FIVE
Anna
Fisher Knox was different. Soft spoken and satisfied with life’s simplest offerings, he was an anomaly. From the time he woke up until the moment he went to sleep, he was the polar opposite of my former boyfriend, Josh.
He spoke very little. When he did, it was typically confirming something I’d said or had asked. That is correct was a phrase I’d become accustomed to hearing. I wondered if his simplistic manner of being was a result of the time he’d spent in prison, and further wondered if he’d become more outspoken as time passed.
My full bladder awoke me from a sound night’s sleep. I glanced around the hotel room, surprised that the sun was already up. Beside me, Fisher was motionless, still deep in sleep. As much as I needed to relieve myself, I didn’t want to move for fear of waking him.
For as long as I was able, I remained motionless, admiring his muscular physique and handsome looks. I wondered what experiences he had during the war, and how they might have changed him.
Regardless, I liked the man who was with me.
My pounding bladder eventually forced me to get up. With reluctance, I lifted my head form the pillow, hoping to slide from the bed unnoticed. Curiosity caused me to peer beneath the blankets, hoping to catch a glimpse of just what Fisher Knox had stuffed inside his cut-off sweat shorts.
A glimpse of his left arm and the waist band of his shorts were all that was visible. I lifted the blankets a little higher. Then, a little more. And then…
Holy shit.
I pulled the blanket against my chest. With my heart thrashing against my ribs and my mind wallowing in the sexual gutter, I stared at the ceiling, feigning innocence.
Based on his confidence and his Marine Corps swagger, I was convinced that he was well-endowed. The massive bulge in his shorts confirmed my suspicions. He was hung like a horse. After taking a moment to collect my thoughts, I faked a yawn, lifting the blankets as I stretched.
I stole another glance of his magnificent cock, and then slid off the side of the bed without so much as a shred of grace. When I landed to the floor, he stirred.
“Sorry,” I said as I rose to my feet. “I had to pee.”
He sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and looked at me. “I needed to get up anyway.” He looked around the room. “It’s late.”
I walked backward toward the bathroom, keeping my eyes fixed on him in the process. “Late for you, maybe. It was nice to sleep in.”
He lifted a handful of his hair and looked at it. “Are you any good at cutting hair?”
I paused at the bathroom door. “What do you mean?”
“Can you cut my hair? You know, make it look good? Girls can do that kind of stuff, right?”
“Girls can’t, no. But, I can. You’re lucky. I learned to cut hair when I was young, I had to.”
The thought of cutting his hair was exciting. I liked it long, but it needed something.
“Let me pee,” I said, trying to mask my excitement. “Then, I’d love to.”
He stared at the ends of hair that sprouted from his fist. “Go pee.”
As mysteriously as my menstrual cycle had arrived, it had also vanished, leaving me horny as hell in its wake. Initially, I found the thought of cutting Fisher’s hair intimate. In the time it took me to pee, that intimate thought became sexual.
Fisher Knox had a cock like a porn star, and I wanted it. I imagined riding it cowgirl style, sinking my fingers into the flesh of his broad chest while I bucked my hips wildly against the girth of his massive shaft.
I came out of the bathroom horny, embarrassed, and feeling guilty for stealing a glimpse of his manhood. My level of sexual frustration multiplied the instant I opened the door.
Fisher stood directly in front of me with a shallow smile on his face. His hands were filled with clothes and toiletries, and hung directly in front of his waist, obscuring any more views of his massive bulge.
“Uhhm. Excuse me,” I stammered, raising my gaze from his waist to his eyes.
“I’m going to hop in the shower.”
“It’d be best to cut your hair wet, anyway,” I said as I brushed past him. “We can cut it after you get done. How short are you thinking?”
He shrugged. “I’ll let you decide.”
I turned around and gestured toward the clothes he held. “Don’t bother getting dressed. Maybe just wear a towel until we’re done. It’s going to make a mess.”
“Okay.”
A mental fist pump followed his agreement to get his hair cut while wearing a towel.
Yes!
“Okay,” I said, my tone indifferent. “Well, I’ll just be out here watching TV.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
I felt the need to remind him of his commitment to me. “You’ll probably need to rinse off after we’re done. I wouldn’t bother with, you know, putting anything on but the towel. Not until after you’ve rinsed off.”
He shrugged and then stepped into the bathroom. “Okay.”
Yes!
I spent the next five minutes mentally undressing him. Although we’d slept together for the last three nights, I had yet to see him without a shirt on. The wife beaters that he typically wore left very little to the imagination, but I still yearned to see him naked.
At least from the waist up.
