A Bisexual Haircut

Ass

She is not classically beautiful. Her face is rather flat with bland cheekbones, her lips do not have the fullness of a true beauty and her nose is rather podgy with slightly flared nostrils. She is though stunning to look at because of her eyes. They are large and delightfully, almond shaped in a deep, onyx green colour. Their size is accentuated by her long, caterpillar-like eyelashes. They demand to be looked at and stared into. It is impossible not to, or is that just me?

She is about the same height as me, five feet six inches. However, that is about all we have in common. Her hair is dark and short, mine is ash-blonde and shoulder length. She is slim with hardly any boobs, probably an A cup, mine are fuller and rounder and on a good day are a full C, but on a bad one, particularly during my period, they bloat up to an overflowing D.

She is so young. Impossibly young almost. Young enough to be my daughter. She has that magical quality of combining the innocence of youth, with her somewhat childlike face, and the allure of a woman due to the curves of her body.

She is twenty-two, I am forty-five. She is single, I am married with two children. She is a hair stylist, I am her customer.

*

I have always been a tactile person. I can remember back to my childhood when I loved my mum and dad gently scratching my back. Before puberty, I gained a subtle pleasure from touching myself or brushing my hair. In my later teens when I became sexually active I gained almost as much pleasure from boys caressing me as I did from having full sex with them. During my early sexual experience with awkward young guys, I gained as much pleasure from masturbating myself as I did from them shagging me; fortunately that changed when I went with more experienced men. As I matured I found massage and when on holiday have had many enjoyable times in spas, with one having a very happy ending.

Visiting a hair stylist whether male or female has always been a joy for me. Another person washing my hair and massaging my scalp has become my own personal erotic experience. So much so that when I visit a stylist I make sure that I wear looser and thicker tops to disguise any embarrassment that may occur with my nipples that can be overactive.

I met Lindsay at a salon in Harpenden when my usual stylist was ill and I was offered her. Although I do not like change to my routine like that, I accepted. We got on well and even though I was only having my hair washed and blow-dried, I liked the way she worked. The next time I requested her.

I had Lindsay for a few weeks until one Saturday she told me she was leaving.

“Going to another salon are you?” I asked.

“No, Freda and I are setting up a visiting service.”

Despite enjoying visiting a salon, I had for some time been on the lookout for someone who would come to my house for those times when it was inconvenient for me to go out. Lindsay and Freda, who I knew, seemed perfect.

“This is my husband Richard,” I said introducing Lindsay a few Saturdays later. “And this is my son Peter and my daughter Sara,” I went on as the children came into the kitchen where Lindsay was about to trim my hair.

It was quite a rarity for all four of us to be in the house at the same time, particularly on a Saturday. The children were both away at university and came home only in the holidays and special occasions and Richard was usually playing golf or, returning from New York where he went each month.

After she finished, I made a block booking for the next few Saturdays.

The next week it poured with rain so Richard was there again. After saying hello to her he went to his study and worked.

“You have a lovely family,” Lindsay said as she washed my hair in the kitchen.

I was sitting on a low stool with my back to the sink. So that I could get my head and hair into the sink, I was stretched out a little. Lindsay was standing next to me her waist near to my shoulder as she washed my hair. As always, I loved the sensations of her fingers on my scalp.

“Thank you,” I replied. “We generally get on very well.”

We chatted about families and she told me her father had left her mother when Lindsay was young. We talked about that for some time until she suddenly realised how long she had been washing my hair.

“Sorry about that Cat, I got carried away,” she said, giving my neck a gentle squeeze.

That’s ok,” I replied standing up and catching her gaze. She held my look with a slight smile on my face and that glint in her eyes, which later I came to know so well.

We went to the kitchen and she dried my hair.

The next week I was alone when she arrived. The kids were at their colleges and Richard was playing golf.

“Good morning, Cat,” she said as she came into the house. Again her gaze held mine for what seemed slightly longer than usual, or was that me, I wondered?

As I was settling into the rather awkward position, by the sink I slipped and banged my head.

“Sod it,” I muttered.

“Are you ok?” Lindsay asked gripping my arm.

“Yes, but I am getting canlı bahis too old for such gymnastics,” I replied.

