c1998 Iggy

Part 1

I shouldn't have found her attractive at all. After all, she was a friends mother and much older than me. I'd been at school with her son until recently, when we'd both left. However, there was one thing that made her so alluring to me: her splendid hair!

Unusually for an older woman, she had quite long hair, and I liked long hair greatly. It wasnt just the fact that it was it long that caught my attention, but the way she wore it. It was always all piled up high in an interlaced style known commonly as a beehive. It was a popular style at the moment, and she'd been wearing hers like this for about a year. Several of the women in the neighbourhood had gone for this style, but Mrs As was by far the most impressive due to its size and complexity.

The only problem with Mrs A's hair was that I didn't get to see enough of it. Since her son had left home to go to college I didn't have an excuse to visit their house, so I could only revere her bouffant from a distance. Until I had this brilliant idea, that is.

I rang the bell on her front door, even though the front door wasn't used much in these houses, people preferred the back. It was ten past one, so I hoped she'd be home for lunch. I heard the door bolt slide back, and it opened. Mrs A smiled when she saw me and I smiled back, trying not to stare too much at her abundance of light brown shell curls.

"I wonder if I could use your phone?" I asked, explaining, "The pay-phones out of order again."

"Yes," she replied simply, and stood to one side to let me squeeze past. "The phone's there." She told me pointing to the small table in the hall.

I picked up the hand-set as she closed and bolted the front door, she then brushed past me as I dialled, to disappear into the kitchen. After I'd concluded my phone call, I tapped on the kitchen door, and gingerly pushed it open.

She was standing at the sink washing up. "Did you get through?" she asked.

"Yes thanks. It was only local, I'm chasing some spare parts for my bike," I replied, feeling that I should explain. "Ive put some money in the money box."

"Have they got them?"

"No, not yet."

She dried her hands and suggested that I go out through the back door to save her wrestling with the bolt on the front one.

She followed me to the back door and as I started to open it, I turned to face her with it half open. "Can I ask you something a bit personal?" I asked, summoning up my courage.

"What?" she replied, rather suspiciously.

"Is all that hair your own?" I blurted out, as I nodded towards her glorious lofty bouffant.

"Yes it is," she told me with a hint of offence.

I wanted to continue by telling her how wonderful it looked, but my nerve failed me. All I could do was mumble another thank you for the use of the phone, and make my exit. I determined to use the phone excuse again soon.

Part 2

I visited Mrs A again the following week, this time knocking on the back door. I had wondered what sort of reception I might receive, but she invited me in without comment, when I asked if I could use her phone again. Her beehive looked as sumptuous as ever. Unexpectedly, she invited me to stay and have a coffee when Id concluded the call. I was happy to agree and get more chance to ogle her piled-up hair. I joined her in the kitchen and she gave me my coffee and sat at the other end of the small table.

"Have they got your bike parts yet?" she asked.

"No, still waiting," I replied, truthfully.

We slipped into silence as we both sipped at our coffee. I tried to admire her hair discreetly, while trying to think of some way of bringing the subject up in conversation. I loved looking at it but I'd discovered that talking about it increased my excitement.

We chatted about how my job was going and how her son was getting on at college. She then stood up and gave me an opportunity to delight in an unrestricted rear view of her imposing upswept hair while she rinsed out our two mugs in the sink. I loved the way her hair swept up her nape and disappeared under her beehive. I would have given anything to stroke it. She finished the cups, then dried her hands and moved to the mirror fastened to the wall at the side of the sink unit. She checked her hair-do in it, patting the sides gently, even though it looked absolutely perfect to me.

"You didn't really think my hair was false, did you?" she asked, without turning away from the mirror.

"No, not really," I acknowledged. I waited for her to reply, but she didn't. "I hoped it wasnt false anyway," I added.

"I wouldnt wear a wig," she assured me.

"There just seems to be so much of it."

"Its all mine."

"How long is it?" I ventured.

"Quite long," she replied without revealing just how long. Before I could frame another question to keep the subject alive she turned towards me and asked, "Youve asked a few questions about it but havent actually said whether you like my hair like this."

I tried to contain my excitement. Just talking to her about it had given me an erection. Now I had the chance to tell her how much I loved her hair, but I decided Id better not rave too much for fear of embarrassing her.

"I like it very much," I said simply. "Youve got wonderful hair."

She smiled and after a brief silence said "I'll have to get back to work now." I must have looked as disappointed as I felt, because she added "We can talk about my hair some more when you come to use the phone next week."

I floated out of her house, willing next week to arrive soon.

Part 3

It had been a long week, and my anticipation of visiting her again had increased as the day drew nearer. I now stood on her back porch in a state of euphoria at the prospect of spending the next hour in her company. I knocked on the door and waited.

Nothing happened, I heard no sound of movement. Perhaps she hadnt heard. I rapped the door louder, she couldnt fail to hear this time. Still nothing.

The horrible realisation that she wasnt there killed my feelings of elation, dead. My mind raced. Had she taken exception to my enthusiasm about her hair? Had suggesting we could talk today about it been a way of getting rid of me last week, never intending to be here today? Was I a fool to even consider that she might be interested in my opinions and interest in the way she styled her hair? I was confused and dejected.

