Even a rat tail can be elegant...

If I decide to go shorter, this must inspire me...
Posted by Harriet.

Is there beauty in ugliness? Or the opposite?

Well, I do like the sides and nape, but not the top and forehead because this style looks like a helmet... Does it make sense to anyone?
Posted by Harriet.

Higher and closer?

What would you say?
Posted by Harriet.

A dreaded desired chair

Posted by Harriet.

Attention to details: in search for perfection.

I like when they shoot the complete cut, this gives a better idea of the experience that the model and the creator had while the razoring, in this case, was going on.
Posted by Harriet.

Pure joy of cutting hair

The timing of hair cutting and the music had to be perfect. How did they plan that?
Posted By Harriet.

Happy customer: lots of hair on the ground

The rythmn is frenetic, I would rather bve able to see the details.
Posted by Harriet.

Strangely shaped dark eyebrows ...

The razor devouring respectable chunks of hair...
Posted by Harriet.

Neckstrips: do they have a special meaning?

As I wrote somewhere else, I think that a neckstrip feels like a symbolic type of barberchair bondage, especially when you add a long cape to the scene and the chair is pumped high.

The first video seems to be a commercial describing that a neckstrip avoids contaminnations and allergies at the shampoo basin or due to the contact with the cape, and she also says that using a neckstrip the cape will last longer. All right, if she says so... Posted by Harriet. 

V shape

Just more details of the recent nape buzz for you
Posted by Harriet.

A bob, clippercutting and a cowlick.

I can't endorse this video company simply because I don't know them. But I thought this would be interesting for clippers and bob lovers.
Posted by Harriet.

Wow!

Today I saw this link on LTAH Alternate Forum, a very impressive headshaving session of men and women, it seems to be part of a yoga ritual, but I am not sure about it. Hope you like it. 

http://www.hvidstube.net/play.php?vid=1425

Posted by Harriet.

Impressive use of clippers. Does it work?

I would have adored to check what has resulted from such a dreading technique!
Posted by Harriet.

First scissors, and then the clippers: a very close buzz

I am not a fan of fast forward recordings, but we can't have everything in life...
Posted by Harriet.

Lots of haircutting action to create a sophisticated bob.

"I did it", Harriet says.

Now it's official, I am a redhead. At least for a while. And my nape got a #3 buzz at the hairline and the mini clippers cleaned the stray hair neat and tidily. It was hard to disguise my level of excitment. The new color was a convenient excuse. 

Posted by Harriet.

Right from Greece

Is it just me, or this hairstylist really has a kind of...er... let's put it this way... a dominant style? I observe body language and his says a lot. But I am sorry this is real Greek for me! Any translators available?

Posted by Harriet.

I must have it buzzed again

Suggestions are welcome. My hair is growing, maybe in two weeks I will be visiting the salon...

Lovely haircut, nice class, handsome stylist.

Posted by Harriet.

Cold turkey haircutting method

At the end, "hairdresser and client" seem to have survived the experience, with lots of fun.
Posted by Harriet.

Hints about the basics of haircutting

I know nothing, I can only operate the clippers as a poorly trained begginner...
Harry, on the opposite side, is skilled; crops, bobs and pixies are part of his haircutting repertoire, not to mention headshaves...
Posted by Harriet.

Theo Knoop chops Dana's hair

It impresses me the merciless snipping gestures right at the beginning of the cut.
Posted by Harriet.

Rough haircut, rough lives on the screen.

Posted by Harriet. 

A new step in life: hair and makeup.

This is the pathway for a new romance in the life of this divorced oncologist.
Posted by Harriet.

A rather uncommon commercial

Solis, a Canadian hair salon in Toronto, has this artistic video to advertise their services.

Posted by Harriet.

blue cape

blue cape, a photo by erikcapes5 on Flickr.

This is almost a point of no return. What would you have suggested?
Posted by Harriet.

forced haircut

forced haircut, a photo by erikcapes5 on Flickr.

Some people will love it in the realm of consensual hairplay.
Posted by Harriet.

A second story by MrHair60

The Older Woman
A story by MrHair60.

