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“Hey Honey, I’m heading out." 

Joe looked up from the computer where he was checking the baseball scores.  “Where are you going?" 

“I told you I was going to the salon this week to get my hair colored," Carrie answered. “Between going up to the lake, and getting Amy off to college I haven’t had time, and my roots are really starting to show." She pulled her ash blonde hair off her face to show the grey roots. 

It never failed at one of the neighborhood barbecues, that one of the men would sidle up to Joe and compliment him on how lucky he was. At forty-eight Carrie still looked fantastic in tight jeans, and a simple fitted top.  She had such a wholesome look and a warm easy smile, and she never fretted about the laugh lines around her eyes.  Tennis and the gym kept her fit, and though she’d been coloring her hair for the last fifteen years, it still looked pretty pulled back in a ponytail. 

Joe got up and went to his wife at the doorway.  He slipped his arms around her waist. She looked at him quizzically. 

“You okay?" she asked. 

“Yeah, I’m okay," he said and looked into her eyes, and kissed her.  It was an oddly tender moment more appropriate for a long goodbye than sending her off to run an errand. 

“What’s going on?" she said. 

“Nothing’s going on. Is it wrong for a man to kiss his wife?" 

“No," she said, kissing him again.  Though their marriage had never been stronger, their sex life had been faltering for the last several years.  They still had sex but it had gotten less and less frequent, and Carrie always initiated it.  So Joe’s romantic gesture seemed atypical at the very least.  She shifted her weight so she could slide her thigh between his legs, but there was nothing. He didn’t seem to be aroused. 

“I love you, Carrie," he said. 

“I love you too, honey," she said, pulling back to look at his face.  “Are you trying to tell me something? I know there’s something on your mind." 

He didn’t answer, but he nodded his head as he tried to think of the words.  “Remember how you’ve talked about letting your hair go grey?" 

“Is this about my hair?" she said in relief.  “Oh Jesus, I thought you were going to tell me you were having an affair, or leaving me or something." 

He laughed a little, and kissed her again.  “I’d never leave you.  You know, every guy in this neighborhood tells me I’m lucky to be married to you, and they’re right.  I am lucky. You’re the warmest, kindest, sassiest, most supportive wife a man could have, and a fantastic mother.  And you’re just as pretty today as the day I met you in college." 

She pulled him into a tight embrace, and her eyes welled up with tears.  “Oh babe, I love you too.  It’s been a big year, I know.  Lots of changes.  But I’m so happy with you. You’re a wonderful husband and I feel lucky too." 

She exhaled and shook her hands for a second to gain her composure.  “So. You had an opinion about my hair?" 

“Yeah, I’d kind of like to see you go grey." 

“Really?  We send our daughter off to college, and you already want me to look grey and old and withered on the vine?" she teased. 

“Not withered.  But I would like to see your hair grey," he said. “I think it would look good on you." 

“Well," she said, “I guess I could grow the roots out so it was a bit longer.  It’d take about six months for it to grow another three inches, so maybe it’s something I could do after New Year’s.  But it’d be pretty short.  I haven’t had it that short since I was in college.  Remember that perm I had?" 

“Oh yes," he said, “It looked super cute on you."  And she felt him stir against her leg. 

“You liked that look, did you?" she said rubbing up against him and feeling him respond. 

“I loved it." 

She cocked her head as she looked into his face.  “Why didn’t you tell me?  If that’s all it took to get you all fired up, I would’ve got my hair cut years ago.  I wouldn’t mind getting a bob.  It’d be a fun change. I’ve had it shoulder length forever." 

“I know," he said. 

She saw the look of resignation on his face and gave him a little punch in the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?  I’ve really missed our sex life.  I mean, it’s still good but it’s not like it was. You know." 

She could see he was turning it over in his mind, trying to decide whether to speak. 

“Just tell me," she said. “Whatever it is. Trust me.  I want you to be happy. And I want to be the person that gives you a hard-on.  Not…whatever it is you’ve been looking at on the computer after I go to bed." 

“Have you looked at my computer?" he asked. He looked mortified. 

“No, of course not," she said. “I’m not freaked out that you want to look at porn.  I’m glad you’re still interested.  You certainly haven’t seemed interested in our sex life.  But I would much rather be the person that gets you aroused.  I just assumed you were looking at younger women." 