I turned to leave, and moved to the gate just in time to see her appear on the other side of it. She smiled as she swung the gate open and let it slam behind her. Her expansive upswept hair was shrouded in the large multicoloured silk scarf that she regularly wore to protect it from any gust of wind that might seek to displace any of her carefully constructed coiffure. Only a couple of large shell curls at the lower front of her beehive were visible, which just served to give a hint of the delights hidden under the scarf.

"Sorry Im a few minutes late. Got delayed at the office," she told me matter-of-factly, as she rummaged in her bag. Presumably looking for the key.

I couldnt reply, my emotions going from one extreme to the other and back again within minutes. She opened the door and I followed her in, closing the door behind me.

"Go and put the kettle on while I hang my coat up," she told me. I said OK and did as I was told, and then took my now usual seat at the kitchen table.

She came in to the kitchen with the scarf still on. She must have read my thoughts. "I suppose youd like me to take this off?" she said as she wrestled with the knot under her chin.

"Yes please," I replied, watching her glide the scarf slowly backwards off her bouffant as if unveiling a great work of art. Which, of course, her hair was.

She had a quick look in the wall mirror to check it was in order and then made the two mugs of coffee, before taking her seat. I must have been staring as she asked if her hair was OK.

"Yes, its excellent," I told her. "How often do you have it done? I presume you do have it done professionally?"

"You dont think I could pile it up like this myself do you?" I shook my head. "I have it done every Friday morning, I get up early and go to the hairdressers on the way to work."

"How do you stop it getting messed up between times?"

"I wrap it in a chiffon scarf every night. Im lucky, I dont toss and turn much while I sleep."

"You must have to get up really early on a Friday?" I imagined such a construction would be time-consuming.

"Not really. I spend longer the night before taking it down, combing it out and washing it," she explained. "It doesnt take my hairdresser long to put it up, shes very good."

"Yes, she is," I agreed." I dont suppose I could touch it?" I ventured.

"Providing you dont mess it up," she answered, surprising and thrilling me.

I leapt from my seat and she twisted in her chair so that she had her back to me. I desperately wanted to mess it up but knew Id never be able to visit again if I did. I gently touched the folds of her shell curls. Her light brown hair was stiff with lacquer. It wasnt the only thing that was stiff.

"Its quite stiff," I commented, as I smoothed her nape hair upwards.

"Its all the lacquer," she replied.

"I love the smell of hair-spray," I revealed to her.

"I havent sprayed it today, so I dont suppose its smells much." I moved my nose closer, fighting the temptation to bury my face in it. I agreed with her that the perfume was exhausted.

"If you look in that cupboard over there, youll find a can. It wouldnt hurt to freshen it up," she suggested.

I rushed to the cupboard, found the tall can and passed it to her." You can spray it if you want to," she said as I offered her the spray.

Want to was rather an under-statement. This lunch-time encounter was getting better by the minute. I shook the can thoroughly and coated her beehive liberally all over until she told me to stop. The air was filled with the heavy perfume of Silvikrin Extra Hold hair-spray. It was glorious. I touched her hair again, now slightly damp from my over enthusiasm with the spray and even shinier than before.

"I think youve had enough hair-talk for today. Id better get back to work, were very busy today. I returned the spray to its cupboard while she put her scarf back on.

"You still havent told me how long it is?" I asked.

"If you were here on a Thursday evening, when I take it down, youd find that out."

I thought I would love to be, but didnt think it likely to happen. "I dont suppose your husband would like me calling round to look at your hair."

"Hes only home at weekends, so he wouldnt know." She smiled. Wow! What an invitation, I thought to myself. "See you tomorrow then." I said, still not certain that Id heard correctly.

OK then." she grinned.

Part 4

Id spent the day with mixed feelings. On one hand I was extremely excited at the prospect of what might happen this evening, but on the other hand felt guilty for the lustful thoughts I was harbouring about a friend's mothers imposing light brown locks. On balance, a part of my anatomy other than my head took the driving seat, and I determined to get to her house early and make the most of the evening. I most of all wanted to be there before she did anything to her towering beehive. I didnt want to miss any of the action.

Id arrived just as she was finishing her evening meal and sat with her in the kitchen until she had finished. She seemed very relaxed about this evening. I tried to appear so, even though my heart rate was climbing steadily.

"I wondered what time youd get here?" she said, between mouthfuls.

"I didnt want to miss anything," I replied, honestly.

I wouldnt have started without you," she replied, rather teasingly. I helped her by washing up while she dried and put the dishes away.

"I think well have a coffee and relax for a few minutes before we do anything else," she told me, quite casually. I agreed, although I was far from feeling casual.

She made the coffees and we moved to the lounge. She sat in an armchair and I the sofa. I decided to now ask the question that Id been building up to since I arrived.

"Would you let me take your hair down?" I asked, nervously.

She smiled but didnt answer immediately. I got the impression she was enjoying keeping me waiting. "I thought you might want to get your hands on it!" she purred.

"Id love to," I replied.

She put her empty cup down and hoisted herself from the chair, picked up a cushion and came towards me. She threw the cushion at my feet and sat down on it, resting her left arm on my lap. She tipped her head slightly forward, subjugating herself in front of me, inviting me to destroy her carefully crafted hair-do.

