CockSparrow
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jul 4, 2022
- Posts
- 285
On a particularly cold early-November day, several years ago, I got a call from a headhunter. He wanted to know if I would be interested in a two-year contract with an outfit based in Sydney, Australia. I didn’t want to appear too eager. ‘Hmm… possibly,’ I said. ‘Send me the details and I’ll get back to you.’
‘The pack’ arrived about an hour later. The project sounded perfect. It was totally in my wheelhouse. While it was based in Sydney, there was a lot of international travel involved. I could understand how that might not appeal to everyone but, having no family to worry about at the time, I thought that was perfect. Contracts were signed and, a couple of weeks later, I was riding the big tin bird off to ‘the land downunder.’
One of the first things that I needed to do when I arrived in Sydney, even before I presented myself at my new office, was to get a haircut. One of the guys at the hotel reception desk had what looked like a pretty decent haircut, and so I asked him who cut his. He directed me to a little two-chair place down a small side street, not far from the hotel. He even made an appointment for me.
The salon was not much more that a hole in the wall. Just two stylist. No receptionists. No apprentices. And when I turned up for my appointment, there was only one stylist: C.
C was good-looking woman in her early 30s. And she was a conversationalist rather than a chatterbox. She also knew how to cut hair. At my second appointment with C, we just picked where we had left off the first time. And, on my third appointment (which was late in the afternoon), C was again on her own and she put up the closed sign, pulled down the blind, and asked me if I’d like a rum and coke. It would have been discourteous to have said no.
After she had finished shearing my locks, she gathered up our glasses and announced that ‘we had better have the other half’. Again, it would have been discourteous to have declined.
There was something different about C when she returned with the refreshed drinks: she was naked from the waist down. She handed me my drink. And then she handed me a condom. ‘We should probably use one,’ she said. And then she adjusted the height of her barber’s chair, knelt in it, and presented me with her pulchritudinous posterior. Perfect.
‘The pack’ arrived about an hour later. The project sounded perfect. It was totally in my wheelhouse. While it was based in Sydney, there was a lot of international travel involved. I could understand how that might not appeal to everyone but, having no family to worry about at the time, I thought that was perfect. Contracts were signed and, a couple of weeks later, I was riding the big tin bird off to ‘the land downunder.’
One of the first things that I needed to do when I arrived in Sydney, even before I presented myself at my new office, was to get a haircut. One of the guys at the hotel reception desk had what looked like a pretty decent haircut, and so I asked him who cut his. He directed me to a little two-chair place down a small side street, not far from the hotel. He even made an appointment for me.
The salon was not much more that a hole in the wall. Just two stylist. No receptionists. No apprentices. And when I turned up for my appointment, there was only one stylist: C.
C was good-looking woman in her early 30s. And she was a conversationalist rather than a chatterbox. She also knew how to cut hair. At my second appointment with C, we just picked where we had left off the first time. And, on my third appointment (which was late in the afternoon), C was again on her own and she put up the closed sign, pulled down the blind, and asked me if I’d like a rum and coke. It would have been discourteous to have said no.
After she had finished shearing my locks, she gathered up our glasses and announced that ‘we had better have the other half’. Again, it would have been discourteous to have declined.
There was something different about C when she returned with the refreshed drinks: she was naked from the waist down. She handed me my drink. And then she handed me a condom. ‘We should probably use one,’ she said. And then she adjusted the height of her barber’s chair, knelt in it, and presented me with her pulchritudinous posterior. Perfect.