He shook his head. “No. That’s not it." He sighed for a second and seemed to resolve himself.  “Carrie, I don’t want you to cancel your appointment today.  And I don’t want you to wait six months to grow out your hair.  I’d like you to get your hair cut today." 

“Today?" she said, and ran her hands up to her hair, thinking about how long her roots were.  “God, Joe, it’d be barely an inch and a half long.  It’d be so short."  And now he was getting really hard on her leg.  She rubbed her leg against his growing erection. 

“Just think how different I’d look," she said, teasing playfully and feeling him respond.  “It’d be a super short pixie, and grey.  All that hair coming off…snip, snip, snip.  I bet there’d be a huge pile of hair on the floor."  It was almost comical how quickly he got hard, and how easy it was for her to play with him. 

“So," she said, looking up to make eye contact again, “You’d like your wife to have short, grey hair is that it?" 

“Yes," he murmured. 

“Really short hair," she said continuing to rub her thigh up against his fully hard cock, straining against his pants. 

“Yes." 

“Would you like to come with me to salon and watch me get my hair cut. Very short." 

“I most definitely would." 

“Well, big boy, get your shoes on. Because now I’m running late." 

They arrived at Suzanne’s Salon exactly at noon, and Suzanne was standing at the front desk waiting for them. 

“You were almost late!" she said with a mock stern expression, giving them both a hug. “Joe dropping you off?" 

“No, he’s here to watch." 

Suzanne cocked her head in question, but ushered them back to her chair. The salon teemed with activity, as it was the Saturday before the local high school started classes again, and everybody seemed to be getting back to school cuts. 

Suzanne lifted Carrie’s hair off her face and made a “Yikes!" face.  “Carrie! I can’t believe you let your roots get this grey." 

“Actually," Carrie said, “I’ve decided that grey is in this year.  Instead of coloring my hair, I’d like to get it cut."  She glanced over at Joe to make sure he could hear her.  She intended to milk this for all it was worth.  “I want to get this all cut off down to the grey. A short pixie cut." 

“Oh, Carrie!" Suzanne looked appalled.  She felt very proprietary about Carrie’s hair, as she did with all her clients.  “Your hair is so pretty.  A drastic cut like that will really age you. I don’t think it’s the right choice for you at all.  If you really want to go grey we can grow this out for a few months. I could give you a bob and take off some of the length…" 

“Nope," Carrie said with a shake of her head. “Cut it off." 

As Suzanne began to protest again Carrie held up her hand.  “Suzanne. I want you to listen to what I’m saying.  I want you to give me a short pixie cut.  The grey has grown out about this far," she said holding her fingers an inch-and-a-half apart.  “That’s how short I want it to be." 

Suzanne again tried to speak and Carrie cut her off. “If you don’t want to cut my hair, I’m going to go home and let Joe do it with the nail scissors." 

Suzanne sighed in exasperation.  “Okay. It’s on your head, missy. Literally.  No tears!" she admonished.  She shot Joe a look. “I bet this is all your idea," she said accusingly. 

Joe just smiled.  He couldn’t believe how quickly it was happening and how Carrie was going for it.  No doubt, no hesitation.  He really was lucky. 

His wife smiled at him and gave him a wink as she came back from the shampoo sink.  She looked gorgeous with her hair slicked back, and full of mischief.  Suzanne caped her and turned her to the mirror, and began to section out her hair. 

Suzanne combed out the bottom section and paused to meet Carrie’s eyes in the mirror. “Last chance," she said. 

“Do it," Carrie said, glancing over to see Joe’s expression.  She had his full attention. 

Suzanne stifled a dramatic sigh and pumped up the chair.  She combed through the section again and tipped Carrie’s head forward, and cut across in a straight line.  The hair slithered off the back of the cape to the floor. 

Suzanne worked very deliberately, taking each section down and cutting it to the guide, and then lifting the hair up perpendicular to Carrie’s head and layering it.  Long hanks of wet hair began to pile up on the floor.  Carrie reached back to touch the back of her head and ruffled her fingers through the short layers.  She caught Joe’s eye in the mirror and he was beaming at her.  He gave a little nod. Keep going. 

On the sides, Suzanne started towards Carrie’s face and made long vertical parts in her hair and then worked the scissors up, taking off the length. Now it was becoming more real to Carrie as she could see what was happening in the mirror, and how it was changing the way her face looked.  Her eyes looked enormous, and her cheekbones seemed much more prominent.  She began to feel apprehensive when she realized just how different she was going to look, but one glance from Joe reassured her.  This was the right thing to do.  It’d look okay. 