I stroked her lacquered hair gently, inwardly debating whether to just plunge my fingers into it and rip it apart in seconds or unpin it a little at a time. I had no idea if Id ever be presented with such an opportunity again, so I chose to savour every moment and release each shell curl individually. I selected one right at the top of her beehive and tugged gently. It came free with two U-shaped hair pins dangling from it. I disengaged the pins and put them on the seat at my side, then carefully stretched out the stiffly lacquered tress, pulling out the worst of the tangling and allowing it to hang down at the back of her mound of hair.

I was about to release a second when there was a sharp knock on the back door. I dont know who was more shocked, me or her. She told me to stay where I was and shed see who it was. I hoped it was someone she could quickly get rid of. I heard another womans voice, and then the voices getting louder.

Mrs A entered the room followed by another woman. I saw immediately that this woman had virtually the same elevated hair-style as Mrs A. The only difference being that she was blonde, although not naturally so. In fact her roots would be in need of attention soon. I was introduced to her, she was Mrs As sister.

"This is Jack," Mrs A told her. I said hello. "Ive hurt my shoulder and he very kindly agreed to take my hair down, to save me doing anymore damage to it." I had to admit it was a pretty good explanation of why I was there and why a piece of her hair was loose.

"I wondered what had happened to your hair," her sister exclaimed. "You lucky thing. Its such a job taking it down, I wish I could find someone to help me with mine." The obvious thoughts flashed through my mind, accompanied by a mental picture of me ripping her bleached blonde beehive down.

The two women had a brief conversation before Mrs A gave her sister a parcel which she had taken delivery of for her. Her sister then said goodbye to me and Mrs A showed her to the door.

"Is that a family hairstyle?" I asked when she came back into the room.

"Shes always copied me," Mrs A told me, as she sat down in front of me again.

I was pleased to be able to resume my dismantling of her do, wasting no time in pulling the next curl free and extricating more hairpins. I savoured the next fifteen or so minutes as I worked my way through her hair. It was so tall that Id half expected to find some sort of framework inside to hold it up, but all I found was lots of hair.

It was now reduced to a wild bush, and the cushion beside me contained a lot of hairpins and grips which had been securing it. I used my fingers as a comb to start to untangle her knotted locks. I noticed her eyes were closed and she was now resting the side of her head on my knee. She was obviously enjoying my attentions, but couldnt have been enjoying it more than I was.

After Id teased out the worst of the knots, I pulled out a comb that Id brought with me, from my jeans back pocket. I started at the ends of her hair and spent the next half hour untangling it, until I could run the comb smoothly through the length of it. She lifted her head so that I could comb it down. It came to about bra strap level and was very thick. It was wonderful.

"Is it as long as you thought?" she asked, still with her back to me.

"Yes, but its much thicker." I continued to play with it, enjoying the feeling of running my fingers through its length.

She twisted round to face me and I gathered all her hair onto the top of her head and held it up as high as it would go. By now I had probably the biggest erection Id ever had. Was it any surprise with the stimulation I was experiencing? Her hand moved to my groin and she stroked my penis gently through the denim.

"Has my hair done this?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," I replied simply.

She started to unfasten my jeans. I certainly wasnt going to stop her.

Part 5

She grasped my penis, pushing back the foreskin, then moved her mouth closer to it. I was still gripping her hair above her head and used it to pull her onto me. She swallowed the end of my penis and gently but firmly closed her mouth around it. The sensation was indescribable, I though I was about to explode. The arousal Id already had was beyond anything Id experienced before. I could feel the orgasm building forcefully. I pulled her hair back, moving her mouth away. I didnt think shed appreciate me giving her a mouthful.

I tried to pull her head down, tugging on her hair quite strongly, I knew where I wanted my load to go. She pulled against me, maybe she enjoyed being pulled by the hair, she certainly didnt complain. It was too late, I couldnt hold it anymore and made a mess on her sofa cushion. Her hair remained uncontaminated. I released it and fell back in the seat. She moved her mouth to mine and kissed me sensuously.

Lets go upstairs where its more comfortable," she oozed. "Ill give you a lesson in what women like. Youve had your fun, its my turn now."

She lead me up the stairs and into her bedroom. She put on a small lamp near the bed. Within seconds she had undressed me. She threw back the bedcover and gestured for me to get in. I did, and watched her rapidly throwing her own clothes off. Her mass of hair cascaded forward as she bent down to remove her tights and panties in one. She slid into the bed next to me, and I revelled in the feel of her warm flesh next to mine. She spread her hair across the pillow so that I could rest my head on it.

She took my hand and steered it between her legs. This was a new and wonderful experience for me. Her vagina was so soft, lubricated generously by her juices. She moved my finger over a little protuberance right at the front.

"Thats the magic button," she gurgled.

Her hand moved away to let me continue unaided and I stroked her clitoris gently. Her breathing became deeper the more I stroked. I let it slide in and out between two of my fingers as if it was a miniature penis. She started to moan slightly, obviously enjoying the sensation. Her breathing got heavier and her back started to arch as if trying to press herself against my fingers. I pressed a little harder and her breathing got even deeper. I continued my actions, her moaning increasing until she climaxed, when her back arched even more, and she let out a load sigh. She then went very relaxed, flopping down onto the bed.

