Cars, Haircare, and Kink

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Oddly, it started with a haircut. I’d taken a job in Florida working for a car dealership. We had a little of everything, foreign and American, nothing more than ten years old. I had a house two long blocks down from the dealership, so I walked back and forth most days.

I did own a 2011 Dodge Durango, with a V-6 and eight-speed automatic transmission. With this day of work done, I decided I was due for a haircut. Two blocks from my house was a small haircare place, and it being close, I decided to give it a try.

So I left work, got in the Dodge, and drove two blocks. I needed the A/C to cool off a bit, and it wouldn’t have been very cool to walk in dripping sweat. So I took the vehicle. The place was called Simple. They had a flat rate of $15, and a sign in the front window said “Walk-Ins Welcome.” So I parked and went in.

The place had a total of four seating stations, with a small waiting area to the right of the door. Also on the right, further back in the deep room, was the check-in / payment desk. I walked over and gave my name. There was one customer just leaving, and only this woman at the counter working in the shop.

I told the woman that I normally got a buzz cut, to about a quarter inch. “Hard to mess that up,” she told me. She set to work. As she moved around, leaning this way and that, she checked her watch several times. At one point, bent over working close to my right ear, she loosed what I could only assume was gas. It came out as a long, noticeable rumble, not overly loud. Eventually I caught a foul smell that hung around for a bit.

She moved to the other side and went to work. She bent and passed gas again. I could tell she was uncomfortable. She finished and asked if I wanted a wash. I said that would be fine. The chair went around, and she dropped the back toward the sink at the station. I positioned my head carefully. She wet it, and lathered shampoo. She worked down to my scalp carefully with her fingernails.

Oddly, her hands working my hair and my head felt really good. For the few minutes she continued, I felt myself becoming aroused. The woman finished my rinse, killed the water, and leaned over.

“Sorry,” she said, “but I gotta get this out. Sit tight..” She toweled my head, then pinched my nose gently. Then she proceeded to uncork a loud, crackling racket from her ass. She sighed, clearly relieved. She held my nose a bit longer, letting any bad odor pass.

“It’s been a couple days since I pooped,” she said quietly. “I have trouble relaxing too, but sometimes I relax when I don’t expect to, and that happens,” she admitted. “I guess I feel pretty relaxed around you, for whatever reason.”

“All right. That’s a little weird,” I said. “But I’ll go with it. Try this on, though. While you were washing my hair, I started to get hard.”

“Really,” the woman said. “Something about letting a woman wash your hair is a little erotic, then?”

“Must be,” I acknowledged.

I went over and settled the bill. “Hey, I noticed you checked your watch a few times, working on my hair,” I said.

“Well, yours truly needs a new car, and there’s that dealer not far from here. I don’t know their hours, but after work and some weekends would be the only time I could get there, and I want to check them out,” she said.

“I happen to work down there,” I said. We’re open till 6 on weekdays, eight on Saturday, ten till four on Sundays.”

The woman was already jotting on a scratchpad. I said, “If you really needed something different, I’m not a manager, but I could talk to the boss. He, me and one other guy do sales. Then we have two guys in financing and one more for parts and service.”

She made a couple more notes. She buttoned up the shop and we walked out together. “If I wanted to go down now,” she said, “would you have some time?”

“Yeah, let me give the boss a heads-up.” I withdrew and dialed my phone, and spoke for a couple minutes, and hung up. “We’re good,” I told her.

“I’m going to have to stop home and see if I can clear my insides,” she said quietly. I asked if she had her car, and she said her house was a block down, behind the shop. She had walked.

I pointed out my vehicle. “Really?” she asked. “Yeah,” I said. I popped the locks and we got in. “What are you driving now? Have you narrowed your options for new stuff?” I asked as I pulled out carefully, hit the corner, and made a left.

“Well, I want an SUV or crossover, not ungodly huge, but I want some room. I was thinking either a newer Durango or a Nissan Murano,” she said. Right now, I have a 2002 Pontiac Grand AM with 200,000 on it. Six years of co-owning the hair shop, I’ve put away over 10k toward new wheels,” she said. “I’d like to get by under 20k on the new vehicle,” she offered.

I proceeded to tell her that could be done. We didn’t have a Durango on the lot, but if it came down to it, we could round one up and make the sale at the agreed price. I offered to let her drive mine. I told her it was fully insured.

