THIS IS OUR "LIBRARY", WHERE WE KEEP HAIR STORIES FROM DIFFERENT AUTHORS, INCLUDING US. JUST SCROLL DOWN TO READ THEM, PLEASE.
WHEN DO YOU KNOW?
A story by Mr. Hairman
My earliest interest in womens hair was when I was a child, around third grade. I thought girls hair was something really cool and they all had different colors, wave, curl, straight....it was interesting to me.
A next door neighbor who used to babysit me had shoulder length, thick black hair. I did not seem to notice it much, maybe because she was an authority figure to me.
One summer day, she came over to our house to show my mom her new haircut.
I heard all the fuss and came out of my bedroom to see what was going on.
To my surprise, here was my neighbor/babysitter with a really short pixie style cut! I was really interested!
My mom said "Look, Diane got her haircut!"
The nape was very short and the ears exposed and that long dull black hair now had a shine to it! She was a knockout!
This started me off in paying attention to womens hair.
I would see and study them all.
In 4th grade, there was a girl that had a crush on me. Of course I could not let on that I liked her too, or the boys would give me S#*t about it forever! (it was a tough town!)
Shawn and I would talk a little on the playground. She was a skinny, pretty girl with light brown hair to the middle of her back, with bangs that came forward. She would wear her hair in two pony tails or just a hoop barrette with a ribbon in it.
I would even ride my bicycle to her house and we would stand outside and talk.
Other times we would ride bikes together. We never held hands or talked of love thank god.
One day on the playground, Shawn came up to me and gave me my very first kiss!
The excitement and shock got me! I was on the moon! Some of the guys saw it and I thought I'd get teased for it.
Oh no! Just the opposite happened. She and I were now the talk of the school!
During summer vacation we would still meet up, but now it had grown into a small group of five (mixed boys and girls). We'd go swimming at the pool or ride bikes or have picnic at the only park in town.
One hot summer day, before the fourth of July, I rode over to Shawns house.
I knocked at the front door and could see inside slightly. The solid door was open, but the screen door was closed, kind of limiting my vision of the dark inside of the house.
I could hear Shawn's mom saying something like "Your friend is here, come on, go outside"
Shawn never took this long to answer the door! We were "high energy" kids and daylight was burning!
Shawn slowly rambled to the door. As she neared, I could see that she was not happy. Then I saw why!
Her bangs still hung forward, but the thick, wavy light brown hair was gone!
She now sported a mix between a wedge and a bob!
I remember reacting by saying that I really liked it and it was "right on!" (for the younger people....Right On was a saying in the 70's that we used!)
Shawn's mom broke in to the conversation saying Shawn cried the whole time while getting it cut and is not happy today.
We did not wait for our group of friends as Shawn wanted out of the house now!
We got on our bikes and rode to a "secret" location and sat in the shade.
Shawn was very pouty about her haircut.
I remember telling her that she was prettier with short hair, that when we go swimming she won't need two towels and that she was in style with the older girls because most girls in town were getting the same haircut.
I had such a tingling in my stomach!
That week, Shawn's family went on vacation for a couple weeks.
That summer, even my sister got her haircut like Shawns.
By the time school started, only a few girls had long hair!
I enjoyed studying all the different girls and their different haircuts.
It was really a thing of beauty, it is an art form to be able to remove product and create a sculpture!
TAKE IT DOWN
A story 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.
"My dear," said her companion, "meet Franco, your room-service barber."
What could she do but tilt her head back that way she did and smile.
Franco, bowed and said, "Buon giorno, senora." And then went about unpacking his bag, setting his barbers' tools neatly one after the other on the small table nearby. Shiny silver shears. Three combs. A closed straight razor. A huge pair of red clippers. A smaller, less threatening pair of gray clippers.
Her companion moved behind her to run a wide comb through her still-wet tresses one last time, then to bend over and kiss her affectionately on the cheek. "Shall we begin," he said, not so much a question as a gentle order.
Franco looked over, produced a striped white cape from his bag, snapped it taut and approached her, laying it around her shoulders. Then he pulled a tissue strip from a pocket and neatly tied it around her neck. She noticed she swallowed hard involuntarily as he did. Then she was tucked neatly in, the cape fastened around her neck.
Her companion leaned against the railing, as intent as she'd seen him. A reassuring smile, a little cocky.
Franco looked towards him and he nodded.
The shears, looped through the third and fourth fingers of his hand, banged against the comb. Franco's breath close upon her. His mustache twitching. The comb dragged through the hair by her right ear. Aligning every hair with Palladian care. Hair that had always covered her nape, rested upon her shoulders.
She sat unmoving, though not unmoved. The shears, opened now, slid into the sheet of golden brown along her chin line, below her right cheek. And then they closed ever so slightly. Just a few strands -- you probably could count them -- separated from her head and slithered down the cotton cape, pooling in her lap.
Then another comb. And the jaws of the shears opening and closing again. Just a little more; another slender snake. A coolness on her jawline as the cool, now-wet shears touched her skin. To say Franco was deliberate would be to say the Sistine Chapel is a masterpiece; it was an understatement.
He snipped hair by hair. First cutting a line along the jaw on her right side angling back just under her ear. Then cutting the same line on the left side. Her nape remained covered in damp tanwy glory as he moved behind her and with both hands on her crown angled her head down so her nape beckoned and her chin touched her chest, where she could feel her heart pounding below.
He seemed to take extra time combing the hair in back. And her nape, always sensitive, tingled with arousal. Then she felt the steel, cold against her flesh. And she heard the rasp. A brush of his hand and another curl of hair slithered down the cape and plopped on the tile of the terrace. Gone forever.
Her companion shifted against the railing and she caught his eye. Their smiles needed no words. Pleasure all around.
Franco finished the line on her nape, then began combing and pulling and shearing, combing and pulling and shearing the base of the bob in back. Each motion was like a massage and her arousal surprised her. During a pause, she squirmed a little on the chair, wondering what this stranger thought of the scene in which he was a vital supporting player.
That tap of the shears on the comb. A coda for the cut. Franco stepped back. And just then a little breeze stirred the olive grove in the near distance, reaching her, brushing her nape and punctuating what had been completed. "What a woman says to her ardent lover should be written in wind and running water," she thought, an old verse that emerged as if carried by the breeze.
Her companion quickly was at Franco's side, ushering him to the table where he could collect his equipment. To her, he turned and mouthed, "Don't move."
Franco left bowing and offering, "Bellisimo, bellisimo."
And she sat, alone, staring out at her view, not daring to touch. But choosing only to try to feel every exposed area, every bit of the transformation.
He returned, having thanked Franco and took both her hands in his. They said nothing. Slowly, he brought her hands to the side of her head and back to her nape, placing them there on her newly naked nape. She rolled her head and moaned softly as she explored.
And then he bent down for a long, hard, sensual kiss, finally pulling away to nibble a lobe, then nuzzle her hairline.
She was still wearing the cape and finally, he pulled back and plucked a handful of hair from her lap. Creating a brush in his hand, he traced a line from her cheek to her nape, then swished as he unbuttoned the cape and let it fall at her feet, hair floating off the balcony. The tissue was next and his hair brush continued, snaking down her neck and into her cleavage and she rose to face him. Their fierce embrace was quickly followed by a race inside. He pulled her before the mirror and stripped both himself and her within seconds. No need to slowness now; no reason for anything but abandon.
When she looked, the could only smile as he stood behind her.
They missed their late afternoon walk that Wednesday and by the time they got to the restaurant, they were famished, tearing at the bread, slurping the first glass of wine. In the candelight, her sharp bob showed off her strong, classic features. And the golden brown of her hair contrasted with the virgin white skin of a neck that it once shielded from the sun. Just gazing across the table at her aroused him. Just reaching back to feel her new nakedness transformed her into a limp pool of desire.
Later, they walked into the piazza, lingering around the coolness of the well, pressing their bodies together, exploring with their tongues.
What stunned her over the next two days as they returned to their routine was the reaction from the hotel staff, the merchants in the square and the others. Men -- and women -- couldn't take their eyes from her swinging new cut. And her companion played to it, making her nape as sensitive and charged an erogenous area as those places she'd come to love touched over the years. Often, too, he easily brought back the sounds, feelings and emotions of that haircut by taking the brush he'd fashioned from her locks and stroking her burning flesh.
On Friday night, there was a little festival in the Piazza della Cisterna. Then he walked her down a calle she'd never explored before, turning into a charming, rustic, stone-floored restaurant where they had a back room to themselves. It was one of those nights, one of those conversations where ideas floated in a whirlpool above their heads and they plucked them down at random to peck at them. Europe and the United States. The market. The state of the global environment. Worst college dance tunes. Secret eroticisms. Their favorite online friends; then the ones they figured were phonies. And, finally, a talk about haircuts, but not hers. His. Particularly that afternoon at Astor Place when he'd walked in with shoulder-length hair and walked out with a buzz.
As they swirled glasses of pear grappa, he toasted her and said cockily, "Just two more days here. Just two more days."
They slept in on Saturday, then stopped by a cafe for an earlier than usual breakfast. As they ate and talked about the vineyards in the area they'd like to visit, her mind kept pulling her back to other, more domestic Saturday mornings. Mornings that seemed closer, more vivid. Two days, she thought, two afternoons.
After the early lunch, they returned to the room. But this time, not to their books, or even the bed. He opened the armoire and pulled out a linen dress, one she recalled he hadn't picked for her the previous week. It was short, with a scooping neckline and straps over the shoulders.
"I think you'd look great in this out on the terrace this afternoon," he said, smiling.
"Yes," she said, "I can put a nice cold Coke between my thighs as I sit."
"Oh, I don't think you'll he steady enough to handle that," he said.
They smiled coyly at each other, each with the same visions dancing between them.
Saturday, she thought, was the obvious choice. But the only choice.
She didn't pause, but strolled to her chair, the chair, on the terrace, her toes curling as she sat down and glanced to her right to see the small table covered by that striped white sheet, the soft lumps underneath obvious.
He followed her, brush in hand and stepped to her right side. And then he began a brushing so tender, so careful, so attentive that she simply closed her eyes and tried to store every nuance so she might retrieve them decades from now. He worked the right side, then around the back. Then the left side. Occasionally, he paused to kiss her softly. Occasionally, the back of his hand brushed down her bare back. Her breathing became deeper, her body one giant nerve ending devouring his touch.
His free hand followed every stroke, smoothing the strands with a barely perceptible touch. Then he stopped and stepped back. Her eyes were closed as if dreaming. She opened them and smiled at him, a small sighing breath of satisfaction escaping from her lips.
He set the brush down on the small table with the barber's equipment and leaned back against the railing, arms crossed. "Tell me," he said, "what you remember about those trips with your father to your uncle's shop. The sights, the sounds, the smells that remain to this day."
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Seconds passed as she resurrected those moments. The sun warmed her as once those Saturday mornings had. Slowly, she opened my eyes, the apples of my cheeks flushed and the memories escaped her lips.
"The bimonthly trips to my uncle’s barber shop were just another chore for my father," she said. "Arrival was planned for 9 a.m. sharp, The fifo method of personal grooming: first in, first out. His day was then his to enjoy in domestic and leisure pursuits."
