Girls Only: The Hairdresser

eXcessica publishing

Girls Only: The Hairdresser
© February 2012
by Selena Kitt

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from the publisher.

This
is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or
locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work
are 18 years of age or older.

This
book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually
explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some
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Cover design © 2012 Willsin Rowe

First Edition February 2012

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GIRLS ONLY:

The Hairdresser

By Selena Kitt

Selena Kitt
Singles

Short Story—Big
Bang!

Amanda’s
hairdresser, Jen, has always been her confidante, champion and
supporter—nothing short of someone she would call a “friend.” But when Jen
discovers Amanda’s first gray hair at a routine appointment, it prompts a
re-examination of more than just Amanda’s roots. As the two women commiserate about
the dangers of getting older, they discover more in common than bad boyfriends—and
a day of beauty and pampering turns into a night of full-blown sexual discovery
and pleasure.

Warning: This title contains hot panty-melting girl-on-girl
action!

Table of Contents

The Hairdresser

About Selena Kitt

Bonus Excerpt!

More Books from
Selena Kitt

More from Excessica

The Hairdresser

“Sorry I’m
late!” I apologized as the door closed behind me, leaving the rain outside.

Jen looked
up and smiled. She was sitting in her stylist chair, reading
People
and
drinking something from a tall Starbucks cup. They were just around the corner
and I had my own, picked up on the way. I glanced around the normally busy
salon at the empty chairs and quiet dryers.

“We close in
fifteen minutes,” she admonished, already standing and beckoning me over. “So
what do you have in mind, Mandy? Just a cut?”

“It’ll be
quick, I promise.” I fingered the ends of my auburn hair, looking for
split-ends. “Just a trim.”

She patted
the chair. “Hop up.”

I stashed my
purse under her table and slid onto the seat, smoothing my skirt and watching
in the mirror as she fastened the black drape around my neck like a reverse
Dracula’s cape. Jen ran her hand through my hair, still thick although I was
nearing thirty-five. My mother had started losing her hair at forty and I was
paranoid about compromising my best feature.

“Half an
inch? An inch?”

I nodded.
“Sounds about right.”

Pleasantries
over, Jen got down to business, hustling me over to the sink to wash my hair
before the cut. This was my favorite part of going to a salon—the warm water,
the gentle scrubbing of her fingertips over my scalp, the press of her hip
against my shoulder, and the lovely view of her cleavage as she bent to rinse
the soap out.

Yes, I had a
boyfriend—if you could call him that—but I couldn’t help my sexual
proclivities, such as they were. I’d always had a thing for pretty girls,
although I’d learned not to confess this fact too often, especially to my male
partners. They just wanted to talk about and push threesomes, and who wanted a
guy breathing over you while you were trying to enjoy yourself with a girl?

Of course, I
didn’t tell women about it either, most of the time. In spite of what they told
their boyfriends in college, most girls weren’t really into other girls,
especially if the attention of a guy wasn’t at stake. So I just enjoyed their
company and my own little secret, later fantasizing about it in the shower or
in the middle of the night while Tom snored away next to me in bed.

The
experience of Jen washing my hair was so pleasurable I often lost track of
whatever small talk we were making at the time, and today’s topic of
conversation was so oft-traveled, I’m afraid my mind definitely wandered down
the front of her blouse. She was complaining about her own on-again, off-again
boyfriend, a bodybuilder named Brad who worked out four hours a day and liked
mirrors more than his hairdresser girlfriend.

“Why do we
bother with these bastards, Jen?” I met her eyes, shaking my head in disgust as
she toweled my hair dry.

“You got
me.” She rolled her pretty blue eyes up under her thick, blonde bangs. Like
most hairdressers, she was perfectly coiffed, her hair thicker and blonder then
any Rapunzel. I could smell it when she leaned in close, fruity and sweet, and
I caught another secret scent, the musky smell of her sweat and deodorant
mixed. “Oh sweetie… what do we have here?”

“Hm?” I
inquired, enjoying the way she dried me off like a naughty puppy after a bath too
much to really take notice of her frown.

“A grey
hair.”

I stared at
her, horrified, disbelieving, until she plucked it from my temple, the sharp
sting making me yelp, my eyes watering.

“Ouch!” I
stared at the hair pressed between her finger and thumb. It was grey all right.
“You’re not supposed to pluck them! Doesn’t that make them come back even
more?”

“That’s an
old-wives-tale.” She laughed. “Is it really your first?”

I gulped and
nodded, to aghast to speak.

“You should
keep it.”

She found a
perfume card in the middle of a magazine, black with small white lettering.
Using Scotch-tape, she fastened my first grey hair to it in stark contrast.

