Colin’s Hot Date by Sean O’Hare
“Yes please Sandy, cut it nice and short at the back and the sides and leave it longer through the top. I want it to look really cool for this evening.”
“Why’s that then Colin. Got a hot date or something?” Sandy responded, with a slight smile on her face at the thought that this nice but rather shy gent having a date, hot or otherwise.
“Er, yeah, I have actually,” said Colin, feeling a little unsure of himself discussing unfamiliar territory.
“Oh, that’s great!” she exclaimed, unable to hide her surprise as she picked up her Wahl clippers and fixed a Number 2 guard. “So is she someone you’ve…”
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“Your hair is looking great Sandy,” Colin interrupted, unwilling to divulge too much of his personal life. And indeed her hair was looking great. It had been cropped much shorter than on his last visit, with messy layers through the top, the fringe cut to virtual non-existence and the nape nibbled to perfection. All of this enhanced by a deep coppery red colour with striking highlights. Each time she turned, Colin couldn’t help stealing a glance of her delectable nape.
“Why, thank you Colin, that’s sweet of you. Head down please.”
Colin had been coming to this posh salon for nearly two years now, and considered Sandy the girl of his dreams. As well as being very attractive, she always had great hair and changed it frequently – it went with the job he supposed. He had considered asking her out several times but there was no way he could pluck up the courage for that. Besides she had a regular boyfriend – a fact she repeatedly pointed out – and then there was the age difference. She was in her mid 20s at the most, and he was in his early 30s at the least … well, 36 actually. And despite his well-cut hair, his clothes and general appearance were sadly not what seemed to attract desirable women, especially stylish hairdressers with great hair.
The clippers began their path up his nape and short clippings began to shower down. Much shorter than usual as it was barely four weeks since his last visit. He usually waited 5 or 6 weeks, although found it difficult to wait that long. But tonight was special, and he needed to look his best. He frequently attempted to steal a glance in the mirror at Sandy’s nape – her face always a picture of professional concentration – but invariably her firm hand would redirect his head, and hence his gaze, downwards. Not that he minded her touch, as he felt his nape become exposed to the cool air-conditioned atmosphere of the salon.
As she began to work on the sides, and her fingers gently adjusted the position of his head he had the opportunity to survey the salon in the mirror. He always hoped to see something of interest and, while his dream of seeing a dramatic makeover had never materialised, he frequently saw women with fashionable short cuts adopt even more fashionable and, unsurprisingly, shorter cuts. This was, after all, a trendy salon and precisely why he chose to come here.
Sometimes he caught the eye of a woman in the mirror on the other side of the salon. If this happened elsewhere, he eyes would inevitably drop down or turn away in embarrassment or fear. But for some reason he felt uncharacteristically more confident here – he was in his element. And so it was in this occasion. As Sandy clippered the hair around his right ear he watched a woman of a similar age to himself have her nape trimmed to one-inch perfection by a stylist repeatedly passing scissors over comb, providing a beautiful contrast to the highlighted cap of hair that made up her stylish wedge. The woman looked slightly worried – or perhaps intrigued – by the passage of the clippers along Colin’s temples. He wondered if she was thinking that perhaps she should have her nape similarly denuded. Or perhaps worried that her stylist might suggest it. Or perhaps that the stylist may just clipper her nape bare without asking.
These were the sort of thoughts that occupied Colin as he willingly succumbed to Sandy’s skill, and despite his attempts at thought transference through eye contact between the two mirrors his wish to see more of this woman’s nape was not granted.
As Sandy put down the clippers and began to expertly layer the crown hair she asked, “So where are you taking this lucky lady tonight then Colin?”
“Er,” he said, slightly flustered as he came out of his reverie, “well I was thinking of a restaurant. Italian probably.” He didn’t like to add what he hoped might happen later.
“That’s nice. I love Italian.”
“Do you?” Colin thought sadly to himself – I wish I had known – but refrained from saying that she could come too!
“Well, you have a lovely time. There, I think that should impress her, don’t you?” she asked as she whisked away the cape and held up a mirror so that Colin could admire her handiwork.