It was in the 1980's and I was a young (22 year old) stylist and was working at a salon. The salon had an upper and lower level to it. The female owner had me and the other guy working there, assigned to the upper level.
At first I didn't think it was cool, two guys, the same room; what would people think? I'm not gay and could care less if someone is, but did not want rumors flying around that I was, as this would kill my dating prospects. I was relieved to find out the other stylist was straight too!
We had it pretty good up there! We could flirt with the girls and always had them laughing.
The rumor mill I was worried about actually worked in our favor. Word got out that this was the place to go, so we were booked all the time.
It was just too easy to get a date and have different girls every Friday and Saturday night. It felt almost like being a gigilo! But, no money changed hands and we did not always get laid!
This "older" lady (she was 33 years old!) brought her son in for a haircut and she sat in spare styling chair and watched me work.
It was just the bread and butter haircut for a 7 year old boy.
His Mom ( I'll call her Sandy) was now interested in getting her hair cut, but was a bit scared to do it right then.
She had that hungry tiger look in her eyes and I was actually intimidated sexually! I mean, she is 11 years older than me and quite experienced in life as compared to me. Don't get me wrong, she was very attractive with big blue eyes, a tight body, nice breasts and medium brown hair to mid back in a long layered cut that was grown out.
I had her sit in my chair for a quick consultation. Her son had gone downstairs to the waiting area, leaving us alone in the room.
I brushed through her long strands and asked her what she wanted. She responded with "Oh, don't you want to know!" as she made eye contact with me. Her lips seemed so animated as she teased me with her response.
This had caught me off guard as I now stammered and grabbed at words to say and not look like a fool. What really got me was that she knew just what she was doing!
She told me that she was really tired of the long style and the work involved was just too much. I showed her different styles by holding her hair back at different lengths and angles. She said she really like a "Dorothy Hamil" (wedge) haircut that I did on a high school girl that had just left.
But then she chickened out and said she would think about it, but would probably just have me cut it back into the "farrah fawcett" style she had before.
A few days later, Sandy arrived for a haircut. This just wasn't right! How could this older woman have me feeling this way again?
She sat in my chair with great confidence and control! I did not say a word and put the cape on her.
I stood behind her and ran my fingers through her long hair and then pulled it all up and clipped it to the top of her head.
As I looked up, our eyes met again! Damn! My stomach had a weird feeling along with this euphoria I got from her.
At the shampoo bowl I put a towel over her shoulders and had her slide back into the bowl.
I adjusted the water temp and began wetting her hair to shampoo it.
She stared up at me until I made eye contact and then she closed her eyes, smiling at me and keeping the smile on her face as I shampooed her. As I was standing very close to the arm rest, her left arm came out a bit and made contact with "one eyed willy"!
Playing it off was all I could do. Pretending not to notice that she purposely rubbed me several times!
During the rinsing, she would open her eyes and look at me, still smiling, but now, very submissive appearing.
It was strange because now I felt like the tiger!
The silence was broken by me directing her back to the styling chair. Her demeanor had changed from being so in control to very quiet.
Upon combing out her massive tangles, I sectioned her hair off with a thin panel across the neckline. Standard procedure for the time.
From here I could start almost any style of cut.
Sandy asked me "How are you going to cut my hair"?
Because now I feel like the tiger, I respond by saying "Oh, don't you want to know"!
"Are you feeling brave today?" I asked. Sandy just sheepishly smiled and nodded yes, barely squeaking out a "Yes" from her quivering voice. I pumped the chair up to where it was comfortable for me to work on her hair. My heart was beating out of my chest and I was certain she could hear it!
