Mr O Hair Novels & Stories

He looks at me like I’m covered in mud. “Oh dear,” he says to himself. “We have our work cut out for us, don’t we?” “Can I help you?” I snap. Mia wails. The man extends a hand. “Gabriel,” he drawls. “Hair Car Extraordinare. Beau sent me.” I furrow my brows. “Beau.” The man laughs and pushes into the room. He gives it a look before looking back at me. Disgust is prevalent in his mouth. “For the dance?” He continues. “They didn’t expect you to know how to do your hair so they hired me.”

Mr Philip was a very tall man, with a small mole by his nose. He had brown hair, and I could see that he was uncomfortable with his haircut, which had his hair hanging down from his head to his face, obstructing his sight. He kept flipping the hair back but it refuses to oblige. He was our math teacher, and we started with simple algebra, which I was familiar with, till we got to the complicated ones. I shook my head in confusion as I tried to understand what he was explaining.

I didn’t want to see it, I would be stronger this time around. Rather than watching the screen intensely, he first looked at my barely-there bump when Doctor Ward applied the cold gel. Robert’s hair was messier than usual, it was normally slicked back. Today however, several strands were poking out and heading into different directions. He must have pulled his hand through it one too many times.

*** “Reynard,” Troy whispered as he stared at Ryan. Everyone stared back at him. Paul was the first to break the silence. “It’s rude to stare, Troy.” Paul admonished his friend in a loud whisper. Then he turned apologetic eyes to the white-haired man. “You must pardon him, man.” He addressed Ryan. “It’s your hair that’s shocking him.” He grinned when Ryan turned to face him. “He’s still getting used to the weird hair colours that people are sporting these days. Do you blame him? Dude’s been holed up in some magical fortress all his life. You should have seen his reaction the first time he saw someone with green hair.” He laughed. “Yours really suits you, by the way. Your hairdresser did a gr

Amongst the chatters, the door of the room opened and a man with salt and pepper hair walked inside. "I have a race coming up. I do not have the time to do such shit." It wasn't only the man with salt and pepper hair, whom I recognise as the CEO of the Riders Mr. Anderson but there was also a 6.5 feet tall figure that makes me sweat even in my sleep.

I spent about three months with Gruvv, but I never really understood how he worked. He headed out in a nice suit, like the one George wore, and he left with his hair all combed and sleek, using gel. But when he came home, his hair was a bit tousled. When I asked him about it, he just said, "Uh, my job, it's exhausting. Sometimes, I ruffle my hair without even thinking about it." He responded with a slight chuckle. "Mr. Shiloh, are you all right?" A maid came up to me.

They ignore Joanne's cheerful greeting and rush headfirst for the grocery aisle. I feel my eyes could be deceiving me so I walk to the side a bit, my attention no longer on my phone but now on the guy angrily stomping his way past food and grabbing enough steak to make up a whole horse. It's him all right. It's the guy from Helion Finance. The one who made a comment about my hair the day of the interview. All at once, I become hyperaware of my hair again, the redness and how it’s not under the store cap Mr. Wood always shouted at me to wear.

And if she wanted pink hair, she would have pink hair. Another stylist wandered over — a young man with immaculate eyebrows and a shirt unbuttoned one button too far. He looked at me like I was something to eat. "And who is this?" He circled me slowly, eyes roaming. "El, you've been holding out on us." "Hands off, Mario. He's mine." "The good ones always are." Mario sighed dramatically, then brightened. "But look at this hair." He reached toward my head, and I leaned back instinctively. "Oh, don't be shy. Is this natural? This color?"

Mark added as we began the long drive back to Otterville Falls. “Are you kidding me?” I knew he was just saying that to get my goat. But I couldn’t help but remember the strange man’s office. “He had three inches of dark roots!” Mark grinned at me. “Maybe he’s looking for a new stylist.? They can be hard to find, a lot like an OB-GYN.” I snorted. “His hair was shoulder length, half of it was bleach blonde and the other half almost black. He had a life size cut out of his son who was in college and he sang while he walked.”

The uniformed chauffeur, his face etched with professionalism, escorted me down the pier towards a magnificent cabin cruiser, its polished hull gleaming under the afternoon sun. Awaiting me on the deck was the enigmatic Mr. Anderson. His attire was relaxed and informal—a pair of vibrant blue shorts and dark sunglasses shielded his eyes from the sun's glare. His body was a testament to countless hours spent under the sun, a deep, all-over tan that contrasted sharply with the thick mane of grey hair that adorned his chest. This sight stirred an undeniable attraction within me, a testament to my inexplicable fondness for men with such abundant hair.