She pulled me to her and hugged me hard. "Youre a quick learner," she whispered.

"All part of the service," I replied, nonchalantly.

We lay in the semi-darkness, holding each other, for about fifteen minutes, just relaxing. Id made sure her hair was spread towards me so I could enjoy the feeling of my face against it.

"Can I wash your hair?" I asked her.

"If you want to. Its got to be washed before I get it put up again tomorrow."

She got out of bed, threw me a dressing gown and put one on herself. I followed her to the bathroom. She turned on the hot and cold taps and soon filled the basin with warm water. She got a bottle of shampoo from the bathroom cabinet and handed it to me. She then threw all her hair forwards and I watched with delight as she lowered it into the water, until the basin was full of hair. I moved to her side and used a plastic cup that was there to pour water over the back of her hair, until it was all thoroughly wet.

She lifted her head slightly so that only the ends of her hair dipped in the water. I unscrewed the top of the shampoo bottle and emptied a large blob of the yellow viscous liquid into the palm of my right hand. I put the bottle down and transferred half to my left hand. I smoothed it into her wet hair, both sides at once, running my fingers to the ends and gathering it all up onto her crown. I massaged it deeply in. She lifted her head and looked at what I was doing in the mirror in front of her, smiling knowingly. I wondered if anyone else had been lucky enough to indulge themselves with her hair.

The first application didnt lather up as much as I would have liked. I suppose due to the amount of lacquer that needed to be washed off. I imagined there was more than normal, thinking back to the lunch-time that Id been let loose with the hair-spray can and coated it thoroughly. She put her head back in the bowl and we rinsed out the first shampoo. The second application was much better. Lots of glorious foam and she tipped her head back encouraging me to massage it deeply in. It felt wonderful around my fingers, and she seemed to enjoy the experience too, as her eyes were closed.

It took several changes of water before I was satisfied that it was thoroughly rinsed. I then gave it a vigorous rubbing with a towel.

"Wheres the hair-dryer?" I asked.

"I usually just let it dry overnight," she told me. "But, you can dry it if you want to."

She sat at the dressing table as I blasted her hair with the dryer. She had so much hair that it took about twenty minutes, but when it was dry it felt absolutely wonderful. Like pure silk. My erection had returned with a vengeance. I ran my fingers through it once more lifting it up high. I was standing at the side of her and hadnt realised that my penis was sticking out so much.

"Looks like youre ready for round two," she told me, and stood up.

"Yes please," I told her.

I still had my hands in her hair as we moved back to the bed. I released it and we discarded our dressing gowns and slid beneath the sheets. I ran my fingers through her hair again, hauling it all onto the top of her head once more.

"Do you like pulling my hair?" she asked as I held her hair aloft.

"I like touching it," I replied. "I wouldnt hurt it."

"You were giving it quite a yank downstairs. What was that in aid of?"

My inhibitions were completely gone and I revealed my innermost desire to her. "I wanted to come in your hair," I said.

She didnt answer immediately. I wondered if I had shocked or disgusted her. "You cant do that now. Youve only just washed it," she told me, not sounding shocked or disgusted. "Youll have to wait until next Thursday."

Part 6

I just couldnt resist calling in to see her the following lunch-time. I knew she was going to the hairdressers first thing and I was keen to see her hair freshly piled up and sprayed. I knocked at the door expectantly and she quickly answered it. I wasnt disappointed. Her beehive hairdo looked exquisite and seemingly higher and wider than ever.

"My sisters here. Youve come to use the phone," she said in a low urgent voice. I said OK and made my way to the phone in the hallway. I phoned the weather report, as she rejoined her sister in the kitchen. I said a few words to the recorded voice at the other end of the phone for effect and concluded the call by thanking the voice for their help. I then joined the two women.

"Hello again," her sister said from the seat that I normally occupied.

"Yes, hello," I replied. I was about to thank Mrs A for the use of the phone and leave, when she gestured to the seat at the other end of the room and said shed make me a coffee if I wanted. I did want, and quickly crossed the room and sat down.

The two women resumed their conversation. Mrs A was looking at a mail order catalogue, clothes I think, standing in front of the window with it open on the work-top in front of her. Her sister joined her to give her opinion of something in it. This presented me with a unique opportunity to admire and compare their respective hairstyles.

Mrs As did look superb. Id never had the chance to see it fresh from the hairdressers before. The folds of each of her shell curls were more pronounced and it shone, helped by an ample coating of hair-spray applied to her freshly shampooed locks. The magical aroma of the lacquer was still in the air.

Her sisters wasnt quite on the scale of Mrs As, but I had no idea when it was last styled, perhaps it was due to be redone. It was slightly more to the back of her head too. I preferred the way Mrs As was erected high on her crown and delighted in the sight of all her hair at the back sweeping up smoothly.

I mentally awarded scores to each of them. Mrs As was definitely ten out of ten, but then I did admire the fact that her sister had the nerve to have used the bleach bottle on hers. I was sure it was done professionally as it didnt have that rather over-bleached look that some women had when they attempted to dye their hair at home. I liked blonde hair and decided that she deserved ten out of ten too.