I tilted her head forward gently and began to comb the long hair section that was down. I was still not sure what style I was going cut on her, so I thought I'd "test" it out by placing my shears on the back of her neckline to start a nice short wedge.
I had not opened the shears, but had placed them on the skin to measure how short to cut.
Sandy said "wait!!" "I'm not ready yet"!
Sandy was fidgeting in her seat and was a bit panicked! Her eyes now had moist tears starting to form.
I told her "let's just trim it, Ok?"
Sandy squeaked out "Ok" and that was it. So, I lightly trimmed her back into a long layered cut and blew it dry.
As I removed the cape from her, she apologized and said she didn't mean to freak out on me. Jokingly I told her that she owed me one and I was not going to forget.
Sandy then said she wanted to take me out this coming Friday night and said she would pay for dinner because she felt awkward about the panic attack. I agreed but was not so sure it was going to happen. She then asked what time I get off work on Friday.
Holy Cow! It seemed like the tiger in her was showing again!
On Friday, Sandy shows up at the salon to pick me up in her car. We went out to a very nice eatery and had a great meal.
We had one drink each with dinner and were very content with each other. I was relaxing more and settling down with the idea of an "older" womans company. It was very adult like!
We ended up at a dive bar near the salon, about 1/2 block away and began to drink heavily. Sandy kept ordering drinks, but I needed regular Coke because I was really feeling it. Sandy was becoming amourous and held onto me like a teddy bear! She would rub against me and get me all fired up! After a couple of hours at the bar, we walked back to the salon, neither of us willing to drive!
Sandy was now horny as all get out and I was the target. We went upstairs to the waxing room where there are padded tables to lie on.
Sandy turned me every which way but loose! She was drunk and aggressive for pleasure. Wowee! What an experienced woman can do to a 22 year old is amazing!
When we stopped to rest and catch our breath, Sandy said "I'm ready for a wedge" "right now!"
We are both still naked, intoxicated (her, much more than I) and comfortable with each other.
As she rose to her feet, she was very unsteady and weaved as we walked into the styling room.
Sandy plopped down into the chair, slouching into a sitting position. She then would reach out and grab onto me for an impromptu hand job.
Sandy did not want to be caped and told me to get busy on her hair before she changes her mind.
I wet her hair down with a spray bottle and sectioned it off. I had her sit up straight and she did so without saying anything.
She was so very still and not fidgeting around like earlier. A beautiful neckline was cut in and it was one of the best I've ever seen, coming to a slight point in the middle. I would pull the back sections out and snug my fingers to her head and cut to about 1/2 inch long in the back.
The weight line was then cut into place and it was looking fabulous! Sandy sat with her eyes open and did not say a thing.
It was quite erotic to see her pert breasts in the mirror! The haircut continued to the sides and front. I left her bangs rather longer than a regular wedge because they hung in a real sexy manner. I started cutting the sides, bringing the length to where the ear lobe barely showed, covering most of the ear.
Sandy now has her eyes closed and that sweet smile on her face, but does not utter a single word.
As I work the length on the sides, I notice that she has perfect ears and nice pearl earrings that are hidden by the length of the sides.
I look at her in the mirror and she is still smiling, in approval I assume.
Drunken creativity hits me and I comb the bulk of the sides up out of the way and cut the hair in a nice clean line at the angle of her cheek bone to the top of her ear. What a beautiful look on her!
The other side is cut to match and the bangs blended to fit in.
Undoubtedly one of the best haircuts I had ever done!
After blow drying her hair, I realized she was not moving on her own. I could move her head into position for cutting and styling, but she was passed out!
PLEASE, CONTINUE READING THE STORY AT HAIR AND STORIES.
Posted by Harriet.