"For me, it was the grand adventure. A brass bell tinkled as we entered the shop; I was always first, a gentle hand on my back to guide me inside.
'Pumpkin!' called my uncle as he turned and saw us enter. He would bend down as I ran to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He would kiss me with a bristly mustache that made him dapper and suave in my child’s eyes. His white smock, clean and crisp from my aunt’s laundry, would crinkle with our hugs."
" 'Take a seat, Pumpkin. I'll have your dad done in no time.'
In summer, my thin, bare legs would stick to the seat of the red vinyl chairs that lined the shop's back wall. My fidgeting to get the perfect view was often mistaken for youthful boredom. This squirming got me a shiny quarter flipped through the air from Dad.
'Why don’t you treat yourself at the 5-&-10?' dad said over his shoulder as the nylon cape was fastened around his neck. The thought of missing the show was unthinkable. I would demure with 'May I have a Coke, please?' and I would walk to the back of the shop where a glistening red vending machine stood."
Back in my seat, a cold cola between my thighs, I was transfixed. This was not like going to the salon with Mom. Four black and white photos lined the wall behind me. They succinctly defined the limited selection of styles available. Unless Dad spoke up, it was "the usual:" short, tight sides with his reddish brown curls left long enough to make a wave or two.
But this time, he spoke up. He'd settled into the chair and my uncle had wrapped the tissue around his neck and spread the cape. And he raised his right hand, just enough for my uncle to pause. "Take it down," he said. That was all. Just "take it down."
This was summer and the 1960’s and Dad was getting his first summer flat top.
I would withstand the idle chat and the stale sweat of the other men for the promise of the clippers. And today I would be rewarded. The Coke would jolt in my lap as my uncle switched them on. If the man seated next to me was observant, he would catch the involuntary jump and offer some teasing remark. 'They don’t bite, honey.' True, but what they did was undeniable in my child’s mind.
The clipper's tune changed as it made contact with my father’s head. The smooth hum changed to a serious growl as they made quick work of my father’s hair. I felt that growl deep inside me. They mowed a path as distinct as our mower on the front lawn. White flesh appeared above an already tanned neck. The shop seemed to fill with a warm human smell that increased as the hair gathered on the floor.
The other chairs filled, but my focus was on my uncle and his magic. Comb poised half an inch above the crown, he deftly carved a level flat top all the while conversing in the idle manner of the detached. Slipping his hands into the straps, he worked palm brushes over Dad's head making every hair stand at attention and my breath stop. Flecks of hair would shower forth creating a fine cloud around his head. A quick dusting from a long horse hair brush would make me circle my head from shoulder to shoulder dreaming of that sensation. A final splash of astringent on Dad’s neck and the men nodded their approval.
As the cape was removed, I would join them, fingering the brush and filling my head with Sea Breeze. 'hat do you think?' asked Dad.
'You look great.'
"What about the barber?' asked my uncle.
My compliments would be mingled with giggles as my face was dusted with the same brush that was used on the men. I was rooted to the spot, never wanting those perfect Saturday mornings to end. "
She stopped, returning from the past to the present, a present she thought she might never have the courage to enjoy.
"You don't know how much I enjoyed that story," he said. "And how it shows we are a perfect match."
"There are two quotations for today, this special day," he added.
"To sit where I can see your face & hear your laughter come & go, is greater bliss than all the gods can ever know."
And then he pulled a tattered, dog-eared corner of paper from his wallet, Unfolding it, he paused. "Something from the encyclopedia entry under 'haircuts' ," he said, unable to suppress an ear-to-ear-grin and that smile in his blue eyes.
"Flattop -- that's one word. A man's," he paused, looking up from the paper at her, "short haircut with a flattish, brushlike crown."
He handed her the piece of paper. And then turned to the table, where he shook out the cotton cape with a flourish. "Hmm, " he said, eyeing her, "I don't think so. I think I want to see hair sprinkled on those bare shoulders, spill down that cleavage and itch that sexy back. "
With that, he tossed the cape into the room. He came over to her, bent down and traced his forefinger along her cheek, then kissed her softly, sweetly.
"What'll it be?" he asked, his face inches from hers.
She paused, took a deep breath. The words came out with no effort. They were inevitable. But they had been waiting for years, waiting for something as irresistible as this Saturday afternoon on this terrace with this barber.
"Take it down," she said, then almost whispered, "please..."
"Of course," he said. "Your dream is my command."
He turned to pluck the red clippers from the table. Turning towards her, he held them up, as if for inspection. He shook his head. And mouthed, "not yet."
Replacing them, he took the shears and the comb. And she heard the knock of steel upon plastic as he advanced. The comb was in her hair now, by her right ear, pulling through the ends of the sharp bob.
She sat, staring ahead, hands opening and closing, eyes focused on the horizon.
And then she jumped just a little as the cold steel cuddled up to the soft skin in front of her ear. There were a series of rasps as she felt the shears trace a semi-circle around the top of her ear. A hank of hair plopped on her shoulder. He reached down, picked up the hair and pressed it into her right hand. Stepping in front and to her left ear, he repeated the ritual. Cold steel. Rasps. A tickle on her shoulder. The breeze on her ear. Oh, that breeze. Except on those rare days when she pulled her golden brown tresses back with a band, her ears had always hid behind that curtain. No longer.
His finger outlined the shape of her left ear, his face so close she could feel his breath. She ached for him to...But no. Not yet.
Instead, he stepped around, standing in front of her, his right knee rubbing her left thigh. Close, very close. His hardness rose proudly before her eyes. His hand reached under her chin to raise her gaze a few degrees. There. Straight. And the felt the comb rake through the hair on her crown. First, creating parts of the left and right sides. Then combing the hair between into his free hand.
Rake, rake, rake. A gentle pull. A little twist.
She realized he'd created a small topknot with that hair.
And she heard the shears singing their tune, flexing their muscles, warming up and a little spasm, a rush coursed through her brain. She saw his hand move closer.
Snip, snip, snip.
Tiny dots of brown floated before her right eye, landing on her cheek. Just quarter-inch strands.
Snip, snip, snip.
More flashes of unfocused brown. One clearly thicker, curling down her neck. A shift and it slipped between her breasts.
Snip, snip, snip.
This time she saw nothing. But she felt the tickle on her back.
Snip, snip, snip.
Smaller bits again, this time poised on the end of her nose. She crossed her eyes, trying to focus, almost laughing at herself as she did. He gently brushed the hair off her nose and it fell on her lips. Lasciviously, she uncoiled her tongue to retrieve and pull the hair into her mouth. And she swallowed.
Snip, snip, snip.
A flutter on her left ear.
Snip, snip, snip.
Her right shoulder.
Snip, snip, snip.
Thick, curling snakes this time, pausing on her cheek before sliding off and pooling in her lap, where the linen dress formed a taut trampoline.
Snip, snip, snip.
Again and again. Over time, her shoulder, her face, her breasts were freckled with hair.
She watched as a few strands of hair caught an updraft and scurried over the railing and off on the breezes, gone forever on the winds.
Then his hand was at his side. But no hair flopped over her forehead. She felt lighter, freer than ever.
He ducked into the room and returned with a small silver bowl. "The relics, please," he said and she dropped the paper and the hair she'd been holding into the offering dish.
"Now," he said.
When she saw him again, the red clippers were in his hand. She braced for that loud click, then the growl she finally dared to hear. Again. Instead, he came to her and knelt beside the chair and took her hands in his. And she found herself cradling the clippers, her hands resting between her thighs.
She looked at him. A pause.
She knew. But she wanted him to say it.
"Turn them on, Angela," he whispered softly, just as her thumb flicked the silver switch atop them. The vibration in her hands was unnerving, even as the buzz, the sound of their unforgiving bite, rose on the terrace.
He held out his hand and she presented them to him as he rose.
She leaned her head back, then bowed it, elbows on knees, waiting. But he brushed the short hairs of her crown, pulling her head back. She was confused.
And then she understood as he held the comb, that squared-off comb she remembered from childhood, in front of her. Yes, first the top. First, make her flat. Then, oh then.
She raised her head level, proud, thrilled. And above her eyes, she could see the clippers poised above her field of wheat, even as she could feel her stringy sideburns, her thick nape hair, still blowing in the breeze. Their sound changed as they came closer. The first pass. Right down the middle of her head. Hair flying everywhere. Little bits of hair. She imagined the flattop comb poised the requisite half an inch above her head.
The second pass. Hair sprinkling her cheeks, her nose. And the third pass.
He paused to consider his sculpture.
Then more passes, across the top, side to side this time. Making it just so.
The effect was unnerving. She could hear the clippers, not really feel them since they hovered just above her scalp.
Silence.
He brushed a few hairs away from her eyes.
Retreated to the table and she heard the click as he switched blades. While this haircut wasn't quite what she'd imagined all those years, she realized what he'd saved for the finale. And in the seconds left, she closed her eyes and lost herself in anticipation.
She felt him beside her. "Take it *down*," he said, emphasizing the word.
She let a sigh of satisfaction escape.
Click.
Buzzzzzz
Her head bowed.
Her hands fidgeting.
Her lips forming the word, "please..."
The sound, that sound, moved behind her.
The bite actually jolted her. The blades nibbled at her nape, vibrating, rising painfully slowly up her neck behind her right ear. Higher, higher, higher. To the crown. Their rise sending chills racing down her spine, over her breasts and to her warm moistness. Her breathing increased again, her mouth open involuntarily in pleasure.
Then...zing. The clippers lifted off her head. Immediately a finger ran from her nape up to her crown, through nothing but...bristle.
A soft gasp.
And then those nibbling blades again. A second pass. Slowly. Up, up, up. Square in the middle of her nape. Over that little bump. Zinggggg. Hair sliding down her back. No finger this time. Just those blades, those insatiable blades over behind her left ear now.
She bit her lip to stifle a moan as they rose. The coolness, the delicious lightness, was undeniable now. And then zingggg. Her left ear covered in brown, his hand brushing it away down to her shoulder.
She wanted, she needed, to reach back and feel. But she was frozen, lost deep inside herself, excited beyond belief.
She barely felt his hand angle her head to the right and the clippers start at her left cheek and go up and then back, sending a sheet of hair over hear ear. Then he quickly was over the other side. And those clippers were whirring, buzzing, humming all over. Her nape. Her ears. Quick, short thrusts sending tiny wisps of hair into the air like dust on a dry day.
With each quickening pass, her body reacted. Her pulse quickened. Silence. Sudden. Unexpected. Just the sound her her heart pounding through her brain and her heavy breathing, beyond panting.
She lifted her head and gazed into his smiling eyes, noticing he'd already slipped his hands into the brushes. Straddling her, her brushed the sides vigorously. And then the top. Her eyes closed with the pleasure they -- and the clippers -- had released. Every fiber of her was at attention. Engorged. Thrilled.
And then his hand stroked her head from the nape up and over to her forehead and she surrendered control, coming in slow, spasmic waves as she collapsed forward into him as he knelt before her.
