 |
By *rowser OP Man
2 weeks ago
East Kent |
Happy I was again with the haircut, glad to affirm his skill. He looked pleased with my praise. Nylon cape off I stood, brushed myself down, and reached for my wallet. For some reason payment (with good tip) included his need to take my name and number, to which I had no objection. Fair enough of me though to ask with a smile, "And you are?" "Brett", he said brightly. (I was too shy to ask before.) He held my eye for a second, as if in assessment. Then said, "Just realised I didn't offer you a drink while you were waiting, sorry about that..." For once I had a smooth comeback, saying, "Never too late!" He could have politely brushed this off, but replied, "You know what, you're my last today - I'll have an orange juice, in the cabinet, take what you like. Go through to the office." With that, he moved to shut the shop front door and turn the sign to 'Closed". Led by his initiative I busied myself with two bottles of cold orange juice, and poured them into glasses (a genteel touch, I thought). From the shop floor Brett went on to the small bathroom, beyond the office area where I now stood. He left the door open and I could hear his forceful stream, adding to an intriguing uncertain new mood. Privacy didn't bother him! Flush sound, running tap, then he emerged drying his hands, tossed the towel onto a chair, and took the glass I gave him. Eye contact, little smile. "Thanks, just what I need. Glad the day's done. The heat gets to me a bit."
"Many customers?"
"Middling, still holiday time, so regulars are away".
"Must admit, you in your shorts today makes me feel a bit silly in jeans."
Saying this let me plausibly glance down at his attire, I saw he hadn't done up the top button.
"You could cut yours down, like mine!"
"Good idea, these old Levis are on their last legs - literally. They won't be as tight as yours though..."
He grinned at my noticing, pleased at being implicitly admired.
"You like?", he said lightly, still smiling, holding my gaze.
This invitation gave me the chance to dip my eyes again at the zip area for more long seconds, then return to his gaze, and say, "Very much".
Brett glanced down and with his free hand brushed across himself, acknowledging and confirming his choice, approved by both of us.
Then, as if suddenly remembering, he said, "Actually, around now I usually put on a fresh T-shirt, sort of sets me up for after-work time".
With that, he put his glass down, crossed his arms, held the bottom of his T-shirt, and in one movement swept the top up and over his head and off, and then threw it on the dropped towel. Brett's magnificent upper body was revealed, as a delicate waft of that natural odour I'd smelled before hit my nostrils. Dark hair covered his chest and stomach, his nipples were dusky pink. (This is Brett as in the rugby changing room, I thought, at ease without clothes around others.) A faint sheen of sweat was visible on his shoulders and upper arms.
"Ah, that's better, hope you don't mind", he said, rolling his shoulders a bit, free now of restriction.
I tried to keep being stunned out of my voice, as though I was used to being in a changing room. I could feel my eyes and mouth smiling and said warmly, "I don't mind at all". Then cheekily in the moment he'd created, I added, "By the way, the button on your shorts is undone".
Pretending surprise, he said, "Ah, so it is...", and looked me full in the face again. Turning away, he went through again to the front door, and I heard the closing clunk of a lock. Then as he pulled blinds down the beaming afternoon sun was blocked.
Instant lower light altered the mood yet more, decisively. It was moving at pace. Returning, Brett drank from his glass, placed it down, put hands on hips, and calmly said, "Now, where were we? Oh yes - my top button. Should I do it up?"
By now my heart was thumping, thank God I had the drink to offset my dry throat. I took a swig of orange juice. "No".
Mildly he said, "So what would you like, then. This?" Brett looked down as he unzipped one inch, then put hands back on his hips. "Your turn".
Desire mastered shock at this swerve into a new dimension, which had the force of fantasy. On my knees, with trembling right hand I sought his zip clasp, and slowly lowered it - one of the most sexy little sounds. My left hand held the side of his right thigh, balance needed. Zip down, I caught the first sight of his light grey boxer briefs. Looking up, I said, "More?" "More", he confirmed. "Trainers". I unlaced each Adidas shoe, he prised them off toe to heel, then kicked them away. Big strong feet in low white socks. Without being prompted I eased over his thick thighs the tight shorts - edged them down while Brett looked at me, appraising my challenge. Shorts down to his knees, then when past his shins and off, his right foot slid them aside too. Weird how this momentum felt inevitable - narrative and roles created who knew where, quietly agreed, now readily acted upon... |