Hair fun at home

Hope you like it.
Posted by  Harriet.

Revealing my undercut

Sorry about the flash, it alters the hair color. Anyway, I decided to get a pic of my undercut, right after I shampooed and conditioned my hair. I have combed the longer hairs up to show how short it is at the nape.

Posted by Harriet.

A girls' short nape's best friend

Well, this mini trimmer can also be used to reduce to  stubble all the hair at the south of Equador, if you know what I mean...

Just a wonderful fragment of beauty.

It's a real pity that the video doesn't show a lot of the haircutting, but the images are wonderful. Be patient with the first 40 seconds, a waste of time... LOL
Posted by Harriet.

Razoring it all over

Our blog has been showing too much clippering and scissoring. Variety is the spice of life, so I have chosen some razor action for you.
Posted by Harriet.

A new story by Harriet at HaircuttingStories

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

My furry very short hairline

I did what I had planned (do you remember my posting on Oct. 19th?): I found a wonderful hairdresser in hair roulette, who gave me the nape I yearned for. I was terribly afraid, what is good for this fetishist lady... Well, here follows the pic. An additional thing: he sliced my sides, totally unexpected. The stylist had heavy hands, I felt the weight when he pushed my head down without a word and a drop of hesitation.
Well, I still keep my dear very short bob, the minimal sides and top are my safety blanket.
As a decor item there was an antique barber chair at the salon... OMG...

Posted by Harriet Scissorsfan.

Short sides and back and long bangs.

Hairstyling in the fashion industry. You 'll like it.
Posted by Harriet.

I like it blond, in the second style. And you?

Posted by Harriet.

Generosity and courage: a charity headshave.

She is really beautiful and the lack of hair exposes her elegant facial features even more.
Posted by Harriet.

Awful blue lipstick, a great haircutting class

It's thrilling how scissors over comb can devour hair in seconds...
Posted by Harriet.

A new friend contributes with his sexy stories.

Jenny
A story by MrHair60.

I met Jenny as a client at a salon in Seattle. She was 23 and I was 25, so we both had better bodies at the time.
Jenny was 5'7" tall, killer body, beautiful ass and a very pretty face with blue eyes. Her hair was mid back and layered with long bangs. It was a light brown color that she wasn't crazy about, though she did not want to go lighter/blonder like everyone else.
   Jenny worked as a teller in a bank and was self supportive, but needed a man in her life.
   We dated for a few months, but it cooled off and we went our separate ways.
   During our dating time, I only trimmed Jenny's hair and never really cut it. I did introduce her to the thrill of a shaved pussy and can still see her arching her back during the first few strokes of the razor across her pubis!
   Jenny always teased me about letting me cut her hair into an actual style, but would never follow through.

   It had been several months without contact from her when I got a phone call.   Jenny wanted me to do her hair for her wedding.
   I was floored! It had been maybe nine months and now I am supposed to act like a friend and not an ex-lover?
   To refuse would have been wrong, so I soldiered up and styled her hair for her wedding. She married a King county deputy, who will remain nameless, as he is a dog, without honor and never stopped cheating on her from the start of their relationship.
   She was so beautiful!   I was jealous and sort of confused!
   As I know friends of her new husband, I had already been warned that this was a train wreck waiting to happen.
   Sure enough, they did not last a year. The nameless dog was out chasing women and Jenny had caught him somehow.
   After kicking his cheating ass out of the house, I got another call from Jenny. She told me that she had filed for divorce and needed to see me.
   Being single and stupid, I thought "what could it hurt"?
   Jenny wanted me to come over for dinner, a movie and to trim her hair.
    When the time came, I brought all my equipment in anticipation of the evening.
   She fixed Cornish game hens, veggies and had a chilled bottle of Moscato wine waiting for me. What a cook she was! I was really feeling good and thanked her for going to so much trouble for little old me!
   I helped her clean the table and do the dishes, though she said she could do them later, I insisted that we clean up the kitchen mess so she would not do it alone later. This led to some playful moments of suds and dish towel snapping! I told her I was really having a good time and it was too bad that we could not have had a longer relationship.
   Jenny stopped drying dishes and laid out her feelings. She did not want to rebound into another relationship and wanted me as an intimate friend who could enjoy the moment.
   I told her I understood and thought that she had the right idea, no commitment.

   We had not set an agenda for the evening, so I asked her what she felt like doing. Jenny gave me that horny, lust full look that I came to love and I was instantly aroused. She walked up to me slowly and wrapped her arms around my waist and we slow danced in the kitchen to none existent music. We both naturally slid into a passionate kiss that lasted for an eternity! It felt so good to have her in my arms again!
   Ahhh!! Stupid me!....Jenny pushed herself out of my grasp and her face turned very serious looking! ( OK here it comes brother! REJECTION TIME!!!)
   Jenny said that before we go any further with this.....(Here it comes...she's gonna slam dunk you boy!) that we should get her haircut out of the way!
   (%#*# what? No slam dunk! No, stop right here it's too much?)
   Wait a minute, Jenny said haircut, not trim like she always did. She wouldn't play with me would she? Maybe she slipped and said "haircut".
   I plugged in my extension cord for the blow dryer, got hot water for my spray bottle, laid out my comb, brush and scissors.
   Jenny sat in a kitchen chair and flipped her hair around, pulling it back into a pony tail as she asked for a mirror. I dug in my bag and got the mirror. Jenny kept her hair pulled back and turned her head each way, looking at herself as she did so.
  THIS STORY CONTINUES IN OUR HAIR AND STORIES PAGE
Posted by Harriet.

