Date: Fri, 12 Aug 2011 21:55:16 +0100
From: Zero Minus Zero <zerominuszerominuszero@gmail.com>
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.