The Hairdresser (Lynette) (fm:older women/men, 6062 words)
|Author: Mark Anderson|
|Added: Jan 05 2013||Views / Reads: 4782 / 3847 [80%]||Story vote: 9.58 (60 votes)|
|Lynette isn't herself when I turn up for my regular haircut but finding the reason why is a surprise that leads to an amazing evening.|
I've always hated going to the barber. Maybe it dates back to some traumatic event in my childhood, like being dragged there screaming by my father, but truthfully, I just don't know. I just know that all through my school years I hated going to the barber.
I guess by the time I was in college I was old enough to get over that minor phobia, but I got through by snipping at my own hair, which was cheaper anyway, and having my sister cut my hair on holidays. When I moved town to start my first job, I happened on an ad in a grocery store for a hairdresser who worked out of her home. I liked that idea, called up for an appointment, and that was how I met Lynette.
So, for nearly four years now I've been visiting Lynette once every ten weeks or so, something that has never been a chore and it's a whole lot better than going to the barber.
The first time I arrived at her door her husband answered. He was a short, dorky man who seemed awkward and not very personable. Behind his wire-rimmed glasses his ferret-like eyes moved a lot and didn't meet mine, but he let me in to meet Lynette in their kitchen, where she worked on her customers. I liked the fact that there was no mirror in the kitchen and I didn't have to sit for twenty minutes and look at myself.
Lynette was almost a polar opposite of her husband, friendly, sincere, warm and very pretty. Lynette's features were stunning to my eye. She had beautiful, smooth skin, a wide mouth that smiled readily and a perfect small nose that joined with her gorgeous hazel eyes to form most of the expressions that I got to know over the years. Her hair was just longer than shoulder-length, a wonderful shiny light brown and framed her face with fringe that always tried to part in the middle. If there was a criticism to hurl at Lynette, it was that her clothes were always drab - always good quality clothes, and she was impeccably dressed, but the colors she chose were always dark and seemed to hide away the bodily curves that she definitely had.
Lynette was at least fifteen years older than me but she was always someone I looked forward to spending some time with every few weeks.
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