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A Sexy Haircut

By ArchieB

Everyone was showing a bit of wear and tear by the third week of the lockdown. Even Mark, the office gay guy, who was usually immaculate in his appearance, began to look a little ragged. It had to do with hair.

Only that morning my lover Eve had upbraided me. She could turn from deep passion to irritating nagging in a flash. I guess that is what married women do.

One moment she was gasping and moaning loudly, her whole body jerking with pleasure and writhing in ecstasy beneath me, her vulva and anus contracting wildly in spasms, her nails digging into my buttocks as she encouraged my thrusts. The next she was complaining.

'You need a haircut, Jerry.'

Her sudden outburst caught me unawares. She had climaxed, had not even waited for me to come and believed it was time to get on with the more prosaic business of our lives. I didn't even try to fake an orgasm. I just went limp. I could have told her that it was hard enough trying to conduct an affair, eluding a husband and the enforcers of the lockdown without also trying to find an illicit hairdresser to give me a shave.

Her frustration with my hair may have been projection. With hairdressers and barbers closed during the lockdown, all of us had to make do as best we could. It was harder for women like Eve, who was used to going to her hairdresser once a week. When I arrived at the office later that day, I realized that the bad hair day had become the bad hair fortnight, and even longer. The women were in open revolt about the government ban in an attempt to curb the corona virus. They were gathered at the water-cooler bemoaning their fate.

I heard his high-pitched whine from Bertha, the office manager: 'My hair! I just don't know what to do with it anymore.' Shave it all off, I suggested, but she sneered. We had just heard that the lockdown would be extended for another three weeks, with no hair relief in sight.

'We think we're having a bad time with our hair, just look at Jerry.' I had just come into sight and Danel, whom most of us lusted for, with her long legs, big breasts and wide mouth. I had tried to persuade her to come to bed with me, without success. Now she had a special admonishment for me.

'Jerry, your hair looks awful. Why don't you do something about it?'

The rest of the women stared at my hair and began to feel better about their own. At least there was some order to theirs; mine was a mess.

'Fuck off,' I said, as politely as possible and on the sotte voce side. But she heard.

'No need to be so rude. And defensive,' said Danel. 'You should do what Mark has done. He looks so delish now.'

Just what Mark had done was still a mystery. He had been waylaid by another group of office women on his way to his desk opposite mine. They were gushing about his hair. Women admiring a man's haircut is unusual, but these were unusual times. When Mark finally came into sight, I had to admit that it was a shave to be admired. His hair was sleek and trim, cut and styled in a formal way. The fade was short, down to the neck while the top had a matte hold and the hint of wave. Even I stood in awe. Cleary he had broken the lockdown regulations over the weekend and had a professional take care of his coiffure. I was as jealous as hell. Not only did he look good, he was being chatted up by the women who were not only fawning all over him, but actually touching his head. What a waste, I thought.

'What the fuck...?' I said. 'Where'd you get that?'

'Like I'm about to tell you,' he said. He'd misunderstood my jealousy and admiration for disparagement.

'No, serious, Mark,' I said. 'That is the coolest haircut I've seen, since ... since ways before the lockdown. How'd you do it, man?'

'Well, if you're nice to me, I might let you into my little secret,' he said. I was sure he was flirting, but I didn't let it go. Here I was, beginning to look like some orang-utan, and there was Mark all spruced up. The girls ignored me all day, and kept complimenting Mark. I began to indulge him too, just subtly at first, then with open admiration.

'You know, buddy [I had never called him *quot;buddy*quot; before] I must admit that not only do you look cool, but you're damn fine looking, man.' I was desperate to have my appearance match Mark's, if only to steer some of that female attention away from the little creep.

'Well,' said Mark, and immediately began to patronise me. 'If you can keep a secret, I will let you in on it.'

'All ears, mate,' I said. And I'd never called him 'mate' before either.

'I know this woman,' he said. 'She's quite old, so she might not appeal to you. But she gives a damn fine haircut in her home. In private. She's brilliant. She really takes her time to make sure she gets it all right, she kept me in the chair for almost an hour, cutting, snipping, making sure I was happy with her direction. She only works on recommendations, however.'

'Mark. I'd doing anything for a recommendation,' I said.

'Anything?' he was beginning to be his lascivious poker oyna self again.

'Fuck off, Mark,' I said. 'Just help out a colleague man. You can see my hair is out of control.'

'Well, it is a bit of a haystack.'

'More like a bloody bushveld thorn three,' I admitted.

'Tell you what,' said Mark. 'If you can stand in for me next Monday, I'll see what I can do.'

Of course I agreed. I stood in for him, which was always a pain because Mark dealt with overseas clients who could be snippy, demanding, critical know-alls. I kept thinking of my hair. By Tuesday, when Mark had got back to the office, he had a phone number.

'It's Renee,' he said. 'Make sure you tell her it's me who recommended her. Otherwise she might just put you off.'

'Amazing, mate. Thanks. This is really generous. Thanks, thanks a lot.'

'Oh, Jerry,' he said. 'Just be careful. She can be a bit ... You know, touchy, feely.'

'Don't worry,' I said. 'It never bothers me with women like that.'

'Yes, I suppose not. But remember, she is 60 years old.'

I called the number once I'd got home and at first it sounded as if I had reached an all-night garage. The response was abrupt, almost grumpy.

'Yes?'

'Is that Renee?'

'It is, but do you know what time it is?'

'I'm sorry,' I said, trying to sound apologetic. 'But I thought...'

'Nine o'clock at night is a helluva time to call a lady,' she said.

I apologized again, then offered an alternative.

'Shall I call in the morning?'

'Well, we're on the line now, so speak up.'

I explained my desperation to get a haircut, how unmanageable my mop had become, all in an attempt to gain some sympathy from a woman who didn't like being called at nine in the evening. None of it was working, until I mentioned the magic words.

'Mark Malone suggested I call you,' I said. It sounded quite pathetic, as if I was blaming Mark for my own embarrassment. But suddenly her tone changed; I swear I even detected a smile in her voice.

'Oh, that sweet boy. Lovely hair. He gave me a very generous tip to. So what did you say your name was?'

I gave her my name and she appeared to be examining her appointments book. I heard pages being turned as she hummed to herself, and probably to me. Her next question caught me off guard.

'You and Mark go to the same clubs?'

'Clubs?' Where was she going with this. 'No. No, he's a colleague.'

'So you didn't hook up with him at those clubs he goes to?'

Those clubs gave it away. It struck me that she thought I was gay, and she didn't want to ask it outright.

'No, no that's not me. Those clubs? Not for me. Will that count against me? We're colleagues. We work together at Smith