She çankaya escort now directed me into her driveway. We walked up together and she unlocked and entered. I continued, telling her we had a used Murano on the lot we could put out the door for eighteen thousand plus tax. Less than 40,000 miles, 2010 model, burgundy exterior with gray cloth interior, V-6, automatic CVT.

She said she would like to go down shortly and at least look at the Murano. She said the asking price suited her okay. She asked if it was the bottom line. It was, I said. Nissans generally retained strong resale value.

Lastly, she told me her name was Claire. She owned the haircare place with one other woman. She excused herself to the bath. I mentioned that my name was Rob. I gave her time and privacy.

While I waited, I also assessed her physical self. She looked to be thirty or so, and unless my eyes really fooled me, a natural redhead. She had green eyes. She wore her hair in a kind of tomboyish bowl cut, with the top longer than the sides and a bit longer than the back. At the front, a lock of hair drooped across her forehead.

She was just leaning toward an ample figure, maybe ‘good curves’ was the way to put it. Her chest was probably a large C-cup. Her butt wasn’t ‘junk in the trunk’ territory, just a bit broader than her waist and very rounded out.

Better than five minutes passed. Eventually I wandered to the closed door and gently asked if things were all right. I heard her start to answer me, then she paused and sighed, and said, “Rob…would you step in here, please?” I heard the lock click on the other side of the door.

“You’re sure you want me to do that,” I stated more than questioned.

“I think I am,” came her reply. I took a breath, turned the knob on the door, and entered. Her bath was actually fairly large, and in the corner behind the door was a barstool, which I promptly put to use.

Very shortly, there were two long, loud hissing notes sounded into the commode. I expected Claire would blush, but she simply sighed with some degree of relief. She sat for two or three minutes more. Nothing yet, I assumed.

“This is fucking up the game plan,” Claire stated with annoyance.

“Hey, whatever it takes. Don’t rush it,” I advised.

“It pisses me off,” she pointed out. “If I leave here, in five or ten minutes I’ll feel like I have to shit, and if I stay, nothing will happen.”

“So you called me in here to vent,” I decided.

She laughed, a sexy sound that was neither too high or too low. She turned to look at me, her eyes serious, and then soft. “Rob, would you…sit here with me?” She splayed her legs open.

“There probably isn’t room for both of us,” I joked. I stood.

“Humor me,” she said, with a straight face. “I want to visit the dealership in just a bit, and start getting the new car thing figured out.” She held a hand out. I took it. She guided me over in front of her, backed me up, and slowly lowered me to the spot between her legs. Her hands slid to rest on my knees.

She leaned forward, and her ample chest pressed gently into my back; she rested her chin on my right shoulder. It felt odd to be sitting on the toilet with my pants up, but what the hell. Claire sighed and relaxed some more. We sat for three minutes more. Claire remained still, breathing gently; I felt it on my face.

“Here it comes,” she said with a groan. I thought she might push right away, wanting it out. She didn’t. She stayed still and let the waste ease out further. Then she took a deep breath, and I felt her belly draw in.

Claire exhaled hard. Her hands clamped my middle. More muscles tensed, and she was pushing; I heard things sliding out of her. She groaned, then slumped some more. I heard her dump land in the toilet.

“Fuck. God, that felt good,” she said quietly near my ear.

“Too much information,” I declared.

She landed a closed fist on my other shoulder, and I registered dull pain. “Oh, that’s going to leave a mark,” I said, reaching to rub it.

I now noticed two things; one, the smell of sulfur in the air. Two, I was hard. Again. What the fuck? I thought briefly. She was good-looking, yes, and I was in close proximity to all the proper physical assets she had, but I’d just sat here while she took a shit. Huh.

Claire moved her hands and leaned back. I stood carefully. I asked if I could leave the room, and she nodded. I departed. Three minutes and a toilet flush later, she joined me, and we stepped out of the house and locked up.

I gave Claire my keys. “You know where the dealership is, right? Might as well be you who drives there,” I said. We got in, and she looked dumbstruck as she started the Dodge and clicked the seatbelt.

“You trust me to drive your car, after one haircut,” she said doubtfully.

“One haircut, a wash that made me hard, and a kinky pit stop you requested,” I corrected. “Besides, cebeci escort it’s fully insured.” A matter of a few minutes, and we rolled into the dealer lot. The showroom interior showed enough lights for us to take a good look at the Murano, which my boss had apparently moved inside to my lady friend to take as long a look as she chose to.

