The Hairdresser from the Ad Who Took Care of Me in a Thong

It’s curious what comes to the surface when a conversation loses that “proper” filter we usually carry around. Writing on the internet gave me, amid tons of noise, the chance to meet people who enjoy emptying out their fantasies without shame. And through one of those chats, I ended up living what I’m about to tell.

You have to swallow a lot of noise before you come across someone worth it. With her, I’d hit the mark. We’d spent weeks talking without taboos until we got to the topic that mattered. She told me she’d found the ad for a girl studying hairdressing who offered to practice men’s cuts with a very particular twist: she did it in a thong. No sex, no touching. Just a student cutting your hair almost naked.

My confidante confessed that it had turned her on to imagine herself doing something similar: a mundane act in the nude, exposed before a stranger, feeling the sexual tension without anyone crossing the line. Her exact words were: “feeling like a slut in front of a stranger, without quite being one, but wanting to be.”

She swore she’d never dare do it: even if she got over her embarrassment, it seemed too dangerous. I, who always encourage people to go through with a viable fantasy, couldn’t convince her. But the idea stuck in my head.

The ad was still up. It wasn’t the typical paid service: she asked for exactly the price of a haircut, not a euro more. Her contact was an email address. So I wrote to her.

The first message was her warning me, over and over, that she wasn’t offering anything sexual. Once that logical distrust eased, she told me she wasn’t doing it for money: she was studying for a degree in my city and hairdressing was a whim, a course she signed up for so she’d have the option. And then she dropped the thing that lit the bulb in my head: she got incredibly turned on by exposing herself and arousing a stranger.

***

The conversation felt more like a Tinder match than an ad of that sort. Not fully trusting that something so appealing could be real, I suggested meeting a week later so we could get to know each other better. We gained confidence, and two days before the date my vote for “yes” had a simple majority. But, I suppose like her, that still wasn’t enough for me.

That night we chatted until dawn, and the next day we kept messaging nonstop. By the time the eve of the date arrived, my “yes” had an absolute majority. And then she asked me:

—So… tomorrow you’re getting your hair cut by me?

—My mane is begging for it. But if you’d feel more comfortable, we can put it off, no problem.

—No, I want to do it. It’s going to be… interesting.

***

And there I was the next day, pressing the intercom of a flat in the city center. I won’t say I wasn’t nervous, but I trusted that my worst-case scenario would be leaving there with blue balls and a disastrous haircut.

A sweet voice answered and I went up to the first floor. The door opened and there she was, exactly as she had described herself, but better. A woman of about twenty-seven, very beautiful, rather short, with straight brown hair down to the middle of her back. The loose sweatshirt didn’t reveal much of her body, but all signs pointed to the fact that underneath she was exactly as she’d told me.

—Hi! —she said with a huge, reassuring smile.

—Hi. I had an appointment at five-thirty for a haircut.

She held back a laugh and played along. As she invited me in and turned her back to me, I saw what those gray leggings outlined: a small, pert ass, just enough to hold up the hem of the sweatshirt. As we crossed the living room, she turned to introduce me to a flatmate and caught me staring where I shouldn’t have been.

—This is Lara —she said with a conspiratorial smile, pointing to the girl watching TV on the sofa.

We kept going to her room and she closed the door.

—Sorry about Lara. She’s in her room almost all the time, but I told her you were coming and she wanted to snoop.

—Don’t worry. I understand she’s your bodyguard. Works for me.

—Not at all! I think she doesn’t buy the haircut story and thinks you’re a hookup.

—She must have freaked out seeing me walk in. I’m a few years older than you.

—A few, yes. Not too many.

The week of chatting had given us a very odd kind of rapport. She seemed calm, or at least confident, and so did I. All that was left was to enjoy ourselves and pray I didn’t end up shaved bald.

***

She placed her chair in front of the mirrored wardrobe and invited me to sit. As agreed, she’d stay in her thong the whole time. She locked the door and I prepared to savor the hardest moment for her.

I left the jokes aside so I could delight in her internal torment. She had to undress in front of a stranger to fulfill her fantasy, and we were both going to enjoy that moment: me watching her feel embarrassed, her feeling it.

—Well… here goes, then, right?

—If that’s what you want… —I answered without taking my eyes off her.

—Yes… of course it is… but you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?

—Very much —I admitted, slouching in the chair.

She sighed and started with her sneakers. She took off her socks, looked at me biting her lip, and turned around. Enjoying once again the sight of those tight leggings, she pulled the sweatshirt off over her head. Underneath, only underwear. She revealed a slender back, a narrow waist that drew a tremendously sensual figure. She was hot, she knew it, and she loved that I knew it too.

—Should I turn around, or do you prefer me like this? —she asked, looking over her shoulder at me.

—You choose. Though I’d rather see your face while you do it.

A half-conspiratorial smile and she turned to face me. The red bra covered breasts that, while not large, were clearly beautiful and firm. She hesitated a couple of seconds before lowering the leggings without daring to look at me. With less elegance than she would have liked because of her nerves, she slid them down past her ankles and stayed in her underwear for me.