Long minutes later, she opened her eyes to see drifts of hair floating off the terrace and to the ground. They kissed. And he helped her to her feet, hugging her as they walked inside where he positioned her in front of the full-length mirror, now covered with a sheet. Then he turned her to face him. Her eyes gazed out over his shoulder to the terrace and the chair. And he dropped first one strap, then the other from her shoulders. The dress slipped to the floor. And then he slide her soaking panties to the floor as well before quickly stripping himself.
He paused to race over and rip the sheet from the mirror. Hands on her shoulders now, he slowly turned her around. Her mouth dropped open, her pulse quickened again, driven by an involuntary surge of adrenaline.
Naked, she noticed how her white breasts formed two counterpoints to her tanned shoulders and the creamy white skin showing through the bristle left around her ears. He'd given it to her. She'd demanded it. They'd done it. A flattop. Sharp, severe, a statement. Brushlike.
Slowly, she raised her hand to feel. "Ohhhhh," slid from her lips. She stood, staring, alone with her past and her present.
Over time, she returned to his presence behind her, realizing his hardness stabbed at her behind. Smiling, she turned, to say, "I don't believe I've paid and tipped the barber for giving me exactly what I wanted," reaching down to grip his shaft and stroke twice.
With him in hand, she guided them to the bed. Their lovemaking over the next hours wasn't furious, as it had been Wednesday. But it was controlled slow, more gentle than she'd ever remembered. It was as if he realized now that she had a man's haircut, now that she'd rid herself of a woman's glory, that she needed to be treated even more like the considerable woman she was.
When they finally left the room, she turned heads like never before. Wednesday proved to be just a shallow preview to the reaction she got this night. Some open-mouthed stares, several compliments and even one request to "touch it." As dinner ended, she felt her face grow sore because she'd been smiling so incessantly.
Then it was a late night stroll, as the locals lingered in the cafes around the Piazza. Every head turned as they emerged, arm in arm, from the shadows and walked towards the well. There was a reverence for her undeniable beauty, a respectful appreciation for her choice.
Her shaven, white naped was like a spotlight, highlighting the graceful curve of her neck. He vainly tried to keep his hand from that neck; was a woman, a proud woman, who carried her head just so atop such a neck perhaps the most beautiful sight in the world? He touched on the question, the left it as they drew near the well.
"Ah," he said, "be back in a minute. "
He hurried over to the counter at a cafe and she realized. Yes, she thought, a little sweet coolness to finish the hottest day of her life. She eagerly takes the gelato and they continue over to the well, where she leans back, props up a foot and tongues the cool peak. The breeze catches on her ear, the coolness of the well on her bare skin a reminder of the afternoon's pleasures. A little chill on sun-kissed skin.
Adults wander by, stopping to gaze. They watch as the couple giggles, their mouths meeting in a frosty kiss.
The couple is along with their thoughts, lost in the shadows of little touches that set off one smile after another. They embrace the moment.
Reaching into the pocket of her linen dress, she pulls out a small satchel. Opening it, she reaches in and hands him a few strands of golden brown, pecking his cheek as she does. He kisses them, accepting the offering.
She joins him, leaning over the edge of the well and he opens his hand. The hair drifts away, falling into the darkness, fluttering down into the water, sending out small waves that ripple across time.
They turn and face each other, alone in the crowd. He takes her hands in his.
"This is not the end, " she says. "It is just the beginning."
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!
She was not dead, just toasted!
I carried her back to the waxing room and placed her on a table to sleep. I felt really funny about the whole evening. I just knew when woke up I'd be in trouble!
When she did wake up, she was really mellow and sweet!
Sandy immediately knew her long locks were missing and reached up to feel her hair. She screeched out "Oh No!" and had a big smile on her face.
"You did cut my hair! I thought it was dream!"
I had been awake all night watching her to make sure she did not stop breathing because it was scary she slept so hard.
During that time I am worrying that she is gonna be really pissed at me and who knows what could happen!
She jumped to her feet and ran to the styling room saying "I've got to see it!"
Another screech emits from her in total excitement!
Sandy then demonstrated her thankfullness by jumping my bones for round two!
It went well until the salon owner, I'll call her "Mary" arrived and unlocked the front door!
"Mary" yelled up to me asking if I was there. I yelled back that I was and I would be down in a few minutes.
"Mary" being a really cool boss and enjoying the money I was bringing her salon, said she had to leave for 15 minutes to get "supplies".
This gave us time to get dressed and compose ourselves.
Sandy was dressed in moments and planted a long wet kiss on me prior to flying out the door.
She was ecstatic and had "perma grin" she was so happy!
"Mary" returned and caught me cleaning up my mess. She grinned at me and said she did not care that I used the salon for my after hours customers, but I needed to be discreet.
I knew her line about going to get supplies was bullshit, because we had everything delivered. "Mary" was an open minded classy lady and I was lucky to have her as my boss!
As for Sandy, we never "dated" again but she would return for haircuts and we were quite playful with each other until her early passing from an auto accident.
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.
I caped Jenny with a new plastic cape that was white with red designs on it. Her hair really stood out against the color of the cape.
I touched her hair along the right side, lifting it and letting it fall back to her shoulder. She was so pretty! I had forgotten her perfect features!
This had me quite aroused and I could not resist one more kiss! I stepped around from the side and kissed her on the mouth again.
Not knowing what cut I'm doing on her, I just had to ask! Jenny replied that she did not know what she wanted. She wanted to go short but was afraid to.
Jenny commented that she knows I would do a great job and it would look really good, however she just could not say the words!
I combed her hair for a few minutes, playing with it, pinning it back to resemble a short cut. I'd look at it from different angles and handed her the mirror.
Jenny said she liked it but just was not ready for short hair. I said "cool" and started to do her typical haircut.
I took a "shot in the dark" and reminded Jenny that she probably needed a haircut down below. She just smirked at me and then flashed her wonderful smile.
I continued doing this light trim on her hair when she interrupted our conversation and said clearly, " The longer I sit here, the braver I get!". I pretended not to get the message and continued my work.
She then asked "What do you think? Do you want to cut my hair short?" "Do you think it would look OK?"
Being the king of one liners, I respond by saying "Which hair are you talking about?"
Jenny said "You're right! Let's do this hair first, (as she touched between her legs), and then I won't care what you do up here!"
She stood up from the chair, fiddling with something under her cape. I quickly removed the cape and she turned her back to me, and slid her jeans off, revealing that world class butt of hers!
The panties were black lace and sexy on her, but she still kept her back to me. She slid the panties off too and teasingly kicked them across the room!
When she turned around for me to see her, I noticed that her bush was wild! It had not had any attention in along time.
Jenny sat on a bar stool and leaned back onto the counter top near the kitchen sink. She spread her legs, opening up her vulva to the light.
Jenny said " I am so ready for this!" "You don't know how long I've wanted to be shaved again!"
I quickly unplugged the blow dryer and got out my new Oster 2351 fast feed clippers. Jenny was now blushing and said "what is that?"
"Clippers! I'm not going to struggle with scissors on this jungle!"
When I snapped the clippers on, Jenny almost jumped out of the stool! "Whoo...oh my god!" she squealed!
I started at the top and clipped downward across her pubic bone. Jenny watched intently and began a slight thrust forward as she arched her back. She squealed and giggled the whole time I was clipping away.
When I got to her labia area I could see that Jenny really enjoyed the clippers vibration and was very wet.
I finished clipping and told her we would shave it in her bedroom. Jenny brushed away the pile of wiry hair that was on the stool and then rubbed her hand down over the stubble that remained. She was horny and very aroused, as I was too!
I asked her if she was ready for a haircut now and she said yes, but she did not want the cape because she was too hot now.
Her face was flushed red and both sets of lips were full of color and puffy.
She was wearing a button up blouse and I suggested she take it off so we would not get hair on it.
Jenny agreed and was now wearing only a bra that matched the earlier discarded panties. She removed it too, saying it was too expensive to get hairy.
Jenny quickly sat back down in the hair cutting chair, feeling her bared vagina.
I reached around from behind and enjoyed the slow caressing of her breasts. This was driving her wild!
I did not ask if Jenny wanted her hair cut short and sectioned it off, pulling up everything except the nape hair, below the occipital bone.
Jenny had no clue what was about to happen!
I put a number three guard on the Osters and got ready.
I instructed Jenny to sit straight, hands in her lap, feet together and most of all don't move! "You can talk or yell at me all you want, just don't move".
Gently I tilted her head forward to expose the nape area. I snapped on the clippers and Jenny said loudly "Just what are you doing?"
I said "Just trust me, you will love it"!
The Osters ate their way through the thick light brown, perm dried out hair. The hair cascaded in sheets down Jenny's bare back and over her bare breasts causing her to whine in a shrill voice.
"Oh my god, I can't believe you're doing this, I can't believe I'm letting you!" "Oh no, this is way too short!"
Within a minute, Jenny's nape area was uniformly cut and really looked good. Her natural growth pattern gave the hair a very fitted appearance
The sides were next and were cut into a Sassoon line that follows the angle of the cheek bone to above the ear.
When pressing the clippers in to do the cut, it tickled her ear with it's vibrations, causing more squealing to echo in the kitchen.
I cut the other side in the same manner and put the clippers down to transition to scissor cutting the top and back weight line area.
As I started working on the top section, Jenny reached over to the table and grabbed the clippers, using them as her personal vibrator!
She was now wiggling and having a good time as I tried my best to "roll with it" and not mess up the cut.
I had to break up her fun to use the clippers to clean up her neckline. This set her over the edge The blades without a guide were warm to the touch and I went from the base of her neck, up to the neckline, clipping the stray hairs. This caused a torrent of vocal emotion! She started a loud "heaving" sound of pleasure as she squirmed around, wiggling her legs and stroking herself!
I dusted her off with a towel and told her that the cool part about this haircut was yet to come!
I kissed her now bare neck and worked my way around to the nearest ear that was now fully exposed!
It was too much! Jenny jumped up like a rocket and pulled me to the bedroom. She had not even seen my masterpiece of a haircut!
We ended up in her bed, our bodies welded together as one.
Jenny then kissed and said I was not through, because she did not get her shave and would not pay for services rendered until I did so!
Jenny followed me to the bathroom as I got things ready for the social grooming she desired.
Upon seeing her haircut for the first time, she got really quiet, looking so seriously in the bathroom mirror. I could not read her and guessed she was not happy.
She reached up with both hands and felt the back and pushed around the top area. Still, not saying a word and looking so serious!
Jenny stated "Oh Short" "Oh my gosh, this is really cute! I love it!"
Knowing that reminding her of chickening out of earlier short cuts would not be positive, I said that I was saving it for a special time in her life.
OHHH!! The words struck a chord with her! She really felt special!
I had her lie on the bed, wetted her stubble and used baby oil to shave her with.
As she enjoyed each stroke, I was becoming more aroused.
Once she was "clean" shaven, we went to the shower.
I think all women love to be groomed by a lover at least once in their life!
It was very erotic to wash and shampoo each other!
The rushing water on her now bare mound was "Magical" she said!
We dried each other off and needed more wine to quench our thirst.
