Chapter 3: The Asian and the Salon

The next few days, I wrestled between stability and desire. Noticing friction in the marriage, Bernard tried to comfort me.

"Babe, need anything?" he asked.

I almost smiled. "No," I said. "Tired, that's all." On rare occasions, Bernard demonstrated sensitivity. He even remembered to put the toilet seat down.

"Maybe we can hit the condo this week?"

I quietly sat for a few seconds, and then lied, "Need to get the paper published." Heterosexual encounters at condos were not in my plans. Thoughts were brewing—ribald thoughts of lesbian sex with coeds.

Honestly, I knew he intended to ease my suffering, and I appreciated him in a way that only a lesbian in denial can understand. If truth be told, his attention disgusted me. It is hard for a person in the midst of denial to show affection for the major cause of the denial.

I found most of my comfort by petting Slinky underneath her ears as she purred. An arrogant orange ball of shit, the cat often scurried off to find a feline in heat. I wanted to be Slinky, scurrying into the arms of a woman—a woman with a wet and hungry pussy.

Drinking vodka each night until in a stupor, I allowed Bernard to fuck me once because I felt sorry for him. The experience left me unsatisfied and angry, especially after sitting on the toilet unable to get myself off as he snored.

The next day, I decided to hell with depression and chose not to drink. Trying my best to look sexy for my next psycho 101 class, I ventured to my wardrobe and found nothing to fit the task. Credit card in hand, I found solace at Macy's, picking a pink linen skirt with a slit in the back and matching blouse. I figured the apparel might appeal to the girls without getting me fired. Shopping at Victoria's Secret, I spent $300.00 on an assortment of panties, push-up bras, hose, and fragrant perfumes. The perfumes imbued seduction, and I wanted to be the seduced

Taking the dreaded trip to Maxim's Hair Salon to see if they could help with the unibrow, I felt embarrassed, like an old woman unsuccessfully trying to remove years through the miracle of a salon. After seeing the sexy oriental just out of high school, my mood changed. Things looked better; the future seemed filled with opportunity and wholesome Asians.

As I soon found out, good things sometimes happen to horny professors, because Miss Asian wasn't of the wholesome variety. She was a cute—damn straight cute—tiny with thin jet-black hair and large almond eyes. The sensation of having a pretty girl attending to my every whim excited me, ripening a ripe apple.

I became Mrs. Queer Courageous, and ordered a manny/petty, removal of the unibrow, and waxing of various body parts. She suggested a shaving; without a pause, I succumbed to the suggestion. Motioning me to the dressing room, she helped me change into a body towel the size of a dish rag. Her perfumed body moved in close, and she pressed her tiny breasts against my back. I sensed her bra-less breasts, which peaked my naked nipples. The Asian indicated for me to remove my rings and watch. I hesitated, knowing of my hidden suicide scar. Turning away, I removed the items and put them away.

She led me to a warm footbath and motioned for me to sit. Placing my feet in comforting bubbly water smelling of roses, she cleansed my feet. The cutie applied hot wax mixed with honey on my upper lip and between my eyebrows. "Hurt," she warned. With two expert yanks, she removed what Darwinian evolution hadn't weeded out yet. Yes, it hurt.

While the wax was warm, she warmed my happy trail by liberally applying a thin layer. Without notice she yanked, without notice I yelped. "Sorry," she said, and then giggled. I smiled and nodded, realizing I liked the small pain.

The Asian spent time removing the calluses from the underside of my feet. She pursed her lips, working on a rough area. I half expected her to plug in a grinder before trimming my nails.

Cutting each nail with precision, she moved like a surgeon. I moaned like a ticklish teen. She noticed and found little niches on my footsies of funsies, purposely fluffing and fluttering. The girl finished my feet and rubbed in cooling cream. Her hands and the cream traveled up my thighs. Pulling my towel back to expose my upper thighs, she continued to apply the lotion while she staring at my reaction. I smiled; I giggled; I chortled. I took her hand and invited her upward.

"Not here," she whispered, and moved to paint my toenails a delicious pink, while tickling places of pleasure.

Continuing the treatment with my hands, the Asian massaged each finger with a beguiling grin. Seeing my scar, she softly applied cooling lotion and looked at me with sorrow, sensing my pain.

