Don’t argue with a man who’s armed with scissors

 

Within 20 minutes of meeting him, he murmured in my ear, “So, how about you come round to my house later and give me a blow job?”.

Now, let’s be clear, we weren’t actually on a date or anything (even so, it would have been rather forward…). No.

He was my new hairdresser.

Yes, he was cutting my hair, in the middle of a salon, when he decided to give me the come-on. And I still have no idea, to this day, what compelled him to take that conversational turn. And, no, I didn’t accept his kind offer.

5 thoughts on “Don’t argue with a man who’s armed with scissors”

  1. Surprising this……apart from your dad and me,I thought all ladies hairdressers were gay.Although a lot of people thought we were mainly because of our tactility and close relationship.Could have been a lot worse though,I do remember one day in the salon when your dad said,to one of my clients”we’re into recycling now,seems a shame to waste all this hot soapy water I’ll get one of the girls to bring in the stirrups and give you a complementary Paul Mitchell enaema!Real poo not shampoo?

    1. Haha, I can just imagine dad coming out with that line! Nope, he was definitely into the ladies, and spent the remainder of the appointment telling me about other women that he fancied.

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