The love making was so easy and natural, partly because we both knew it was all about now, not later.
There were no expectations and this made it better to just relax and have fun.
We tried all sorts of positions! Some, failing and causing her to "Laugh" and spit me out!
Her Kama Sutra book had both of us getting cramps from the crazy positions!
The conventional positions were enough for us, but it was fun to experiment!
When morning came, I packed my stuff and left. I told her that it was casual and if she wanted another romantic evening to call me, "I'm your man".
We never did hook up again.
Neither of us called the other and the fire was allowed to die down until it was cold.
I heard from friends, that Jenny married a man from Alaska and had some children with him. I was happy for her! That is what she really wanted in life!
My wish is that they could have the splendor of eroticism with each other, like we had! Who ever he is....he's one lucky man! She is a beautiful spirit!
A STORY IN SEARCH OF A TITLE
By Cliper2
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.
No, she'd never dared tag along with a lover or peer too intently into a barbershop to watch the dance of the clippers. Couldn't take a chance. The ruling passion conquers. And she could never give her fantasy a chance to escape into the air and push her forward, a ruler she would unleash, but could not control. After all, she'd realized that was one reason her fantasy always involved being a sub. She didn't want to admit that it would be her choice. She wanted it to be his choice, his demand. Well, at least that's how she could rationalize it.
Now, though, the clippers were right there, teasing as much as any lover she'd known. Black. Polished. Calling. But coy. How many mornings and afternoons and nights had she imagined their touch, a buzzing wind peeling away her protection, stripping her private passion and making it public. The unveiling promised such sweetness, the stuff of life. But what costs!
She leaned forward self consciously, wet, cool, hair swishing her cheeks as she did. She glanced to the side furtively. No Sue. Trembling, haltingly she lifted her hand from the arm and reached for them. Her fingers curled around the hard plastic shell and she lifted them from the shelf, bringing them near. Heavier, more solid than expected.
A flood of images and sounds. Fear. Thrall. Utter, quivering soulful nakedness.
Lost in the reverie, she did it. She pushed her thumb against the button and as it swung open with a rush she heard a startling click. And then a hypnotic, yet somehow calming hum. The soft vibration traveled from her fingertips to her lips then down her breasts to electrified nipples before lodging at her glistening center.
All else faded away, but the sound, the touch and a flurry of one erotic image after another. Time passed.
Head bowed, staring at the clippers resting in her hand on her lap, she suddenly felt a firm hand move up her nape, burrowing under her wet hair.
She turned to look up into smiling blue eyes. His hand curled around the hair on her nape and pulled. Just hard enough.
"Hello," he said, "I'll take control now."
SUMMER HAS ARRIVED
A story by Cliper2
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.
She brushed away the rest with the back of her hand, again raking her nails over the newly exposed skin, watching his back arch in pleasure against the restraints. She moved the bowl of warm water closer, and then lovingly lathered him, slowly massaging the warm gel into whitecaps of foam. He moaned slightly, looking at her out of the corner of one eye. Yes, he trusted her with this -- for the most part.
With the blade angled just so, she began stroking away the stubble left by the clippers. He froze, not that he could move that much. Three strokes, warm, water, three strokes, warm water. Occasionally she pulled the skin tight to get every last bit of hair. She loved him smooth. The shaving took time and she noticed his arousal never wavered.
When she'd finally finished, she rinsed him, then patted him down with a towel warmed for the occasion. She ran her fingers over his warm, white skin, then teased him with her nails. Perfect. Smooth. Clean.
Then she slid down and slowly ran her tongue over his bare balls, up the bottom of his cock to the tip and down to the base. She cupped his balls and pulled her head back so she could take him in her mouth ever so slowly. She knew. She knew how the sensation of her warm mouth and his smooth skin drove him to the edge. His breath quickened. She watched his nipples grow hard, his legs and arms arch against the bondage.
She went up and down his shaft a few times, then took it in hand as she moved up to his chest as he lay on his back on their bed. She tongued one nipple as she stroked him, eliciting an inhaled gasp. She thought about putting him out of his ecstasy, but then decided against it.
She slid her bare breast against his side as she snaked her tongue off his nipple and along his shoulder blade, around his mouth and to his nape. "The barber shop tomorrow," she whispered. "I want this shaved."
His body shivered with the pleasure, the overload. She smiled. Time.
She kissed him hard, burying her tongue in his mouth, then swiftly moved down to take him in her mouth one more time. Then she eased off his hip and looked him in the eye as she began stroking him. "I want to watch," she said.
Fast, then slow, then fast again, playing with him just a little more. She knew well enough when she saw the expression on his face. Still, the power surprised her, five pulses, streams up across his chest.
She relaxed, letting him finish, enjoy the moment and take stock. "What a mess," she teased.
She ran her tongue along the side of his hip and put to his chest, tasting him, then kissing him hard, the salt tang shared between them.
Then she mounted him, rubbing her bare crotch on the slickness of his chest, fingering herself just a bit, slowly sliding up towards his head, his wrists and ankles still bound to the four posts of the bed.
As she drew closer to his head, she reached down and released first one wrist then the other. He lifted his head just a little to meet her slick, shaved pussy, stopping just short. His hands reached behind her, one on each cheek. Now, he was bound but in control. He held her just there and circled his tongue just above her clit, using just the tip to trace down along the outline of her lips. She arched her back. Ever since that first night, she'd been amazed by his tongue, that talented tongue, and the way he read her desires, an attention to caring and detail that filtered through their romance, making the mundane bits of daily life interesting.
She was waiting for....there, it was, that first little flick at the hood. Then, he backed off, enjoying the smoothness he'd given her two days earlier, his tongue slipping along the side, tracing lines along her newly shaven mound, pausing, a flick here and there, a lascivious lick, before flattening against her lips headed back to...her hard, begging clit.
She pushed up against him now, driving her clit into his mouth. He reached up with his left hand and pinched her hard right nipple. That was it. She was grinding against him, riding his face hard, out of control.
When she finished, she collapsed on him, slid down into the curve of his arm after kissing him gently.
"Ah, summer is here," she said, reaching for the iced bottle of Prosecco next to the bed.
CALIFORNIA BLONDE CREWCUT
A story by Harry
Debbie had heard about my haircutting skills from a friend of hers and asked if she could be one of my selected clients and we set a haircutting session for Tuesday afternoon. We met at a local coffee shop and after having a cup and some orange cranberry scones, went to her place. She was sexy....petite, blue eyed, but with lots of curves in the right places with thick mid back golden blonde hair. She went to her room and changed from cut off shorts and a tank top to a very small bikini, meanwhile I had set up a chair in her kitchen with all of my tools on the counter. She sat down with a big smile on her face and told me she wanted to go short for the summer. I stepped behind her and ran my fingers through her silken hair and asked her how short. She smiled and surprised me by saying she wanted a choppy pixie cut...
Her smile told me she was serious as I looked into her crystal blue eyes. I then draped a fluffy white bath towel around her shoulders (I usually use a towel instead of a cape) and proceeded to brush her long locks out. I then took a black hair ribbon and tied her hair into a high ponytail and took one of my large shears and...slowly, ever so gently begin to saw my way through her thick mane. She closed her eyes as my scissors cut her hair off and she begin to squirm in the chair. I had seen this reaction many, many times over the years and knew this was going to be more than just a haircut. I lifted her shorn ponytail and showed it to her and asked her if she wanted to keep it but she declined. I smile and said that I would add it to my collection of severed ponytails. I then ruffled my fingers through her hair and picked up one of my smaller scissors and began to snip, snip, snip pieces of her shaggy remaining hair. Lifting and slicing over and over again, sending shorn strands sliding upon her shoulders, chest and onto her lap. Debbie once again closed her eyes as I was slicing her hair off, but this time began to...uhm, pleasure herself, rubbing parts of her body and slipping her fingers between her thighs....
Again, her big smile spoke volumes to me as I continued snip snip snipping off her hair. More and more golden strands slid to her ample chest and onto her lap, making quite a pile of shorn hairs. I stopped to ask how she was doing and she smiled and said, "great, just great...the feeling of you cutting off my hair...ohhh feels so amazing". I reached down with my right hand and seductively caressed her slender nape and leaned in close and whispered “you have a sexy nape, shall I make it even sexier”. As I said this, I nibbled her right earlobe. She smiled and moaned and said..."yessssss please" in a throaty voice. Taking my smaller shears, I began using scissor over comb technique on her nape. My continuous combing/scissoring was reducing her nape hairs shorter and closer as I tapered her darker shortened hair. All the while, Debbie resumed pleasuring herself in the chair....moaning and fidgeting as I kept cutting her hair shorter with each schnick of my scissors.
She leaned back as I was cutting her crown hairs and as she did this I placed my hand under her chin, tilting her head back as I stepped behind the chair and started to use scissor over comb method over the top of her hair. Essentially giving her a longish, choppy crewcut with each pass of the comb and scissor...her moans and ahhs told me she was thoroughly enjoying being in my chair and in my care.. Taking my time as I was taking her shorter and shorter, methodically snip snip snipping away. I leaned in and whispered to her, my warm breath in her ear, saying "this short style really suits you", she smiled and uttered, 'please keep going"..stroking herself with a quickened pace. She seemed lost in her own world of pleasure as I continued to cut her blonde hair off. Snippets of golden hair slid down her face as I sliced her hair around the sides with my scissors. Bending her ears as my scissors reduced her hair to less than 1/2 an inch, lifting and cutting, lifting and cutting over and over again. Her sighs and ooooohs filled the room as my scissors clicked over the comb, cutting her hair closer and closer, soon her sides were all shorn. I cut precise points into her sideburns and began blending her hair on up to her crown hairs again. Using blending shears, I graduated her very close scissored crewcut all along her sides. Her continued silence, essentiallg gave me carte blanche, to cut her hair even shorter on top. Soon her crown hairs were just about an inch as I combed her hair back and scissored it into short and spiky layers. I stopped and ruffled my fingers through her hair, sliced bits and pieces rained down on the towel across her shoulders and onto her lap. Her breathing was rapid and she shook as an orgasm escaped her body. The shudders made it very obvious that her climax almost timed perfectly with me finishing her crewcut. She opened her eyes and looked in the mirror as I showed her her new haircut. The surprised look on her face was priceless, soon followed by a smile and a girlish giggle. She said, "oops I guess I should have opened my eyes sooner and I might have more hair", we both laughed. She stood up from the chair and threw her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek asking me, "what can I do to pay my barber for his excellent service" and gave me a wicked grin.
INTO THE GARDEN
A STORY BY CLIPER2
She felt his hand push aside her hair. Then his breath on her nape. A dry tongue traced a line from the base of her neck into her hair line. Then a kiss. There, just beneath her hair. She winced just a little as her hair pulled taut upped the ante, that slow tongue circling. Wet. She leaned into it, her back hard against the ungiving wood of the chair. Another stroke of the tongue, from skin to hair, rewarded her.
Now, she sat rigid in a chair, resting after his attentions to her. Her hands were flat on the arms of the chair. Her hair pulled taut in his hand. She awaited a different kind of naked, a scary, unsettling bareness she would be unable to disguise.
