Slap goes for a haircut, ends up getting wanked off
After entering the Salon I could pretty much tell from the outset that I would not be leaving this particular establishment with the current contents of my knackers left unscathed.
Two main factors contributed to this prediction - a) I was in an advanced state of intoxication and b) The hairdresser was in an advanced state of being a slut.
She,-or a least I think it was a she; it fucking better of been a she - ,greeted me at the threshold of her premises like a whiny fucking bar girl, 'Hello, welcome' she enthusiastically screeched in English.
She continued to offer me a seat on the provided sofa which was still wearing its polythene covering and inquired into whether I'd like a beer!
A beer, you say. What an interesting notion.
I quickly checked my surroundings to make sure that I hadn't mistakenly walked into a fucking knocking shop and began to scrutinize my host.
Short skirt, high heels, risque blouse in terms of shade and lack of body coverage, tattoo around the ankle. Yes, even through my drunken haze I already knew more about this women than her own mother did.
"YOU have fairly recently disembarked from a relatively short but intense career of selling your backside to fat white people. One such fat white person became obsessed with your ability to not be repulsed by his naked form and in turn your sexual prowess.
You both spent hours, days, weeks passionately laughing together, him at the sweet mystery that is true love and you at your ever growing bank balance.
When the time finally arrived for him to depart, he stuffed your pockets with currency and told you to get educated before starting a business which didn't involve sucking cocks or taking massive fuck-off dildos up the arse. Making promises of returning thrice annually, he bundled you lovingly in his arms one last time before heading meekly towards the departure gate, leaving you pretending to cry next to the Bureau de Change.
You caught a taxi and headed straight back to your unscrupulous profession where you engaged in two more weeks of punting your snatch out before abiding to the fat white person's wishes.
Although now you have a relatively well established beauty salon, you have become bored and discontent with your lot. The thrice annual visits from your sponsor appear to have diminished into twice and now once a year, which isn't a huge problem but you crave the attention you received so much of in your former vocation. You pine longingly for the hedonistic charms of the red light district and have so far managed to suppress the urge to return by drinking heavily and fornicating with anyone with a foreign accent..."
In which case, my dear, I'll let you lead the way...
