I had just finished up with an elderly customer when a much younger man came into my barber shop.

I glanced at him and then looked again, longer this time. He was about 20, maybe 25 at the outside, with a gorgeous head of thick, dark hair that fell to his collar.

“Need a cut,” he said, glancing around the interior of the shop before his eyes — a lovely shade of blue — settled on me. He rubbed his three-day-old beard and looked me over, which was just fine because I was checking him out, too. Tall, fit, and very good-looking, he moved with confidence — not in a conceited way but with self-assurance, which made him doubly sexy. This was no typical customer, and I wasn’t about to complain. In fact, I was starting to feel pretty tingly inside because there was attraction in his eyes as he sized me up, pure and simple. I’m 40, but I’ve been known to have that effect on the occasional man-cub.

I smiled and pointed to the three chairs lined up before the mirror. “Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”

While he was getting settled, I went to the window and flipped the “open” sign to “closed.” It was half past five anyway. Now we’d have the shop all to ourselves.

 We exchanged names, and as I put the cape on him, I asked how he wanted his hair cut. “How about I just put myself in your hands,” Quinn said, looking up at me with those striking baby-blues of his.

“Okay. Leave everything to me.” Wielding scissors and comb I got to work, snipping and trimming while my mind raced. 

“You’re not what I expected when I came in here,” Quinn said.

“Oh?”

“I used to get my hair cut here sometimes, before I went to college. There was always a man working.”

“That was my father.”

In the mirror, Quinn’s eyebrows rose.

“This was my dad’s place,” I explained. “When he retired, I quit the salon where I worked and took over here. I like being my own boss. It suits me.”

Normally, the physical closeness with strangers in my chair doesn’t faze me in the slightest, but with Quinn, it was a whole other ball game. I was acutely aware of his gaze in the mirror, watching me as I moved about him. Likewise I was hyper-conscious of the nearness of his face to my chest whenever I stood directly in front of him. The neckline of my shirt plunged fairly deep, and whenever I leaned forward, I knew Quinn had plenty to look at. I could even feel his breath on my skin. He smelled good, too. You can’t avoid physical contact when you’re cutting someone’s hair, and I made the most of it with Quinn, flirting with a light touch on his arm or shoulder while I worked. I couldn’t help it. I was slipping into full-burn mode for this guy.

A little while later I ran my hand through his hair slowly, sensually, letting him know I enjoyed the feel of his healthy locks between my fingers. “How’s that? Short enough?”

“Um,” Quinn replied. Apparently, he couldn’t bring himself to answer. If he said yes, we’d be done. I didn’t want that any more than he did. I played my ace card.

“I think your hair looks great,” I said. “But this… ” I ran my finger over the stubble covering his jaw. “Would you be interested in an old-fashioned shave? My dad used to offer it, and he taught me. I can make your face as smooth as when you were a kid.” Which, from my point of view, wasn’t too long ago.

“Quinn’s cock leaped into my grasp, thick and hard and leaking pre-come.”

Quinn looked at me in the mirror, his eyes intense. “Sure. That sounds great.”

I turned his chair around and reclined it. Then I pulled a stool over and gathered the necessary items, chief of which was my dad’s old straight razor, which I keep in pristine condition. I seldom get to use it, but when I do, it’s always a unique experience — though never more intimate than it was this time with Quinn. I lathered up his face and then, exercising great care, I scraped away his whiskers. We were so close, our faces almost touching. I had the urge to kiss him full on the mouth.

Finally, I wiped a few remnants of shaving cream off his face with a warm towel and said, “All finished.” Before I could stop myself, I leaned in close and added in a softer voice: “Now just wait until you go down on your girlfriend. If she’s as smooth down there as you are here" — I stroked his chin — “well, you’ll both be amazed at how that feels.”

He wasn’t shocked. He just grinned enticingly and said, “I’m sure you’re right. But I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“No? Well.” Now I did kiss him, full and deep on the lips. When I let him come up for air, I whispered in his ear: “I am that smooth.” The thought of Quinn getting between my bare thighs and pressing his lips to my pussy made me instantly wet.

“Really?” He pulled me down for a second kiss. It was even better than the first. “Let me see,” he said at last.

