clownmasteraz: I sat in a hair stylist’s chair for the first time in years, anxious. I’d

clownmasteraz:

I sat in a hair stylist’s chair for the first time in years, anxious. I’d been cutting my own hair a while now, chopping it shoulder length with a pair of beauty scissors from a drugstore every few months to keep it manageable, easy to care for, and out of the way. Most days I just threw it back in a ponytail or bun anyway.
So this was a different step for me.

           But recently the sign for a new salon had been catching my eye every day on the way home from work.
The glittery, color shifting light up letters read “Wash and Condition”, with a little spiral in place of the ‘o’s.
The lights were so pretty and the shop so bright and inviting that my curiosity got the better of me and I thought it couldn’t hurt to try something new.

        My hands tangled around each other nervously under the black smock as the stylist, “Aster” according to her sparkly name tag, smiled brightly at me in the mirror.
She stood behind me, hands casually on my shoulders as she asked me about my cut ideas, styling habits, and face shape.
I stammered my way through the answers as well as I could, in part because I was never quite sure how to answer such inquiries, but also because couldn’t help being distracted by her utterly perfect hair and face.
She looked like she had stepped from the pages of one of the fashion magazines in the waiting room, glossy fantasy somehow brought into reality.
The salon was set up as a long hallway with two rows of mirrors facing each other, one along each side, which echoed her beauty back and forth into oblivion.
I found myself getting distracted, following the infinity of perfect faces down and up, meeting her eyes in each mirror image, unsure if my mirrored eyes were actually meeting hers.

        She twirled an end of my hair playfully as she spoke, nodding enthusiastically with each unsure answer I gave.
“Perfect!” she said, finally, ruffling my hair as we came to the end of the questions. “I think we can make you really happy today!”

         I smiled nervously in return and thanked her as she spun the chair around to face her.

         “Why don’t you follow me to the sinks, we’ll wash up and then get you started!”

         She led me down the hall of mirrors to hair washing sinks, gesturing for me to sit down and rest my head against the basin.
Once I had taken my seat, she gently pulled my hair away from my neck, guiding me with a gentle hair pull to rest my neck firmly in the lip of the sink.
The soft hiss of the water echoed gently on the slick basin, the sound filling my ears as she began to dampen my hair.
The warm water was so relaxing and smelled ever-so-faintly sweet.
A fine mist was forming around my head, enveloping me in warmth and tranquility.
Between the sound of the water and the sweetness of the mist, it took me a moment to realize that Aster was speaking to me, her voice as soft and delicately sweet as the mist.
Blushing as I realized I hadn’t really been listening, I nodded politely (as well as I could with her fingers running through my hair) and hoped she hadn’t noticed.
She kept talking as I looked up at her, but even as I tried to focus I found my concentration floundering, caught up in the mist and the incredible sensation of her nails against my scalp, the gentle, yet constant tugging on my hair as she washed it.
After a while, I forgot to even listen to her words, which came like constant soft rain, ambient and distant, her touch and the sweet mist filling every corner of my mind.
I lay there, relaxed, suspended in this moment, for who knows how long when the water was turned off, and Aster gently guided me back up into a sitting position, her words finally giving way to a perfect smile.

         I shook my head a little, blushing again at how rude I had been. “I’m sorry, I think I dozed off there,” I heard myself stammer out, still feeling a little dreamy.
I guess I had forgotten how relaxing a salon could be.

         “Oh, it’s fine silly!” Aster assured me, helping me to my feet. “Follow me back to the chair and let’s get started!”

         I followed her back across the salon, digging my nails into my palms to try to wake myself up.
I realized, looking across the rows of chairs facing the many mirrors, that I was the only customer left.
A couple of other stylists sat idly in the spinning chairs and on the counters at the far end of the hall, quietly chatting, their aprons draped across the backs of the chairs.
I hadn’t realized it was so close to closing time.
I couldn’t help but notice that, without their aprons, I could see just how low cut their shirts were, no where near work appropriate.

         I diverted my eyes, abashed, as one of them looked my way and smiled.
I quickly shuffled back to Aster’s station and sat back down, nervously looking down to my lap as she began to comb out my wet hair.

         After a few swipes, the teeth of the comb feeling oddly electric against my tender scalp, she put the comb under my chin and lifted my gaze up to meet hers in the mirror.
I felt the need to look away, but my eyes helplessly locked with hers.