I wondered which one had the longest hair and fantasised about having the two of them sitting in front of me, waiting for me to take their hair down and find out. I must have been staring, I was certainly lost in a fantasy world of my own.

Comparing notes?" Mrs As sister asked, snapping me back to reality.

"Sorry?" I replied.

"You were staring at our hair," she told me, seemingly amused by this.

"Yes, I mean no!" I spluttered nervously.

"If you were, its not a fair comparison," she continued, "Jeans had hers done today. I dont get it done until Monday. So its not as neat as it could be."

"It looks fine," I told her.

"Not as nice as Jean's though, eh?"

"Both look nice," I parried.

"You must prefer one or the other though," she continued.

"Stop winding him up Joyce!" Mrs A interjected, rescuing me from having to make a decision. "Just tell her you prefer mine."

"It does look good today," I agreed.

"My hairdresser was very impressed with the fact that all the tangles had been combed out. I normally give up and leave some for her. I had to admit someone had combed it out for me," Mrs A stated, and grinned at me. Her sister looked slightly irked.

"That must be a big help," Joyce conceded. Perhaps she was looking for a volunteer to help with her hair. I would love to get my hands on it, but wondered if Mrs A would be jealous.

"Yes, it is. Hes going to take it down again this Thursday for me. Im going to try some new protein conditioner on it too." Mrs A shot me a knowing look and winked slightly. My arousal level increased.

"Where are you getting that from?" her sister asked.

"I havent got it yet, its not available in the shops. Itll be coming on Thursday." Mrs A grinned broadly at me. I slid my legs further under the table to hide my excitement.

"Youll have to let me have some if its any good," Joyce suggested.

"Id have to speak to the supplier and see if hes got anymore." Another knowing glance came in my direction. What a prospect. "Wed all better get back to work," she added looking at he watch.

"Well have to have our hair done on the same day one of the weeks. Then it will be a fair contest to see whos is best. Joyce suggested, resurrecting the competition between them.

"Good idea," Mrs A agreed, defiantly.

It seemed a brilliant idea to me. Providing I was to be invited to be the sole judge of the contest.

Part 7

Mrs A parting comments on Friday lunch-time, were that she wanted to see me on Thursday evening, but not before, warning that she didnt want people talking about her. It was difficult but I kept my end of the bargain. I arrived at her house hoping shed keep hers.

Her hair-do looked just as voluminous and impressive as it had on Friday. Stacked up higher and wider than even its norm. Her dress seemed a lot shorter than her office wear too. It showed off her long legs wonderfully. Shed also taken more trouble with her make up. Lots of colour applied round her eyes and long black lashes, set off by luscious crimson lips. The overall effect was pretty stunning. She was a tall woman anyway, taller than me, and the combination of her high heeled shoes, long shapely legs, make-up, and mountain of hair was a terrific turn on.

I followed her into the lounge wallowing in the mixture of scents from her perfume and hair-spray, as she swept along in front of me. My timing was better this week, shed finished her meal and had time to perform this transformation, before my arrival. She turned round and pulled my face to hers and kissed me full on the lips.

"Welcome," she said simply.

I could feel the smoothness of her lipstick deposited on mine. She could obviously see it, as she smiled and wiped her finger over my lips.

"Thank you," I replied, trying to compose myself. "You look wonderful," I murmured.

She smiled as if she knew full well that she looked wonderful. I figured that with looks and hair like hers she was rather used to compliments.

"Im going to have a whisky," she told me. "Do you want one?"

I declined. I was in danger of losing control as it was, I wondered what might happen if my inhibitions were removed totally. I sat down on the sofa and waited while she got her whisky. She moved to stand in front of me and downed the glass in one gulp.

"Thats better," she told me and then sat on the floor at my feet. Curling her long legs under her so that she faced me, resting her arm on my leg. My hand moved to her stiffly lacquered hair and stroked it gently. She tipped her head forwards inviting me to stroke her nape. I obliged and hoped she was enjoying it as much as I was. I was careful not to mess her hair up. There would be plenty of time for that later.

"Is it coming down now?" she asked without lifting her head.

"Not yet," I replied. "You know what I want to do to it first."

She raised her head and smiled at me. Without comment she unfastened my jeans and pulled them and my pants down towards my knees. Needless to say I was already very aroused. She kissed me, leaving a crimson ring on my foreskin. She then turned so her back was to me, sitting between my legs. I slid forward on the settee, and held her head still, one hand against each side of her face. I watched with delight as my penis slid up her nape and made its way to her beehive. It knew exactly where it wanted to go.

The feeling as it forced its way into and through her back-combed hair was incredible. A vagina made from hair: bliss. I moved it gently back and forth. I could feel it rubbing against a couple of the hairpins holding her hair up. They just added to the stimulation. I continued to screw her hair and held it as long as I could before exploding into her bouffant. I pumped as hard as I could, determined to dump as much as possible into her hair. I looked down to the front of her hair and could see the creamy liquid oozing out, it was about to trickle down her forehead until I stopped it with my fingers and smoothed it into her swept back hair. I held on a minute or so before withdrawing, still enjoying the sensation.

