The Hair Stroke

I am sitting on the balcony of our family home in Jinja, Uganda, looking at the River Nile right at the bottom of our garden. This spot and this view has truly added a lot of colour to my otherwise boring visit. I look at the security guard standing at the gate and do an internal sulk at how strict my parents are. My siblings and I have not been able to leave the house without my parent’s permission and them being alerted. Every day, I do an internal sulk at the thought that so many of my freedoms are restricted here. I could be dishonest and say that it is the socio-political climate of conservative and homophobic Uganda that makes me feel suffocated, but the truth is, even when I am back home in South Africa, I don’t feel free to be myself and do as I please when I am with my family. So, never mind any ideas of having a holiday fling with a hot Ugandan woman; I don’t even allow myself to crave a drink or spliff.

My younger siblings on the other hand are more resilient in trying to mine out small pockets of joy at whatever cost, even in the outskirts of this small and quiet town. My sister convinces me to go hunting for wine in town. She’s tracked down a bottle store which also happens to be close to a hair salon, a convenient location for mom’s driver to drop us off without suspicion.

I get out of the car and I am chuckling internally at the extent we always have to go just to live a little in this household.

“Girl, this can’t be it. Imagine saying taking a trip to the salon was the highlight of your holiday.” My sister is already cooking up an excuse to leave the house again this weekend.

We’re greeted by a warm smile and led to two seats in the styling section. I am still scanning the very well decorated place that I hardly notice the hairdresser as she steps up behind me.

“Hi, my name is Carol.” I look up at the reflection in the mirror and this person’s face is as seductive as is their voice. “What can I do for you today?”

I feel myself blushing for no reason.

“I would like to unplait, wash and treat my hair. Then I want to gel it into a high pony.”

Carol blows out some air. “Ok, that’s gonna take a while, and we’re supposed to be closing in an hour. Lemme check with my manager before we start.”

I watch as Carol walks away. Carol is tall and slim, with a very sure stride to her walk. Her denim jeans hang loosely off her small waist, and she looks very smart in the work, Chinese collar style shirt. I can tell she isn’t wearing a bra and I find myself imagining how firm and perky her breast must be under that…

“Ooooh girl!!!” My sister coos at me. “I see what you see! You better thank me, you’re getting some eye candy today.”

I blush again.

I chuckle. She isn’t lying. A little eye candy has never hurt anybody. It’s probably the most I’ll get here. I do another scan of the salon and I notice though that all these hairdressers look good and have a very queer vibe to them. I imagine that the owner is an organiser in the queer community and dedicates her home and business to supporting and keeping other queer people safe. Ugandan women are gorgeous, but when Carol’s reflection came back to fill the mirror, I knew she was my eye’s favourite to behold.

“We’re good to go. I’ll just lock up when we’re done.”

The idea of Carol and I being left alone together in the salon when everyone leaves gives me butterflies in my tummy.

“How long will you be?” I ask her.

Carol looks at her watch and my eyes automatically catch her thin and long fingers rolling up into a fist.

“I work quickly, so not long. Two hours, two and a half max.”

“Great. That gives me enough time to walk around!” My little sister, who was never intending on getting her hair done, gets up to leave. “Text me when you’re almost finished.”

I ease into my chair and distract myself from the naughty thoughts in my mind by fiddling on my phone

“What’s your name?” Carol asks.

“I’m Rea.” I reply. The way Carol is looking at me through the mirror suggests she’s been looking at me for a while.

“You’ve got beautiful hair, Rea. Thick and full.”

Her enunciation on the last three words makes me shy and I look away, refocusing on my phone.

Is she flirting with me?

Carol is hardly halfway with un-braiding my hair when the first of her colleagues start packing up to leave. I usually don’t mind making small talk while I am doing my hair, but I am feeling shy around this woman’s big clit energy. I want to look at her perfect face forever but I am afraid she’ll catch me and immediately know what is going on in my mind. She may look androgynous, but she could be the straightest person in this room and who knows how she’d react if she suspected I was flirting with her. It’s not the country and place to be taking those kinds of chances.

By the time Carol ushers me to the back of the salon to wash my hair, it’s just her and I left in the salon. I sit back into the reclined chair and rest the small of my neck on the basin. My view of Carol from this angle makes me swallow hard. I can see some muscle under her shirt and there is definition in her lower arms. She has a tattoo of a string of roses that runs down her other arm. Her hair is neatly cut into a fade with a short but lush afro at the top. I can tell she is quite hairy from the neatly shaven sideburns that frame her long face. Her cheek bones lead to both her best features, her seductive eyes and lips. It’s hard to decide which to look at when she’s talking. She has a prominent Adam’s apple. Her resting face is one that says don’t even try to talk to me, but when she makes eye contact, it evokes a warmth in me. Her smile exposes a glimpse of a kinky rebellion and everything in me tells me there is no way this woman can be straight. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

I quickly dart my eyes away as she looks down at me.