“Wow, that’s great Sandy,” he replied truthfully, placing his thick spectacles on his nose and turning from side to side. “Thanks.”
As Sandy, helped him on with his dung-coloured sports jacket she couldn’t help but think how his well-cut hair contrasted rather oddly with his sadly geeky and overall dull appearance. Perhaps unkind, but a but like placing a diamond on a pile of the substance which the colour of his jacket resembled. Little did she know that the teenagers who worked at weekends in the supermarket where Colin stacked shelves, day in and day out, called him ‘Mr Bean’ behind his back.
But she continued to smile pleasantly as Colin paid and added his customary tip, as he continued to thank her profusely. The nervousness starting to replace his confidence within the salon as, once more, he had to go back into the big, real world for another six weeks… or five… or four. But now he had this evening to look forward to … and the butterflies were already in squadron strength in his stomach and starting to perform aerobatics the Red Arrows would be proud of.
As soon as he arrived back in his small flat he jumped in the bath, a shower being out of the question of course as it would ruin his hair.
After applying ample quantities of deoderant, he pulled on a pair of black trousers – one of several pairs of similar ones he owned. He buttoned a stiff, brand new shirt, in a slightly beige colour, which was daringly different for him, from the similar white ones he normally wore. Casual tonight, he had decided, so no tie was required. And the new jacket for this evening, he thought. He took it from the wardrobe and, while being newer, was identical in every way (including colour) to that which he wore earlier.
He looked in the mirror, carefully combed his hair back into place, and smiled at his appearance. He popped back in to the bedroom one last time to check everything and was satisfied. And then he left to meet Trudi.
He rode his bicycle to the station. Perhaps not the best decision he had made that day, but he cycled everywhere and didn’t think twice about it.
He thought back to how this evening had come about. Poor Colin was lonely. No doubt about it. He had a few friends at work and some at college where he was embarking on night classes in computer programming. But no drinking buddies as such. Not that he ever drunk anyway. In the past he had known – in all senses – a few women for short periods of time but nothing longer term ever came of these relationships. He knew that Jane Potts on the deli counter liked him. And she was quite pleasant in nature and appearance, although her dull long hair, usually worn in a long plait down her back but coiled up under her hat while working, held no attraction to Colin. The only fantasy Colin had regarding Miss Potts was how she would look with short hair… well, there was another fantasy, that being where she allowed him to cut it all off.
So a few months back he had set out on a quest. He had bought one of the city magazines and had painstakingly worked his way through each advert in turn for women requiring companionship. A number of key phrases were always in the back of his mind. ‘Fashionable short hair’ and ‘works as hairdresser’ and, less likely, ‘looks forward to long walks down the aisles of hair shows’. But, inevitably, the descriptions were limited to ‘attractive blonde’ (yes, but how short), works in the retail trade (probably a supermarket checkout girl) and of course ‘looks forward to long walks in the countryside’ (where nice haircuts are as rare as a pride of lions).
However he did reply to a few, without mentioning his interest in hair, and was somewhat surprised by the number of replies he received. Precisely none! So he decided to adopt a different tack. He would place an advertisement himself and, given that certain other blatant requirements were included by some of the male contributors, he decided to be a little more open about his interests. Well, he said he preferred women with short hair but didn’t mention his expectations on occupation or leisure interests. He did actually receive a reply but she made no mention of hair, and when he asked (several times) in his subsequent letter he received no further reply.
However a couple of weeks later he was idly flicking through the latest copy of the magazine and his attention to one particular advertisement. This was his first contact with Trudi. And seemed to be an answer to his prayers.
In a letter, and then a couple of telephone calls, he found out more about Trudi. A photograph followed and he saw that her hair – a subject she had attempted to keep away from him – was thick, glossy and stretched a long way down her back. Taking all his thoughts into consideration, and the information he had received, he decided Trudi was worth pursuing, so he rang up and made arrangements.
Trudi would be at the railway station by 6pm on that very evening, and he pedalled a little faster as he glanced at his watch.
He was nervous when he arrived. Perhaps she wouldn’t be there. But she was.
