75 AMAZING PICK UP LINES

Shampoo

"Are you shampoo with moroccan oil? Because you're giving me body."

Mitch walked briskly down the hallway, straining to read his watch under the hideous fluorescent lighting that was typical of a university lecture hall. 10:36. Being on time rarely ever concerned Mitch since the music professors were pretty lax about students showing up a couple minutes late, but today he was sitting in on an elective class from a different college. Naturally, Mitch signed up for a class in the College of Cosmetology. Of course, the class had to be in the building farthest away from his apartment. Today of all days was not the day to be late. What if the professor was a psycho and wouldn't let him in late or something? He had friends in other majors that had teachers like that. Maybe they'd cut him some slack since he was a freshman, though. He walked a little faster, mentally crossing his fingers and hoping for the best.

He finally found the right room number and opened the door to find a fairly spacious room filled with normal students' desks, but also neat, orderly rows of various sinks, vanities, and equipment that you'd find in your typical hair salon. All the students were seated in their desks taking notes and paying attention to the professor, who had his back to the class as he was writing something on the whiteboard. As the students heard Mitch enter, however, every eye trained on him as he tried to make his way to an empty seat.

"You must be Mitch," he heard a voice say, and he turned around to find the professor smiling brightly at him. He was drop-dead gorgeous, with striking blue eyes and perfect hair (well, duh, he's a cosmetology professor! Mitch thought to himself). A baggy yellow sweater hung loose over his slim but sturdy frame. Don't get him wrong, but Mitch was pretty sure that professors were supposed to dress a little more business-casual. Not that he was complaining. This guy could wear a garbage bag and still look hot. "You're sitting in for today, right?"

It was a couple more awkward seconds than were entirely necessary before Mitch realized that the teacher had asked him a question. "Oh yeah...yeah, I, um, I'm Mitch," he stuttered lamely, and he felt his cheeks flush hot as a collective murmur of amusement came from the class. "I'm from the College of Music," he added, as if anyone cared.

The professor just kept on smiling, looking Mitch up and down. "Well, welcome to Cosmetology 101! I'm Professor Hoying, but the kids just call me Mr. Hoying or, if you're feeling really adventurous, Scott. Why don't you take a seat and try to follow along with these notes? We're talking about proper shampooing techniques in a salon setting. Gripping stuff, I know," he deadpanned, turning back around to face the blackboard, and the class laughed. Mitch couldn't help but smile, too. He kept his head down as he walked quickly to an empty seat nearest to him. Fuck, he thought to himself, he's smart, hot, and funny? I'll be damned if I don't get hard listening to him talk about feeling up peoples' scalps.

Scott rambled on for a little while as he lectured, interjecting logistical, technique-oriented stuff with little personal anecdotes and salon horror stories about hair-washing gone wrong that made Mitch laugh. He and Scott would make eye contact a few times, and each time, Scott would give Mitch a nod or an eyebrow raise or even a little smile. The time flew by (mostly because Mitch would lose his train of thought from staring at Scott's ass a little too often), and he honestly wondered why he wasn't taking more cosmetology classes. Specifically, more cosmetology classes taught by Scott.

After a while, Scott announced that it was demonstration time. He walked straight past Mitch down the row of desks to the back of the room with all the salon equipment, and Mitch caught a whiff of his delicious cologne as he breezed by. He stood up from his seat and followed the rest of the class over to the sink that Scott was preparing for the demo.

"Okay," he announced, arranging various bottles of shampoo on the little table next to the sink-and-chair apparatus, "I'm gonna need a volunteer to work some magic on." He glanced around at the group gathered in front of him and the salon chair, scoping out the large percentage of students who were raising their hands. Mitch didn't dare. But his worst (but let's be real here, also his best) nightmare was confirmed when Scott's eyes rested right on him. "Let's have our special guest be the guinea pig, shall we?"