“Is this temperature ok?”

“It’s perfect.” I reply.

Carol’s hands are firm yet soft as she runs them through my curly afro. The foaming of the shampoo and her rhythmic movements make me close my eyes and I lose myself in the lovely sensations. She washes my hair thoroughly before closing the water to fetch the treatment.

“Please sit up.”

I follow her instructions. Carol parts my hair and generously lathers my afro with the cream. It’s a minty, ticklish feeling on my scalp and I welcome how refreshing it is. She starts massaging my scalp from the bottom of my neck, rubbing her thumbs in small circles while her fingers do back and forth motions. She is working my scalp so deliberately, my head moves with her in the direction of her force. She bends my head forward as she rubs the back, to one side, and then the other, and when she straightens my head to lather the centre and front, I feel her tug a little tighter at my hair and I let out an involuntary moan. I am so turned on by this head rub, I can feel my chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. Carol’s tempo steadies gently and she goes from large slow circles with her fingers, to smaller quick ones in intervals. She is sending pleasurable yet agonisingly intense waves of pleasure through my body. I moan again. As if reading my mind, Carol focuses her thumbs and each of her fingers on one spot on my head and rubs deeper, slower, and more deliberately. I am squirming in my seat, and I feel like I am about to explode in orgasmic pleasure, so I shoot my eyes open, and there I see Carol staring straight into my face, as if lost in a trance, rubbing my scalp without taking her eyes off me. She looks away, as if caught out and immediately turns away to open the water. Instinctively I lay back against the basin again. The intense build up in my body doesn’t have a chance to subside when our eyes meet. We hold a gaze for a second and I sorely wish she would lean into me and kiss me. The water starts running through my hair and I am now hyper aware of how wet I am. I close my eyes and relish the feeling of Carol’s fingers caressing my scalp and I imagine how those fingers would feel if they could extinguish the fire that was now raging in my nipples and in my clit. I feel Carol’s body posture change and she is now standing closer to me. It’s as if I can feel the warmth of her body from underneath her skin. It’s as if her skin is screaming for me to touch her too, or maybe it’s just my own palms, itching with desire and craving to feel her against me. She gently kneads the length of my neck, as low as my collar bone, then goes up to massage my ears, rubs my temples then back to my scalp. She resumes her circle-and stroke technique, my head bobbing from side to side in her hands, and this time, I don’t resist the build up in my body. I feel the tingles in my spine drop down to my toes and my pussy starts to throb, contract and relax as a slow, drawn-out orgasm spreads through my unsuspecting and unexpecting body.

I allow the feeling to melt away with the water and give myself a chance to catch my breath. 

This woman just made me cum without even touching me like that.

All this while, I keep my eyes shut in shame and fear of exposing what had just happened. My heart is racing, and I can feel sweat beads on my forehead. I hope to God Carol doesn’t notice.

“Did you enjoy that?” How she asks me that question lets me know she may not be talking about the hair wash.

When I eventually open my eyes to respond to her, Carol is looking at me in admiration, a self-satisfied look on her face.

“I did. I really did.”

The sound of our footsteps fill the quiet, empty salon as we make our way back to the styling station. There is heavy tension in the air as Carol continues to do my hair, and the silence between us makes it even more noticeable. We occasionally lock eyes in the mirror, and sometimes I can tell she is touching my hair purely for her and my enjoyment. My panties are drenched and the frustration of not being able to do anything about my situation seems to turn me on even more.

“Thank you. I really like my hair.” I tell Carol as I put the money on the counter. “You’re very good with your hands.”

“It really was my pleasure.” Carol puts her hand over mine before pulling the money towards her. She doesn’t take her eyes off me. Something about the way she said that makes me think she probably enjoyed washing my hair as much as I did.

She pushes my change back towards me and on top is a sticky note with a number on it.

“If you like, when you’re tired of that hairstyle, I’d really love to wash your hair again. You can come back here, but I could do an outcall on my day off.”

I struggle to hide the excitement on my face.

“Thank you. I’ll definitely give you a ring.”

My little sister walks in just as I am putting the change in my purse. Carol and I are startled and jump like two teenagers who have just been caught out d

oing something they shouldn’t be.

“What. Was. That?” she asks me when we’re in the car on our way home.

“Let’s just say, this trip to the salon may just be the highlight of my holiday after all.”

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