He couldn’t of course ride his bike so he pushed that alongside him, and did at least remember to take off his cycle clips. As he walked along the high street with her he began to talk quietly. He started with day-to-day stuff but then started to talk about his interest in hair.
After five minutes or so they stopped outside his favourite restaurant – actually a take-away Pizza shop – with a few tables inside for those who really wanted to live it up. An event Colin normally treated himself to once a week. They went inside and Colin ordered at the counter, having first left Trudi at a vacant table. As the ham and mushroom pizza with an extra topping of pepperoni was consumed, Colin continued to talk about his life and, when no one was close by and between slurps of Coke through a straw, added details of his interest in hair. How he loved to see women with fashionable short styles, and his ultimate desire to have the opportunity to wield the scissors himself.
The pizza finished, Colin took Trudi back to his flat for coffee.
Events moved surprisingly quickly for Colin. Although he switched the kettle on straight away, within five minutes Trudi was laid on his bed and Colin was alongside breathing heavily. As he ran one hand over her body and the other through her long thick hair, his lips concentrated on a single part of her body. He couldn’t believe how lovely Trudi’s hair felt through his fingers. Its silky smoothness. Its fullness. He began to fantasize about picking up a pair of scissors and cutting through all that beautiful hair. He couldn’t contain his arousal and, with more force than he had ever experienced, he came.
With a satisfied smile on his smile he dozed for half an hour or so. He began to talk once more about his interest in hair and, while he loved her exquisite hair, how he thought it would be such an erotic experience for them both for him to cut it for her. He had come this far so quickly, it was the next logical step.
He took Trudi in his arms and, after a kiss, positioned her in the chair he had placed in front of the bedroom mirror earlier. He removed a towel from the bedroom table to reveal an array of haircutting tools that he had purchased for this hoped-for occasion. He picked up a hairbrush and began to run it through the long locks from the roots to the ends until it shone. He then picked up the scissors.
With a confidence he normally only felt when he visited the salon he said, “Well Colin thinks you should try something much shorter.” He was in his element.
Without further ado he placed the scissors just below Trudi’s left ear. He felt her start to slide away from his movement and so he placed his other hand on her shoulder. The scissors closed and two feet of chestnut hair slid over her shoulder, along her breasts and fell to the floor. Colin let out a deep breath… and continued to carve a path around Trudi’s head.
With each slow cut, firstly Trudi’s ear was revealed and then her nape began to emerge from its long hibernation beneath the mound of hair. He didn’t hurry. Five minutes later he had achieved a very acceptable, glossy bob slightly longer at the front than the back.
“Hmmm, Colin thinks the nape needs to be tidied up a little bit.” He picked up a comb and attempted to emulate the scissor-over-comb action of the stylist he had watched earlier. But it was not as easy as it had looked. As he tried to play at being Mr Super-cool Artiste he fumbled. The comb dropped and the scissors slipped, digging into her nape. Colin’s sharp intake of breath was matched by a rush of air from Trudi.
“Oh Trudi, I’m s… s… so sorry. What am I going to do. O…” His confidence seemed to be ebbing away but at the sight of Trudi crumpling forward in the chair he knew he had to do something. But what? How bad was it?
“It’ll be OK Trudi. I promise.” Then a thought struck him. He rushed out to the hallway and rummaged in the saddlebag of his bike. On finding what he was looking for, with undisguised glee he ran back into the bedroom holding a small package.
“This’ll do the trick Trudi!”
He removed a small tube from the package, removed the lid and smeared it over the point where the scissors had made contact. He then removed a small patch from the package and covered it.
Poor Trudi, she looked so deflated although the initial rush of air from her had now halted.
Colin hated to see Trudi like this and, although tired, he had no choice. It had to be done now. After taking a deep breath, his lips returned to the position on her body where they had started and he blew strongly. He was on automatic pilot now. Trudi began to look less crumpled and her head began to rise up once more.
Pausing to draw breath he asked, “Now then Trudi, once you’re feeling a little less deflated, Colin suggests you try a nice crop… what do you think, hmmm?”
(c) Copyright Sean O’Hare, 2000 Comments welcome to firstname.lastname@example.org