Here’s Part Two of Lindsay Debout’s new adults-only short story, Hair Day. In Part One, which you can find here, Lydia and Marcus got their working day off to a pulsating start. Now read on…
The taxi ride to the office was more melancholy than usual. The morning’s paperwork sat unread on her lap. What happened to the days in bed? When we first got married, we were hardly ever out of it. Real life provided the answer. What was it George Bernard Shaw said? “Marriage is popular because it combines the maximum of temptation with the maximum of opportunity.” What he forgot to mention was, it also provides the maximum of distractions. Jobs. Mortgage. Bills. Chores. There aren’t enough hours in the day as it is when you’re trying to make a success of your career. Having to maintain a flat as well… it’s no wonder our sex life is going down the drain.
Just as well we don’t have kids yet. How does anyone find the time to have more than one of those?
The taxi went past a familiar shop front. Ricki’s, her hairdresser. An illicit shiver went through her. I’ll have to make an appointment. Maybe another special one this time. It’s all Marcus’s fault.
“Hello, this is Lydia Martin. I’d like to make an appointment with Ricki, please. The all-inclusive.”
“One moment, Ms Martin… The next available all-inclusive appointment is in three weeks.”
Lydia’s spirits fell. It was not her day. “Ah. Oh, well. What date?”
“Actually, I’ve just been told we’ve had a cancellation for this afternoon at 2:30. Would you like that one, or is it too short notice?”
Lydia gulped. Normally she had to work up her courage for a special appointment with Ricki. This afternoon would be far too soon. She’d never have the nerve. Or would she? It’ll give me less time to brood. What the Hell, I’m due some time off. And I won’t have to think up an excuse for Marcus. He’ll be working late again. “2:30 today will be fine. See you then.”
She closed the call and bit back a giggle. Her insides were already feeling fluttery, and it wasn’t all nerves. She hit the intercom button. “Mary, I’m going to be taking the afternoon off. I’ll be back in the office tomorrow as usual. Reschedule this afternoon’s meetings, please.”
One o’clock found Lydia at a table in the window of the cafe opposite Ricki’s. On the ‘special’ days, she could never find the courage just to walk up to the salon and straight through the door. She had to work up to it.
It’s not as if I’m having an affair or anything. Not a proper affair. No sex involved. Not sex that anyone would call sex. Not really.
Even inside her own head, she didn’t sound convincing.
Definitely no penetration, anyway. And I’m not actively doing anything at all.
Two o’clock found Lydia pacing up and down outside Ricki’s salon. I can’t do it. I know what goes on in there. I know what’s going to happen to me. So why do I still come back time after time?
Because you like it, whispered the Siren voice. Because Marcus won’t do it for you. Anyway, if he didn’t neglect you so much, you wouldn’t feel the need to come here. It’s all his fault.
She snorted again. She could recognise self-deception when she heard it. Stop trying to justify it. Do it, or don’t do it, but either way stop agonising about it. You’re an adult, and you can afford it. Anyway, there are far worse vices.
Passing the front of the salon again, Lydia saw the automatic door open. No-one came out. There was no-one waiting outside. It must have been opened just for her. So what? I don’t have to go in.
She went in.
The receptionist greeted her with an impersonal smile. “I saw you go past, Ms Martin. Several times. You seemed to be waiting for something, so I opened the door just in case.”
“Thank you,” replied Lydia, blushing in spite of herself. “Am I too early?”
“No, Ricki’s waiting for you in the AI room.”
Lydia blushed even deeper, if that was possible. I wish they’d change the damned name. Taking a deep breath, she walked through the main salon with head high and stride confident, pretending not to notice the eyes that followed her.
The room was small and dimly lit. A large, adjustable chair of the sort more usually seen in hospitals filled most of the floor. A thick towel covered the seat. Shelves and cupboards lined the walls. There was a large sink. Overhead hung a selection of spotlights, adding to the medical theme.
Ricki was standing next to the chair. Early thirties, artistically dressed and most definitely a hairdresser. He couldn’t possibly be anything else. He smiled broadly and shook Lydia’s hand.
“Ms Martin! Good to see you again!” Even his voice screamed hairdresser! He helped her out of her coat and hung it up, then turned back to her. “The usual today?”
Lydia’s face felt furnace-hot. The powerful and successful businesswoman felt like a naughty schoolgirl about to be given a dressing-down by her headmaster. She couldn’t meet Ricki’s eye, so she looked down at her feet. Guilt and shame washed through her. “Yes,” she muttered.
Ricki handed her a disposable paper gown. “Here you go.” He busied himself with his preparations while Lydia undressed behind his back and put on the gown. Strangely, this was the one aspect of the whole business that didn’t rack her with embarrassment. She’d met Ricki’s husband and the couple’s obvious devotion to each other made it equally obvious that Ricki wasn’t interested in her. Not in that way, at least.
