CLOSE SHAVE

Alison Tyler

 

 

 

There was no reason on earth for me to enter the barbershop. I’m a girl, after all, and this place was clearly for men only. Not that there was a sign stating the rules—one of those internationally understood outlines adorning bathroom doors. But the attitude was drenched in testosterone. In the window, a cactus grew obscenely out of a ceramic pair of pants—a prickly penis, if you will. Old Playboys died faded deaths on the sun-drenched table. Shiny retro barber chairs stood in a row like good little soldiers.

But none of that mattered.

I only wanted him.

Whenever I closed my eyes, there he was. A relic, like those chairs. Good looking in an old-fashioned way that suited the place. He had black, slicked-back hair. Sailor Jerry tattoos on his forearms. A razor strop hanging from his station. He did men’s cuts and shaves. With a fluffy brush and warm towels. Like in the old days—old days long before he was born.

I had no reason to enter the barbershop, but I stepped inside when I knew he’d be by himself. I’d walked by the shop often enough to have memorized the hours he worked.

He glanced around helpfully. Obviously, I’d come into the wrong place. I couldn’t be looking for my boyfriend or husband because there was nobody else there. I couldn’t be looking for a cut, because I was a woman. That’s what his eyes told me in the split second of silence between us. But I took a deep breath and sat in his chair.

“Ma’am—” he started.

“Oh no. Don’t ‘ma’am’ me,” I said quickly. “I’m not married.”

“Miss—” he tried next.

I shook my head. “Miss” was too young. Too girly. And here I was, about to ask for a shave.

“We’re not one of those…those unisex salons.” There. He’d done his job. He’d warned me off. He waited for me to climb out of his chair, apologize for my error, be on my way.

“I don’t want unisex,” I said, “but I do want sex.”

He met my eyes in the mirror. I didn’t look away.

“I’m here by myself,” he said.

“I don’t want to fuck the two old guys,” I told him, explaining what I thought was obvious. “I want to fuck you.”

He had to laugh. “Those old guys are my dad and my uncle.”

“Then it’s a good thing they’re not here,” I said. “Or maybe I’d get you in trouble.” I eyed the strop. He saw where I was looking.

“I wouldn’t be the one to get in trouble,” he said. “You’re talking like a girl who needs to be taken out behind the woodshed.”

Those words let me know I’d chosen correctly. This was the right man. He would give me what I needed. But then he looked at the clock on the wall above the mirrors and said, “You have to go.”

I didn’t budge. I had saved up all my self-confidence for this moment. I was not leaving without the correct change.

He licked his lip. He was wavering. I could feel his will begin to shake.

“I’ve seen you,” he said.

I nodded. “Twice a day. When I walk that way to work.” I pointed. “And that way home.”

“You always glance inside.”

“Always,” I agreed.

“Come back later. Tonight. Nine o’clock.”

I slid out of the chair. Then I leaned up on my tiptoes and kissed him. There was that cactus erection in the window, men’s magazines featuring girls who had gotten their implants long before I’d lost my training wheels, and then there were the two of us. He kissed me back, almost in spite of himself, and said. “You have to go.”

“I’ll see you at nine. For my shave.”

I winked at him before hurrying from the shop.

 

I’d been planning this tryst for months. I’d learned everything I could about Tommy. I knew he wasn’t seeing anyone. My coworker Chelsea was friendly with his sister. She had told me about the women he dated. Those goody-two-shoes types who fit the cookie-cutter mold of what ladies’ magazines tell us of how women are supposed to behave. That wasn’t me. I’d never be one of them. I’d given up trying a long time ago.

But I knew I was his type. His real type. All I wanted was for him to spread shaving cream all over my pussy and zip away the fur with a razor. I wanted to feel the warm towels after. And then—oh yes—I wanted to feel his tongue.

Chelsea had told me he only dated girls his family approved of. Chelsea insisted I would never get that nod of approval. I didn’t care about any of that. I only wanted him.

 

When I returned at nine, the store was closed. The sign said so, hanging off-kilter in the door. But I didn’t believe the sign. I saw a light on in the back, and I opened the door, the bell overhead jangling to announce my entrance. Tommy walked in from the rear, and he didn’t seem surprised to see me, but he did seem pleased.

“What did you mean about the shave?”

On the table was a bottle of wine and two glasses. I hadn’t noticed that before. He lowered the shades and I poured myself some red. The Playboys were gone, too. He’d cleaned up the place for me.

“I mean,” I said, “a shave.” I sat on the leather couch in front of the coffee table, and I spread my legs.

“This isn’t happening,” he said.