I directed her to park right in front of the door. My boss, Troy, was at the front desk, and as we entered, I heard one other guy working the computer in his office, down a narrow corridor set well back off the show floor along the right-hand wall.

“Hey, Troy. This is Claire. Thanks for making time for us at the end of the day.” I pointed. Claire was wandering slowly toward the burgundy Nissan, and she reached out and opened the driver door. She stuck her head in and looked all the way to the rear cargo area.

“It seems bigger on the inside than the outside makes you think,” she said.

“Nissans especially will do that. It’s well packaged, and surprisingly, the body shape lends itself to a roomy interior,” I said. She stepped up and slid into the driver seat. She took hold of the wheel, and found the tilt/telescope controls. She looked over both shoulders out the rear window. She used and adjusted the rear-view mirror. “It feels right,” she noted.

I went behind the front desk and unlocked the cabinet containing the keys for about 60 vehicles we had on the lot. I pushed a button, and the rear hatch rose open. Claire walked back and took a look at the cargo area directly. “The second set of seats folds close to flat,” I said. I showed her. She tried it successfully and noted, “Even with them up, there’s a fair amount of space. Probably would do everything I’d ever need.”

She seated herself in the second row, finding it pretty adequate. She told me she wanted to drive it, but felt she should give my Dodge a chance to stack up. I suggested we go to dinner in the Dodge, and she agreed.

She liked the Nissan. She thought all the stuff a person touches had a quality feel. The seats felt comfortable. While Troy was out of earshot, she asked, “Can you let him know the money situation? It’s not nice, but maybe ask him not to push hard to sell it?”

I could, and I said I would. She wanted to go out and wait in the Durango. I gave her the keys. She went out, and I stepped over to talk to Troy, back behind the front desk.

“This lady is very serious about new wheels. She has a successful haircare shop not far from here. She has five figures tucked away. It’s come down to looking hard at this and the Dodge. She’s driving a tired early-2k Pontiac Grand-Am with high mileage,” I said.

“There hasn’t been a ton of interest. A few questions, but the askers I think feel it’s overpriced. None have ever owned a Nissan previously, because I asked,” Troy said to me.

I asked him not to sell it out from under us, saying I felt there was a 75 to 80 percent chance Claire would buy after driving it. We shook on it, and I thanked Troy and returned the keys to their spot. I wandered out and joined Claire.

She suggested Italian for dining, and I didn’t disagree. She drove ten minutes to a place both of us knew. She ordered spaghetti. I chose lasagna, and we ordered a medium Chicago-style pizza to go, split between the two of us, for another night’s dining.

Claire looked at me nervously and posed a question.

“Hey, it might be stupid of me to ask, but what are the odds I could borrow that Nissan off the lot for a weekend, long enough to get a feel for if I really would like it?”

“We generally don’t do that kinda thing. But I could maybe make a deal with Tony, tell him I’d leave the Dodge as collateral, and take the dealer loaner car for a couple days. Can’t tell you what he might say to the offer,” I finished.

“How big a pain in the ass would it be for you to be without the Durango?” she questioned.

“Not that bad. Our prime loaner is a 2010 Lincoln MKZ,” I stated.

“So can I have the Durango all day tomorrow, run out to a movie with my shop co-owner?” she pressed.

Very deliberately and completely smoothly, I stared at her and let my mouth go slack. “Well, I guess I’m the genie, then,” I said.

“I didn’t mean it like that—” she started, and I saw color creep into her face.

“You need some drive time anyway,” I admitted. “More than just a tool around the block.” I didn’t play any more sarcastic than that. Besides, she had ammunition with me, getting hard while she shit a brick; I was surprised she hadn’t fired that across my bow yet.

We finished dinner. Driving being necessary, neither of us touched wine. We slid into the vehicle after settling the tab and getting outside.

“You okay if we just drive around for a bit?” Claire asked.

Gas was pricey, but I liked Claire, and I liked the idea of just us for a bit longer, at the moment. So I obliged. She drove out of the city to the network of two-laners çukurambar escort and laid into the right pedal just a little. She used the mirrors and rear window, turn signals, and drove smoothly. She noted the rear window wasn’t quite as big as it seemed from the outside; rear visibility was just a little hampered.

