His hair-clipper always sets the mood
His fingers habitually maneuver around the hard machine
With one flick of a button, it growls to life
He tones the sound down and all that’s left is a soft sensual vibration
He places his hands on my right shoulder, a bit firmer than usual
We look at each other in the mirror
“The usual?” he asks “Yes” I reply
With yen in my eyes
His fingers caress my ear, gently tilting it backwards and forward
To get the perfect angle
His hands slowly re-mould me and call to surface a million different feelings
The tip of his hard machine makes its way down my neck
Pass the sensitive areas
His bodily hair stroking my already sensitive skin
His arms are strong beyond doubt strong
He skillfully walses around me, shaving off bits of my hair
Now and then I’ll feel him
Against my back as he stands behind the chair.
If there’s anything more masochistic
Is when he tilts my head up and slowly rubs anti-irritant around my once hairy beard area
It stings, but it’s nothing he has not done to me before
In my head we have made passionate love countless times in that chair
Skilled, yes he was, in making my pleasure his purpose
As he was in cutting my hair.
CEASER MATA
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