I went to the hairdresser’s this morning, nothing unusual in that, I go frequently, for colour more than anything. It’s small talk, weather, holiday’s etc. Flicking through the problem pages of women’s magazine’s, I alight on some poor thing writing with concern about why she was unable to ejaculate during orgasm, because; “My Boyfriend says, that other girl’s can do it”. My turn, the girl’s in the Salon I shall call X (Redhead) Y (Tall and Lean), Z (Puppy Fat). I feel the cold porcelain on the back of my neck as Z sprays my hair with luke warm water, before foaming the palms of her hand with shampoo. I close my eyes and my mind races towards the depths of depravity. What if Z was to urinate over my hair? She’s short and a little plump, she could pull down her black leggings and panties, and in a standing position, lean back, and force her pee upwards and over my hair in the white, pristine sink below. Then Y could join in from the right hand side, doing the same, although she is taller, so she wouldn’t need to lean back so much. Their two directed streams cascading over my hair, ensuring that I am soaked, ready for the application of soap, lather, foam. I get wet, thinking about such a scenario. Now X, who will eventually trim my hair with her scissor-hand skills and apply the colour. X will rinse off the suds, the piss-scented foam with her own urine, perhaps the strongest of the three…it smells like toasted almonds, a little like burnt coffee.