A SHAVING TALE
A STORY BY CLIPER2
She took her time, laying out the implements of the preparation, the beginning of going shorter, just shorter.
Then she ran the warm bath, so soothing after a long week. She added a little scented oil as the tub filled. Then she slipped in up to her neck, the ends of her hair floating on the surface.
She imagined the day, her day, that lie ahead, her body responding to the images she carefully drew in her mind. This was luxury time, anticipation time.
Eventually, she sponged herself clean, then reached over for the lather and the razor, shaving her legs with long, luscious strokes, being sure to get every spot, ever so careful.
When she was smooth, she drained the tub and say on the side, eyeing the implements. She toweled herself dry, then took the small Remington clippers in hand, returning again to the side of the tub.
She turned them on, the familiar hum arousing her, hardening her nipples, and then she slowly took them through the curls of her pubic hair. The preparation had begun. Slowly, enjoyably, she used the clippers, shaving her curls clean, occasionally resting them against herself, enjoying the vibration.
When she'd given herself a proper bush buzz cut, she admired it, took a deep breath, and then reached for the lather. Smooth, he'd said. He wanted her smooth. She rubbed in the lather, carefully spreading it around, but not in. And then she began stroking the razor, taking it all off, the last of it, committed now to the transformation, the experience, the arousing adventure."
Posted by Harriet.
SHORTER, JUST SHORTER
A Story by Cliper2
A DISCIPLINARIAN HUSBAND BOUGHT THE CLIPPERS.
A story by Nottooshort.
I saw a little boy getting his hair cut and I thought of my wife. He wasn't real happy. He wouldn't sit still and the female barber was getting more and more irritated. She decided to put a stop to this. She opened a drawer and took out two lengths of Velcro and a collar. On the back of the chair, a length of leather. In a matter of moments she had the young boy’s wrists strapped to the arms of the chair and a collar around his neck and the leather thong through a ring on the collar, pulling his head securely back.
His struggle was over and in a matter of moments she had sheared his head bare, lathered and shaved him. I chuckled. My bus arrived reflected in the barbershop window, I turned and dropped my coins in the box and took a seat in the rear so I could quickly watch the ladies, trying to decide how I would cut my wife's hair when I got home.
My wife, I call her Snowie, had been moody the last few days whining about this and that, leaving me no option but to discipline her. How I would go about it? I think the decision was made while watching the barber.
The bus stopped and I got off now just a few blocks from home. As I walked up the sidewalk my cock stiffened with anticipation. There was a woman in my office who had come to work with her hair cut like a little boy. After my wife's initial punishment, I might keep her hair barbered, mannish. She’s so sexy, it doesn’t matter how short I decide to keep it, she will always look stunning. Today, though, she needs something drastic. It will calm her down and place her back in a proper obedient frame of mind. Its when she is the happiest.
I opened the front door "Darling I'm home".
Two days prior I took my lunch time walk to a local beauty store near the office. I decided I needed something for a more permanent approach to my lover’s discipline issues. In the past I would grab a pair of scissors and simply chop her hair off , just as a rough crew cut. Those days are over.
I left the store with a new set of clippers with attachments down to #00000, a beautiful Osters 76, the best I was told, a straight razor with an official leather strop to keep the edge honed, a shaving mug, a brush and a simple silk shampoo cape, short enough to keep the clipped hair off her shoulders. A full length cape just wouldn't meet my needs, for what I had in mind.
The clerk asked "Is there anything else you would like for the boys’ haircuts? So many moms and dads are cutting their boys hair at home these days! Let me just put these in a bag for you"
"No, this should do just fine. I'll just put it all in my brief case. Thank you."
The stereo was a little loud and Snowie was doing her aerobics, oblivious to my arrival. I set my brief case on the couch and before she realized it I had my arms around her waist, pulling myself tightly to her rear. No doubt she now knew I had arrived home. The short walk from the bus stop to home provided the opportunity to stimulate my imagination and all that went along with it. I was so hard. Her aerobics attire didn’t leave much to the imagination or much between my body and hers.
"Mix me a drink and I'll take off my tie. You seem to be feeling a little perkier today. I’ve been a little concerned with your sullenness these last few days. I hate to see you so stressed my princess". I ran my fingers through her hair as she walked over to the bar. That was my farewell caress to her silk hair.
"I’ll be right back, my dear". I went to the bedroom and took off my suit and turned on my shower. That night was going to be unforgettable.
WHEN DO YOU KNOW?
A story by Mr. Hairman
My earliest interest in womens hair was when I was a child, around third grade. I thought girls hair was something really cool and they all had different colors, wave, curl, straight....it was interesting to me.
A next door neighbor who used to babysit me had shoulder length, thick black hair. I did not seem to notice it much, maybe because she was an authority figure to me.
One summer day, she came over to our house to show my mom her new haircut.
I heard all the fuss and came out of my bedroom to see what was going on.
To my surprise, here was my neighbor/babysitter with a really short pixie style cut! I was really interested!
My mom said "Look, Diane got her haircut!"
The nape was very short and the ears exposed and that long dull black hair now had a shine to it! She was a knockout!
This started me off in paying attention to womens hair.
I would see and study them all.
In 4th grade, there was a girl that had a crush on me. Of course I could not let on that I liked her too, or the boys would give me S#*t about it forever! (it was a tough town!)
Shawn and I would talk a little on the playground. She was a skinny, pretty girl with light brown hair to the middle of her back, with bangs that came forward. She would wear her hair in two pony tails or just a hoop barrette with a ribbon in it.
I would even ride my bicycle to her house and we would stand outside and talk.
Other times we would ride bikes together. We never held hands or talked of love thank god.
One day on the playground, Shawn came up to me and gave me my very first kiss!
The excitement and shock got me! I was on the moon! Some of the guys saw it and I thought I'd get teased for it.
Oh no! Just the opposite happened. She and I were now the talk of the school!
During summer vacation we would still meet up, but now it had grown into a small group of five (mixed boys and girls). We'd go swimming at the pool or ride bikes or have picnic at the only park in town.
One hot summer day, before the fourth of July, I rode over to Shawns house.
I knocked at the front door and could see inside slightly. The solid door was open, but the screen door was closed, kind of limiting my vision of the dark inside of the house.
I could hear Shawn's mom saying something like "Your friend is here, come on, go outside"
Shawn never took this long to answer the door! We were "high energy" kids and daylight was burning!
Shawn slowly rambled to the door. As she neared, I could see that she was not happy. Then I saw why!
Her bangs still hung forward, but the thick, wavy light brown hair was gone!
She now sported a mix between a wedge and a bob!
I remember reacting by saying that I really liked it and it was "right on!" (for the younger people....Right On was a saying in the 70's that we used!)
Shawn's mom broke in to the conversation saying Shawn cried the whole time while getting it cut and is not happy today.
We did not wait for our group of friends as Shawn wanted out of the house now!
We got on our bikes and rode to a "secret" location and sat in the shade.
Shawn was very pouty about her haircut.
I remember telling her that she was prettier with short hair, that when we go swimming she won't need two towels and that she was in style with the older girls because most girls in town were getting the same haircut.
I had such a tingling in my stomach!
That week, Shawn's family went on vacation for a couple weeks.
That summer, even my sister got her haircut like Shawns.
By the time school started, only a few girls had long hair!
I enjoyed studying all the different girls and their different haircuts.
It was really a thing of beauty, it is an art form to be able to remove product and create a sculpture!
TAKE IT DOWN
A story 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-fr
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.
"My dear," said her companion, "meet Franco, your room-service barber."
What could she do but tilt her head back that way she did and smile.
Franco, bowed and said, "Buon giorno, senora." And then went about unpacking his bag, setting his barbers' tools neatly one after the other on the small table nearby. Shiny silver shears. Three combs. A closed straight razor. A huge pair of red clippers. A smaller, less threatening pair of gray clippers.
Her companion moved behind her to run a wide comb through her still-wet tresses one last time, then to bend over and kiss her affectionately on the cheek. "Shall we begin," he said, not so much a question as a gentle order.
Franco looked over, produced a striped white cape from his bag, snapped it taut and approached her, laying it around her shoulders. Then he pulled a tissue strip from a pocket and neatly tied it around her neck. She noticed she swallowed hard involuntarily as he did. Then she was tucked neatly in, the cape fastened around her neck.
Her companion leaned against the railing, as intent as she'd seen him. A reassuring smile, a little cocky.
Franco looked towards him and he nodded.
The shears, looped through the third and fourth fingers of his hand, banged against the comb. Franco's breath close upon her. His mustache twitching. The comb dragged through the hair by her right ear. Aligning every hair with Palladian care. Hair that had always covered her nape, rested upon her shoulders.
She sat unmoving, though not unmoved. The shears, opened now, slid into the sheet of golden brown along her chin line, below her right cheek. And then they closed ever so slightly. Just a few strands -- you probably could count them -- separated from her head and slithered down the cotton cape, pooling in her lap.
Then another comb. And the jaws of the shears opening and closing again. Just a little more; another slender snake. A coolness on her jawline as the cool, now-wet shears touched her skin. To say Franco was deliberate would be to say the Sistine Chapel is a masterpiece; it was an understatement.
He snipped hair by hair. First cutting a line along the jaw on her right side angling back just under her ear. Then cutting the same line on the left side. Her nape remained covered in damp tanwy glory as he moved behind her and with both hands on her crown angled her head down so her nape beckoned and her chin touched her chest, where she could feel her heart pounding below.
He seemed to take extra time combing the hair in back. And her nape, always sensitive, tingled with arousal. Then she felt the steel, cold against her flesh. And she heard the rasp. A brush of his hand and another curl of hair slithered down the cape and plopped on the tile of the terrace. Gone forever.
Her companion shifted against the railing and she caught his eye. Their smiles needed no words. Pleasure all around.
Franco finished the line on her nape, then began combing and pulling and shearing, combing and pulling and shearing the ba
That tap of the shears on the comb. A coda for the cut. Franco stepped back. And just then a little breeze stirred the olive grove in the near distance, reaching her, brushing her nape and punctuating what had been completed. "What a woman says to her ardent lover should be written in wind and running water," she thought, an old verse that emerged as if carried by the breeze.
Her companion quickly was at Franco's side, ushering him to the table where he could collect his equipment. To her, he turned and mouthed, "Don't move."
Franco left bowing and offering, "Bellisimo, bellisimo."
And she sat, alone, staring out at her view, not daring to touch. But choosing only to try to feel every exposed area, every bit of the transformation.
He returned, having thanked Franco and took both her hands in his. They said nothing. Slowly, he brought her hands to the side of her head and back to her nape, placing them there on her newly naked nape. She rolled her head and moaned softly as she explored.
And then he bent down for a long, hard, sensual kiss, finally pulling away to nibble a lobe, then nuzzle her hairline.
She was still wearing the cape and finally, he pulled back and plucked a handful of hair from her lap. Creating a brush in his hand, he traced a line from her cheek to her nape, then swished as he unbuttoned the cape and let it fall at her feet, hair floating off the balcony. The tissue was next and his hair brush continued, snaking down her neck and into her cleavage and she rose to face him. Their fierce embrace was quickly followed by a race inside. He pulled her before the mirror and stripped both himself and her within seconds. No need to slowness now; no reason for anything but abandon.