Suzanne spent a lot of time shaping the sideburns; she left some length to cover the top of the ear and pulled the sideburns down to emphasize the cheekbones.  It softened the look – a prettier, more flattering pixie cut.  She lowered the chair and took the last clip out of Carrie’s hair to do the top section.  Suzanne seemed to be gathering speed as she worked, wanting to get it done with a grim resignation.  Carrie watched, enthralled, as Suzanne sheared off her hair. Long damp strands pooled in Carrie’s lap.  Carrie’s face disappeared under a curtain of hair until the scissors sliced through and Suzanne shaped the bangs, blending them in with the sides. 

It was shocking how different Carrie looked.  Her hair was such a light grey, almost white.  The cut was a stylish, high fashion pixie, with long swept bangs and soft feminine details around the face.  In a last act of stubborn defiance, Suzanne had left it at least three inches long on top. She stood behind Carrie and combed through the hair, blending it in and checking for strays.  When she was satisfied she put down her scissors and comb and picked up a jar.  “This is texturizer," she told Carrie.  “It’ll give your hair a matte finish.  It’s the right look for this cut." 

“It’s a little long on top. Can I see the back?" Carrie said, pushing her bangs to the side. 

Suzanne held up a hand mirror while Carrie examined her new neckline.  The hair at her nape lay soft against her neck.  She looked over at Joe.  What would he want?  He gave her a little nod, a bit more urgently.  Keep going. 

“Can we go shorter in the back?" Carrie asked. 

“I can’t really go any shorter in the back, without tapering it, Carrie," Suzanne said. “That’s not the look you want." 

“I’d like it tapered." 

“Please, Carrie, let’s not do that.  This is enough for now.  I didn’t want you to go this short, but we did.  And this cut looks good.  So…let’s stop here.  I’m really not willing to cut it shorter.  This is a huge change.  Let’s get used to this." 

Carrie looked over at Joe. He shrugged.  Okay for now. 

“Okay," Carrie said. “It looks fantastic, Suzanne. It’s a great cut.  I’m very happy with it." 

“I must say, I do good work," Suzanne said, working the texturizer into Carrie’s hair and pulling the sideburns down into points. 

Outside the salon, Carrie put her arm through Joe’s and leaned in to kiss him.  “You want it shorter, don’t you?" 

“It looks great," he said.  “You look so gorgeous and I can’t wait to get you home." 

“But," she said, “You’d like it shorter wouldn’t you?" 

“We can get it cut shorter next time." 

“Jesus, I wish you and Suzanne would quit worrying about what is too much for me.  It’s my hair.  I’m a grown woman and I can do what I want with it.  Just tell me exactly what you want. Put your cards on the table.  Obviously, I can handle it.  I don’t want to do this piecemeal or half-assed.  What. Do. You. Want?"  She emphasized this last by poking him in the chest. 

He opened his mouth, but hesitated.  She poked him again.  “Tell me." 

“Okay," he said, taking her arm gently.  “Let’s go in there," he said, leading her to Macy’s on the other side of the parking lot. 

“There’s a look that is incredibly arousing to me," he said, holding the door open for her. “It’s a mature, rather conservative look.  Almost stern. Very polished and put together." 

“So it’s not just short hair?" Carrie said. 

“Well, that’s a big part of it. The biggest part.  But also the makeup and how you dress." 

“Shit. You really do want a complete makeover. Are you sure you really want me?" 

He held her face in his hands and kissed her.  Then he pulled her right hand down to discreetly brush against his pants so she could feel how hard he was.  “You’re all I want. But if you could do this for me, it would mean so much to me." 

She stepped back from him for a second, still holding his hand but looking down, her lips set, nodding her head.  It took a minute but then she looked up into his eyes again and smiled, “Okay. Let’s do it.  I want to be your fantasy." 

He led her to the Mac counter. 

“Can I help you?" said the woman behind the counter. 

“Yes, my wife needs some makeup." 

“What did you have in mind?" 

“A whole new look." 

“Well then, just hop in the chair," she said to Carrie, “And we’ll take care of you." 

And she did. As Joe described what he wanted to the makeup girl Carrie realized that he’d been thinking about this in detail for years.  His instructions were so specific and detailed, and well, she realized, fetishistic. 

