Pretending at the Hair Salon

I was getting my hair done yesterday and the gal doing my hair was talking about her new roommate and how much they have in common and how much fun they are having, blah, blah, blah. I'm the type of gal who doesn't want to talk at the salon.  I want to relax.  I want to have an hour or two when I don't have to be "on" for clients, employees, the kids, the husband.  She knows this, so she talks. I pretend to listen.

She told me her roommate's name.  It didn't ring a bell.  Then she told me where her roommate worked. I stopped breathing for a second.  She works where one of my former "friends" works.  Let's call him Mr. XYZ.

Then she started telling me some of her roommate's funny work stories. Then out of the blue, she said, "Do you know Mr. XYZ?"

That was a moment of truth.  Do I lie? Do I minimize it?  Do I pretend I didn't hear?  I tried distraction.

"Oh," I said. "Can you cut it a little shorter on this side this time?"

"Sure," she replied.  The she continued, "So, do you know Mr. XYZ?"

Damn.  The distraction didn't work.

"Yes," I said. "I know who he is."

"Really??!!!" she squealed, sounding excited that I knew the man. Shit, I should have just lied.

"How do you know him?" It was clear she was going to probe further so I just needed to come up with a reasonable answer.

"Oh, I know him through work.  We've worked on a project together," I said as casually as I possibly could.

As I said it, an image flashed through my head of him laying on his back looking up at me while I was riding him. He had an amazing chest. That was followed by the memory of the taste and the thickness of his cum as it was shooting into my mouth.

She went on to tell some cute little stories shared with her by her new roommate about him, his wife, some of his office quirks, etc.

His wife. I remember the things he told me about her, although I've never met her.  I've had the opportunity several times, but I chose not to take advantage of them. I remembered that his wife refused to try anal.....then I remembered bending over a couch while he fucked me in the ass.

"What was your friend's name again?" I asked.  I wanted to be sure to remember it when I called him to let him know that someone in his office was sharing things that should not be shared.  There's nothing like trusting someone in your office to keep things confidential and then find out that their definition of "confidential" is different than yours.  To you it means "share with no one."  To them it means "only share with your ten best girlfriends and tell them not to share it."

I know that Mr. XYZ is a very private man. I gave him my word that I would take the secret about us to my grave and that I would never share his identity with anyone. It irked me that this woman was so cavalier about her gossip about his private and work life. He would not be happy about this.

I was jarred back to the conversation when she said, "Isn't he a such a great guy?"

I answered, "I guess so.  I really don't know him very well."

Isn't he such a great guy?  I remembered a whole bunch of really good times we shared - fun chats, laughter, times he really helped me when I needed it. I really treasured the friendship we had because I knew he didn't let many people see that side of him.  And then I remembered how he just disappeared and went totally incommunicado when he was done with me.

Great guy?  I don't know. He's a man like most other men.  Basically good, but flawed.  Wanting to share intimacy, but afraid to reveal too much of himself, afraid to really let go.

An image of him  popped into my mind - We were outside talking and the sun was reflecting off his sunglasses. Funny how I remember every detail - his smile, his laugh, the sound of his voice, how comfortable I felt around him.

"Allergies are just terrible this season, aren't they?" the hairdresser said as she handed me a tissue. I hadn't realized that my eyes were watering.

"Yes, it's that time of year," I agreed as I dabbed the wetness from the corners of my eyes.

She continued talking about her new roommate, but she had moved on from the topic of Mr. XYZ.

And I pretended to listen.