Extreme style in a barbershop: a side buzzcut and copper hair

Pretty radical side buzzcut, at least for my taste!
Posted by Harriet.

The fever of side buzz in a barbershop

The editing process could have saved more moments to be savoured by clippers enthusiasts.

Posted by Harriet. 

Relaxing at the shampoo basin

A nice shampooing session is a treat. It is wonderful to recline in a comfortable chair and get a scalp massage, the warm or refreshing water running softly, a delicately scented shampoo adding more pleasure to the moment (I love verbena and lavender), magic hands driving us to dreamland....
Posted by Harriet.

A very captivating sequence.

Slow, mindful, no pushing, just a delicate process of self-discovery and hair buzzing.

Tell me, was it worth to follow the videos?
Posted by Harriet.

The supreme art of hair erotica.

"Take It Down", by Cliper2

The medieval towers rose in the distance as the train clacked along the rolling hills. She'd been there so many times before, gaping at the frescoes in The Colegiata, climbing the tower of the Palazzo del Popolo and wandering through the open-air market on Saturday mornings. So many fondly-framed memories, slightly tattered at the corners, perhaps a little embellished with the aging.
She thought of her room. Always the same one on the second floor halfway down the hallway. And that view, a view so postcard-perfect it seemed as if were computer-generated. She imagined sitting in her chair on the small terrace, losing herself in the tableau and gazing down upon the town's sinuous wall and the Tuscan countryside beyond. Lost, in the past, she watched the leaves of the olive grove on the hillside sway, then squinted to focus on the gridded white crosses of the vineyards telescoping into the infinite distance.
It was always a week of utter relaxation, made even more comfortable over the years by her familiarity with the town and its people. But this visit, this visit would be so different. Her thoughts on the flight, during their days in Florence, and on the train ride this morning had not been of the soothing San Gimignano days of the past. No, she had thought both of the more distant past, especially of Saturday mornings, as well as the immediate future. And of the ritual to come. They'd waited for this for years. They'd talked about it and around it for months. And now it was only days away.
In the dusty window of the train she caught her reflection and noticed a rueful smile looking back at her. Her golden brown hair swirled in thick waves to her shoulders, as it had for decades with only the slightest changes.
She tried to imagine the person who would be looking back at her in that same window eight days from now. Then she abandoned the quest. It didn't matter. Well, it mattered. But not as much as the transformation, the metamorphosis, the sharing. With just a touch, she would become something different, the woman of her fantasies. She looked over at her companion and offered a flirting grin. She would share this moment with him, but ultimately it was hers and hers alone.
The ride to the hotel was always the least pleasant part of the trip and he didn't try to cut the tension with conversation. They rode in silence, each with their thoughts, their slightly separate scenarios playing on their minds' cinemas. But that was the fun, the edge to this week. She knew what, but she didn't know exactly how. Or when.
The staff at the hotel included many old friends and they settled into the room in time for a shower before a long dinner. After dinner, they strolled down Via San Giovanni and turned onto a side street, disappearing into the darkness and each other's arms for a long, lingering kiss. Their lovemaking had grown increasingly sensual, increasingly length over the weeks and tonight was no exception.
They awoke mid-morning on Sunday to the sun barging through the double floor-to-ceiling windows of their room. Sunday proved to be the model for the ritual they would follow over the next days. They had espresso and pastries in the little dining room downstairs, then began their walks through the city. They'd climbed the Torre Grossa, viewed the frescoes in Sala di Dante and examined every inch of Ghirlandaio's paintings on each visit. Now those landmarks merely served as reminders that there was a permanence to life, whether in the oils on a canvas, the pigments on a church wall or just the memories of each invididual. The sights were old friends, quilts she could wrap around her for warmth even as she thought of the cool breezes that soon would be breathing on newly explosed flesh.
Of course, this was Italy and there was always something new. On Tuesday, they'd wandered into a side chapel inside Sant'Agostino to find a relic holder she'd not seen on all those other trips. Through the faded, stained glass they couldn't make out its contents. He asked an attendant, who happened by and noticed them staring. "Oh, senora," he said, "it's a lock of hair from Saint Theresa."
Their walks on these days ended with a lazy lunch at one of the outdoor cafes. Then they'd retreat to the sanctuary of their room to read and to make love. He would run her a warm bath in the shimmering white claw-foot tub set in the middle of the black-tiled bathroom, a bathroom that by European standards was cathedral-sized. She would slip into the tub, alone with her sponge, the bubbles and the lingering glow of lovemaking. After he'd permitted her moments of solitude in the candlelight, he would enter naked to kneel behind her on the hard floor and massage her shoulders.