She lifted her eyes and ours met. She had that look of modesty, not so much because she was almost naked, but because she was enjoying it and she knew I knew. She brought her hands to her back and, this time looking at me head-on, unclasped her bra. I kept my eyes on hers for a few seconds. There’d be time enough to look at her body; at that moment, the most naked thing about her was the lust pouring from her gaze.

—Well… what do you think? —she asked nervously.

—That you’re cold —I replied, finally dropping my gaze.

—You’re an asshole! —she laughed, covering her breasts.

—I warned you.

—Well, just so you know, I’m not cold at all —she clarified, uncovering them again.

***

She began arranging the tools with suspicious meticulousness; she needed time to get her head around it. At last she found the courage, or rather the excitement, to come closer: she was breathing hard and let her breasts sway next to me as she put the cape around me. I wasn’t made of stone either, but the cape covered me and heightened the imbalance: I was safe, she exposed at the mercy of her own body.

—Come on, tell me, how do you want it? —she asked, resting her hands on my shoulders.

—Just the ends.

—Go to hell! —she burst out laughing.

—The least I can do is let you do whatever you want with my hair.

—Really? Careful, I might buzz the whole thing off.

—Would have been worth it.

—Thanks… I’m going to make you gorgeous, just you wait —she replied, blushing.

The cut itself isn’t very interesting, except that I could feel her nerves. She was more focused on making me look good than on enjoying her exhibition, and that was exactly the last thing I wanted.

—Relax. Take it easy. I’m having a hell of a time, and I’d like you to enjoy yourself too. Cut at your own pace and don’t worry about anything.

Her free hand stroked my shoulder as she smiled at me through the mirror. Nothing sexual; it was a sincere “thank you.” And she went on with her work while I memorized every inch of that woman.

Since I know she likes being admired, I’ll try to describe her. She had painted her lips red, a detail I had casually mentioned I liked. She was slim and sensually curved, with brown skin, small firm breasts, and long legs that multiplied the eroticism of wearing a thong as her only garment. That little piece of pink fabric covered just enough to keep me imagining the one thing I couldn’t see.

***

Scissors in hand, she grew more confident, and her body moved closer to mine until the first brush. I took it as accidental, until the second: her breast grazed my shoulder and ended up resting there, letting me feel the hardness of her nipple.

My hands were on the armrests, and there I began to feel her skin: first her thigh, then her hip. Nothing odd, if not for the absence of clothes. It became an adult version of the game where you can’t move while you’re being watched. I, motionless, struggled not to move a finger; she seemed to forget that she was naked beside a man. Or maybe it was exactly the opposite.

At one point she planted herself in front of me. I don’t know whether she was cutting or just pretending, because her breasts were my entire field of vision, a handspan from my face. Dazed, I let her go on. When she moved away, I almost sighed with disappointment, but it didn’t last: a few more movements and my hand felt the heat of the only covered part of her body. This time it wasn’t a brush; she rested herself on the back of my inert hand while making a few finishing touches.

I’d never felt so much from so little; my cock hurt, trapped tight against my jeans. She stayed there for a few seconds, until she withdrew. She made a couple more turns and, every time she bent over, her breasts pressed against me. I got the feeling that the contact between her sex and my hand hadn’t just turned me on.

—You look like a professional. I thought putting your tits on customers was something you learned after years of practice.

—Not at all! That’s first-year hairdressing stuff. In fact, I got an A in that subject.

Far from getting embarrassed, she kept playing along. I had her in front of me again, with hard nipples at eye level. I looked at her shamelessly, wanting her to notice how much it turned me on to have them within reach of my mouth. And she did.

She put down the scissors and came back with the comb and a can of foam. She stood sideways and, surprise, her sex came back down onto my hand; now I could clearly feel her wetness. She kept combing me, rocking her body back and forth. I tensed my hand a little, just to see her reaction. She didn’t pull away: her swaying picked up speed, pressing her crotch against the armrest with my trapped hand in the middle.

She was insanely horny; her face confirmed it. And so was I. She tossed the comb aside, put foam on her hand, and worked on my hair like no one ever had before. I think she needed to use her fingers somewhere and settled for my head. With a frustrated sigh, she finally pulled them away.

—I think that’s it.

—Me… or you? —I asked, following the wetness soaking her sex with my eyes.

She endured the embarrassment of me breaking the pretend game, shrugged, and bit her lip. We both knew we were at a thousand, but a deal was a deal.

***

She gathered her things, trying to hide her blush. When she took off the cape, I was the one left exposed. She stared fixedly at the bulge in my pants.

—I hope that’s not because of how handsome I made you.

—I haven’t even looked at my hair. I had better things to look at.

She stood behind me, her hands on my shoulders, slowly moving down toward my chest.

—Then look at yourself and tell me if you like it. I need your honest opinion.

—You’re perfect. I mean… it’s perfect. It’s going to be hard for me to find a hairdresser as good as you.