After some consideration, I removed my bra, and put it in my bag. A haircut without a bra would be nice for us both. Hopefully, he’d notice the difference.
He emerged from the bathroom wearing a towel around his waist, and a white tee shirt covering his torso. Upon seeing him, disappointment washed over me.
“You’ll probably want to ditch that shirt,” I said. “You’ll have hair all over it if you don’t.”
He gave me a look. “I don’t want to sit around while you cut my hair without a shirt on. It’d be rude.”
“It won’t bother me. You know. Considering the circumstances.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
I waited anxiously, but he simply walked past me and began to dig through his bag.
“Seriously,” I said, hoping not to sound desperate. “Take it off.”
He stood, scissors in hand, and turned around. “Alright.”
I bit into my bottom lip and waited impatiently. He lifted his shirt over his head with one hand, and tossed it on the foot of the bed.
Oh. My. God.
He was an anomaly.
I tried not to stare, but doubted I succeeded. At least not wholly.
In addition to having a cock that commanded applause, he was built like a brick shithouse. His muscles had muscles.
With my eyes fixed on where his tanned flesh disappeared beneath the towel, I swallowed hard and then tried to speak.
I pointed at the chair positioned in front of the well-worn desk. “Have a…have a seat.”
He sauntered toward the chair and sat down.
I studied the shape of his back as I walked up behind him. His muscular build didn’t come from time in prison, or from military training. Nor was it a result of God gracing him with a certain gene.
It came from a lifetime of discipline.
He raised the scissors over his shoulder and handed them to me blindly. With a shaking hand, I took them from his grasp, wondering the entire time if there was any way I’d be able to cut his hair without melting into a puddle at his feet.
“What were you, uhhm. What were you thinking?” I murmured.
“Cut it off.”
“How short?”
“Off.”
It was well taken care of, and in better condition than most women’s hair. Cutting it off seemed like such a drastic move.
“Like, to your shoulders?” I asked.
“No. Go ahead and cut it off. I’d like to look presentable this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“When we get to the coast, I don’t want to look like a bum.”
“You don’t look like a bum.”
“Thank you. But, cut it off, anyway. Short on the sides and back. Leave some length on top.”
“Oh wow. You’re serious.”
“That is correct.”
I mentally rolled my eyes at his response. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
I let out a breath. “Okay.”
I cut and snipped with precision, rubbing my breasts against Fisher’s bare back every chance I got. I pressed them hard against his shoulders and brushed them lightly against his face, hoping to get a rise out of his towel. My efforts produced nothing noticeable.
It certainly wasn’t from lack of trying. I’d all but assaulted him with my boobs during the haircut, struggling the entire time not to stare at his muscular chest and chiseled abdomen.
Twenty minutes later, my nipples were sore, and his hair was perfect. After a close examination of his new hairdo, I stepped aside and gazed down at the pile of hair that surrounded him.
“You can go rinse off now.”
“Gimme a minute,” he whispered.
The change was drastic, leaving him looking like a muscular model for a salon or shampoo product line. I looked him over and grinned at my accomplishment. “Be sure and brush that hair off your lap before you go in there. I’ll clean it up while you’re showering.”
“It’ll be a minute.”
He sat rigid in his seat, staring through the blinds and into the parking lot.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“I just need a minute.”
“Are you alright?”
He glanced over his shoulder. His mouth slowly curled into a grin. “Do you think it’s easy for me to refrain from reacting to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you trying to tell me your boobs were in my face by accident?”
I was busted. My face went hot. “I uhhm. I was just…”
“Well, I need a minute,” he said dryly. “You got me a little flustered.”
“I can help you with it,” I said, twisting my hips back and forth as encouragement. “If you want me to.”
He glanced at his crotch and then at me. After a short pause, he stood. His muscular perfection had me mentally stammering for what I should do or say.
“There’ll be none of that until we make it to the coast,” he said.
I felt like someone had popped my birthday balloons. “Are you sure? I’m good to go.”
“I’ve got some things I need to take care of first.”
I had some things I needed to take care of, too. My crotch was tingling. There was only one thing that would satisfy me, and Fisher Knox had it hidden beneath his towel.
“You’ve got to take care of something on the coast before we can mess around? That seems weird.”
“It might to you, but it makes sense to me. If it goes the way I want it to, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“If what goes the way you want it to?”
“My meeting.”
“With who?”
“An old friend.”
“Female friend, or male friend?”
“Male.”
“Oh.”
“I’m going to rinse off.”
“I’ll just be out here wishing I was in there with you.”
“Believe me,” he said. “You’re not the only one wishing.”