Andy

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8. 8 ec

Chapter 8

  Once again, the train journey home was quite an adventure. This time the stranger wanting to sit in the seat next to me, wasn’t a young man but a really good-looking girl. What attracted me most was her long legs. For, to be honest sexually, long legs on a girl really turned me on. Before my body showed outward signs of interest, I got up and found she was as tall or even taller than I was. So instead of making her cram into the inner seat I offered her my isle seat which would give her more leg room.

After I had moved and once she had settled in my isle seat, we struck up a conversation I learnt her name was Ann and that she was a fashion model. I in turn told he how I had enjoyed seeing London with my friend Richard and about the reaction of the tourists to my having coloured my hair.  I also admitted being a bit scared of how others might react when I got home now I had red hair.  

  I told Ann that I could always wash it out if people objected.

  “No way,” she responded, “My advice is if you like having red hair, ignore what anyone says and just stick with it.”

  “But I’m not sure.” I said.

  “Look you told me how much you enjoyed walking around London with your friend and the reaction you got, didn’t you?”

 “Yes, I did I found it fun.”   

  Later as we left the train, Ann wished me good luck and to call her.

 

  When mum saw me she just burst out laughing. Eventually, when she calmed down a bit, she remarked, “Andy, over the years I’ve seen you do some daft things but this takes the biscuit.”

  “So, you don’t like it?” I asked.

   That set her off laughing again.

   “Well!” I demanded, getting annoyed.

   “You said the red washes off but you have to use a special shampoo to remove it.”

   “Yes, I’ve already told you that the barber had given me both the shampoo and extra colour wash.”

   “Just checking you wouldn’t want your white office shirts to turn red.”

   “So, I can keep it then.”

   “I suppose so but I don’t know what your boss will say.”

 

  Monday was dress-down day at the office, so wearing a pair of old jeans that mum had washed and I had doctored by tearing knee holes, I approached the block of offices I worked in.

  Here goes I thought plucking up courage to go through the glass doors. The security guard eyed me as I entered, and before I had a chance to present my card to go through the barrier, he pounced.

  “Hey boy! Can I help you?”

  Unfortunately, the guard was not the usual one on duty So naturally he didn’t know me. On inspection of my photo pass which showed me with a different haircut and certainly no red hair, he wouldn’t let me in until Susan, one of the girls from my office, came down to verified that it really was me.

  To compound my embarrassment, while waiting for the lift, Susan started taking photos of me with her phone. So did also several other people waiting with us. Suddenly I started to laugh and enjoy all the attention. Richard had been right, my red hair had changed everything.

  Once in the office several of the girls crowded around me, all wanting to take selfies.

  Mr Collins, my manager, soon afterwards called me in to his office to have a friendly chat about my red hair. There had been complaints by the directors who thought my red hair was inappropriate.

  The outcome to our discussion was a compromise as long as I confined my red hair to dress down days it would be tolerated. To be honest that suited me because as my hair grew I would have to wash it out and recolour it.

   Of all people, it was only Helen who objected to my having red hair. She, unlike my mum, did not see the funny side. She even threatened to withhold any sexual favours until I removed the red colour from my hair.

  No way was I prepared to be forced into doing that and, as for withholding sex, two can play that game.  

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