The Fate Of The Tonsorial Artist

Enroute Comfort

“.......if she. Boy. If she can keep her gaze on you and your cock gets hard instantly, she's meant for you” the word played full now.

He remembered their perky laughter. The car was still in motion, glued onto the speed lane and the window close to him was lowered down a bit. Johnson chuckled. The session he had with Ramirez and his buddies, every ounce of sexual orientation that coated the barbershop at that day. Some sort of orgasmic feeling. The tutorials had now been executed moments ago.

“An expensive intercourse” he murmured, with a cheeky smile. He raised his face, gazing at the cars and plantations racing against them on the other side of the highway median.

The tyres screeched off the speed lane, the blinkers beeped continuously, he watched Mr Williams tilt the steering onto the right,in diversion.

“Montiel Town. 40km ahead” he murmured, keeping his gaze on the blue road sign that brightened against the dark.

•••

He could inhale the scent of antiseptic battling against the orange based fragrance Mr Emerson preferred. Johnson's two legs were now against the brick of the door's little veranda. The bright light sparkled from the inside against dark clouds and the glistering stars.

“Hey son!”

The skin in the bald area of his head tweaked in alignment to his speech. Shaving blade on one hand, the other hand enjoying the warmth of his trouser's pocket. The client he handled basked in a deep sleep.

“Hello Boss, perhaps the last cut for today” Johnson responded, now inside yet still standing close to the door.

Aware and cautious of Mr Emerson’s high intelligence and detective skill. The fragrance bottle was the only saving grace.

“Proud of your ability. You've really proven to me how adept you can be!” in a boastful tone, with his hands fully clocking against each other.

Johnson grinned. But a motive had to be attained, his boss shouldn't perceive any clue of semen on his trouser. He recalled, when she throbbed and gulped immensely, she left some of his fluid on his zip area.

“Oh boss, you know…..”

He had stylishly moved his legs to where the bottle of fragrance was placed. By the edge of an empty chair and mirror. His back leaned against the cabinet. Like James Bond, his finger pressed onto the fragrance opener, sprinkling heavily on his zipper region.

“Never to be caught unfresh” murmuring to himself, as his boss had bent down to clear off some shaving lotion from the asleep client’s neck.

“Come. Get your ass over here Johnny!” ordering in a deep thunderous tone.

Confidence drowned him. Same way the orange fragrance merged with the scent of his trouser now, submerging the whole barbershop atmosphere.

He moved his legs majestically. Mr Emerson’s phone was out of his hiding place now, pointed directly in the Tonsorial Artist’s view.

“You see this son…..”

“.... magnificent” he boasted.

The warmth five-star review, glistening through the screen’s surface. The tycoon from Landmark Estate made sure his payment came with a promised compliment. Johnson felt his boss’s body glued to Mr Emerson's, in excitement. Every word of the technician from the mansion played back. “Mr Alvarez barely gives artisans reviews, this must be a sorcery”. Now, his grins brightened the whole atmosphere, with his gaze still placed fully on the device.

“Proud of you boy!” Mr Emerson, with one hand, tapped his shoulder and the other massaging the neck of the seated client.

“Your legs, they must be weary.”

“Have got some ordered delicacy from madam Joyce. It's down there in your closet”. He chipped in.

Johnson's soul leaped with joy. Professionalism and composure. The words came rebooting through his mind again. Gladdened by his choice of eating something light at Ortiz's mansion, a green light to devour the delicious meal that waits for his oesophagus.

“Oh boss, thanks very much” with an innocent voice.

His hands dashed quickly towards the warmer, lifting out a white towel that’s smoked with vapour and an antiseptic scent. He stretched it to Mr Emerson, who gently massaged the head and neck of the seated client, whose eyes were visibly open now.

“Good to see you Mr Musiala” he waved , tilting his gaze against the chair, onto the wooden stairs by the left extreme end of the shop.

“Good to see you too Johnny. My boys would be coming in over the weekend. Would for sure book their appointments before then” with a cracky stretched voice.

“Son, the keys would be dropped in the cabinet, when am ready to leave, I would buzz you”

Johnson threw his hands into the air in acknowledgement. His legs surfed towards the wooden stairs. His eyes, heavy already.

•••

The basement was his companion. Close to a decade, it was his comfort and shelter. Mr Emerson had structured the whole place into a safe haven. A mini-sized bed crouched at the far end of the wooden wall. A shelf erected beside it, with tons of books occupying each compartment. Just as he had read the sultry mind of hers, he loved flipping through hard copies of knowledge. History and science was some sort of coping mechanism, sports inclusive.

“Oh God what a perfect day” stretching his arms wide into the air. Like a statue, he paused, rotating his head. Scanning the whole ambience. A habit he's stuck to whenever he steps into his haven.

The hanging hook received his bags. Gently, he unpinned his dress from his muscular weary body. Shirtless now, he ascended into the air and landed softly on his bulky mini bed.

Just as he placed his head on the white fluffy pillow, his phone dinged.

“Ohhh, feels good” he muttered, staring at the notification that covered the dim screen of his device.

“I owe this man loyalty and integrity, he's housed me, made me skilled, encouraged me during the patchy days.”

“This is the biggest percentage ever yet. Bigger more to attain” he grinned. Face still tilted towards the basement ceiling,but his eyes were deeply closed.

The royalties for his services had dropped in his bank account, his heart thumped and danced to the rhythm of joy.

“Gosh, so that's how wet she can be…..” he murmured deeply into the pillow now.