After a few minutes, he would begin stroking her hair, still dry on top, but matted and floating in the tub at the ends. He'd take the shower head, test the temperature of the water then guide her head gently back so the water would run away from her eyes. His strong hands seemed to know just the spots on her head she found the most sensual and his massaging shampoo day after day left her nipples hard and her body aching for more of his touch. After long minutes, he would rinse her hair gently, then hand her a towel. While he showered, she would pad into the room to find her outfit laid on the bed. The first day it was a simple cotton dress. The second day it was tights and an oversized jersey. Barefoot, she would grab her book and settle back in her chair on the terrace, the afternoon sun glinting off her hair, warming her pink cheeks.
When he had dried and dressed, he would join her on the terrace, comb in hand. And then he would spend what seemed like eternity gently unraveling every tangle in her mane. With his insistent rhythm, the raking of the teeth over her scalp became yet another relaxing and arousing massage. She would close her eyes and lean into their bite, savoring it, feeling the coolness of her wet hair upon her shoulders, on her ears, sometimes on her cheeks as he swished strands forward with the comb baton.
He stepped back that first day, smiled and leaned against the rail. And then he spoke for the first time since he'd started shampooing her hair more than an hour earlier.
"When I look on you a moment, then I can speak no more, but my tongue falls silent and at once a delicate flame courses beneath my skin, and with my eyes I see nothing, and my ears hum and a cold sweat bathes me, and a trembling seizes me all over" he said.
Other days, the verses changed. "You are," he said one afternoon, "an eloquent mannequin."
"Ah, what is more blessed than to put cares away," he quipped on another day. The quotes always provided a disjointed, surreal touch to each afternoon on the terrace. Sort of like popping a quarter into a jukebox expecting Bruce Springsteen or Van Morrison and getting Billie Holiday or Sibelius instead.
Those days, though, established a ritual. They also were a sort of celebration of the past, a way of both appreciating the woman she had been and preparing her for the woman she would become.
They followed their terrace sessions with an early evening walk and dinner. Like waiters in most Italian cities, waiters in San Gimignano expected diners to occupy a table for the evening. So their meals were unhurried. They'd share a bottle of wine and talk well into the night about books, nature, their past trips. And occasionally, he'd dart in with a remark about this trip to the barbershop or that great haircut he'd seen recently. She was hypersensitive and he knew it. So talk of Hemingway made her think of the couple in "The Garden of Eden" and the woman's trip to a barbershop. An aside about the latest Star Trek movie immediately brought a picture of Persis into her consciousness. And his crack that they'd finally mastered this sojourn made her shiver with anticipation as she thought back to an amateur story she'd read online years ago called "Master Barber."
Wednesday proved to be an unusually sunny day with gentle breezes. At lunch, they had a couple of glasses of Vernaccia and a panini, alive with the taste of fresh basil and ripe tomatoes. They reached the room earlier in the afternoon than usual and instead of letting her dive into her novel, he started nuzzling her nape, lifting her mane and swishing it on her cheek. Their lovemaking was slow, as if they needed to explore every inch, every possibility this time. And then he seemed to take extra time in the bathroom, shampooing, massaging, applying the rich, thick conditioner. The outfit on the bed was a short, gray jersey dress, something he hadn't picked before. She liked the way it felt against her skin and decided to slip into it without a bra, though her nipples showed when she caught herself in the room's full-length mirror.
Soon, she was out on the terrace, leaning back in her chair and he was raking the finest and last of a series of combs through her hair. Over the days, she'd grown even more sensitive to his touch and her bare toes curled on the warm tiles of the terrace as he finished. A little breeze caught a drop of water on the nape behind one ear, creating a quick, spasmic chill.
"Time," he said, "for thoughts and pleasures to transform us."
Cryptic, indecipherable, perhaps a bit foolish in its pretensions she let the comment pass. And he filled the awkward void with an odd suggestion. "It's Wednesday," he said, "let's reward ourselves. I'm going to have some wine brought up."
"Room service? Here?" she questioned.
"Sure," he said, chuckling. "This is Italy. You can have anything brought to your room. As long as you pay enough."
He walked inside. The sun emerged from behind a cloud to warm her. She could hear him on the phone.
"Just a few minutes. I've ordered a Chianti Reserva," he said, returning.
She heard the knock, but it didn't register. She was still lost in the reverie of the afternoon's comb-out. Voices from inside. The words indistinguishable. A door closed. Minutes later he appeared on the terrace, bottle and two glasses in hand. He poured and handed one glass to her.
"To adventure," he said. "Cheers."
They sipped. Then she noticed him motioning towards inside the room. A barrel-chested man with thick, black hair and a bushy mustache appeared in the terrace doorway behind her. He was wearing a starched white smock and carrying a small black bag.
 