“We could use a bathroom, the sinks are usually slightly lower and have rounded sides,” Lindsay said, her hand still on my arm.

We went upstairs to the master bedroom and into the bathroom. Using my dressing table stool, it worked much better.

Being slightly lower I noticed that it was her tummy that was close to my shoulder now. As usual, as she washed my hair and massaged my scalp, I was miles away. I was revelling in the feelings of her fingers on my head and in my hair and it took me a while to realise there was another sensation. I opened my eyes and saw that as she moved so the lower part of her tummy inside her jeans brushed against the top of my arm and my shoulder. I thought nothing of it at the time.

Peter my son was home the next week and greeted Lindsay enthusiastically; I think he fancied her.

Lindsay and I went to the bathroom again. After washing my hair for a wonderfully, long time she said.

“Would you mind trying this new conditioner? It’s horrendously expensive, but we have some free samples.”

“Of course,” I replied as she stood beside me looking down at me.

This time her hip was near to my arm. As she rubbed the thick conditioner into my hair so her hip was pressed against me. I found the combination of what she was doing to my head and hair and the pressure of her hip against my shoulder to be disturbingly arousing. I was shocked.

During the following week I recalled those feelings several times. They made me feel warm and sent little shivers of, I was not quite sure what, through me? I had never had any strong feelings for other women although I had snogged and petted with a couple of girls at university and had ‘dirty danced’ with a few at clubs in the eighties. As most of my contemporaries did the same, I thought nothing of it and put it down to being part of growing up. Since then, although I had moments of curiosity particularly with so much girl to girl stuff being in books and films and in television, I rarely thought about it and had no more experiences.

The next week I was alone again. Richard had left for a trip to America and Peter and Sara were at their universities.

“Oh shit, sorry Cat,” Lindsay said as I felt the back of white blouse being soaked.

I sat up. “No problem Lindsay, I’ll just change it,” I said unbuttoning the blouse and going to stand up.

“Not much point really Cat, you might as well stay like that,” she said placing her hand on my upper arm.

I looked up at her and our eyes met. She had ‘that look’ and held my gaze as I sat up straight.

“Here let me,” she said not breaking her gaze and taking hold of the back of my white blouse. She helped me remove it.

“Thanks,” I said.

I think that my voice was shaking a little as she ran her gaze down to my breasts in the white, diaphanous bra and then back to my eyes. A slight smile on her lips, she said softly.

“You are very welcome Cat.”

My heart was pounding as I lay there while she washed my hair. I knew that my areola and possibly hardened nipples would be on clear view through the thin, as good as transparent bra and I could tell that she was glancing at them as she ran her fingers through my hair and rubbed my scalp in the massage she always gave me. The front of her jeans, just where the zip ended, was almost continuously pressed against my shoulder.

‘Was this a come on?’ I kept asking myself as the stroking of her fingers on my hair and scalp seemed to be slower and softer. I could not believe that as I lay there in my diaphanous bra with my eyes closed, I imagined her hands on my breasts. I was shocked and I felt disappointed when she stopped and said.

“Let’s go downstairs.”

I took that opportunity to pick up a thin robe and slip it on.

That evening I was alone. I had a light dinner, a couple of glasses of wine and watched Strictly Come Dancing. I shocked myself when I looked at the female dancers in their skimpy dresses and thought how sexy they looked. I could not believe that I was staring at their nearly uncovered breasts, their long, dancer’s legs and the swirling skirts that showed their panties as much as they covered them.

I was in my conservatory that I had had built on the back of the ugly Victorian pile in which I had the misfortune to live. I hated all of it apart from my conservatory.

I had bought a lovely, big, comfortable, chair that I could snuggle up in and watch the forty inch plasma on the back wall. Being a recliner I could put it back so that I could lie almost flat. Many a night when I was alone I would grab a duvet that I keep in the cupboard, throw it over me and sleep there. Sometimes I would undress to my panties, but often I stay fully dressed.

