A Shining Moment in the Checkout Line

by Hairshine

As is so often the case, I found myself standing in the checkout line, my thoughts wandering nowhere in particular. Then I looked up. Standing in front of me was a vision drawn from dreams, dreams of silky, shiny hair resting on top of a strong, masculine head. I looked to see if my eyes were playing a joke, only to discover that they were not. There, standing about six feet tall, was a man probably in his mid-to-late 40s, with golden brown hair glistening in the overhead lights that brightened the store's checkout area. He was with a girl who appeared to be his teenage daughter.

Starting at the top, I stared so cautiously, noticing every comb line in his head. His thick hair sparkled and gleamed as he moved his head and as I positioned myself to catch each ray of light that lit up the strands. It lay on his head comfortably, slick but not slimy, shining but not dripping, parted perfectly on the right side, the top combed almost straight back, angled just slightly away from the part. I enjoyed the fact that it was so beautifully lit without being plastered to his head. It had just enough height to make room for a set of fingers to gently make their way through. It was beautifully luxurious, long on top and barely short enough on the sides and back to stay away from the ears.

Needing to know how this magnificent head fit with the rest of his appearance, my eyes began to discretely pan down. His face was handsome, though not like the face of a movie star. His glasses were fashionable and fit his face nicely. Next I noticed his hands. They were thick and powerful-looking, but clean and lightly smooth. I needed to know more and found myself measuring his waist. He seemed to be nicely proportioned, though not overly muscular. I was pleased to find that the glorious golden brown hair belonged to someone who kept his body well-groomed also.

As I stared and pondered, I could hear my mind having a friendly conversation with him, asking what type of products he used on his hair, how he managed to keep it so perfectly groomed but not overly groomed. I wanted to know his age, height, weight, and, of course, would he mind if I passed my fingers through his hair, breathing in the sweet aroma as I did. Then I would naturally ask him if I could comb it back into place, combing it again and again to be sure it was perfect.

With all this happening in my mind, with my eyes concentrating as the light from the ceiling sparkled from his hair, I noticed that the bulge in my jeans was growing. I needed to take care not to let it grow too much (not that size has ever been a big worry). Then, suddenly, he moved from the line, leaving his daughter to pay for her purchase, and disappeared. I'll most likely never see this beautiful specimen again, but, if that's what dreams are made of, I can dream of him. Who knows, maybe tonight.

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