Dressed only in the thin cotton gown, Lydia sat down in the chair. She felt rigid with tension. And fear. And excitement. And anticipation. When she heard Ricki move up behind her, she shivered. This was her last chance to back out. She gripped the arms of the chair, ready to get up.
Too late. Ricki’s voice whispered in her ear. “Would you like your trim first, or later?”
Lydia tensed, then surrendered. Slowly she eased back. “Later,” she mumbled.
Time froze for a moment, then she felt Ricki’s fingers slide through her hair. Lydia jumped violently as the sensation burned down through her body to her groin. This was her dirty little secret, the one only Ricki knew. Her hair and scalp were among her most erogenous zones.
Why should I feel ashamed about it? It’s no different from my feet, or my bum, or any other part of my body that likes to be caressed. Marcus knows about all of those. Why not my scalp?
Mind-reading was apparently another one of Ricki’s skills. He chuckled as he ran his fingers sensuously through Lydia’s hair. “Do you remember the first time you came here? I had to brush the old treatments out of your hair before I could start. That’s when we found out you’re one of my… special clients. I don’t offer my All-Inclusive service to everyone. I pick and choose.”
Lydia didn’t reply. She was too busy burning with embarrassment at the memory. Many women enjoyed having their hair brushed. She hadn’t heard of anyone else having an orgasm from it. She’d managed to hide it from everyone in the salon, except Ricki. When she’d come back down to Earth, he was staring at her in the mirror. Watching her. Smiling.
“I couldn’t help it,” she muttered. “It’s never happened before. I tried to stop it.”
Ricki swept his fingers through her hair, dragging it gently so that it tugged on her scalp. More tingles shot through her. Down her. “Why? You just need a little more privacy, that’s all. That’s why I designed this service. I love to please my clients. And it’s a nice little earner, of course.”
Lydia couldn’t help chuckling at his frankness. She relaxed more. It was traditional for hairdressers to know all their clients’ secrets. So what if this secret was more… extreme? Ricki was already in on it. In fact, he was benefiting from it. Why shouldn’t she enjoy herself?
Paying for pleasure? Isn’t there a word for women who do that? And men who cater to them?
But why is it different from going to the theatre for pleasure? No-one calls actors ‘gigolos’ or ‘prostitutes’. Not these days, anyway. At least, not while they’re on stage.
Ricki worked on in silence. His fingertips stroked over every inch of her scalp. He pulled his hands back through her hair then, after a tantalising pause, his fingers slid up the nape of her neck and into her hairline once more. Lydia shivered again, and a little sigh escaped from her lips.
“Why don’t you get your husband to do this for you?” murmured Ricki.
“I don’t like to ask. It seems silly, somehow. He has done it a few times, but he soon got bored and his hands started to wander around the front.”
“There’s nothing silly or boring about making someone feel nice. I’m happy to do this as long as you like. Until four o’clock, anyway.”
Lydia didn’t reply. Her eyes closed, but sleep was the last thing on her mind. That was fixed on Ricki’s fingertips exploring her head. Warmth built inside her, making her shift on the chair.
Besides, I’m here to have my hair cut, and Ricki’s my hairdresser. So he’s using his fingers instead of a brush. Why should that make a difference?
Why am I trying to justify myself? I’m not hurting anyone.
Ricki didn’t just crudely drag his fingers over Lydia’s scalp. He slid them softly up her neck and into her hair, then lifted them and slowly pulled them through until they were free, then began all over again. Each time he started further round her neck until the edge of his hands brushed the backs of her ears. The touch sent stronger shivers through her. Unconsciously Lydia pressed her hands deep into her lap, then hurriedly pulled them away when she realised what she was doing.
Rubbing myself in public? Well, in front of Ricki, but he’s not Marcus so it counts as ‘in public’. Not a good idea. It’s bad enough letting Ricki do this to me, without letting him see me do myself.
On the next pass, Ricki stroked his fingers over her ears, tracing inside the folds and down to the lobes, which he pinched and tugged gently. Lydia gasped quietly, then moaned when Ricki circled the very tips of his index fingers just inside. Instead of running his fingers up into her hair, he slid them down and forwards until he was stroking the sides of her throat. The tingles grew into powerful currents. Lydia whimpered and wriggled in the chair as Ricki’s fingertips explored the sensitive softness under her chin.
The warmth inside her was coming to the boil. It’s going to happen. I mustn’t let it. I can’t lose control. Not in public – not in front of someone not Marcus. Can I? But if not, then why am I here?
Ricki took the decision away from her. He ran his hands up the length of her jaw and across her temples until they tangled deep in her hair, then pulled gently. Lydia’s head tipped back. A small movement, but enough to break her self-control. Pleasure tore through her and she gave a strangled cry as she writhed and shuddered in the chair. Only her head was still, held by Ricki’s strong hands.
There’s nothing like a sensual massage to get the juices flowing. If only every visit to the hairdresser was like this! Part Three of Hair Day will be posted soon. To make sure you never miss an episode, follow my blog, and sign up (above) to get my news.