I’ve always found the idea of going to the hairdresser’s exciting, but it wasn’t until I became a hairdresser myself that I fully realized the erotic potential of the salon. It wasn’t exactly a no-brainer to become a straight male hairdresser with a Ph.D. in English, but through a series of circumstances which involved not getting tenure and becoming obsessed with a girl with the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen, here I am today. When I was dating Katya, I took such great delight in brushing, stroking, and playing with her hair that she sometimes accused me of liking her hair more than her. That wasn’t true⎯she was special in so many ways⎯but even more than her huge natural breasts, daredevil attitude and desire to fuck anywhere and everywhere, what I loved about her was her hair. It was a soft black, in both senses of soft; I’d never touched a girl’s hair that felt like that before, like stroking a pillow of cashmere. It smelled amazing, like the follicle equivalent a dessert made of strawberries and honey, and when she’d ride me and whip her hair across my face, I was a goner.
She helped me find a barber’s chair, which I originally bought just as a kinky toy, giving her countless hours of head while she sat in its sparkly red vinyl seat with her hands pinned to my head, holding me close. When she let me experiment by trimming her split ends, the sound of the...