After another glass of wine, as I watched Strictly, I found my mind being filled by visions of Lindsay. Her face, her lips and, of course her eyes flooded my mind. I recalled the feeling of her hands and fingers on my hair and scalp, the sensation of her bahis siteleri tummy rubbing against my bare shoulder and her gaze roaming over my breasts in my thin bra. At first I was horrified. What was happening, I asked myself as I could not shake the vision from my mind? The images of the scantily clad dancers in the TV merged with my mental visions of Lindsay. At first I ‘saw’ her in one of those dresses and then to my amazement I saw her naked. It was then that I realised that I was stroking one of my breasts. I pulled my hand away from it as if it was burning me, but then moments later I replaced it. Not only did I replace it, but I slipped it inside my blouse and scooped my breast from my bra.

Reclining the chair so that I was almost horizontal, I closed my eyes, gave into the mental temptations and let my imagination take over. Visions of Lindsay were everywhere. Sometimes she was dressed and washing my hair or caressing my scalp, but more often she was naked. As I ‘watched’ her looking at me with those big, inviting eyes, so my hands were roaming over my body. One was squeezing and kneading my bare breasts and pinching and pulling my inevitably rock-hard nipples whilst the other stroked my mound through my jeans. As I saw that I too was now naked with Lindsay in my bedroom, so the thickness of the denim covering my pussy became an irritant. Without opening my eyes in fear of losing my vision, I undid my jeans, pushed them down a little and slid my hand inside my panties.

*

Alone in the house waiting for Lindsay to arrive the next Saturday, I was hellishly nervous.

During the week I had masturbated twice more imagining that I was with her. She had not been far from my mind the entire week.

I could not make my mind up on what was going, if indeed anything was going on? It could, of course all be in my imagination. She seemed so innocent. She made no untoward statements and said nothing at all that could be construed as being suggestive. When we chatted about her social life she gave no hint that she was interested in woman or was bi or bi curious.

However, her actions and glances, the lighter almost caressing way that she massaged my scalp, how she held my gaze and the slightly overt way the lower part of her tummy grazed against my shoulder screamed the opposite. Or was it just me getting five from adding two plus two.

Lindsay had phoned on the Thursday and had asked me to change from my usual ten in the morning to later in the afternoon.

“It would really help me and you will be my last so we will be able to take our time and not hurry,” she had said sending my thinking into overdrive.

Wearing her usual ‘uniform’ of tee shirt and jeans, which seems to be ‘de rigueur’ for the young, she arrived just before the five o’clock time we had agreed Her tee was yellow with some logo that I didn’t recognise and she was wearing it outside her tight, skinny jeans.

“Just a wash and blow dry today isn’t it Cat?” She said after we had greeted each other warmly.

I had planned to go to the gym after she had left so I had put on my workout gear. It was a new outfit in French blue of matching trousers, a singlet like athletes wear with thin spaghetti shoulder straps and a track type zip up jacket that I had left unzipped. The trousers were tight across my hips, bottom and upper legs, but were looser beneath the knees. The singlet was rather provocatively tight across my breasts and the thin material demanded I wear a strong bra to avoid any embarrassing nipple swelling.

“Yes that’s right Lindsay,” I replied noting that once more she held my gaze longer than she needed, but then, I registered it takes two to tango like that.

With the memories from the times I had masturbated with her in mind registering strongly, I nearly gasped when she said in what sounded to me, although I may have been mistaken, a huskier than normal voice.

“Shall we go upstairs?”

“Yes let’s,” I replied following her up the stairs.

My face was just inches from her beautifully rounded bottom in the tight jeans. Was it my imagination or was the sway of her hips and wiggle of her bum more extreme than usual I was thinking? We reached my marital bedroom and I led the way in. As usual we went to the bathroom and as she had for the past few weeks she washed my hair with me leaning back on the stool. Once more, it felt to me as though her touch was lighter

“As we are not cutting today, shall I dry it up here?” Lindsay asked, adding after a short pause. “In your bedroom?”

That hit me. Her and me in my bedroom resonated round my mind. Standing up I looked at her. She was staring at me with those gorgeous, green eyes and long eyelashes seeming to bore into my mind.

“Yes, why not?” I said probably in a slightly croaky voice. I wondered whether she noticed, but she did not comment.

“Sit in front of the mirror at the dressing table then Cat,” she said sounding very calm and in control, which was far from what I felt.

I sat on the low stool and Lindsay stood behind me. My wet hair hung down framing my face and sticking bahis şirketleri to my head. She ran her fingers through it and over my scalp. She lifted some of my hair and then dropped it down again.