—Yeah, sure… you’ll have trouble finding two of these —she said, grabbing her breasts.

She swept the hair off the floor without taking her eyes off my pants.

—Maybe one day I’ll open a nudist hair salon —she blurted out.

—It could be called Scissors and Temptation. A great business.

The teasing could have gone on all afternoon, but there was no hair left on the floor. I took out my wallet to pay; I wanted to leave a tip, but she flatly refused. She would only accept the six euros for the haircut.

—I have to confess something… I lied to you. I hadn’t done this before.

That explained a lot of things. I won’t go into the intimate conversation that followed. It was time for me to leave, with the feeling that she didn’t want me to go yet either.

—I’ve behaved very well —I said—. And my gift?

—Gift?

—Of course. Kids get a lollipop when they behave in the hair salon. And I’ve been as good as a saint.

—A very perverted saint, I’d say. I don’t have any lollipops…

—Then give me something else. Something for perverts who behave.

—And what do you give a pervert? —she asked with a complicity even I could catch.

—I only see one thing you could give me.

My gaze was fixed on that pink thong, marked by how wet it was. Her breathing quickened. She said nothing. She just looked at me the same way she had when she took her bra off, and slowly slid it down her thighs. The garment ended up at her ankles. She bent down to pick it up in a squat, and I had her in front of me for a few seconds before she straightened.

—You earned it, for behaving so well —she said, standing up.

—I think you liked it too —I shot back, pointing to the state of the thong.

—My idea was to make it much wetter when I was alone. But it’s hotter if you keep it.

—Don’t worry, I might stain it when I get home anyway.

***

I had to grab my coat and say goodbye. The logical thing would have been for her to get dressed to escort me out. But neither of us took the step. I could see how she pressed her thighs together and, when she parted them, they glistened. She didn’t resist, thankfully, because I wouldn’t have dared.

—I want a gift too —she said.

—What kind?

—I want… I want to see you stain it.

The exhibitionist wanted to be a voyeur too. Curiosity about the tent in my trousers outweighed her modesty.

—I’d do it gladly. But that wasn’t in the contract.

—Consider it an addendum. I want to see you come while you look at me.

—Well, if both sides agree…

I unbuttoned my pants. She pushed me by the chest until I sat in the chair and rolled me over to her bed, where she sat facing me, legs open, so close I could smell her wetness. Wanting each other, on the edge, but without touching.

That afternoon was not for going further: it was about looking, and nothing more. I released what had been begging to come out all afternoon and did what I wanted so badly to do, I jerked off in front of her, and she took less than a minute to imitate me in the very chair where she had cut my hair.

We didn’t touch. We wanted to, but we were enjoying seeing each other, smelling our arousal, too much to ruin it with fucking. She caressed her breasts with one hand and played between her legs with the other, open toward me. One finger slid into her cunt and then traveled to her mouth, tasting what I wanted so badly to taste. She showed me everything forbidden, and that was the key to the arousal that was going to make us explode.

When her gasps could already be heard in the living room, I knew she couldn’t hold out any longer. I grabbed the thong to give it back to her, but she snatched it from me and put it on. Sticking close to me, she pulled the elastic aside. I understood perfectly what she wanted. Standing in front of her, I jerked myself off furiously over her pubis, without touching her, barely a brush. Our bodies together but not touching, her breath in my face, the urge to kiss each other held in check. I finished inside her thong, over her burning sex.

And she did the same: she sat back on the bed, put her hand down, and rubbed herself until an orgasm left her sprawled there, staring at me with a lost look in her eyes.

***

When we came to, it was time to leave. We didn’t say much; our bodies had already done the talking. I took my coat and she stood up, still in her thong.

—It’s going to be awkward saying goodbye to your flatmate —I said.

—I don’t think you’ll see her. She’ll be in her room —she replied, reaching for the sweatshirt.

—Oh? Then don’t get dressed.

—What?

—You’ve already dared to do this. Don’t tell me you’re not daring enough to escort me to the door in a thong.

She looked at me challengingly and dropped the sweatshirt. She took my hand and we crossed the hallway to the living room: nobody was there. We kept going to the entrance and, with no time for goodbyes, I opened the door. The cold of the stairwell hit her, but she was too hot to complain. I stepped out; she stayed in the doorway, almost naked, in view of any neighbor who might pass by.

—I loved it. Thank you so much —she said.

—Thank you. I’m going to get laid a lot with this haircut.

The normal thing would have been to kiss her. But that wasn’t the deal. We looked at each other, knowing that if one of us made a move, the other would answer. We didn’t. I turned around and went down the flight of stairs that separated me from the street.

—Dani! Wait! You’re leaving your prize for being a good boy.

On the landing, she took off her thong and came down to hand it to me. A smile was all I could give her without breaking our agreement. And there she stayed, naked, watching people pass by, until I crossed the door of that building I’ll never forget.

My intention was to tell everything to the confidante who had sparked that experience: that woman whose most intimate side I knew and whom I had never seen, whose address I didn’t even know. And then it hit me how innocent I can be.