When she looked, the could only smile as he stood behind her.
They missed their late afternoon walk that Wednesday and by the time they got to the restaurant, they were famished, tearing at the bread, slurping the first glass of wine. In the candelight, her sharp bob showed off her strong, classic features. And the golden brown of her hair contrasted with the virgin white skin of a neck that it once shielded from the sun. Just gazing across the table at her aroused him. Just reaching back to feel her new nakedness transformed her into a limp pool of desire.
Later, they walked into the piazza, lingering around the coolness of the well, pressing their bodies together, exploring with their tongues.
What stunned her over the next two days as they returned to their routine was the reaction from the hotel staff, the merchants in the square and the others. Men -- and women -- couldn't take their eyes from her swinging new cut. And her companion played to it, making her nape as sensitive and charged an erogenous area as those places she'd come to love touched over the years. Often, too, he easily brought back the sounds, feelings and emotions of that haircut by taking the brush he'd fashioned from her locks and stroking her burning flesh.
On Friday night, there was a little festival in the Piazza della Cisterna. Then he walked her down a calle she'd never explored before, turning into a charming, rustic, stone-floored restaurant where they had a back room to themselves. It was one of those nights, one of those conversations where ideas floated in a whirlpool above their heads and they plucked them down at random to peck at them. Europe and the United States. The market. The state of the global environment. Worst college dance tunes. Secret eroticisms. Their favorite online friends; then the ones they figured were phonies. And, finally, a talk about haircuts, but not hers. His. Particularly that afternoon at Astor Place when he'd walked in with shoulder-length hair and walked out with a buzz.
As they swirled glasses of pear grappa, he toasted her and said cockily, "Just two more days here. Just two more days."
They slept in on Saturday, then stopped by a cafe for an earlier than usual breakfast. As they ate and talked about the vineyards in the area they'd like to visit, her mind kept pulling her back to other, more domestic Saturday mornings. Mornings that seemed closer, more vivid. Two days, she thought, two afternoons.
After the early lunch, they returned to the room. But this time, not to their books, or even the bed. He opened the armoire and pulled out a linen dress, one she recalled he hadn't picked for her the previous week. It was short, with a scooping neckline and straps over the shoulders.
"I think you'd look great in this out on the terrace this afternoon," he said, smiling.
"Yes," she said, "I can put a nice cold Coke between my thighs as I sit."
"Oh, I don't think you'll he steady enough to handle that," he said.
They smiled coyly at each other, each with the same visions dancing between them.
Saturday, she thought, was the obvious choice. But the only choice.
She didn't pause, but strolled to her chair, the chair, on the terrace, her toes curling as she sat down and glanced to her right to see the small table covered by that striped white sheet, the soft lumps underneath obvious.
He followed her, brush in hand and stepped to her right side. And then he began a brushing so tender, so careful, so attentive that she simply closed her eyes and tried to store every nuance so she might retrieve them decades from now. He worked the right side, then around the back. Then the left side. Occasionally, he paused to kiss her softly. Occasionally, the back of his hand brushed down her bare back. Her breathing became deeper, her body one giant nerve ending devouring his touch.
His free hand followed every stroke, smoothing the strands with a barely perceptible touch. Then he stopped and stepped back. Her eyes were closed as if dreaming. She opened them and smiled at him, a small sighing breath of satisfaction escaping from her lips.
He set the brush down on the small table with the barber's equipment and leaned back against the railing, arms crossed. "Tell me," he said, "what you remember about those trips with your father to your uncle's shop. The sights, the sounds, the smells that remain to this day."
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Seconds passed as she resurrected those moments. The sun warmed her as once those Saturday mornings had. Slowly, she opened my eyes, the apples of my cheeks flushed and the memories escaped her lips.
"The bimonthly trips to my uncle’s barber shop were just another chore for my father," she said. "Arrival was planned for 9 a.m. sharp, The fifo method of personal grooming: first in, first out. His day was then his to enjoy in domestic and leisure pursuits."
"For me, it was the grand adventure. A brass bell tinkled as we entered the shop; I was always first, a gentle hand on my back to guide me inside.
'Pumpkin!' called my uncle as he turned and saw us enter. He would bend down as I ran to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He would kiss me with a bristly mustache that made him dapper and suave in my child’s eyes. His white smock, clean and crisp from my aunt’s laundry, would crinkle with our hugs."
" 'Take a seat, Pumpkin. I'll have your dad done in no time.'
In summer, my thin, bare legs would stick to the seat of the red vinyl chairs that lined the shop's back wall. My fidgeting to get the perfect view was often mistaken for youthful boredom. This squirming got me a shiny quarter flipped through the air from Dad.
'Why don’t you treat yourself at the 5-&-10?' dad said over his shoulder as the nylon cape was fastened around his neck. The thought of missing the show was unthinkable. I would demure with 'May I have a Coke, please?' and I would walk to the back of the shop where a glistening red vending machine stood."
Back in my seat, a cold cola between my thighs, I was transfixed. This was not like going to the salon with Mom. Four black and white photos lined the wall behind me. They succinctly defined the limited selection of styles available. Unless Dad spoke up, it was "the usual:" short, tight sides with his reddish brown curls left long enough to make a wave or two.
But this time, he spoke up. He'd settled into the chair and my uncle had wrapped the tissue around his neck and spread the cape. And he raised his right hand, just enough for my uncle to pause. "Take it down," he said. That was all. Just "take it down."
This was summer and the 1960’s and Dad was getting his first summer flat top.
I would withstand the idle chat and the stale sweat of the other men for the promise of the clippers. And today I would be rewarded. The Coke would jolt in my lap as my uncle switched them on. If the man seated next to me was observant, he would catch the involuntary jump and offer some teasing remark. 'They don’t bite, honey.' True, but what they did was undeniable in my child’s mind.
The clipper's tune changed as it made contact with my father’s head. The smooth hum changed to a serious growl as they made quick work of my father’s hair. I felt that growl deep inside me. They mowed a path as distinct as our mower on the front lawn. White flesh appeared above an already tanned neck. The shop seemed to fill with a warm human smell that increased as the hair gathered on the floor.
The other chairs filled, but my focus was on my uncle and his magic. Comb poised half an inch above the crown, he deftly carved a level flat top all the while conversing in the idle manner of the detached. Slipping his hands into the straps, he worked palm brushes over Dad's head making every hair stand at attention and my breath stop. Flecks of hair would shower forth creating a fine cloud around his head. A quick dusting from a long horse hair brush would make me circle my head from shoulder to shoulder dreaming of that sensation. A final splash of astringent on Dad’s neck and the men nodded their approval.
As the cape was removed, I would join them, fingering the brush and filling my head with Sea Breeze. 'hat do you think?' asked Dad.
'You look great.'
"What about the barber?' asked my uncle.
My compliments would be mingled with giggles as my face was dusted with the same brush that was used on the men. I was rooted to the spot, never wanting those perfect Saturday mornings to end. "
She stopped, returning from the past to the present, a present she thought she might never have the courage to enjoy.
"You don't know how much I enjoyed that story," he said. "And how it shows we are a perfect match."
"There are two quotations for today, this special day," he added.
"To sit where I can see your face & hear your laughter come & go, is greater bliss than all the gods can ever know."
And then he pulled a tattered, dog-eared corner of paper from his wallet, Unfolding it, he paused. "Something from the encyclopedia entry under 'haircuts' ," he said, unable to suppress an ear-to-ear-grin and that smile in his blue eyes.
"Flattop -- that's one word. A man's," he paused, looking up from the paper at her, "short haircut with a flattish, brushlike crown."
He handed her the piece of paper. And then turned to the table, where he shook out the cotton cape with a flourish. "Hmm, " he said, eyeing her, "I don't think so. I think I want to see hair sprinkled on those bare shoulders, spill down that cleavage and itch that sexy back. "
With that, he tossed the cape into the room. He came over to her, bent down and traced his forefinger along her cheek, then kissed her softly, sweetly.
"What'll it be?" he asked, his face inches from hers.
She paused, took a deep breath. The words came out with no effort. They were inevitable. But they had been waiting for years, waiting for something as irresistible as this Saturday afternoon on this terrace with this barber.
"Take it down," she said, then almost whispered, "please..."
"Of course," he said. "Your dream is my command."
He turned to pluck the red clippers from the table. Turning towards her, he held them up, as if for inspection. He shook his head. And mouthed, "not yet."
Replacing them, he took the shears and the comb. And she heard the knock of steel upon plastic as he advanced. The comb was in her hair now, by her right ear, pulling through the ends of the sharp bob.
She sat, staring ahead, hands opening and closing, eyes focused on the horizon.
And then she jumped just a little as the cold steel cuddled up to the soft skin in front of her ear. There were a series of rasps as she felt the shears trace a semi-circle around the top of her ear. A hank of hair plopped on her shoulder. He reached down, picked up the hair and pressed it into her right hand. Stepping in front and to her left ear, he repeated the ritual. Cold steel. Rasps. A tickle on her shoulder. The breeze on her ear. Oh, that breeze. Except on those rare days when she pulled her golden brown tresses back with a band, her ears had always hid behind that curtain. No longer.
His finger outlined the shape of her left ear, his face so close she could feel his breath. She ached for him to...But no. Not yet.
Instead, he stepped around, standing in front of her, his right knee rubbing her left thigh. Close, very close. His hardness rose proudly before her eyes. His hand reached under her chin to raise her gaze a few degrees. There. Straight. And the felt the comb rake through the hair on her crown. First, creating parts of the left and right sides. Then combing the hair between into his free hand.
Rake, rake, rake. A gentle pull. A little twist.
She realized he'd created a small topknot with that hair.
And she heard the shears singing their tune, flexing their muscles, warming up and a little spasm, a rush coursed through her brain. She saw his hand move closer.
Snip, snip, snip.
Tiny dots of brown floated before her right eye, landing on her cheek. Just quarter-inch strands.
Snip, snip, snip.
More flashes of unfocused brown. One clearly thicker, curling down her neck. A shift and it slipped between her breasts.
Snip, snip, snip.
This time she saw nothing. But she felt the tickle on her back.
Snip, snip, snip.
Smaller bits again, this time poised on the end of her nose. She crossed her eyes, trying to focus, almost laughing at herself as she did. He gently brushed the hair off her nose and it fell on her lips. Lasciviously, she uncoiled her tongue to retrieve and pull the hair into her mouth. And she swallowed.
Snip, snip, snip.
A flutter on her left ear.
Snip, snip, snip.
Her right shoulder.
Snip, snip, snip.
Thick, curling snakes this time, pausing on her cheek before sliding off and pooling in her lap, where the linen dress formed a taut trampoline.
Snip, snip, snip.
Again and again. Over time, her shoulder, her face, her breasts were freckled with hair.
She watched as a few strands of hair caught an updraft and scurried over the railing and off on the breezes, gone forever on the winds.
Then his hand was at his side. But no hair flopped over her forehead. She felt lighter, freer than ever.