I hiked up my skirt. “You do shaves,” I said. “I need a shave.”

“You need to put some panties on is what you need to do. This isn’t how girls are supposed to behave.”

“I’m not the kind of girl who behaves,” I said.

He seemed torn for a minute. And I was thrilled when he walked to my side and dragged his thumb roughly between my pussy lips. Swollen. Juicy. He licked his thumb and looked at me, and then he said, “This isn’t how things work.”

“No? Not in the boys’ world? Where the men call the shots?”

“Not in my world,” he said, defensively. “I’m not used to a woman being in charge.”

“What are you used to?” I was thinking of the world I’d grown up in: men smoking out on the stoop and the women in the kitchen. Lace doilies on the backs of armchairs. Framed pictures of faraway places that nobody would ever visit on the walls.

He was the one to surprise me. He sat at my side on the sofa and pulled me over his lap. “I like to take the first step,” he said. “Ask the girl out. Take her on a date. Bring her flowers. See if there’s chemistry.”

“Clearly, there’s chemistry,” I said to the sofa. “You tasted for yourself.”

“But you’re so forward,” he said. “That can’t go unpunished. I mean, I don’t even know your name.”

My pussy clenched. This wasn’t how I’d envisioned the fantasy at all. I’d thought I would shock him, that he would appreciate a girl with a little spunk. But I hadn’t expected this—his hand on my ass, delivering a blistering, over-the-knee spanking within moments of me entering his shop.

“Every time you walked past,” he said, and he punctuated each word with a slap, “I thought of doing this. Your skirts are too short, do you know that?” He was tanning my hide with his big, strong palm and I couldn’t respond. The way my clit felt bumping against his knee was sublime. But finally I managed, “Too short for what?”

“Too short for you own good,” he said, and he pushed me from his lap so I was on the floor, looking at him. His erection was outlined beneath his slacks. I started to come forward, so I could undo his fly, release his cock. I wanted to suck him. I could practically feel his cockhead in my mouth. So I was shocked when he pushed me away.

“You know what you need?”

“Your cock.”

He grimaced at me, and I said, “Oh, what? Girls in your world don’t say the word cock? Or maybe they don’t suck it. Wouldn’t want to spoil their lip gloss.”

“Behind the shed. I was right before. That’s what you need. A long hard session with an old leather belt where nobody could hear you cry. Tune you up in no time.”

“And then what?” I asked, though my pussy was responding to his words, juices dripping down my thighs. “Then I become one of those airheaded girls with the perfect flip? Someone you can control with a look?”

He shook his head. “I can’t see you ever being under control,” he said. “I’m sure you’d need a pretty steady diet of discipline.”

Had I thought I was wet before? I was making a silky puddle between my legs. But I would not lose my moxie. “And you think you’re the man for the job?”

“I’m dead sure of it,” he said.

“But what about the girls you date? Those princesses.”

“I have a theory about that,” he said, and he stood and pulled me to standing, then led me toward the back of the shop. “You know what you can’t do?”

I shook my head.

He stopped me in the hall, tilted my chin so I was looking into his eyes. “When I ask you a question, you answer.”

“Yes,” I said quickly.

“That’s not how you answer.”

“Yes, Tommy?” I tried, feeling less sure of myself now.

“Oh, so you’re clever. You know my name, and I don’t know yours.”

“I’m Janie,” I said. “Jane.”

“All right, Janie.” He looked stern, like I’d disappointed him. “You, with all your tricks, all your fancy plans. You don’t even know what you need.” He pushed me down then once more, so I was on my knees gazing up at him. “When we’re alone, like this, I’m going to be in charge. And you’re going to do what I say. So you say, ‘Yes, Sir’ or ‘No, Sir.’ Shall we try again?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, and he continued down the hall with me following after in a crawl. When we’d reached the lounge in back, Tommy stood me up again. “The problem with princesses is that you can’t fuck them the way you’d like to. You can’t tie them up at night. Or use handcuffs. Or a butt plug. You can’t spank them when they’re naughty or flog them when they need it. You can’t wash the bad words from their mouths with a bar of soap—because they never fucking say bad words.”

He was stripping me as he spoke, and I saw that there was a basin of water back here and a stack of towels.

“So I’ve been thinking—as you have pranced by all spring in those too-short skirts of yours—that I don’t need a princess.”

And then he had me up on the table on my back and he was spreading thick lotion over my pussy using one of those sexy bristle brushes.

“What I need is a bad girl, like you.”

He started to shave me. I closed my eyes. I was in heaven, the way he pinched my nether lips as he worked. The way he paid such careful attention to whisking away every last stray bit of hair. My fantasy had definitely come to life.