Carrie wore makeup every day, and could certainly pull together an evening look. But it was nothing like this: concealer, foundation, blush, liquid eyeliner, mascara, three shades of eye shadow, eyebrow pencil, and a coral red lipstick.  Carrie turned her face to the side to examine herself in the mirror from every angle.  It would take some getting used to.  She’d had such a clean, natural look and this was a heavily made up look, very polished. 

“I like the lipstick," she said. “I like the eyes." 

“You look fabulous," the makeup girl said, keen to ring up this big sale. 

“Where next?" Carrie said, turning to Joe as he put the credit card back into his wallet and picked up the packages. 

“This look requires some jewelry." 

“Oooh, I like this part," Carrie said clapping her hands. 

Apparently this look requires gold, Carrie thought as she opened the box again to look at her new watch. “I’ll carry this bag," she said, almost giddy as she sorted through the little velvet boxes with earrings and the braided gold rope necklace and the strand of pearls.  It’s a good thing their business was doing so well.  This was turning into a spree. 

When Joe led her up to Women’s Wear, he flagged down the first person he saw with a nametag. “Do you have a Personal Dresser service here?" 

“We do. Would you like me to see if she’s available? 

“Yes, please.’ 

“Wait here, I’ll be right back."  She returned with an elegant young woman named Sophie, who introduced herself. 

“Sophie, we’re looking to pull three or four outfits together for my wife," Joe said.  “I’d like some high-waisted pants, wool blend, cut wide through the leg.  Black and charcoal grey, I think.  I’d like several silk tops for her, jewel tones, buttoned down the front.  She’ll need a dress – something for evening but conservative.  Something appropriate for…" he shrugged, “I don’t know. A diplomat’s wife." 

Sophie nodded. “I think I knew the look you’re interested in.  Shoes and accessories?" 

“You decide," Joe said, “We trust your taste." 

“As well you should," Sophie said with a wink. 

Two hours later after much fitting and trying on, Carrie modeled one last look for Joe and Sophie’s approval: a beautifully tailored black jacket over a sapphire green silk blouse, perfectly cut black pants that broke over her foot to expose the open-toed black heels she was wearing. 

“Can she wear that out?" Joe asked. 

“Certainly," Sophie said. “Just let me make sure I got all the tags off, and I’ll walk you out so the security guards won’t be suspicious.  But don’t put the new jewelry on until you get to your car." 

In the car, Carrie put in her new earrings and let Joe fit the necklace around her neck.  She looked at her new watch, and looked up at Joe. 

“Well," she said. “This was not the day I thought I was going to have." 

She flipped down the vanity mirror on the passenger side visor and examined her face.  “I look older," she said.  “I look good, but I definitely look older." 

“You look magnificent." 

She flipped the sun visor back up. “I feel like I traded in my hair and ten years for a new wardrobe, some jewelry and my husband’s hard-on.  I need a drink." 

They drove to Amici’s, an Italian restaurant with a full-bar and a happy hour.  As they sat at the bar, Joe drinking Scotch and Carrie a martini, she played footsie with him. 

“Just for the record," she said, “All his buying me stuff? It’s making me horny.  And staring at your cock at full mast all afternoon is also making me horny." She punctuated this remark by sucking an olive very slowly into her mouth. 

After her third martini, Carrie was brazenly blowing into her husband’s ear and whispering any number of rude possibilities for their evening activities.  But when he leaned forward to kiss her, she’d pushed him off with her index finger. “Don’t you dare mess my makeup." Before Joe had a chance to make another pass at his wife, they were interrupted. 

“Carrie, is that you? Oh my god, you cut off your hair!"  It was their neighbor, Charlene, and her husband Tom. 

“Hello, Charlene. Tom." Carrie didn’t get up but waggled her fingers in greeting.  “Yes. I cut my hair. Do you like it?" 

“It looks great," Charlene said automatically.  “So you decided to just go grey?  It’s so short." 

“Maybe not short enough," Carrie said.  “Do I look older?" 

Carrie’s direct, rather obviously drunk inquiry flustered Charlene and she stumbled over her answer. “It’s a different look. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear so much makeup.  Are you going out?" Charlene paused wondering if she’d said something inadvertently insulting and added quickly, “You look very pretty. It’s a beautiful cut. I love that jacket." 