THE COMPLETE STORY CAN BE READ ON OUR HAIR AND STORIES PAGE.
POSTED BY HARRIET.

Great words about hair.

If someone asked me to comment on this story this is what I'd say: "Fantastic. Elegant and erotic. Also subtle, few words saying it all, defining the mood, and surprising the reader with a non-expected ending, which, by the way, is almost a start too". This is Cliper2's tale called A story in search of a title. Here follows a sample of it, the complete story is published at the Hair and Stories page.
Posted by Harriet.



Sitting alone as her stylist, Sue, took the call by the reception desk, Gina allowed herself to enjoy the cool feeling of silk on bare shoulders. She didn't have the courage to take off her bra when she donned the smock. Still, her nipples were hard, had been hard, since she walked in the door. And her center had been growing ever more wet and wobbly as the morning passed.
Her feet were spread, not crossed, propped firmly on the footrest. And the vinyl chair was cool on her bottom, even if she didn't have the courage to go without her panties, as a good sub would. But they knew her here. She couldn't, just couldn't. Not this time. Besides, she was just exploring, just touching a trembling finger in the pool of this submerged desire.
Some things she could still hold at arm's length. Not exactly in denial, but safely out of reach and out of mind often enough. But now she eyed Sue's clippers, sitting haphazardly on the shelf. They were just below the mirror so there were stereo images of them, a double tease. Just out of her grasp. But there. So close.
She had begun to fantasize about a pair of clippers and a pair of firm hands more and more. Was she any closer to them? Metaphorically? Yes. Really? She didn't permit herself an answer.
She did permit herself the fantasies. They were gauzy tapestries, far away from the violent reality that gave them birth. Vague, impressionistic. The truth was she'd never seen a pair of clippers work. Not in that way, at least. She chuckled and remembered his admonition to rent that otherwise forgettable Demi Moore film next week, sit naked alone and watch the pivotal scene. That scene. Cinematic reality.
PLEASE, READ THE COMPLETE TEXT ON HAIR AND STORIES.

Cliper2's most recent tale: a woman grooms her man and...

CLIPER2 writes about a woman assuming the control of the blades. Erotic and refined story. I bet you'll love it...