It was getting dark outside, but for a little while longer we’d still be in plain view of anyone passing by on the sidewalk. I went to the windows, closed the blinds, and came back to Quinn. His chair was still in the reclining position, but he was sitting up now, watching me intently.

I stood beside him and did my best striptease, unveiling the object of his interest as slowly as I could. I was in such a state of arousal that I had to fight the urge to get naked immediately. When my skirt and panties were puddled around my feet, I made no move to take off anything else. Quinn was preoccupied with the sight of my sex, which was as glossy and unfettered as I’d promised.

He put his arms around my waist and pulled me close. His hands slid down to my ass, and he held me there as he nuzzled his freshly shaved face against my mound. I sighed and trembled a little, reveling in both the immediate sensation and the anticipation of more to come. Quinn’s lips brushed back and forth across my labia for a moment as he, too, relished the tactile experience. Finally, he sealed his mouth to my flesh and dipped his tongue into my dripping groove.

“Ooh, yes. Fuck me with your tongue,” I cried, bucking against him. I coiled my fingers in his hair while he moaned and slurped away noisily, happy to drink up my juices. Overwhelmed by a rising tide of lust, I pushed Quinn back on the chair and started tugging up his shirt. He got my drift and pulled the garment over his head. Then I climbed on top of him, and a moment later we formed a perfect 69, one of my favorite positions. My ass was right in front of Quinn’s face, and he palmed my fleshy globes with an eager touch, even delivering a couple of resounding smacks.

Desperate to taste his cock, I went to work on the front of his jeans. The button was no problem but in my haste I jammed the zipper. Growling with frustration, I finally ripped it open. Quinn’s commando cock leaped into my grasp, thick and hard and leaking pre-come. I lowered my mouth over the top and began to suck voraciously. Quinn tugged on my hips and maneuvered me slightly so that my pussy brushed against his waiting mouth. He held my nether lips open with his fingers and thrust his tongue up into me, making me tremble with pleasure.

“Jesus, that’s good,” I said, pumping my fist up and down his beefy rod while my mouth took a break. Quinn’s ministrations back there were making me undulate against his chin. “My clit — lick my clit. Suck it… ”

He zeroed in where I needed him to. I felt his lips, soft and warm, close around my sensitive button. He began sucking and lapping with whole-hearted abandon, as if he lived for nothing else than to give me the most intense oral pleasure possible. He used his tongue like a whip across my swollen bud until I could barely see straight. I continued to lick and blow on his tool in return, until a sudden climax swept through me. It was quick and fierce, a delicious prelude to the bigger waves building within my core.

Catching my breath, I climbed off Quinn for a moment so I could pull his pants down to his ankles. Then, facing forward this time, I straddled him again and aimed his cock up at my vagina. With a happy sigh I sat down, impaling myself. The turgid shaft slid right into my sopping pussy, filling me to the hilt. I grunted, locked eyes with Quinn, and began to work my body up and down on his pole. His hands went to my shirt buttons, then to my bra, and my breasts were free in no time. Quinn covered them with his hands, massaging and squeezing lightly until my nipples turned into stiff, nubbly points. Inflamed with desire, I started bouncing and gyrating in his lap, my hair flying this way and that.

Then Quinn found the lever on the side of the chair that raised the back up to a normal sitting position. In a moment he was sitting upright, and he wasted no time pressing his face into my cleavage. His lips closed over one of my nipples, then the other, and as he sucked and moaned with zeal, I rode his cock with an ever-increasing passion of my own. I put my arms around his shoulders and put my feet down on the floor, which made it easier to grind against Quinn’s balls on each descent. He reached around to grab my ass, and we rutted together for several noisy, sweaty minutes. Eventually, I felt him tense up all over, as if every muscle in his body had gone rigid, and half a second later, his cock exploded inside me. I held on tight to him and focused on every thrust, every liquid pulse, until I, too, came wildly. It was my second climax of the evening and the most powerful I’d felt in a long while.

The room had grown dark. The only light came from a street lamp outside, leaking through the cracks in the window blinds. Quinn got dressed and kissed me good-bye. I lay back in the chair after he’d gone, enjoying the afterglow and the certain knowledge that he’d be back.

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