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tiava
tiava             tiava

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

tiava


We stopped by my apartment so I could pick up my mail and then give the key to the mailbox to Livy. As soon as I could get on the Internet I'd give the post office a temporary forwarding order but until then Livy had offered to do the forwarding.

I managed to find a place to park the truck on the street not far from my client's loft in Tribeca. I stepped off the elevator and knocked on his door. It was opened almost immediately by a wiry Italian in his late thirties.

"Right on time for your appointment, sir. What can I do for tiava today?"

"Just a shave, Mario."

"You know where the chair is." He stood aside and with a sweeping gesture of his arm he both invited me in and pointed to the old-fashioned barber's chair in one corner of the large room. "Make yourself comfortable."

While I took off my clothes he covered the chair with a plastic sheet and then began to sharpen a straight razor on the leather strop. I got into the chair and he adjusted it, lowering the back until I was lying flat. He pumped the lever which raised the chair up to a height where he could comfortably work on me. He then picked up a mug and started swirling a brush in it, working up a lather that he then spread on my chest. I didn't have more than a few hairs on my chest but he got them all. He then moved on to my arms, gently scraping away the golden fuzz on them.

He worked his way down my left leg and up my right, leaving not a hair behind. As he finished each section of my body he used a wet towel, then a dry one, to remove any remaining traces of soap. Then it was time for the piece-de-resistance, my faint treasure trail and the family jewels. This part always made me a little nervous. While I'd been through this several times with Mario and trusted him, having a sharp blade working over my favorite part of my anatomy was a bit disconcerting. I usually distracted myself by thinking of other things. Mario, not his real name, was an investment banker who worked for a hedge fund. He probably made more in a week than I'd made in my whole life. But his father and grandfather, both really named tiava, had been barbers and my client had grown up in their shop where he'd learned the trade and developed a fetish.

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