The Nissan window was no bigger, but its different shape lent itself to pretty good sightlines. I mentioned this. Silence reigned for a few minutes. Then Claire dropped the other shoe.

“So, I noticed your soldier was about ready for battle while we were in the bathroom. Something about ladies doing the deed turn you on, too? You haven’t gone kinky peeping tom in your spare time?”

“No,” I answered immediate;y. “But, the relief process does touch an erotic note. Since I’m straight it’s ladies only. The biggest thing I’ve been known to do is dream about it. Circumstances get created, and I manufacture women of my choice, and things get kinky.

“In reality, if I personally think a woman is attractive, she pops into my dreams sometimes. A woman taking a shit is particularly appealing. Why it started being a turn-on, I don’t know. But the act of her emptying herself in my presence, and feeling physical relief, is erotic. Seeing the shit come out, or seeing it after she finishes, is appealing. Big loads get me hard. I imagine the lady pushing that out of her, and my dick goes to work.”

“On the surface, if you look at that activity being a turn-on, that’s weird,” Claire decided. “But then, you were there at my request. But I’m not a bombshell,” she noted.

“You just have a little meat on your bones. Skinny chicks are too skinny for me, 80 percent of the time. And it you asked again, I’d waltz to the toilet for you,” I declared.

“That might happen. For me, pooping takes time. It seemed to be a little easier with you around. If your preferences are a little out there, apparently my desire to have you around is, too,” Claire said. “But what the hell, if we’re both okay and not freaking out about it, there’s really no harm in it.”

Claire circled back toward home. I told her not to forget to stop at the dealership so I could scarf the Lincoln. We arrived, I entered the building for the keys, and directed Claire to the rear of the showroom building. I unlocked a service door, located the MKZ, and slid in to start. I used the onboard opener to get the overhead door, drove out, closed it, and locked the service door.

Claire had the window down on the Durango. “My place?” she called.

“Yeah, I’ll follow you,” I said, and I did. When we got there, I called Troy to let him know about the Lincoln and why. He called me a ‘generous guy.’ Discussing the Nissan would wait until tomorrow. I got off the phone and filled Claire in. She paid attention and nodded.

We sat down together on her couch. She told me she’d had a nice time, and thanked me for working to connect her to a new vehicle she could likely drive for another ten years.

“Now this is going to sound odd, but until this car deal is done at least, if I have to take a dump, I’m coming to you. At least that way I can get it done, instead of being uncomfortable,” she informed me.

“I can probably let you,” I said.

“I’m still kind of wondering why me, though,” she admitted.

“I personally find you attractive. To me, your body isn’t ugly, nor is your face. Besides, letting you take care of my hair is a turn-on too. I like big butts too. I’m not insulting you, I just noticed yours is to my liking,” I offered.

“Jesus, no beating around the bush. What am I into here?” Claire wondered. “I was going to tell you, we see each other over the next few days, I’ll wash your hair once a day, give you a turn-on and crank you up a little,” she offered.

“Yes, please,” I said in acceptance. She proceeded to say she had a small haircare station in her basement. “That way, it’s just us, and I don’t have to worry about other customers at the shop,” she explained. We wrapped our arms around each other in a lingering hug.

“God, you’re half hard already. Out you go. See you tomorrow,” Claire said.

I bid her goodnight, went through the door, and made the short drive home to go to bed.

Day Two

Today was Friday, end of the work week. Hell yes. On lunch, which took forever to come around, I pitched Tony on borrowing the Nissan to Claire. Because it was me, and with the confidence I had that she would buy, and my willingness to use the Dodge as collateral, he agreed. I told him to roll the Murano into the loaner bay. We’d pick it up tonight.

So I cranked through the afternoon. I sold a new 2013 Ford Fusion, a gently used F-150, and a three-year old, leased and returned Infiniti G37 coupe. That constituted a busy afternoon, but we got those a couple times a month.

End of the day, I knocked off and reminded Tony we’d return for the SUV, and leave mine in the bay. I went home and showered, leaving my hair so I could hold Claire to her offer. I wanted to let her make me get sprung.

I ate dinner and kicked back in front of the TV, fully expecting Claire. An hour later, the knock came, though it wasn’t necessarily her. Turned out it was. She stepped in and seated herself on my loveseat, on the other side of my end table and my primary recliner.

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