Rubbing my palms with her thumbs, she moved close to me, resting her leg on my thigh. The move caused me to sigh, and she whispered, "Shhh." She finished my hands and applied the same pink color on my nails, leaving me waiting as they dried.

On a perceptual level, I understood this young woman knew her teasing caused me joy, but the thought that no one else in the salon knew provided a sense of unkempt lechery.

The girl returned and innocently smiled, asking, "Pussy?"

I nodded, thinking clitoral stimulation would soon befriend me. She returned my nod, and became my friend, leading me by the hand to a private room with a table and washbasin. She motioned for me to remove my towel and lie down, pulling out a razor. I understood what she meant by 'pussy'.

"What?" I asked. Losing the sparse black hair on my place of pride provided an unexpected challenge, but the thought of a beauty playing with my privates while shaving caused me to lose any resistance.

"I good shaver. You see," she said, soaking the razor in warm water. "No worries. Very careful. Turn."

She rested her hand on my thigh and patted, motioning for me to lie down on my chest. After correctly positioning, she said, "On knees. Bottom out."

I positioned on all fours like a dog, and she washed my bottom with soapy water and a rag. Applying a pink foaming lotion that smelled of jasmine on a warm spring day, she caused my cheeks to clench. But her gentle messaging and low throated mewling enabled me to relax.

"No move," she warned, and I felt the blade of the razor near my anus. She worked slowly with a sensuous touch, wiping the foam clean after each raking shave. After a few minutes, my former hairy bum looked like a baby's behind.

Motioning for me to turn over so she could address the hair of my middle, she smiled and gave me a wink. The young woman washed her hands in clean soapy water. Returning to my side, she soaked my womanhood with another wet towel and spread my legs. She applied the pink cream once again, and my legs involuntarily closed as she massaged my clit.

She spread my legs with a tender touch. The cooling central air teased my sex, and my arousal suddenly increased. Moving my slippery clit and lips to avoid the blade, the Asian moved in close. Her warm breath tickled my pussy, and she sniffed my scent. As the raking sensation of the blade and slippery fingers performed required tasks, I twisted with a wicked happiness. She finished and reached for a soft cloth.

I took her hand, and whispered, "Not over, yet?"

She smiled, understanding my arousal. Then she leaned forward, sending a small lick to my clit and looking at my eyes. I quickly nodded my head.

The Asian stood and removed her smock, revealing a wiry frame highlighted by ripped muscles. I didn't know this young woman. Damn, I didn't care. I needed sex, hot, cheap, indiscriminate sex. Sex with a stranger excited me in a fit of needy shame. My mind considered the new awaking rising in my soul and felt happy. Time to answer the questionnaire and check off the box marked queer.

She mounted me, straddling my pussy and bringing my leg up to her side. Feathering the lips of her middle across mine, her body felt intoxicating. Like a drunk wanting a bottle, moans drifted from my lips causing her to stop. I looked up and begged, "Please?"

She placed a finger to her lips to signal silence. I nodded, and she tribbed again ... and again ... and again. Kissing the bottom of my foot and sucking my toes, she continued her loving as I strained to contain my moans, keeping the noises to barely a whisper. I trembled in a silent of battle orgasmic freedom—freedom she unselfishly granted.

Gliding her wet lips against mine, she started whimpering softly while looking into my eyes. My right hand reached for her left, and we joined fingers; she smiled and whispered, "I come soon."

"Yes," I whispered back in a hushed voice.

Hugging my leg with her arms, she pressed tightly and quaked. The excitement of seeing her orgasm lit a fire in my heart. We came simultaneously, producing a slippery friction between our pussies. I felt her pussy spasm against mine, sharing a friendship that rippled through my middle in several quick bursts. She let out a single loud, "Hah!" and bit her knuckle.

Spent, she moved down on top of me, bringing her mouth to mine. My body continued to orgasm as she kissed me, pushing her hips at a steady pace. Her hand reached between my legs and found my lips, and then entered my folds between our slow moving bodies. She allowed no time for reprieve. I needed this woman's sex; her heady touch. Her free and easy manner unchained my burdened mind.