He ducked into the room and returned with a small silver bowl. "The relics, please," he said and she dropped the paper and the hair she'd been holding into the offering dish.
"Now," he said.
When she saw him again, the red clippers were in his hand. She braced for that loud click, then the growl she finally dared to hear. Again. Instead, he came to her and knelt beside the chair and took her hands in his. And she found herself cradling the clippers, her hands resting between her thighs.
She looked at him. A pause.
She knew. But she wanted him to say it.
"Turn them on, Angela," he whispered softly, just as her thumb flicked the silver switch atop them. The vibration in her hands was unnerving, even as the buzz, the sound of their unforgiving bite, rose on the terrace.
He held out his hand and she presented them to him as he rose.
She leaned her head back, then bowed it, elbows on knees, waiting. But he brushed the short hairs of her crown, pulling her head back. She was confused.
And then she understood as he held the comb, that squared-off comb she remembered from childhood, in front of her. Yes, first the top. First, make her flat. Then, oh then.
She raised her head level, proud, thrilled. And above her eyes, she could see the clippers poised above her field of wheat, even as she could feel her stringy sideburns, her thick nape hair, still blowing in the breeze. Their sound changed as they came closer. The first pass. Right down the middle of her head. Hair flying everywhere. Little bits of hair. She imagined the flattop comb poised the requisite half an inch above her head.
The second pass. Hair sprinkling her cheeks, her nose. And the third pass.
He paused to consider his sculpture.
Then more passes, across the top, side to side this time. Making it just so.
The effect was unnerving. She could hear the clippers, not really feel them since they hovered just above her scalp.
Silence.
He brushed a few hairs away from her eyes.
Retreated to the table and she heard the click as he switched blades. While this haircut wasn't quite what she'd imagined all those years, she realized what he'd saved for the finale. And in the seconds left, she closed her eyes and lost herself in anticipation.
She felt him beside her. "Take it *down*," he said, emphasizing the word.
She let a sigh of satisfaction escape.
Click.
Buzzzzzz
Her head bowed.
Her hands fidgeting.
Her lips forming the word, "please..."
The sound, that sound, moved behind her.
The bite actually jolted her. The blades nibbled at her nape, vibrating, rising painfully slowly up her neck behind her right ear. Higher, higher, higher. To the crown. Their rise sending chills racing down her spine, over her breasts and to her warm moistness. Her breathing increased again, her mouth open involuntarily in pleasure.
Then...zing. The clippers lifted off her head. Immediately a finger ran from her nape up to her crown, through nothing but...bristle.
A soft gasp.
And then those nibbling blades again. A second pass. Slowly. Up, up, up. Square in the middle of her nape. Over that little bump. Zinggggg. Hair sliding down her back. No finger this time. Just those blades, those insatiable blades over behind her left ear now.
She bit her lip to stifle a moan as they rose. The coolness, the delicious lightness, was undeniable now. And then zingggg. Her left ear covered in brown, his hand brushing it away down to her shoulder.
She wanted, she needed, to reach back and feel. But she was frozen, lost deep inside herself, excited beyond belief.
She barely felt his hand angle her head to the right and the clippers start at her left cheek and go up and then back, sending a sheet of hair over hear ear. Then he quickly was over the other side. And those clippers were whirring, buzzing, humming all over. Her nape. Her ears. Quick, short thrusts sending tiny wisps of hair into the air like dust on a dry day.
With each quickening pass, her body reacted. Her pulse quickened. Silence. Sudden. Unexpected. Just the sound her her heart pounding through her brain and her heavy breathing, beyond panting.
She lifted her head and gazed into his smiling eyes, noticing he'd already slipped his hands into the brushes. Straddling her, her brushed the sides vigorously. And then the top. Her eyes closed with the pleasure they -- and the clippers -- had released. Every fiber of her was at attention. Engorged. Thrilled.
And then his hand stroked her head from the nape up and over to her forehead and she surrendered control, coming in slow, spasmic waves as she collapsed forward into him as he knelt before her.
Long minutes later, she opened her eyes to see drifts of hair floating off the terrace and to the ground. They kissed. And he helped her to her feet, hugging her as they walked inside where he positioned her in front of the full-length mirror, now covered with a sheet. Then he turned her to face him. Her eyes gazed out over his shoulder to the terrace and the chair. And he dropped first one strap, then the other from her shoulders. The dress slipped to the floor. And then he slide her soaking panties to the floor as well before quickly stripping himself.
He paused to race over and rip the sheet from the mirror. Hands on her shoulders now, he slowly turned her around. Her mouth dropped open, her pulse quickened again, driven by an involuntary surge of adrenaline.
Naked, she noticed how her white breasts formed two counterpoints to her tanned shoulders and the creamy white skin showing through the bristle left around her ears. He'd given it to her. She'd demanded it. They'd done it. A flattop. Sharp, severe, a statement. Brushlike.
Slowly, she raised her hand to feel. "Ohhhhh," slid from her lips. She stood, staring, alone with her past and her present.
Over time, she returned to his presence behind her, realizing his hardness stabbed at her behind. Smiling, she turned, to say, "I don't believe I've paid and tipped the barber for giving me exactly what I wanted," reaching down to grip his shaft and stroke twice.
With him in hand, she guided them to the bed. Their lovemaking over the next hours wasn't furious, as it had been Wednesday. But it was controlled slow, more gentle than she'd ever remembered. It was as if he realized now that she had a man's haircut, now that she'd rid herself of a woman's glory, that she needed to be treated even more like the considerable woman she was.
When they finally left the room, she turned heads like never before. Wednesday proved to be just a shallow preview to the reaction she got this night. Some open-mouthed stares, several compliments and even one request to "touch it." As dinner ended, she felt her face grow sore because she'd been smiling so incessantly.
Then it was a late night stroll, as the locals lingered in the cafes around the Piazza. Every head turned as they emerged, arm in arm, from the shadows and walked towards the well. There was a reverence for her undeniable beauty, a respectful appreciation for her choice.
Her shaven, white naped was like a spotlight, highlighting the graceful curve of her neck. He vainly tried to keep his hand from that neck; was a woman, a proud woman, who carried her head just so atop such a neck perhaps the most beautiful sight in the world? He touched on the question, the left it as they drew near the well.
"Ah," he said, "be back in a minute. "
He hurried over to the counter at a cafe and she realized. Yes, she thought, a little sweet coolness to finish the hottest day of her life. She eagerly takes the gelato and they continue over to the well, where she leans back, props up a foot and tongues the cool peak. The breeze catches on her ear, the coolness of the well on her bare skin a reminder of the afternoon's pleasures. A little chill on sun-kissed skin.
Adults wander by, stopping to gaze. They watch as the couple giggles, their mouths meeting in a frosty kiss.
The couple is along with their thoughts, lost in the shadows of little touches that set off one smile after another. They embrace the moment.
Reaching into the pocket of her linen dress, she pulls out a small satchel. Opening it, she reaches in and hands him a few strands of golden brown, pecking his cheek as she does. He kisses them, accepting the offering.
She joins him, leaning over the edge of the well and he opens his hand. The hair drifts away, falling into the darkness, fluttering down into the water, sending out small waves that ripple across time.
They turn and face each other, alone in the crowd. He takes her hands in his.
"This is not the end, " she says. "It is just the beginning."
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 la
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 la
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!
She was not dead, just toasted!
I carried her back to the waxing room and placed her on a table to sleep. I felt really funny about the whole evening. I just knew when woke up I'd be in trouble!
When she did wake up, she was really mellow and sweet!
Sandy immediately knew her long locks were missing and reached up to feel her hair. She screeched out "Oh No!" and had a big smile on her face.
"You did cut my hair! I thought it was dream!"
I had been awake all night watching her to make sure she did not stop breathing because it was scary she slept so hard.
During that time I am worrying that she is gonna be really pissed at me and who knows what could happen!
She jumped to her feet and ran to the styling room saying "I've got to see it!"
Another screech emits from her in total excitement!
Sandy then demonstrated her thankfullness by jumping my bones for round two!
It went well until the salon owner, I'll call her "Mary" arrived and unlocked the front door!
"Mary" yelled up to me asking if I was there. I yelled back that I was and I would be down in a few minutes.
"Mary" being a really cool boss and enjoying the money I was bringing her salon, said she had to leave for 15 minutes to get "supplies".
This gave us time to get dressed and compose ourselves.
Sandy was dressed in moments and planted a long wet kiss on me prior to flying out the door.
She was ecstatic and had "perma grin" she was so happy!
"Mary" returned and caught me cleaning up my mess. She grinned at me and said she did not care that I used the salon for my after hours customers, but I needed to be discreet.
I knew her line about going to get supplies was bullshit, because we had everything delivered. "Mary" was an open minded classy lady and I was lucky to have her as my boss!
As for Sandy, we never "dated" again but she would return for haircuts and we were quite playful with each other until her early passing from an auto accident.
JENNY
A story by MrHair60.
Jenny was 5'7" tall, killer body, beautiful ass and a very pretty face with blue eyes. Her hair was mid back and la
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.
I caped Jenny with a new plastic cape that was white with red designs on it. Her hair really stood out against the color of the cape.
I touched her hair along the right side, lifting it and letting it fall back to her shoulder. She was so pretty! I had forgotten her perfect features!
This had me quite aroused and I could not resist one more kiss! I stepped around from the side and kissed her on the mouth again.
Not knowing what cut I'm doing on her, I just had to ask! Jenny replied that she did not know what she wanted. She wanted to go short but was afraid to.
Jenny commented that she knows I would do a great job and it would look really good, however she just could not say the words!
I combed her hair for a few minutes, playing with it, pinning it back to resemble a short cut. I'd look at it from different angles and handed her the mirror.
Jenny said she liked it but just was not ready for short hair. I said "cool" and started to do her typical haircut.
I took a "shot in the dark" and reminded Jenny that she probably needed a haircut down below. She just smirked at me and then flashed her wonderful smile.
I continued doing this light trim on her hair when she interrupted our conversation and said clearly, " The longer I sit here, the braver I get!". I pretended not to get the message and continued my work.
She then asked "What do you think? Do you want to cut my hair short?" "Do you think it would look OK?"
Being the king of one liners, I respond by saying "Which hair are you talking about?"
Jenny said "You're right! Let's do this hair first, (as she touched between her legs), and then I won't care what you do up here!"
She stood up from the chair, fiddling with something under her cape. I quickly removed the cape and she turned her back to me, and slid her jeans off, revealing that world class butt of hers!
The panties were black lace and sexy on her, but she still kept her back to me. She slid the panties off too and teasingly kicked them across the room!
When she turned around for me to see her, I noticed that her bush was wild! It had not had any attention in along time.
Jenny sat on a bar stool and leaned back onto the counter top near the kitchen sink. She spread her legs, opening up her vulva to the light.
Jenny said " I am so ready for this!" "You don't know how long I've wanted to be shaved again!"
I quickly unplugged the blow dryer and got out my new Oster 2351 fast feed clippers. Jenny was now blushing and said "what is that?"
"Clippers! I'm not going to struggle with scissors on this jungle!"
