Reading Time: 3 minutesCan’t the rain ever stop? This continual rain that nearly drowned out Bob’s groaning. Some moaning and the associated pain. Bob was looking in the mirror again. Looking at his open sores, the pustule breakout of his latest cold sores. He had two burst out the day before yesterday and they kindly provided the Elephant Man style he hated so much. Bob had a nasty face.
He hadn’t had one for ages he thought, why now? His carefully sculptured two day growth look (both beard and head) had been shattered by this virus erupting to the right side of his lip and the platform presenting just below his mouth. This one on his chin sat there dead centre like a plateau of rupturing bacteria. The tingling nerve end pain was more annoying than painful, but the visual was very painful indeed. A very nasty face.
Bob had plans. He had some fantasy role play to play and some fantasy to live. How can he do either today with his face looking like a cancerous breakout in a New York back alley trash can. He was distracted from his condition as he slipped into serious fantasy mode.
A haircut and nasty face
She had organised a haircut. This haircut was in a real proper barber chair and the chair had the fully functioning reclining feature. It also pumped up to lift the passenger to about chest high. His friend had some chest to get high on that’s for sure. She was called Betty and she dressed for the occasion. She was wearing a very suitable outfit, armed with scissors and a smile that would disarm the longest of hairs. Bob didn’t have much hair.
He only sported a crew cut but it needed some close attention from Betty. She made sure that his attention was close to bursting. The process was very professional and managed to achieve the closeness Bob had been expecting.
The trimming, preening, massage and accidental brushing of her beautiful nature was Bob’s dream. Betty was pretty pleased as well. She’d suggested that Bob would enjoy his hair cut and she sure knew how to make that happen. Betty would enjoy it as well.
Bob bounced back to the real world as the rain got louder outside. The distraction was unfortunate but it focused poor old Bob back to his face. What can he do? Well, nothing today, the face was in control and it didn’t seem to be letting go anytime soon.
Bob wandered about the house, glancing at the TV, checking Facebook and scanning his phone for texts. Sometimes he received some rather racy texts and he was almost addicted to checking for more. One such text arrived and Bob forgot about his nasty face for a moment or so.
It was Betty
She’d had an idea and she wanted to give Bob a haircut. Wow! How could she have known? Was she really suggesting a haircut in the way Bob had been thinking about. Looking out the window at the never ending rain again.
Bob replied … “I’ve got a nasty face that would sink some ships today but I’m in desperate need of a haircut. When and where?”
Betty replied quick smart with the news that she’d found an old barbers chair and was having delivered that afternoon. Betty had remembered Bob’s fantasy and had the necessary gumption, funds and her own urge to fulfil it.
“Would Bob like to be the first client? Say mid afternoon?”
“Fuck yeah” … said Bob, texting like a randy mouse … “I’ll be there at 15.00 is that OK?”
“Sure” … Betty texted back almost at the same time he sent his.
“Just how bad is your face? send me a photo. If it’s too bad maybe we can postpone until you’re better.” Sadly Bob had a nasty face.
Disappointed with a nasty face
Bob sat there, crestfallen, pissed off and ready as hell. The custard coloured pustule party on his face would turn anyone off. It would frighten small children and even give Frankenstein’s monster a run for his money. Betty won’t want to get all hairdresser on him when he looks like this. He replied with a photo attached and looked out the window again.
Bob forced himself to be interested in what was on TV and researched cold sore treatments on the computer. It was terribly obvious that Bob had a nasty face.
Betty’s reply was as expected. She was horrified and concerned for her own well being. Enough to say that she’d wait a week and ask for another photo then. The chair could wait, sadly Betty could wait. Poor old Bob and his nasty face had to wait as well. The only good thing was that in a week he really would need a haircut.
An increasingly grumpy old fart posting rants, observations and trying to write somewhat twisted short stories for adults. All rights reserved unless otherwise credited © Alan Crawford - 2024
