It was in the way he stroked my hair, the way he let the backs of his fingers caress my neck, my ears, my chin. The excessive stroking seemed unnecessary. Snip, snip. I have a decent gaydar and "George" didn't even register a ping. Sure, he looked the part, with a bright orange mane streaked with gold flecks. He even spoke the part, with the customary "kulot" in his voice. But no ping, not even a slight one. Snip, snip.
I went to the salon yesterday to get a haircut. I haven't had on in ages. Two, three years? With my curly hair, it didn't really matter if all the strands were of even length so I cut it myself. But yesterday I thought, I really need a new do. And so I got done. By George.
I once told a friend I knew he desired men way before he did. A few years later and voila! He found out he liked men indeed. And so my gaydar is fairly accurate. Whenever I meet someone of the opposite sex, there is always...something there. Pheromones? Something to indicate if this man is straight or not. But George definitely had something going. It was in the way he moved, the way his fingers looked when he wielded his scissors. Snip, snip. Even his eyes, though appropriately glued only on my mane, gave away...something.
That haircut took about an hour, after which I concluded "George" isn't gay at all. I'd heard of straight men pretending to be gay to work in a salon to dress women's hair. It probably gave them more credibility, otherwise they'd work in a barber shop. No licentious caressing of women's faces then.