“Oh f*ck, the parcel!” He jumped off the bed.

His eyes brightened, his legs swerved swiftly to the place where his bag hung. Like a rabbit , he jumbled to every compartment of his bag. “Oh finally!”

With a sigh, lowering his body to his bed, gripping onto the brown-hard envelope. He rolled his eyes across the envelope’s body. Slight bold words, inscribed in italics on the front view.

‘JONNIE, MY HEART’

Johnson was soaked deep into these words, gently ungluing the sealed envelope, bringing out the white paper.

He placed his gaze fully on it, his head now rested against the fluffy pillow, uttering each word slowly, in a low tone.

I would try to sleep after knowing you would leave, but am assured sleep would not come. It would linger at the edge of me, just like you did, teasing, refusing to fully settle. Every time I closed my eyes, it was not darkness I found, it was you.

The way your eyes held mine, bold, unafraid, as though the world outside that moment had no authority over us.

You walked into my father’s house as a stranger, just a man with a craft, and somehow you left with a piece of me, which my soul gave full permission to take.

And I cannot even bring myself to be angry about it. The way you shifted my panties and slid gently into my hole.

Do you understand what you have done?

I have replayed every second. The heat of your presence behind me, the electricity that sparked each time you came close, the way the air itself seemed to thicken between us. I remember how you looked at me, not like I was untouchable, not like I was some fragile heir to be admired from a distance, but like I was a woman you wanted. A woman you could have.

No one has ever looked at me like that. No one has ever dared. And that is why I cannot get you out of my mind.

I keep asking myself what madness this is. A man like you, a woman like me, worlds that are not meant to collide, yet here we are, drawn together like something inevitable. Dangerous. Addictive.

You should know this about me, Johnson. I do not chase what I do not want. And I do not hesitate when I decide that something, or someone, belongs in my life.

Right now, all I can think about is how much I want to see you again. Not in passing. Not by accident. I want you where I can look at you without interruption, where I can speak freely, where I can feel that same fire without walls watching us.

There is something about you that feels like a risk, and I have always had a weakness for things that could ruin me.

So come and ruin me again. Meet me where the city forgets to breathe, where silence keeps secrets and shadows mind their business.

Wednesday, 8pm. 15,Crover Avenue. Call me before you come, please do not be late. And do not pretend you have not been thinking about me too.

Yours, in ways I am still learning to admit, Vivian.

•••

Johnson did not tear the envelope open.

He slid a finger beneath the seal, slow, careful, like whatever was inside demanded respect. Or caution.

The room was quiet. Too quiet. His eyes caught the first line. My Johnie.

A faint breath left him, almost a scoff, but it did not quite land. Something about the way she claimed his name sat heavy in his chest. Not playful. Not casual, but possessive. He leaned back slightly, the paper held between his fingers, then he began to read.

At first, his expression barely shifted. A small tightening at the corner of his jaw. A flicker in his eyes. Control.

But the deeper he went, the slower he read.

Each line seemed to pull something out of him. The memory of her stepping into that room uninvited. The boldness in her gaze. The way she had looked at him like she had already made up her mind about him before he even spoke.

His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek.

“Damn…” he muttered under his breath.

He dragged a hand down his face, but his eyes never left the page.

When he reached the part where she spoke about powerful men, about how none of them moved her the way he did, a low, almost disbelieving chuckle escaped him.

“Yeah… right.”

But he did not stop reading. Could not. His grip on the paper tightened slightly.

By the time he got to “You walked into my father’s house as a stranger…”, something in his posture changed. The relaxed lean was gone. He was sitting forward now, elbows on his knees, the letter closer to his face like he was trying to read between the lines, not just the words.

This was not just flirtation. This was intent. And intent from a woman like her did not come without consequences. His jaw flexed again.

Images flashed through his mind, uninvited but vivid. The kitchen. The charged silence between them. The way everything had escalated too fast to question, too intense to stop.

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

“This girl…”

But there was no real irritation in it. Only heat. And something sharper. Something dangerous.

When he read “I do not chase what I do not want”, he paused.

Actually paused. His eyes lingered on the line.

He read it again, for the third time. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“That’s not a game,” he murmured.

Because he knew women like that did not play halfway. They either walk away or they are consumed. And judging by the letter in his hands, she had already chosen.

By the time he reached the invitation, his heartbeat had picked up, steady but heavier. Not in panic. Not excitement alone, but in anticipation.

He read the location once. Then again.

A humorless smile tugged at his lips.

“Of course it’s in the night.”

He leaned back finally, letter still in hand, eyes drifting to the ceiling as if the answer might be written there. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

A billionaire’s daughter. A house filled with power, influence, and eyes that could ruin him without blinking. And now she was asking him to step deeper into her world, into something secret, something deliberate.

He should walk away. Any sane man would. His gaze dropped back to the letter.

His thumb brushed lightly over her signature. “VIVIAN”

A slow breath left him. “Yeah…” he said quietly, almost to himself. “That’s exactly why I’m going.”

He folded the letter with more care than he intended, slipped it back into the envelope, and set it on the table like it was something fragile. Or something explosive.

Then he stood. The decision had already been made somewhere between the first line and the last.

And he knew, as he reached for his jacket, that whatever waited for him. Was not just a woman. It was pleasure mixed with uncertainty. And for the first time in a long while, he was not running from it.

Johnson moved away, a few inches from his bed, tugging his shoulders.

“They would be proud when they discover” he murmured.