“Why do you think I’m a bad girl?” I panted.

“Because you’re the exact opposite of every good girl I ever dated. You know, I came this close to getting married last fall.” He kept working. I watched him as he focused on me.

“It was…” he said slowly, “a close shave.”

I was surprised as he spoke, because I’d almost married a man who wanted a Barbie girl. I’d escaped. Like he had.

When he was done, he used a wet towel to rinse me, and then he used those fluffy towels to dry me off. He tested his work with his tongue, and I said, “If you keep doing that, Sir, I’m going to come.” I thought it was the right thing to say.

“Fine,” he said, looking up at me with his chin wet with my glossy juices. “And then I’ll punish you.”

My whole world seemed to freeze as he slid two fingers into my pussy.

“How? How will you…Sir?” I managed to tack on at the end.

“We’ll start with my belt.”

I sighed. I wanted to feel his belt. Desperately, I wanted to, but I couldn’t help but ask, “Why?” I needed to hear the words.

“Why will I punish you? Because you’re such a forward, pushy tart. Demanding that I take care of you. Not waiting for me to make the first move.”

“You didn’t. You never did.” I didn’t mean to sound accusatory. But I had waited. God, I had waited for months.

“I would have,” he said. “I was biding my time.”

“You were driving me fucking crazy.” I didn’t care that I’d forgotten the proper words. I was telling him the truth.

“Maybe that was part of my plan,” he said, and then he refocused his attention on my split and I came in a flash; the way he made sweet circles over my clit was too dreamy.

In seconds, while I was still lost in that haze of bliss, he had me flipped and bent over the table. I heard the sound of his belt pulling free from the loops of his slacks, and I tensed my thighs in anticipation of the first blow. My ass was still warm from the hand spanking he’d delivered in the front room. I was pretty, pink and primed.

“What I need,” he said, and he stung me with a fierce stroke from the start, “is a girl who can put on a princess act every once in a while so my family will get off my back. A girl who can stifle the four-letter words over a Sunday-night dinner. What do you think?”

“What do you mean, Sir?” I was having a hard time responding.

“Most people I know playact in the bedroom. They try to be all kinky when they’re so fucking vanilla. I know who you are. I’m asking you to playact out of the bedroom. Pretend you’re vanilla when we go have a dinner at my grandmother’s house. But be the kinky fucking bad girl you are the rest of the time. Do you think you could do that?”

He was landing the blows steadily now, and I was moaning and writhing, my hips beating against the edge of the table.

“Can you do that, Janie?”

I sucked in my breath, because he’d dropped the belt, and I anticipated what was going to happen next. To my delight, I was right. He had unzipped his fly and he was pressing his cock against me.

“Yes,” I said, to two things at once. “Yes, Sir,” I said to his query and to his cock. “I can do that.”

He was in me then, pushing forward so I felt his cock hammering all the way through me. I was so turned on I could hardly think. His cock was thick and hard and seemed to reach places inside me that hadn’t been touched before. And all the time Tommy fucked me, he had his hand wrapped in my hair and he kept whispering the things he was going to do to me. The things he couldn’t wait to do to me.

“Oh god,” I whimpered. “Oh my fucking god.”

“You know, I’ll have to wash your mouth out when I get you home.”

“Why, Sir?”

“Because you can’t seem to go two seconds without saying the word ‘fuck.’”

“No, Sir, I fucking can’t,” I said as he made me come a second time. Tommy slammed into me even faster after that, thrusting so hard he moved the table, and us with it, several feet forward. Then he pulled out and came all over my backside, rubbing his semen into my heated skin with the palm of his hand.

After, he washed me with a damp towel and dried me once more. Then he cleaned up the back room while I got dressed. I followed around after him, watching as he returned the shop to normal. The faded Playboys in their place. The blinds up.

“Let’s go to my place,” Tommy said.

“Yes, Sir,” I said.

“That’s right.” He smiled. “Whenever we’re with my family, you’ll call me Tommy,” he said as he led me to his car. “And you’ll wear a decent-length skirt and a pair of panties. But don’t worry, little girl, when I get you home after, I will take care of you. Exactly how you need.”

He stopped at his car and lifted my skirt. He ran his palm over my mound and smiled.

“What do you think?” he asked. And I thought about everything I’d gone through to make it to this point. The waiting. The hoping. The near-disaster of an almost-tragic marriage. I’d survived a close shave, only to be given a kind I’d never truly believed possible.

“Yes, Sir,” I said, as I got into his car.