The next day I waited for the shop to close. I was standing outside under a dim streetlight, with the hoochie dress of all hoochie dresses on, smiling and profiling for his benefit alone. He grinned at me and then walked in the other direction. I was about to follow him when this damn wino came up to me and offered to trade a half-empty bottle of Thunder-bird for a blow job. I missed my opportunity that night because I was too busy telling the drunken bastard to get the hell out of my face while Keanu was pulling out of the lot in his silver BMW Z3.
Okay, so maybe the all-out fuck-me-like-you-hate-me approach was a bit overkill. I decided to try the subtle approach next. I found out he attended Bethel Baptist Church and followed his ass there. I sat beside him in the pew, nonchalantly rubbed my thigh up against his, and even shared a hymnal with him while the congregation sang “Amazing Grace.” I thought I saw a glimmer of hope, but as soon as church service ended, he was ghost.
That’s when I began to wonder if my honie was funny, but I quickly decided even if he was a homie-sexual, I was going to bring his ass on back to the nana. He was mine, all mine. He just didn’t know it yet.
I masturbated day in and day out, thinking about Keanu. Something had to give. There are only two ways to deal with any type of frustration. You either have to accomplish your goal or give up on the idea completely. The same rules apply to sexual frustration. I was not about to give up, so…
One Tuesday night, I waited until he was in the shop alone. In fact, he had already locked up for the night. At first, I tapped on the door lightly, like a cat scratching to get in, which was not that far off base because my kitty was damn sure purring. When he didn’t answer the door, I banged the shit out of it until he raised the shade a little and peeked out.
He pointed to the sign on the door stating the hours of business, but I told him, “Please, I need to get a quickie!” I meant that shit literally, too.
Keanu unlocked the door and countered, “Miss, we’re closed for the evening.”
“My name’s Tammy, not Miss, and this won’t take long. I just want a quick shape-up.”
We stood there staring in each other’s eyes for a brief moment. I noticed his were a dark gray. My punnany heater meter went up ten degrees.
“Okay, I guess I can shape you up real quick.” He grinned at me and stepped aside to let me in.
Now ordinarily it would seem strange for a woman to go to a barbershop for a shape-up, but my do is short. Any shorter, and it wouldn’t be a do but a don’t, so I wasn’t too obvious. My real hairdresser did use clippers on it.
He motioned for me to get into his chair and went to get a smock for me. I waved it off and told him, “I won’t be needing that.”
He looked at me, dumbfounded. “You should really wear this so your clothes won’t get messed up.”
“Don’t worry. My clothes won’t get messed up.” With that, I let down the straps of my black sundress and let the bad boy fall to the floor, revealing my naked-as-a-Butterball-turkey ass.
That’s when something came over him. Maybe he realized freaks really do come out at night. He giggled and blushed nervously. “What are you doing?”
I bit my bottom lip and grabbed him by the chin so he would look me in the face. “Getting ready for my shape-up.”
Then I sat in his chair and spread my legs, letting each one dangle over the sides. My pussy was so exposed, you could have taken pictures of my fallopian tubes from thirty feet away.
“Have you ever had a woman do something totally freaky to you?” I ran the fingers of my right hand through my baby-fine pubic hair and then played with my clit, gliding my middle finger in and out of my pussy walls. “I was wondering if you could shape this up for me?”
He hesitated, then gleamed like a lighthouse beacon. “I’m a professional barber. There’s nothing I can’t shape up.”
“Kewl! Then get some shaving cream and a razor and get to work.”
He silently obeyed my wishes. I couldn’t help but notice the sudden pep in his step as he gathered all his shaving equipment. He stepped on the bottom of the chair, pumping it a few times to make it go higher on the riser, and then pulled up a wooden chair. He sat down, positioning himself between my calves, and then grabbed the heels of my black pumps, the only things I had on, and spread my legs open even wider.
“UMMMMMM, you like this, huh?” I asked him, still playing with myself with my right hand and lifting up one of my breasts with my left one so I could flick my tongue seductively over my hard nipple.
“No damn doubt about it,” he responded and then removed my hand from my pussy, holding it by the wrist and licking the juice off my middle finger. He drew the entire thing into his mouth and then let it out slowly.
“UMMMMM, that’s what I’m talking about,” I moaned. “Let’s get jiggy with it.”
He laughed. “Yeah, let’s!”
He mixed up some shaving cream and then gently spread it on my pussy, commenting as he went along. “You know, I’ve never shaved a woman’s pussy before, but I have often dreamed about it. I think it’s sooooooo sexy.”
“Well, I’m living proof that sometimes dreams do indeed come true.” I reached out and started rubbing his sexy-ass bald head while he gently and methodically started to shed my vagina of its fur. “I wanna see it. Hand me a mirror.”
He complied, and then I held the mirror at an angle where I could watch him go to work. Five minutes later, my coochie was officially free like a runaway slave, and I was ready to get to the good part.
“You did an excellent job. Thank you!”
“No, thank you. The pleasure was all mine.”