A little off the top, please…

March 4, 2009 at 1:40 pm (Clairissa, Sweet sticky things)

Earlier I bitched about how Fat Tuesday was so lame this year. I wasn’t too bummed out, as I knew what was in store for me. For those of you who think I have boobs on the brain, the end of this post has irrefutable photographic evidence proving so. (Not graphic, but probably NSFW.)

Wait for it…

Sunday night marked a special occasion. Clairissa is moving to San Diego in a week, so we decided to make my last official haircut a doozy. I hadn’t had a topless haircut since my birthday nine months ago. (It was the last time I drank.) I mused how we’d have had just enough time to gestate a baby, how it seemed so long ago, yet just like yesterday, etc… Time flies when you’re having fun, and we’ve had a lot of fun over the past nine months.

Hell, we’ve had a lot of fun over the past five years. That’s how long we’ve been seeing each other. Professionally and otherwise.


I decided to get the full-on haircut about a month ago. The tax return had landed, and after our goodbye dinner I knew I wanted to see her one more time. I’ve since managed to squeeze in two haircuts, the last one of the full-service variety. She suggested we do it on a Sunday night, after dark so she could close the shop and drop-ins would be unlikely.

Anticipation was fierce. I woke up way too early Sunday morning, and killed time by watching basketball and taking two showers. I put on Clairissa’s favorite shirt, an old red tee-shirt that has faded to a purplish pink. Stowing gifts in backpack, I got into the proper frame of mind for a long bus ride and hit the road. I found mood-appropriate music, reflecting on our friendship as I rolled along. Idiots on the bus acted up, but I ignored them. I wouldn’t let them spoil my day.

I showed up fashionably late, with a 12-pack of PBR for her and a Diet Pepsi for me. She’d been doing a color job on a lady who smiled and said, “Enjoy your haircut…” as she left. She knew. Either that or the dumb grin on my face gave it away.

Nemo was hanging around. Clairissa asked that we wait to start until Nemo returned from the store; she needed to buy paint but wanted to photograph the haircut. Cool! I wanted pictures, but would be kinda busy. Nemo has a killer camera, professional training and a fondness for her subject matter. I should get some good shots.

While we waited for Nemo, Clairissa popped a beer and sat with me on the futon. She told me of the work involved converting the shop from its punkish, flame-covered motif back into a plain-white medical office look. “I’ve been losing weight. My ‘north forty’ is deflating…” She pulled out the sports bra, giving me a peek.

They looked fine.

She walked around the counter, her hands moving low and out of sight. “Come here, I have a surprise for you.” Such a naughty grin. I walked around the counter, where she was unbuckling her pants. She pulled her panties down to her lips, showing her sparse bush. “I went red, just for you.”

Sure enough, her pubes were the same purplish red as my tee-shirt. (As was my face, I’m guessing.) “The color doesn’t quite match yours, but I hope you like it!”


Little hairs get everywhere in a barbershop. She told me of how the hairs sometimes attach themselves to open pores. “Nemo and I went crazy with a pair of tweezers, getting rid of them all. I found a red one here-” she pointed to her inner thigh “-and here,” between navel and pubes. “I also found a white one stuck right in the end of my nipple, and I’m blaming you for that one as well!”

“Man, wish I’d been there…”

I gave her presents, a porno DVD with her preferences honored, and a Little Debbie’s box wrapped in Where’s Waldo paper. Inside were a pair of South Park boxer shorts with Cartman on the front. “Ooh! I could wear these and nothing else for your haircut? They’re kinda big, they might fall off…”

“Oh damn…” She saw right through that one.

I helped her hang a blanket over the shop windows. “I don’t care if the whole world sees me naked, just not tonight. We want privacy. This is your night…”

Nemo returned with buckets of paint and Mike’s Hard Lemonade. She sipped coolers and readied her camera. Clairissa pulled off the black wifebeater, followed by the sportsbra. She shivered. “It’s kinda cold in here…”

I stared at her perky nipples. “Yeah, but you wear it well.”

She grinned and gave ‘the girls’ a pinch and a twist, bringing them out in all their glory. She draped a catch-cloth over me, fastening it behind my neck. “The rules, just so you know; no touching unless I tell you to. I’m not using handcuffs or security because I know you and trust you. Some of my straight friends get grabby, and I don’t want us to have to deal with that.” She nodded at Nemo. It was then that I noticed the strategically placed knives around the shop.

“Don’t you think I’d have done that by now if I were so inclined?” I’ve always been respectful of boundaries, and don’t go where I’m not invited.

“That’s why we’re still friends, and why I love you.” She reinforced that love by rubbing her pierced nipples along the back of my neck. ((Shiver))

My hands were under the catch-cloth, clenched tightly together. White-knuckle.

She moved around gracefully, standing in front of me with nipples at eye level. I gazed to the left and up.

“It’s okay, you can stare at my boobs. That’s kind of the whole point, eh?”

“Actually, I was looking to see if you’d shaved recently…” I’ve always had a thing for underarms, and she has perfect ones.

“Not in a while,” she said. She raised her arm to give me a peek. “I’m kinda stinky, been painting all day.” I motioned her toward me; she put her armpit in my face just as Nemo snapped a photo. Her tufts were an inch or so long, with her soft sweet scent barely noticeable.


She rubbed my nose with her underarm, ran her finger between my eyebrows to the tip of my nose, where a rogue hair caught her eye. “Ooh! A straggler! I’ll save it for the end.” I get these things she calls forehead pubes, eyebrows that grow away from the others. She pulls them with her teeth, and it steals my breath every time. It makes for a grand finale.