“Keep it?” I
scoffed as she walked me back over to her station, putting the card in front of
me on the table as I sat down again. What for?”

“It’s a sign
of wisdom.” She picked up a comb and started working it through my hair. “And
it isn’t the end of the world, you know.”

“Look who’s
talking!” Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. “What are you, twenty?”

“Thirty.” She
smiled and tipped me a wink. “And this isn’t my natural color.”

“Oh my god,
I’m old.” I frowned into the mirror, too focused on my own face to notice her
hair color. “Where did these lines come from?”

Jen turned
my chair away from my reflection, leaning in so I couldn’t look anywhere but
her bright blue eyes. “You won’t turn into a crone overnight, I promise.”

“But it’s
the beginning of the end,” I protested. Since I didn’t have a mirror to point
to, I showed her direct proof. “Look at my hands! Old, I tell you! I’m old!”

She pressed
her lips together, arms akimbo, and then smiled, a slow, sweet smile. “I have
an idea. Let’s do a whole beauty regimen. Hair, nails, skin, everything.”

I blinked in
surprise. “Weren’t you getting ready to close?”

“So? I’m the
only one here and Brad’s in Chicago at some bodybuilding conference for the
weekend.”

I looked at
her, contemplative. “Funny, Tom’s away on business this week. He won’t be back
until tomorrow night.”

Jen smiled. “So
it’s just us girls.”

“Guess so.” I
glanced back at the mirror, seeing her looking at me. “No one to get all
prettied up for.”

“Do it for
you.” She ran a hand through my wet hair, her fingers grazing my scalp lightly,
giving me shivers.

I shrugged
and then grinned. “Why not?”

We spent two
hours dying, washing, drying, brushing and coiffing. We also spent that time
talking, like we usually did, about everything from my job in graphic design to
hers. She was also going to school part-time to get her degree in nursing.

We also
talked about our boyfriends, both of us unhappy but unwilling to make a big
change either. Tom had cheated on me—twice—and Jen had let me cry on her
shoulder in both instances. But I’d still gone back to him. And Jen’s
boyfriend, Brad…well, I didn’t tell her so, but I wasn’t sure the man didn’t
swing the other way. He was too pretty for his own good. She complained about
him going out to bars a lot. It just made me suspicious.

When my hair
was done and my facial and make-up complete, the last thing we did was my
nails, sitting across the little table from each other, heads bent and focused.

Jen sat back
and studied her work, giving a satisfied nod. “Pretty.”

“We should
do you too.”

She looked
up and smiled. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“Hmm?”

Jen leaned
forward, so close I could smell the cappuccino on her breath. “Let’s make it a
real girl’s night. Want to come back to my place? I’ve got a bottle of White Zinfandel
we can share.”

The offer
was innocent enough, but the look on her face gave me a funny feeling in the
pit of my stomach. I had a feeling that wasn’t all we were going to share, and
I turned out to be right. We polished off the entire bottle of wine sitting on
Jen’s bed, going through some of her old photo albums. I’d expressed an
interest and had overruled her reluctance, pulling them off the shelves.

“Damn, girl,
look at you in that bikini.” She was gorgeous—slender, lean and tanned.

She scoffed,
sipping her wine. “I was just a baby then.”

“I bet you
still rock a bikini, no problem.” I flipped the page, finding more pictures of
a girl on spring break, bright eyes and bare midriffs. “I wish I could say the
same!”

“Are you
kidding me? Mandy, you’re gorgeous.”

“Meh. I’m
old.” I rolled my eyes, flipping another page. “Tom better marry me soon or I’m
gonna die old and alone with just my vibrator for company.”

Jen laughed,
stretching out on the bed beside me on her belly, mirroring my posture, kicking
her feet up behind her. “Well, who needs them?”

“Men?” I
smiled.

“Yeah.” She
turned her face to me, her eyes bright, curious. We were both more than a
little drunk. “Tell me the truth—who do you have better orgasms with, Tom or
your vibrator?”

“Well…” I
pretended to consider this, but there was really only one answer.

She grinned.
“Yeah, me too.”

“What kind of
vibrator do you have?” I pushed the photo album aside, turning toward her.

“Want to see
it?” Her offer caught me off guard, making my heart race, but I wasn’t about to
turn her down.

“Yeah, sure.”

She went to
the place every girl keeps her vibrator—her underwear drawer—and pulled it out,
looking both a little shy and a little proud. I had a few vibrators of my own,
simple, streamlined things, but this was a monster, at least a foot long with a
bright pink dick-head and what looked like—I swear to god—a rabbit attached to
the base.