Carrie stood up abruptly, and somewhat unsteadily. “We have to go now. So nice to see you two." And with that she dragged Joe out of the bar as he said goodbye over his shoulder. 

She pushed Joe up against the car.  “I’m getting very horny. Did I mention that?" 

“You did," he said, smiling. 

“Are you horny?" she said. 

“Very." 

“Then I have one question for you, buster.  How short?" 

“What?" 

“How short do you want me to cut my hair? And I don’t want some bullshit answer. Tell. Me. The. Truth." Again, she underscored this with emphatic finger poking. 

“Okay," he said, finally rising to the challenge.  “Get in the car, bossy." 

“What time is it?" he said, as they pulled out of the parking lot. 

“Mmmm. It’s a beautiful watch, Joe. Thank you.  It is exactly…4:27. P.M." 

“We’ve got time.  I think they close at 5:30." 

“Who closes at 5:30?" 

“The barbershop." 

“Oh," she said, sobering up ever so slightly.  She flipped down the visor again and looked in the vanity mirror, tugging at her sideburns and sweeping the bangs aside.  “Oh my," she said. 

They pulled into the parking spot directly in front of Tony’s Babershop, and Carrie stared at the barber pole as it twirled.  She seemed both apprehensive and mesmerized. 

“Are you going to shave my head?" she asked, squeezing Joe’s hand. 

“Maybe." 

“No, really, Joe!" 

“We’re not going to shave your head. Okay?" 

“Okay," she said. She let out a deep breath.  “I’m not ready for that." 

“It is going to be shorter, though." 

She gave him the same sarcastic expression that had first caught his attention in college. 

“Yes, well I didn’t think you’d take me to the barbershop to get extensions." 

“C’mon, smartass," he said and got out of the car to open her door, and help her out. 

The bell over the door rang as they came in.  The shop had three chairs, with two barbers, one working on a customer and the other seated in his chair reading the paper. 

“Can I help you?" he asked, standing up. 

“My wife needs a haircut." 

“Your wife?" the barber said, looking confused.  He turned to Carrie. “You want your hair cut, ma’am?" 

“Yes, I do. My stylist wouldn’t cut it short enough. So my husband brought me here." 

“Shorter I can do," the barber said.  She took off her coat and handed it to Joe, who hung it up. The barber helped her into the chair. 

He tucked in her collar and fixed a tissue around her neck. Then he shook out a cape, until it settled over her, and snapped it tight behind her neck.  He turned the chair so that she faced the mirror.  Her pixie looked very stylish.  She took out her earrings and waved for Joe to take them. 

“So what did you have in mind," the barber said as he stood behind her, combing her hair into a side part. 

Joe stepped up to the chair. “Take some of the length off the top. I want it tapered in back, and short around the ears." 

The barber nodded. “So basically a boy cut, right?" 

“Yeah." 

“I’m your boy, Joe," Carrie said raising her eyebrow. 

“Yes you are, baby." He leaned forward to kiss her and she pushed him back. “Do not mess my makeup." 

She waved imperiously to the barber as he took this in. “Proceed," she said. 

He picked up his clippers, and combed her hair down on the side.  The clippers snapped on with a ferocious buzz.  Carrie caught Joe’s eye in the mirror and uttered a tiny, “Meep!" 

The barber lifted her hair with the wide toothed comb and made a swipe with the clippers. The buzzing passed over her ear and a hank of hair fell down her shoulder and into her lap.  It looked so pale on the blue cape.  He worked clipper over comb on the side – bzzzt, bzzzt, bzzzt – went the clippers and when he stepped back she could see her ear.  The hair was much shorter on the side of her head.  He worked around to the back, placing a large, beefy hand on top of her head and forcing it down until her chin was pressed into her chest.  He ran the clippers up the back of her head, pulling off partway up her head.  Little grey chunks of hair rained down to the floor.  Then he used clippers over comb again, blending in the taper.  He was so quick and efficient.  He’d done this cut thousands of times. 

“Can you take that taper a little closer in back?" Joe asked. 

“You want to show some skin?" the barber asked. 

“Yeah, take it down tight." 

The barber nodded and pushed her head down again, and she felt the clippers pressed close to her scalp as they moved up the back of her head.  The clippers went higher this time before he pulled off.  Then he blended it in with the comb again. 