Nemo showed us the picture of me sniffing. I look like Orson Welles sizing up a glass of Paul Masson. I’d share the picture, but I have a better one…

My musical choice was a hit: Tricky’s Maxinquaye. The girls didn’t expect trip-hop. Nemo disappeared with the disc to make a copy. She returned it, along with a disc of pictures from the haircut. The music is naughty, sultry, almost like a soft-core musical porno. It’s had a lot of pleasant memories attached to it, but this could be the icing on the cake.

As Clairissa clipped and snipped, (yes, I was gettting a haircut, remember?) we reminisced. She pulled out her straight razor, the Sweeny Todd. She ran it across my jugular, behind my ears, across the back of my neck.

“I get such a rush when you use that thing one me,” I said. “I was tempted to let you shave me with it.”

“What, your face?” She smiled.

“Well, yeah.” I trust her, but going lower than my neck? She can use a safety razor when that happens.

“I haven’t shaved you since we met. Wasn’t that your first haircut?” It was; she gave me a Valentine’s Day makeover in 2004.

She collected the neck hairs and went to the mantle. She turned to me and asked, “What are we gonna do with our hairball?”

For the last five years, myself and a select few others have been contributing neck-hairs to a collective ball that she kept amongst the knick-knacks on her mantle. It’s grown to the size of a tennis ball.

“I could give it a home. We’ll call it Critter, after the movie.”

“I love you!” She rolled my latest contribution onto the hairball and put it into a baggie for safe-keeping. It’s now on my mantle, in a half-pint jalapeno pepper jar next to Freddie, the dead frog we share custody of. It fits perfectly with my oddball decorating motif.

I got the full treatment, boobswise. She’d reach over the top of my head to grab something, giving me a literal eyefull. She sat cowgirl-style on my lap and took care of that rogue hair I mentioned. I was forced to bury my face between her heavenly hooters as she took care of this. Upon reflection, I am so glad I have matured. It took over a day for it to occur to me that I could have given her a world-class ‘motorboat’ at that point…

Eventually I ran out of hair. She went over my head meticulously, a snip here, a pluck there. I felt like I was sitting on hot coals, my core radiating with desire. That’s always been our dynamic. She knows she drives me lust-crazy; it’s up to me to channel it. (Fortunately the person I take this pent-up agression out on is very understanding, as is Nemo.) She rubbed her boobs in my face again for good measure, then said, “I’m getting cold. Mind if I put my shirt back on?”

“It’d probably be best, if I’m going to stand without embarrassing myself,” I replied.

“I feel like I just had an orgasm,” she said.

“I feel like I’m about to,” I muttered. Wound tight…

She put the black wifebeater back on, took a shot of whiskey with her PBR and sat next to me on the futon. It was time for the next phase of our mission: My new bed.

Yes, not only did I get an eyefull (times ten) of boobiliciousness, she gave me the mattress to her futon. I’ve been needing a new mattress for my antique queen-sized hospital bed. (We call it The Hummer, because it’s built like one. Not for, um, other reasons, dang it.) Late Saturday night she called me, and while chatting we played with tape measures and it turned out her mattress was a perfect fit for my bed. I made arrangements with Grinder to pick it (and me) up after the haircut. It was time to call him.

We stood outside in the cold, smoking and chatting. Soon Grinder’s Jeep Cherokee was doing a U-turn, and he pulled up in front of the shop. Clairissa and I handled the hauling duties while Grinder guided. “Slide it in, big boy!” he chirped, which gave Clairissa the giggles. I think she got a visual. (Much like Dr T, who raised a Jack Nicholson-worthy eyebrow when I’d mentioned that Grinder had “driven my mattress home.”)

I excused myself from Grinder, leaving him in the car. Nemo went to the back bedroom, leaving Clairissa and I alone. We shared one of those never-ending hugs and a sweet kiss or two. “So, are you addicted to topless haircuts now? Going over to the competition?”

“You have forever spoiled the topless haircut for me. There are no boobs, babes or barbers that will ever top you.” I took a deep breath. “You’re always going to have a place in my heart, you know. I know we’re still buddies and all, but you’ll be so far away. I’m guessing you’ll still be getting random text messages in the middle of the night, and I have a bunch of postcards all ready to bombard you with.”

She smiled wistfully. “I cried about you the other day, and I’ll probably do it again. How many fucked-up relationships have you seen me through?”

“There have been a few good ones, you know. And think of how many times I’ve dumped on you. Our whole ‘thing’ started when I was heartsick over a girl, and you spent two hours giving me a ten-minute haircut. Helluva deal…”

She gave me one more peck on the lips, a pat on the bottom and said, “You better not keep your boss waiting.”

“Can I drop by for a hug before you go?” I asked.

“Honey, you can come by every day if you want.”

“I’ll see you Friday, like usual? We only have a couple more…” I left before I had a meltdown.

Grinder was a good distraction, teasing me about the whole situation. Conversation shifted to work, and soon my new bed and I were home. It took a few minutes of engineering to get the new mattress in place, and the old one gifted to my eager nephew. That thing will be in the family for half a century at this rate.

Clairissa’s bed? I’ll be keeping it for a while. It adds a foot of heighth to my bed, but gawd is it cushy! (There’s only one bed softer and more comfy, and I ain’t talkin’…) I put myself to sleep thinking of all the action the mattress has seen. (The mattress probably needs the rest.) I stretched out and thought quietly, sleep will be easy tonight.


But first, I had to look at the pictures. Nemo has a great photographic style, and caught an image I’ve fallen in love with. I’d like to turn it into a bronze statue and use it as a headstone when I die. (“My, what a nice view!”) The fact that I want to be cremated be damned, you can put the ashes inside my head.

A peaceful rest, indeed.



  1. ogler said,

    ( o ) ( o ) = )

  2. all inked up said,

    sound great,where can i get a topless hair cut?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: