers up my ass, which she then thrust in and out and her tongue went back to my clit and my orgasm came closer. I tried not to be selfish, so I returned my attention to Zara and this time found her delicious cunthole with my finger and fucked it as I tickled her clit with my tongue. She was as wet as anything: her labia was slippery and my fingers found themselves contending with more and more liquid as they pumped in and out. I heard gasps from behind and knew that she was seconds away from orgasm, as was I. We came almost simultaneously, but it was Zara who got there first, and as she bucked her hips upwards off the sofa, ramming her parts into my face I gave her what she undoubtedly had been desperate for and shoved two fingers up her asshole and quickly thrust inside her bowels as she came profusely, with a gentle gushing from her cunt, encouraged by a few last lingering licks from myself. Just as this was happening, Zara somehow had just enough concentration to suck on my clitoris as she fingered both of my holes and I flayed around on top of her, kicking like a bucking horse, as I completely lost control and came all over her face. I practically smothered her as I squashed her face, ground my parts against her chin, mouth and nose, and smeared her with all my juices. "Give me some air," Zara coughed and I gingerly removed myself from her body and tried, but failed to compose myself. "That was pretty good," I admitted "Yeah, you really overcame that whole 'naive shy girl' persona you had going there for a while." "You're not so shy yourself." "Jesus God, that was good. Kirsten, I am so glad to have met you." "I'm just glad that someone gave me a gift voucher for Lucious or I might never have had that haircut." "Let me tell you, you'll never need to pay for a haircut again. Everything you get now is a Zara special." "I can't wait. Maybe I'll consider that pixie crop. Now, do you want to move into the bedroom?" "Of course. Have you got something I can wear?" "Sure, just grab a t shirt from my chest of drawers. I'm just going to the bathroom, I'll meet you in there." I headed to the bathroom to clean myself up and use the toilet. I still couldn't believe that such a beautiful girl would be staying the night with me, in *my* bed. Amazing. I entered the bedroom. Zara sat on my bed naked, holding a t shirt, looking puzzled. "What's the matter?" I asked. "Your drawers, Kirsten. You have a pretty bloody big collection of vibrators." Oh no! Surely my arse-loving lesbian lover wasn't about to go moralistic on me? Surely she can excuse that, considering how long I had been single for? "It's not a problem," she smiled, "I've just been wondering how many of them we can enjoy for the rest of the night." I relaxed. Clearly, this was the beginning of something rather special.