Coiffure

The bristles of his moustache ticked the tips of her fingers, as they travelled down the nest of chestnut strands. Her ears ached with the sounds of idle chat and common small talk from her detestable colleagues and customers. Bella was trapped amongst a rabid tribe of preps, their manicures sharpened, and war paint splattered over a luscious demeanour. She sighed and continued to examine the facial hair of her customer, her mind curious as to what could become of it. Through a swift glance at the dainty mirror, her eyes grew accustomed to his. The moss or his iris dashingly infused with a trickle of chocolate, causing Bella’s lips to hunger for the rich smoothness of such an ingredient. For a brief moment, her fingers became limp with fancy, causing the plastic comb at her right hand to plunge into a heap of feminine trimmings. For she had never seen such a face; fragile lips tinged with the essence and flavour of rose petals, sublime flesh hailed by the Greek, and those eyes, such eyes to influence one’s rationality. Retrieving the comb from between shades of sunshine and oak locks, Bella continued to tease his mane with eloquence and eagerness.

“What are you thinking?” spoke the male, peering at Bella’s face as she admired his muscular arms. The question seemed almost rhetorical, how could she think of anything but him? Nevertheless, the reluctant intern replied, with quivering lips and an obligatory beam.

“My, um, van”. The customer’s face lifted, intrigued by her random outburst of motor conversation. “It’s, um, a red van”. Bella quietly chuckled to herself. She had never owned a van, but fantasized about roaming the world in a scarlet vehicle since spotting a perfect engine not three streets away. Alas, on an intern’s wage, her savings had been little, and the van sold to a financially worthy owner a week prior to when a check finally emerged.

“Me too! My car broke down whilst I was on set, a week ago. The owner gave me a sweet deal, half the original price. Good make, too.” Paying scarce attention to the sound produced by his lips, and more the plumpness of them, Bella lightly tapped the ridge of his darling nose with the tip of her comb, it’s thorns massaging his whiskers. After realizing that the young lady catering to his styling needs had not replied, the man began to question if he had offended her in some way, or if she took and instant dislike to him due to his profession. In an attempt to restore normality to their conversation, or lack of, the man added, “I’m Jackson”.

Disrupting Bella’s amorous daze, the tremble in Jasper’s voice alerted the aspiring intern of the possibility of smalltalk, as her left hand extended to a collection of steel scissors. Their ridges harsh in turn, yet heavenly in speed. Tiny razors severed each crumpled hair, Jasper’s top lip becoming exposed to the eyes of young ladies and those who pose as young ladies, yet howl without grace as night falls upon their ravished mattresses. “I’m Bella.”

A satisfactory smirk reigned over the blossoms of his mouth, curling as he spoke: “Bella. Bella.”.
Jasper repeated her name until every syllable was perfected, his smile growing more abrasive with each echo. Bella’s expression now content with her craftsmanship, placing the tools of trade onto a nearby shelf. She had longed for this moment since her eyes had met his face; the moment where her hand could explore his profile. Straightening his moustache with pride, she brushed each finger in turn against his cheek. Upon the moment when the last kink was straightened, her thumb met with his lips. Before Bella could retract her mistaken thumb from it’s positioning, her hand was savaged by Jasper, and pressed against his ruby mouth. Her smooth skin gradually grazed by the fair buds of spring, reflected within his lips. Bella’s mouth became dry, unable to swallow her enjoyment, and mourned when the few seconds of bliss came to an end.

Jasper’s head pivoted, meeting her gaze, before briefly admiring his moustache in the parallel mirror.
“What do you call this, then?” He questioned, releasing her hand.

After a vast consideration for a name of her invention, she announced, “the pedo ‘stache!”

“Well” whispered Jasper, “let me show you to my pedo van”. Bella’s mouth dropped, as she was hauled by Jasper into her dream van.