“That conditioner seems to be working Cat, I think your hair is lusher,” she said as our eyes caught in the mirror.

“Yes, it seems to be,” I mumbled feeling a little embarrassed. At what I was thinking about her.

“It feels so much nicer,” she went on running her fingers through my hair and over the top of my head. That felt lovely.

She started drying it with her powerful salon drier.

“No one around today Cat?”

“No the kids are at their unis and Richard went to New York yesterday, they have some awards thing to go to tonight.”

“Would you have liked to have gone?”

“No I don’t like the corporate world very much, particularly when they are celebrating. Wives of lawyers become spare totty for clients.”

“What you have to go with clients?”

“No,” I laughed. “We don’t have to, it’s just that some clients think and hope we will, especially in America”

“You don’t do you Cat?” She asked sounding worried as our eyes met in the mirror.

“No, of course not.”

She resumed drying my hair.

“Do you ever travel with Richard?”

“Only occasionally for a special event or is he goes somewhere nice, like LA or San Francisco.”

“He travels a lot doesn’t he?”

“Yes and works murderous hours when he is home,” I replied realising that she had stopped drying my hair.

“You must get lonely with Peter and Sara away as well. Would you like a scalp massage?”

“Yes please,” I replied my heart pounding a little faster at the thought of the massage, which I always found exciting. “And yes it does get lonely at times.”

She started the massage.

She pressed her thumbs on the top of my spine and slid them slowly upwards along that groove in the back of the neck past the hairline and into my hair on the back of my head. As she did that so her fingers ran up the outside of my neck. They went upwards behind my ears and also into the tangle of my half dried hair. She rubbed my scalp then slid her thumbs and fingers back down their return journey. She repeated that several times each time massaging both my neck and scalp. It was as soothing and relaxing as it was intimate and erotic.

“Is that good Cat?”

“Oh it’s lovely,” I replied suddenly realising with a jolt that I was leaning back against her. I had no recall of whether that was due to me moving backwards or her moving forward. I sat up straighter thus, opening a gap between us.

The next time Lindsay’s hands slid down my neck they rested on my shoulders for a moment or two. They squeezed the muscle at the back and the collar bone at the front for a short time before sliding outwards to the shoulder joint where they stopped. With her thumbs pressing into that muscle across my back, her palms straddling the top of my shoulder and her fingers stretching downwards over my collar bones, she slid them back towards my neck where they again rested for a moment or two. She repeated that whole journey a few more times. Surely now her touch was lighter, wasn’t it, I asked myself as I realised that again my shoulder blades were pressed against her chest?

On her fourth or fifth journey along my shoulder the back of her thumbs pushed against the inside of the collar of the unzipped top. That moved it so that the collar slid a little way down my back and the sides of it slipped a little way round my shoulder joints.

“Maybe we should take this off,” she said quietly taking hold of the track jacket.

I opened my eyes and caught her gaze.

“We don’t want to get it wet do we? Ok?” She said.

Not thinking that my hair was as good as dry and that the jacket would not get wet, I nodded and with my heart pounding whispered. “Yes,” as I sat up straight opening the gap between us again.

It was, at least to me, such an erotic moment when Lindsay slowly peeled the jacket off and somehow very meaningfully threw it onto my bed.

She placed both her hands on my shoulder joints and left them there.

“Shall we carry on Cat?”

I was not totally sure what she meant by carrying on as I was beginning to believe that she did want more from me than just looking after my hair. What I did not know was whether that was what I wanted or not. I was hellishly nervous as again I nodded and whispered.

“Yes please.”

“Close your eyes again then Cat, the sensations are stronger then,” she said softly and again meaningfully.

As her hands slid inwards along my shoulders I closed my eyes and again wondered just what she meant by sensations? I seemed to be hearing double meanings in nearly everything she said and did. Now, it was particularly noticeable that her fingers were more caressing than massaging me. They slithered up my neck, through my hair and onto my head. Gripping it a little more firmly than earlier she quite pointedly pulled it so that she moved it backwards and once more both the back of my head and my shoulder blades were pressed against her body. My shoulder blades were against her waist, but the back of my head was pressed between her boobs the sides of which grazed against my scalp. The feelings were sensational.

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