        “Is this where you like it parted?” she asked. I tried to pull my eyes away to look at the part, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from hers, just stared dumbly as she smiled and ran her hand down from my part, caressing the side of my neck, and across my collarbone, the vinyl of the smock hissing gently under her nails.
A shiver ran through me as she made the motion again, and I peripherally saw another stylist, the one who smiled at me, come up beside Aster.

        The second stylist ran a hand through my hair and I felt the hard edges of her long nails teasing my scalp.
Something deep in me shuddered the locked eye contact was broken.
I saw my face turn red in the mirror. I dropped my face to my lap slightly, hoping it would go unnoticed, but instantly Aster lifted my chin with two fingers, just as the new stylist tightened her fingers in my hair and gently pulled so that I was facing forwards again.

         “Don’t hide, darling,” the second stylist cautioned, her voice whimsical but with an edge as sharp as her nails “Let us see, YOU.”

         I was sure she could feel how hot my face was, but now my eyes locked to hers in the mirror, nervous to disappoint her again. “Much better,” she cooed, loosening her grip on my hair, though not before giving it a quick tug that sent a wave of pleasure coursing through me.
I watched in the mirror as the two of them teased me, running nails along my scalp and neck, tugging my hair gently, caressing my face.
The gentle, warm fog that I had felt while Aster had washed my hair began to overtake me again, this time even harder to resist.
My mind felt like it was swimming under all of the incredible touches.
As Aster removed the smock from around my neck, I had the faint understanding that this was not at all how my last haircut had gone, that something was strange here, but I couldn’t place what was wrong, what was different.
It had been so long since I had gotten a haircut, maybe this was how it had always been?

        Everything just felt so incredible and, as I let the concern wander away, I felt something in my mind, something in my thoughts themselves break, or if not break, disperse, like mist, like their massaging, probing, pulling fingers against my hair were melting away all that was within me, replacing me with just the pleasure of their touch and intensity of their beautiful eyes holding gaze my eyes.
They began speaking at the same time, but not in unison, each saying different phrases that repeated in lilts and rhythms that I felt more than heard.
I couldn’t understand what it was that they were saying, their voices far away but somehow inside of me as well, filling me, giving me the distinct sensation of falling down within their words, falling, falling into their eyes, their voices, their touch.
My eyes began to flutter and fog over as the falling sensation rolled through me, and their hands began to rub my temples, soothingly.

        The gentle pulling on my hair, the slow lines drawn by the nails, the hands on my shoulders, chin, chest.
I was losing track of time, of my own thoughts as the sensations washed over me, replacing my concerns with flutters of pleasure deep in my mind.
My vision was so clouded that I only realized there was another set of hands on me when I noticed that a third voice had joined the mantras swirling round my head.
This was giving me a makeover, I think. the powder was making me sleepy.
But there were more hands, more voices, growing in number now, around me, within me, I couldn’t be sure if I was speaking or not, joining in their strange, jumbled song, couldn’t be sure if I wasn’t also touching myself, touching them, my body was not my own, it was theirs.

        I had no idea how many stylists were touching me now, the hands that explored my body seemed endless, all eager and gentle in turn.
I became dimly aware that the chair was spinning, and my mind spun along, sinking deeper into the fog.

         Their voices suddenly became more hushed, and though my mind was still lost in the swirl and the touch, hazy threads of consciousness wove into me and my eyelids fluttered open, I tried to look and see what was going on but my eyes were locked to Aster’s in the mirror, unbreakable focus settling over me.
All the sensations faded to the background, my entire mind stuck in her eyes, the sensation of falling into them taking over my entire being, her gaze freezing every thought, every emotion, any chance I had at movement or memory.

         Then, in an instant, she was leaning in, and their mantras were my mantras, my mind and body were their plaything , and the mindless bliss was deep, and inescapable, and endless.

         Time lost all meaning in the pandemonium of pleasure and the peace of mindlessness, which somehow played in perfect harmony. I lost all sense of what was and what wasn’t, of who I was, and of any concept of not being in the middle of this incredible storm.

So I have no idea how long I was there because I woke up in my bed, in white lingerie that I hadn’t previously owned.
I looked in the mirror and I couldn’t stop looking. The White Lingerie, The White skin. The new haircut.
It was all SO gorgeous.
Then the phone rang. I picked it up, “Yes?”

“Time for your next appointment, my dear” they said and hung up.
I threw on a coat and some shoes and headed out the door, not a care or a thought on my mind.
It was a glorious day…





originally modufued script:bunbunlittleone