She paused to watch the first few curls surrender to the blades and fall from him. There was something about the experience, this early summer ritual, that proved inescapably erotic year after year. All she had to do was say to him, "It's summer and time," and the flush began.
He'd been as reliably compliant as ever, despite the obvious reasons for hesitation.
So as the sun went down, she lit the candles, focused the soft lighting just so, and beckoned him to get into position, securing each ankle and each wrist with old ties, firmly. There would be no second thoughts. There was no chance of that, of course. But the anxiety heightened the pleasure. She was in control of her boy.
She worked the clippers slowly through the hair, slicing it away easily, enjoying the swaths of smooth white skin that emerged as she did. The vibrations of the clippers were both powerful and erotic, an echo of the vibrators they often used in play. She made sure to rest the clippers against his skin, watching his reaction . He feigned calm, but his hardness betrayed him. He was hot, as hot as the first summer she demanded this transformation.
She smiled slightly to herself, enjoying, knowing the end of the story here in the middle, and then she plunged the clippers gently back into his curls, stripping his naked body. Occasionally, she ran her long nails over the newly exposed skin, watching as he stifled a deep breath, his arousal growing. She was careful around the curves, but also cognizant of her power and the power of the vibrations against his skin. When she finished, she couldn't resist teasing him unmercifully, bending over to blow away a few shorn curls.
THIS CLIPER2'S STORY CONTINUES ON THE STORIES' PAGE
POSTED BY HARRIET.

Mid-back hair: a girl at the barbershop.

Some good inches are razored in this old video.

Posted by Harriet.

More stories in the horizon.

Good news. In the next days we will be posting some new stories. There is a lovely sexy tale by Cliper2, who wrote a sophisticated story spent in Italy (ma che cosa buona!!!!) and two or three delicious stories published by MrHair60 on Experience Project. I confess I have been putting some pressure upon Harry's shoulders so that he finds some time in his busy work schedule in order to write us another of his excellent long stories or mini tales. Till now, we have to get satisfied with the creative polls and quotes he offers us every week.
Posted by Harriet.

Undercut and nape shave

Meticulous barbershop action. And the result is a surgically precise nape.
Posted by Harriet.

If you appreciate extreme styles this is for you.

When you think there is no more hair to be cut, Theo discovers how to get another special effect with his scissors and clippers.
Posted by Harriet.

I should have insisted

Regretful feelings.
I have been planning a shorter/closer nape for a while and this moment would become an event to be cherished. I found on Flicker the perfect look (published here on Oct. 19th), which is rather similar to my present style, but with a more daring nape, and I have printed the pic to take to my stylist, who has been a rather cooperative accomplice of mine. Yesterday was the day, I haven't planned this but an unexpected open space in my schedule and an unplanned social event at night justified the impulse. He was free, with plenty of time, which is good. He was surprised with the nape I wanted, I imagine, he said he was going to adapt it to my hair. Yes, he buzzed my nape yesterday, and lots of hair went to the ground. But he delicately refused to go as close as the pic, maybe imagining I would freak out, I don't know exactly what was going on. I was inassertive, and although I have a very good assertive repertoire in most occasions I avoided using it because I didn't want to show my "enthusiam" for very short napes. He even said he was not going to clean the contour with the small trimmers, just trim that stray hair with clippers over comb so that it could blend with the rest.
The cut was beautiful, it allows for three variations: as a short classic bob without bangs, with the short hair minimally and elegantly tucked behind the ears, or wavy and tousled, but... Tsk, tsk, tsk.
Today I will get my Remington pink mini clippers and give my own nape a good contour cleaning (civil disobedience and hair guerilla now!!!).
I will probably have to come back to my daring stylist in Argentina, which will be an expensive little treat for me. He would give me the nape I long for! The less expensive alternative is a visit to another salon, with the same pic in hands, but this is hair roulette. The third alternative is coming back to the guy, who I like very much, and insist with him that I do want that very short nape.
Maybe there is an advantage to be considered, I will get two nape buzzing sessions to obtain the desired result, instead of one, which is not a bad thing considering the lusty pleasure of having vibrating blades mowing my nape hair.
Thanks for support!
Posted by Harriet.

A site worth a visit.

Have you ever visited this interesting blog?
 http://coolbobs.com/Blog/
You can be a regular there, since you don't forget us here...
How faithful will you be?
Posted by Harriet.