Shop Upstairs

The Shop Upstairs by Jake

I was born and raised in central South Carolina. The summers there were hot and humid, especially on the days when there was no breeze, and the air was like stagnant water in a dead pool. I liked it! But for only one reason. My Mom owned a beauty shop in the upstairs part of our house where I spent most of my younger days. The shop was air-conditioned. I loved the bright lights, the mirrors and the cool tile floors where all the hair fell to. I always helped clean up at the end of the day. I loved sweeping up all of the long shorn locks and then going downstairs and dreaming of the next day. Who would the next customer be? How many young girls with long hair would come in for their short summer haircut, leaving their long locks behind for me to sweep up?

When I was 21 years old, I still stopped by to visit mom. I spent a lot of my spare time at the shop. Instead of watching the little girls get chopped, I watched the young ladies that came in and found myself getting aroused as my mom’s scissors snipped away most of their hair, and created a short sexy haircut.

I guess all good things must end. One day my mom told me she had had enough, she was closing the shop and moving up north to live with my sister. It was like two slaps in the face, that not only would I miss my mom, I would also miss all the haircuts I got to watch for so many years.

Well, my mom moved and I moved back into the big house alone. I often went upstairs to the shop, which I left unchanged, and sat in the big leather chair, and thought of the days I spent watching and wishing I was the one doing the cutting. One day while doing this, the doorbell rang. I went downstairs to answer it and there stood the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She had a great body, steel blue eyes and a perfect smile, but the thing that caught my attention was her hair. It was like liquid gold, still hot and ready to pour into a mold, so thick that no hair clip ever made could have held it, and long enough to reach the middle of her perfect ass.

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I suddenly realized that I was standing there staring at her. I pulled myself together and asked if I could help her. She smiled and said she was looking for Ms. Robinson. I explained that Ms. Robinson was my mother and that she had moved away, then I asked if there was anything that I could do for her. She told me that it would take a while to explain why she wanted to see my mother, but if she could come inside she would try. We went in and sat down and she started telling me this story…

When she was a little girl of seven years old, her mom had taken her to this salon to get her very first haircut. Her hair was very long then also, and very hot. She remembered how cold the shears were on the back of her neck, and how good it felt for all of the long hot hair to fall away and let the cool air reach her neck. She also remembered a little eight-year-old boy walking over and picking up a long strand of her severed hair, looking up at her, smiling and walking away. That was her last real haircut, she said, she had trimmed the ends quite often to keep it from growing to her knees, but had never had a real haircut since.

She then looked at me and said that a couple of weeks ago, she had decided to get a real haircut and she wanted the second one done at the same place as the first. I told her I was sorry, since my mom had left I was the only one there. She stared at me with those steel blue eyes for what seemed forever, and then said “Would you cut my hair for me?” I sat there for a few seconds in shock, then I explained to her that even though I had watched many haircuts, I had never cut anyone’s hair before in my life, but if she really wanted me to, I would try.

We went upstairs to the shop. As soon as I turned on the lights she ran over and jumped into the chair, giggling like a little girl. I walked over behind her and picked up a wide-tooth comb. I started combing her thick, shiny locks. As I pulled her hair down straight with the comb, it stretched out until it almost reached the floor. I made eye contact with her reflection in the mirror and asked, “Are you sure about this?” She nodded her head and said she couldn’t wait to have her hair off her neck, over her ears and out of her eyes. “Well, your wait is almost over,” I said as I reached for the scissors. I placed them into her long golden hair at the base of her neck. I could feel her shiver as the cold steel touched her skin, then I slowly closed the shears on her long locks. The first lock broke away from the rest of her hair and slowly slid down her back and onto the cool tile floor. I looked at the back of her neck where the section of hair was missing. The exposed skin was soft and white. I put the shears back up to her hair and cut more, only this time a little faster. I kept cutting and cutting, watching the silk waterfall slither across her back and onto the floor. I looked at her in the mirror and she was still smiling, so I kept cutting. When I was done her hair was about two inches all over. She rubbed her hands over her almost naked head, looked at me and told me how much she loved it. As she stood up from the chair I picked up the long locks and held them out to her. She took them in her hand, feeling the weight of them. She then walked up to me and hugged me. I looked down at her and she kissed me warmly on the lips. She asked if I wanted to keep her long shorn tresses… but with one condition: she stayed with them. I kissed her again.

That was three years ago. Linda and I are married now. She went to beauty school and now runs the shop upstairs. I spend most of my spare time up there, watching the girls get all of their long hair cut off. Linda has let hers grow since that first day in the shop and tells me that no one but me will ever cut it. She said today that she wanted it cut again real soon… I can hardly wait.

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