"That was a dream come true," I told her.

She turned and smiled at me, raised herself up onto the settee and kissed me. She then stood up and went to the mirror above the fireplace.

Studying the damp patch in her hair, she grinned at me via the mirror. "Youve really fucked my hair up!" She joked.

"Just gave it a dose of conditioner," I replied.

Before she could reply, there was a loud knock on the back door.

"Who the hell is that?" She said, and went to the hall to check. I heard her ask through the door who it was, I couldnt hear the reply, but Mrs A came rushing back in. "Its my sister again. Youd better let me do the talking." She pulled a chair from the dining table to the centre of the room and then went to open the door.

I heard voices coming nearer and then they both appeared in the lounge. I noticed immediately that Joyce had had her roots done since Id seen her last, as her hair was now fully blonde. It was wonderfully piled up too.

"Joyce was wondering if you could comb her hair out for her while youre doing mine," Mrs A told me.

"Yes, of course," I replied trying to sound nonchalant at the thrilling prospect of getting my hands on her bleached hair.

"Let me take your coat and you can sit here." Mrs A gestured to the chair. "He can do yours first."

Part 8

"Whats that in your hair?" Joyce asked her sister.

"Its a blob of conditioner," Mrs A told her. I smiled inwardly at her explanation. "Im trying one I havent used before. We were just starting to apply it."

"And you put it on dry?" Joyce wondered.

"Yes, Ill get Jack to put some on yours. Weve got enough." Mrs A smiled at me and I wondered what she was going to do. "Ill go and get some, you have dilute it because its a concentrate when you get it." Mrs A went out of the room. I told Joyce Id better go and help. I was very intrigued and found Mrs A in the kitchen pouring milk into a large glass jug.

"Shell have to make do with this. Im not letting her have the real thing," She told me.

I was pleased that she valued my semen so highly. Id be happy to give her more anytime she wanted. Then again, Id be more than happy to let her sister have some too.

"What else are you going to put in?" I asked.

"I hadnt thought. What do you think?" She replied.

I opened the cupboard under the sink and handed her a bottle of washing-up detergent. She smiled and gleefully added a generous squeeze to the milk, turning it a very pale yellow. I then looked in one of the wall cupboards. It needed more colour. I found just the thing, Tomato Ketchup. I unscrewed the cap and shook some into the jug. This was fun.

Mrs A was obviously warming to the idea as she suggested we put some maple syrup in too, to sweeten it up. I agreed readily. Mrs A stirred in two large spoonfuls and mixed it thoroughly, thickening up the frothy pink liquid. She sniffed it.

"Well have to do something about the smell. Its a bit vinegary." she said. "I know just the thing."

She went into the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a bottle of peach coloured fluid and explained it was concentrated air-freshener. She added a spoonful and stirred some more.

"Thats better!" She smiled and offered me the opportunity to test the aroma. It wasnt wonderfully aromatic but at least the contents fragrances were hidden by the strong perfume. If only Joyce knew what we were about to deposit on her mass of blonde hair.

Mrs A grabbed a large towel, I took the jug of goo, and we moved back to the lounge. Joyce was still sitting patiently, with her back to us, waiting for her hair to be conditioned. Mrs A wrapped the towel around her sisters shoulders and tucked it into the neckline of her blouse.

"Wouldnt it be easier to take it down first?" Joyce asked innocently.

"No. Its better this way," Mrs A assured her. I could sense the expectation in her voice. I think she was looking forward to ruining her sisters hair-do as much as I was. She gestured for me to get on with it.

I moved behind Joyce and raised the jug about nine inches above her still immaculate bouffant. She hadnt seen the jug so sat there in complete ignorance of the evil-looking contents. I tipped the jug slowly and the thick liquid edged towards the pouring lip and slid over it dropping in slow motion, treacle-like, onto the top of her tall hair-do. It didnt sink in at first, just formed a growing puddle. I moved the jug in a circular motion spreading the liquid all over the top of her beehive and making a spiral pattern with it.

At last it started to permeate through her hair, but without flattening it at all. There must have been some pretty strong hair-spray holding it up. I shot a glance at Mrs A. She had a rather gleeful look on her face watching intently as I poured more of the cocktail. Id now emptied half of the jugs contents onto her hair. It was thoroughly covered but her beehive, although wet, was still intact. I decided it was enough and put the jug down on the nearby table.

Within a few seconds of diving my fingers into it I had torn her hair-do apart and was now massaging the thick slightly sticky liquid thoroughly into it. As I proceeded through her hair I took out any hair-pins that I came across. She held her hand out obligingly to hold the sticky metal grips as I removed them.

"I still say it would have been easier to take it down first," Joyce reiterated.

"Its more fun doing it this way," I revealed to her.

"As long as you can get all the knots out," she told me.

This thought had already crossed my mind. All the hair-grips were out now and Id managed to get a slight lather into the liquid by thoroughly mashing it into her hair. This had knotted her hair even more than the original styling had done. I had heard of some women, with particularly heavily back-combed hair, who had had to resort to scissors to cut out the tangles from their hair. It would be nice to have a lock of hair as a memento but wondered how she might react if it was tangled that badly. Id worry about it later. I pulled her hair up into a large spike and it stood there erect. I bent the top over, turning it into a large question mark. Mrs A smiled, Joyce couldnt see it.

