I’ve been running my mobile hairdressing business for several monthsnow, building up a set of regular clients after placing some ads in local papers and shop windows. Most of them are elderly ladies, not able to get out to a salon, but now I’m getting a more varied customer. Last week, I got a call from a guy. I don’t normally cut men’s hair, buthe insisted he was desperate as he had a job interview the following day and couldn’t get in anywhere else. I turned up at his house, which wasn’t that far from my home, and knocked on the door. I was greeted by what I can only describe as the perfect man! His smile grabbed me first, followed by his glinting pale blue eyes. He had to be at least 6 foot tall, with a crop of black hair, and a hint of stubble on his face. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, and was probably in his late 20s. “Hi, you must be Sam, the hairdresser?” he said, shaking my hand. “I’mPaul, come in” I followed him into the house and he led me into the lounge. “Can I getyou a coffee before you start?” he asked. “Coffee would be great” I said, sitting down on the sofa, as hedisappeared into the kitchen. I glanced around, he had a number of trophies on display and some team photos - so someone in the house obviously played football, and I spotted a photo of him and a blonde woman, possibly his wife or a girlfriend. Paul shouted through from the kitchen, asking if I wanted milk and sugar. After a few minutes, we were ready to start. “Do you want to wash myhair, or do I do it myself?” he asked. “I’ve never had a hairdresser come to my home before, I don’t know what the routine is” “I can do it if you like” I said. “Some people prefer to do their own,but I don’t mind either way” He led me upstairs to the bathroom, and I started running the showerwhilst he got himself a towel and some shampoo. Before I realised what he was doing, he’d taken off his t-shirt and was kneeling by the bath ready for me to start washing his hair. His body was every bit as perfect as I’d thought he was when I first set eyes on him. My mind wandered, why didn’t my husband look like that?! As my fingers ran through his wet hair, I felt an urge to run them elsewhere, but I had to resist. We made small talk, the usual stuff about holidays, the weather, but I wasn’t really concentrating in the same way I did with my other clients. Some water had splashed onto his broad shoulders, and as I used the towel to dry his hair, I also took the opportunity to run it across them. A tingle of excitement ran through me, and I breathed a deep sigh. “You OK?” he asked. My sigh must have been louder than I thought. Slightly embarrassed, I gathered my thoughts up and came back to reality. “Yes, sure… where do you want me to cut your hair? The kitchen isprobably the best place, easier to clean up afterwards” I said. He led the way back down the stairs, towel draped around his shoulders,and no t-shirt. This was going to be the longest haircut! Quite how I was going to concentrate I didn’t know, but I had to. He grabbed a chair from around the dining table, and I set about cutting his hair. We chatted about his job interview, and about his wife, who was awayworking in New York for a couple of months. “That must be hard” I said “I bet you miss her” “Hmmm” he said “The less said about that the better I think” he laughed. I think I understood what he meant. My own marriage was simply two people existing together. I doubt Rob would miss me if I went away for a couple of months. After about half an hour, I was finished. Paul went into the hallway tocheck his new look in the mirror, then came back into the kitchen. His smile was amazing and I felt weak in the knees. “I really appreciate you coming out to do this for me, I couldn’t turn up to an interview… Read the rest of The Hairdresser
Author: Bloomgirl
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