“How’s that?" the barber said, running his hand up the back of her head. She could feel his hand on her skin.  It was so short.  She felt herself getting wet.  Joe must be going nuts, she thought, and she tried to see him in the mirror, but the barber still had a firm grip on her head. 

“Perfect," Joe said, his throat tight.  She couldn’t see him but she could hear it in his voice. 

The barber moved around to the other side, and worked quickly, clippers over comb until that ear was exposed too.  He stepped back and she could see how raw and exposed this cut was in comparison to Suzanne’s pixie. All that detail work she’d done around the ears made a huge difference.  This was not a feminine haircut. The shape looked funny with it cropped close to the sides and so much bulk left on top. 

The barber combed through the thick grey mop, and began cutting it, scissors over comb.  He worked with a quick rhythm, producing a blizzard of clippings that fluttered down over her face and got stuck in her eyelashes. 

“Do you want bangs?" the barber asked. 

“Yes, please," Joe said, “But not too short. I want to be able to brush them to the side."

The barber nodded and combed the hair down over her forehead and cut the bangs in a neat straight line, blinding her with trimmings. 

“Close your eyes," the barber instructed and took a large, soft brush and dusted off her face.  Somehow the makeup was undisturbed.  He combed the hair back off her face and she could see herself in the mirror.  It was short.  The pixie had felt short but it wasn’t really.  This was a short, little boy’s haircut.  The contrast between the haircut and her makeup was incredibly exotic. She didn’t know how to describe this look, but this was not the Carrie everybody knew. She looked older, androgynous, powerful.  Not the girl next door. 

The barber busied himself by blending in the sides, going through the hair one last time to make sure the cut was even and balanced.  He set aside his scissors and comb, and picked up the soft brush again and sprinkled it with talcum powder.  He unsnapped the cape and loosened it, then dusted her neck off thoroughly.  He swept the cape off like a matador and dumped the grey hair onto the floor.  He held up a hand mirror for her to see the back.  It was white, so white up the back of her head.  She ran her hand up her neck and it was smooth and bare and then it was prickly and velvety. 

Carrie tried to take it all in.  The green silk shirt was so vivid and striking, and it really set off the grey of her hair.  Though they kept calling it a boy cut, it could just as easily be called a grandpa cut, she thought, as she looked at all the grey hair on the floor.  She wanted to put her earrings back in, and tip it back a bit more towards the feminine. 

“Can I have my earrings, Joe?" she said as she stood up, exhaled, and got down from the chair.  As he handed her the earrings, she whispered. “Do you like it?" 

“I love it," he said under his breath.  “I love you so much. And I am so going to mess up your makeup when we get home." 

It looked better with the earrings she thought, as Joe paid the barber and she put on her coat.  Or more mysterious somehow, harder to peg.  A very definite choice, but not entirely knowable.  “I’ve always been pretty," she thought, “but this might be beautiful." 

She had a little pang as she thought about their daughter coming home at Thanksgiving. “Amy’s going to freak."  And then she thought about the neighbors and the party at the Andersons’ next week.  It made her feel strange, but also excited.  Their routine had been so set for so long.  And then she thought, “Who cares what they think!" It was her hair. Her marriage.  She looked at Joe.  His heart must be beating so hard. 

He took her by the arm and led her back to the car, opening the door.  It was a courtly gesture and it made her smile. 

They drove home in silence until she said, “Any more stops?" 

“Directly to the bedroom," he said. 

“Excellent," she said, tenting her fingers like Mr. Burns. 

Dragging the bags of new clothes, makeup and jewelry gave her a moment of pause.  This was a commitment. Not just one night.  She’d have to dress this way and do her makeup, keep her hair cut short.  Carrie stopped in front of the mirror in the hallway, and stroked the back of her neck.  “I can be this person," she thought.  It gave her a little tingle. 

They dumped all the bags on the couch in the living room and hurried to their bedroom.  Joe left the lights dim, so he could see her, take her in.  They shucked out of their clothes like eager teenagers. 

She pushed him back on to the bed.  “You know, I feel kind of bossy with this haircut." 

“You’ve always been bossy," Joe said, grinning.  He was so hard. 

She straddled him, lowering herself down onto his cock, and he went in easily, she was so wet.  He ran his hands up the back of her head, as she leaned down to kiss him. 

“You may now," she whispered, “proceed to mess up my makeup." 

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