"We have to leave it on for a while," I told Joyce, and turned to Mrs A. "Well do yours now."

A look of horror spread over her face. "Dont you want to finish Joyces first?" She said urgently.

"No, you know it has to soak in," I replied.

"You can sit here," Joyce offered, getting up from her seat with the towel still around her shoulders. "Ill get a towel for you."

Mrs A shot me a dirty look as she took her seat. I smiled back. "I hope you can get that stuff out of my hair," she told me, after her sister had left the room.

"Of course I will," I replied, trying to sound convincing.

Obviously, when she was concocting this mixture it had never entered her head that Id want to cover her hair in it too. Before our conversation could continue, her sister returned with a pink towel and draped it over Mrs As shoulders. She watched as I picked up the jug moved it into position over her only slightly dishevelled beehive do.

She held her head proudly, now resigned to her fate. I started to pour the thick liquid, holding the jug even higher than for Joyce. I dont know whether it was because it fell from a greater height or that Mrs As hair had less spray holding it up, but the liquid made a much better job of flattening her elevated hair. It soaked through it much more rapidly. I emptied the last of the jug, watching a small blob of Tomato Ketchup that was unmixed at the bottom, onto her hair. I put the jug down and used my fingers to distribute it thoroughly through the length of her hair as I also removed all the hairpins.

Soon I was able to pull all her hair up into a spike, just like her sisters, having massaged her scalp thoroughly. Length-wise their hair was similar, and I wound hers into a question mark also. Her sisters having stayed exactly as Id left it.

The double question was; would I be able to first get all this goo out of their hair and second, could I untangle it? The prospects of not being able to were unthinkable...

Part 9

I pushed Joyces head forwards, lowering her bedraggled hair into the basin full of warm water, to wet it thoroughly. Surprisingly the concoction Id administered to her hair, when mixed with water, actually lathered up slightly as I pretended to finish off her conditioning treatment by massaging it deeply in. That washing-up detergent must have been strong stuff indeed. I then had to use several changes of water to rinse it out. I followed this with a generous amount of shampoo and lathered her bleached hair again. The lather was richer this time but I insisted on rinsing it out and applying more shampoo. The final wash producing deliciously rich foam. I think I may have over-done the amount of shampoo as it took many changes of water to rinse it all out. I squeezed out as much water as possible and wrapped her head in a towel.

"Well have to dry it before I can get all the knots out," I told her.

"OK," Joyce replied.

"You can wash mine first," Mrs A interjected.

"Of course," I agreed, re-filling the basin with warm water.

She needed no encouragement to get her hair into the water, no doubt anxious to remove the sundry substances that Id inflicted on her hair. I helped by scooping up handfuls of water and pouring them onto her nape to rinse it out. I had no opportunity to lather hers, she was obviously anxious to remove the concoction as quickly as possible. I shampooed her hair twice, just as Id done with her sisters. She relaxed visibly on the second application as I gently massaged her scalp and stroked her nape. I imagined she was relieved to have her hair clean again.

"Hes got a nice touch, hasnt he?" Joyce said to Mrs A as she observed her sisters eyes close in relaxation. She didnt reply.

After several rinses, she too finished with her head wrapped in a towel. We moved back to the lounge and Mrs A produced a hand held hair-dryer. Joyce had already seated herself in a dining chair ready for her hair to be dried. I rubbed her head vigorously with the towel before slipping it off and picking up the drier. As I blasted her hair with hot air I teased out the larger of the tangles with my fingers. Even with the drier set to its hottest and fastest setting it still took a while to dry her mass of hair. It seemed to have survived the application of half the contents of the food cupboard as it now felt nice and soft. There was now the not insignificant problem of all the tangles in it.

I used a large toothed comb, and starting at the ends, began to untangle it. Combing Mrs As hair out last week had been comparatively easy compared to this task. I worked conscientiously through it until all that remained were a few unfathomable knots near the ends. The comb running smoothly through the rest. I tugged at them sharply but they wouldnt release. I wondered how I was going to get them out when Mrs A appeared at my side with a solution.

"Youll have to use these," she said, offering me a pair of proper hairdressing scissors.

I took the scissors nervously, wondering how to break the news to Joyce that I was about to chop off pieces of her cherished locks. Mrs A saved me the trouble.

"Well have to cut these few knots out," she told her sister.

"Just be careful then," Joyce replied with an understandable air of concern.

I held up the first knot and confidently snipped it off. The scissors were very sharp. I realised just how quickly a womans long hair could all be cut short with scissors like these. I snipped the second knot off, enjoying the feeling of power as I wielded the scissors. I fantasised about what it might be like to have the chance to really cut her blonde hair, perhaps chin length into a nice bob. Id seen a woman recently with a very smart bob. It was cut longer at the front to short at the nape, with some back combing for volume and the ends rolled under. A beehive was better though. Perhaps I could slip and cut a decent sized piece off as a memento. I snapped myself back to reality and cut out the last couple of knots. The comb now ran effortlessly through the length of her hair. I would have been happy to spend longer combing her hair but could sense Mrs A was anxious to have hers dealt with. Joyce stood up and ran her fingers through her hair.

