Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

The absolute state of him, though! Those shoulders. His skin glistened. Gleaming black curls cascaded down his back. On another man, this style might have looked effeminate, or out-dated, but on him it worked. Somehow, he made it look manly. He could have pirouetted in a tutu and belted out The Weather Girls, and it would still be the most macho thing I'd seen all day.

Still a junior stylist, I'd been working at the salon for a while. Like many of the staff, I'd developed the skill of flicking half an eyeball in a door-wardly direction whenever anyone came in. This was partly to ensure nobody ever entered without some form of prompt acknowledgement from somebody, and partly because, to be honest, I'm a bit nosey.

Usually, on seeing that Demi on the front desk had it covered, and the newcomer didn't look interesting, I returned my full attention to whatever cut, colour, curl, or shampoo I was doing.

This time, not so much.

The appearance of this stranger caused a kind of drawn-out glitch. Staff and customers alike froze in the middle of whatever they were doing and gawped. It was as if a prize bull had just trotted in to the hen coop.

I'd read about "muscles rippling" in cheap romance novels, but I didn't think that happened in real life. I caught myself licking my lips. When I dragged my eyes off him, I saw other members of staff, both male and female, were similarly enchanted.

Oh, I'd have loved to get my hands on him! I itched to run my fingers through those glossy waves. The boss pulled rank, though, so all the rest could do was watch with green eyes as she spent ages discussing with him what treatments he wanted. There was far more throaty chuckling and arm tapping than was strictly necessary, but what could any of us do?

Eyelashes were batted. Daphne, the most junior on the team, was snapped at to put that bloody broom away and make the customer a strong tea. His gorgeous locks were soaped, and rinsed, and deeply conditioned. His scalp was massaged. Hot towels were brought. His beard and moustache were curated carefully against his skin. A leathery cleavage was displayed on multiple occasions. Nipples nudged those biceps, while glossy lips whispered close enough to brush his earlobes.

At one point, thoroughly pampered, he set his cup aside, leaned back in his seat and rested his eyes. The boss stalked over. I could hardly believe what she asked me to do.

"Are you sure?"

The woman had a gaze like a steel trap.

"Of course I'm sure. Do as you are told!"

"Sorry, Delilah. How much should I... I mean, how short does he wat to go?'

"Just cut it all off!"

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I took my comb and scissors and went to work on that lovely hair. I'd wanted to, in a way. But not like this. I'd wanted to wash it, maybe trim it a bit... Not lop it all off. It felt wrong. Honestly, I could have cried.

When I got the clippers out to tidy up the nape of his neck, his eyes snapped open and he let loose a girlish scream. The mirrors rattled with it. His eyes bugged out of his face. He leapt to his feet and staggered to the door, which simply wouldn't open no matter how much he pushed on it.

We all stared, dumbstruck. With his back to the door, he slid down until he sat puddled on the black and white tiles. Those mighty shoulders slumped, as if he were a balloon, and someone had let all the air out of him.

I didn't have the heart to tell him the door was marked "pull".

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Thank you for reading!

This is a modern take on Samson and Delilah. I decided there was no reason a manly man couldn't enjoy a spot of self-care. Has he really lost his strength, or is it all in his head? Who knows. In the Bible story, his hair is almost like a magic feather, because (spoiler alert) he does get his strength back when he really needs it, by praying. Mind you, in that story, he is also blinded. I was going to have some chemical spill into his eyes, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

This is my fourth biblical outing. If you are not easily offended:

Thanks again!