"It does feel better after that conditioner," she agreed, as she did so. Mrs A smiled at me and told her sister it was good stuff.

"I still think it would be easier to comb it out first though," Joyce asserted. Mrs A agreed that it might, as they swapped places. Her hair took just as long to dry as Joyces had and I ended up with the same problem, knots that I just couldnt untangle. I leaned over her and picked up the scissors, she gave me a sideways look and told me to be careful. I said not to worry. I adored her hair too much to spoil it. Id just cut out the first knot when the door opened. We all turned to it in surprise.

It was Mrs As husband. A million thoughts raced through my mind. What was he doing here? What if hed arrived earlier, before Joyce got here? When he would have caught us in flagrante, so to speak.

"Whats going on?" he asked urgently, probably as surprised to see us as we were to see him. What must he be thinking, seeing his wife sitting in a chair with me standing behind her, her hair all loose and me with comb and scissors in hand?

"Jack takes Joyces hair down for her and I asked if hed help me with mine too," Mrs A told him thinking quickly. I was grateful Joyce was there and didnt disagree with the story. She at least leant an air of respectability to the gathering.

"So whats he doing with those scissors?" he continued.

"Theres a couple of knots that we cant get out. I regularly have to cut knots out of it. Youre never here to see just how much trouble it is to look after, you just want to see it when its been done. Youre not interested in what I have to go through to wear it up all the time," Mrs A told him with some aggression, obviously deciding that the best form of defence was attack.

He looked a little taken aback by her outburst, as I was. "These two had better go," he said firmly.

Joyce gave me a look that said, lets get out of here. I put the comb and scissors down and squeezed Mrs As shoulder as I leaned over her giving her a quick look to register my concern. Joyce had got my coat with hers and we left quickly.

I walked Joyce home. Conversation was very limited. I dont know what Joyce was thinking but she didnt realise just how bad things could have been. As far as she was concerned, I was just innocently doing their hair and couldnt have realised what had been going on before.

Joyce invited me in when we reached her flat but after the trauma of the evening I declined her offer and walked steadily back home, worrying about what Mrs As husband might be saying and wondering if Id played with her wonderful beehive hair-do for the last time.

Part 10

Id been home from work about an hour the following evening when the door bell rang. I opened it to find a rather sullen looking Mrs A standing there. I was pleased to see her as Id spent the day thinking about her. I was glad Id answered the door and not one of my parents. Sadly, I could see immediately that her hair wasnt piled up high in its customary beehive style. It was flat, hidden beneath her multi-coloured scarf. I wondered why she hadnt been to the hairdressers to have her hair done.

"We need to talk," she told me without pre-amble.

"Ill get my coat," I replied.

I followed her a short way down the road, around a corner and down a little used walkway between two houses. It was starting to get dark and the secluded walkway was illuminated by a streetlight halfway along which had already come on. She stopped under it and turned to face me.

"Whats happened?" I asked her.

"This," she replied and pulled off her scarf.

I was horrified by the sight that now greeted me. Shed had her long hair cut short. It did look very modern and chic, but her wondrous beehive had truly been her clowning glory! What could possibly have driven her to surrender her light brown locks?

I struggled to find words to express my disappointment as she explained, tearfully. "After you left last night we had a blazing row about my hair. He was really annoyed because Id let you mess with my hair. I told him it was too much to cope with on my own and needed help with it if I he expected me to carry on wearing it up all the time. I told him he wanted me to wear it up but wasnt interested in helping me, and you were willing to help. He asked if that meant that without help I wouldnt wear it up anymore. I said if you couldnt help me, I wouldnt have a beehive anymore. He said Id have to wear it down then. I was angry and I didnt realise fully what I was saying, and I told him I was too old to wear long hair all loose. He asked if that meant I was going to have it cut. I shouted back at him. Yes I will have it cut!" She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.

"I cant believe you cut your wonderful hair to spite him," I told her.

"I was so angry with his attitude that I picked up those scissors, held up a big chunk of my hair and cut it off in front of him. He stormed out of the house. I regretted what Id done immediately but it was too late. I had to get my hairdresser to finish the job this morning," she said sullenly. The mental picture she had conjured up was dreadful. "I had to let the hairdresser cut it this short to make it look decent."

"Its a great shame," I told her, as I hugged her.

"Its my fault, I shouldnt have involved you," she told me.

"It takes two," I replied.

She kissed me on the cheek and said shed have to go and see if her husband had come back. She covered her new short hairstyle with the scarf, and then reached into her bag. She gave me a colourful box tied with a red ribbon. It was about half the size of a shoe box.

"I got this for you to remember me by," she explained. "Dont open it here." With that, she gave me another peck on the cheek and was gone.

I walked home with a heavy heart, still not quite believing what had happened in the last thirty or so hours. When I got home I sought the privacy of my room before opening my gift. I carefully untied the bow of the ribbon and gingerly lifted the lid. I stared at its contents. It was full of her light brown hair.

The End

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