When I snapped the clippers on, Jenny almost jumped out of the stool! "Whoo...oh my god!" she squealed!
I started at the top and clipped downward across her pubic bone. Jenny watched intently and began a slight thrust forward as she arched her back. She squealed and giggled the whole time I was clipping away.
When I got to her labia area I could see that Jenny really enjoyed the clippers vibration and was very wet.
I finished clipping and told her we would shave it in her bedroom. Jenny brushed away the pile of wiry hair that was on the stool and then rubbed her hand down over the stubble that remained. She was horny and very aroused, as I was too!
I asked her if she was ready for a haircut now and she said yes, but she did not want the cape because she was too hot now.
Her face was flushed red and both sets of lips were full of color and puffy.
She was wearing a button up blouse and I suggested she take it off so we would not get hair on it.
Jenny agreed and was now wearing only a bra that matched the earlier discarded panties. She removed it too, saying it was too expensive to get hairy.
Jenny quickly sat back down in the hair cutting chair, feeling her bared vagina.
I reached around from behind and enjoyed the slow caressing of her breasts. This was driving her wild!
I did not ask if Jenny wanted her hair cut short and sectioned it off, pulling up everything except the nape hair, below the occipital bone.
Jenny had no clue what was about to happen!
I put a number three guard on the Osters and got ready.
I instructed Jenny to sit straight, hands in her lap, feet together and most of all don't move! "You can talk or yell at me all you want, just don't move".
Gently I tilted her head forward to expose the nape area. I snapped on the clippers and Jenny said loudly "Just what are you doing?"
I said "Just trust me, you will love it"!
The Osters ate their way through the thick light brown, perm dried out hair. The hair cascaded in sheets down Jenny's bare back and over her bare breasts causing her to whine in a shrill voice.
"Oh my god, I can't believe you're doing this, I can't believe I'm letting you!" "Oh no, this is way too short!"
Within a minute, Jenny's nape area was uniformly cut and really looked good. Her natural growth pattern gave the hair a very fitted appearance
The sides were next and were cut into a Sassoon line that follows the angle of the cheek bone to above the ear.
When pressing the clippers in to do the cut, it tickled her ear with it's vibrations, causing more squealing to echo in the kitchen.
I cut the other side in the same manner and put the clippers down to transition to scissor cutting the top and back weight line area.
As I started working on the top section, Jenny reached over to the table and grabbed the clippers, using them as her personal vibrator!
She was now wiggling and having a good time as I tried my best to "roll with it" and not mess up the cut.
I had to break up her fun to use the clippers to clean up her neckline. This set her over the edge The blades without a guide were warm to the touch and I went from the ba
I dusted her off with a towel and told her that the cool part about this haircut was yet to come!
I kissed her now bare neck and worked my way around to the nearest ear that was now fully exposed!
It was too much! Jenny jumped up like a rocket and pulled me to the bedroom. She had not even seen my masterpiece of a haircut!
We ended up in her bed, our bodies welded together as one.
Jenny then kissed and said I was not through, because she did not get her shave and would not pay for services rendered until I did so!
Jenny followed me to the bathroom as I got things ready for the social grooming she desired.
Upon seeing her haircut for the first time, she got really quiet, looking so seriously in the bathroom mirror. I could not read her and guessed she was not happy.
She reached up with both hands and felt the back and pushed around the top area. Still, not saying a word and looking so serious!
Jenny stated "Oh Short" "Oh my gosh, this is really cute! I love it!"
Knowing that reminding her of chickening out of earlier short cuts would not be positive, I said that I was saving it for a special time in her life.
OHHH!! The words struck a chord with her! She really felt special!
I had her lie on the bed, wetted her stubble and used baby oil to shave her with.
As she enjoyed each stroke, I was becoming more aroused.
Once she was "clean" shaven, we went to the shower.
I think all women love to be groomed by a lover at least once in their life!
It was very erotic to wash and shampoo each other!
The rushing water on her now bare mound was "Magical" she said!
We dried each other off and needed more wine to quench our thirst.
The love making was so easy and natural, partly because we both knew it was all about now, not later.
There were no expectations and this made it better to just relax and have fun.
We tried all sorts of positions! Some, failing and causing her to "Laugh" and spit me out!
Her Kama Sutra book had both of us getting cramps from the crazy positions!
The conventional positions were enough for us, but it was fun to experiment!
When morning came, I packed my stuff and left. I told her that it was casual and if she wanted another romantic evening to call me, "I'm your man".
We never did hook up again.
Neither of us called the other and the fire was allowed to die down until it was cold.
I heard from friends, that Jenny married a man from Alaska and had some children with him. I was happy for her! That is what she really wanted in life!
My wish is that they could have the splendor of eroticism with each other, like we had! Who ever he is....he's one lucky man! She is a beautiful spirit!
A STORY IN SEARCH OF A TITLE
By Cliper2
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.
No, she'd never dared tag along with a lover or peer too intently into a barbershop to watch the dance of the clippers. Couldn't take a chance. The ruling passion conquers. And she could never give her fantasy a chance to escape into the air and push her forward, a ruler she would unleash, but could not control. After all, she'd realized that was one reason her fantasy always involved being a sub. She didn't want to admit that it would be her choice. She wanted it to be his choice, his demand. Well, at least that's how she could rationalize it.
Now, though, the clippers were right there, teasing as much as any lover she'd known. Black. Polished. Calling. But coy. How many mornings and afternoons and nights had she imagined their touch, a buzzing wind peeling away her protection, stripping her private passion and making it public. The unveiling promised such sweetness, the stuff of life. But what costs!
She leaned forward self consciously, wet, cool, hair swishing her cheeks as she did. She glanced to the side furtively. No Sue. Trembling, haltingly she lifted her hand from the arm and reached for them. Her fingers curled around the hard plastic shell and she lifted them from the shelf, bringing them near. Heavier, more solid than expected.
A flood of images and sounds. Fear. Thrall. Utter, quivering soulful nakedness.
Lost in the reverie, she did it. She pushed her thumb against the button and as it swung open with a rush she heard a startling click. And then a hypnotic, yet somehow calming hum. The soft vibration traveled from her fingertips to her lips then down her breasts to electrified nipples before lodging at her glistening center.
All else faded away, but the sound, the touch and a flurry of one erotic image after another. Time passed.
Head bowed, staring at the clippers resting in her hand on her lap, she suddenly felt a firm hand move up her nape, burrowing under her wet hair.
She turned to look up into smiling blue eyes. His hand curled around the hair on her nape and pulled. Just hard enough.
"Hello," he said, "I'll take control now."
SUMMER HAS ARRIVED
A story by Cliper2
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.
She brushed away the rest with the back of her hand, again raking her nails over the newly exposed skin, watching his back arch in pleasure against the restraints. She moved the bowl of warm water closer, and then lovingly lathered him, slowly massaging the warm gel into whitecaps of foam. He moaned slightly, looking at her out of the corner of one eye. Yes, he trusted her with this -- for the most part.
With the blade angled just so, she began stroking away the stubble left by the clippers. He froze, not that he could move that much. Three strokes, warm, water, three strokes, warm water. Occasionally she pulled the skin tight to get every last bit of hair. She loved him smooth. The shaving took time and she noticed his arousal never wavered.
When she'd finally finished, she rinsed him, then patted him down with a towel warmed for the occasion. She ran her fingers over his warm, white skin, then teased him with her nails. Perfect. Smooth. Clean.
Then she slid down and slowly ran her tongue over his bare balls, up the bottom of his cock to the tip and down to the base. She cupped his balls and pulled her head back so she could take him in her mouth ever so slowly. She knew. She knew how the sensation of her warm mouth and his smooth skin drove him to the edge. His breath quickened. She watched his nipples grow hard, his legs and arms arch against the bondage.
She went up and down his shaft a few times, then took it in hand as she moved up to his chest as he lay on his back on their bed. She tongued one nipple as she stroked him, eliciting an inhaled gasp. She thought about putting him out of his ecstasy, but then decided against it.
She slid her bare breast against his side as she snaked her tongue off his nipple and along his shoulder blade, around his mouth and to his nape. "The barber shop tomorrow," she whispered. "I want this shaved."
His body shivered with the pleasure, the overload. She smiled. Time.
She kissed him hard, burying her tongue in his mouth, then swiftly moved down to take him in her mouth one more time. Then she eased off his hip and looked him in the eye as she began stroking him. "I want to watch," she said.
Fast, then slow, then fast again, playing with him just a little more. She knew well enough when she saw the expression on his face. Still, the power surprised her, five pulses, streams up across his chest.
She relaxed, letting him finish, enjoy the moment and take stock. "What a mess," she teased.
She ran her tongue along the side of his hip and put to his chest, tasting him, then kissing him hard, the salt tang shared between them.
Then she mounted him, rubbing her bare crotch on the slickness of his chest, fingering herself just a bit, slowly sliding up towards his head, his wrists and ankles still bound to the four posts of the bed.
As she drew closer to his head, she reached down and released first one wrist then the other. He lifted his head just a little to meet her slick, shaved pussy, stopping just short. His hands reached behind her, one on each cheek. Now, he was bound but in control. He held her just there and circled his tongue just above her clit, using just the tip to trace down along the outline of her lips. She arched her back. Ever since that first night, she'd been amazed by his tongue, that talented tongue, and the way he read her desires, an attention to caring and detail that filtered through their romance, making the mundane bits of daily life interesting.
She was waiting for....there, it was, that first little flick at the hood. Then, he backed off, enjoying the smoothness he'd given her two days earlier, his tongue slipping along the side, tracing lines along her newly shaven mound, pausing, a flick here and there, a lascivious lick, before flattening against her lips headed back to...her hard, begging clit.
She pushed up against him now, driving her clit into his mouth. He reached up with his left hand and pinched her hard right nipple. That was it. She was grinding against him, riding his face hard, out of control.
When she finished, she collapsed on him, slid down into the curve of his arm after kissing him gently.
"Ah, summer is here," she said, reaching for the iced bottle of Prosecco next to the bed.
CALIFORNIA BLONDE CREWCUT
A story by Harry
Debbie had heard about my haircutting skills from a friend of hers and asked if she could be one of my selected clients and we set a haircutting session for Tuesday afternoon. We met at a local coffee shop and after having a cup and some orange cranberry scones, went to her place. She was sexy....petite, blue eyed, but with lots of curves in the right places with thick mid back golden blonde hair. She went to her room and changed from cut off shorts and a tank top to a very small bikini, meanwhile I had set up a chair in her kitchen with all of my tools on the counter. She sat down with a big smile on her face and told me she wanted to go short for the summer. I stepped behind her and ran my fingers through her silken hair and asked her how short. She smiled and surprised me by saying she wanted a choppy pixie cut...
Her smile told me she was serious as I looked into her crystal blue eyes. I then draped a fluffy white bath towel around her shoulders (I usually use a towel instead of a cape) and proceeded to brush her long locks out. I then took a black hair ribbon and tied her hair into a high ponytail and took one of my large shears and...slowly, ever so gently begin to saw my way through her thick mane. She closed her eyes as my scissors cut her hair off and she begin to squirm in the chair. I had seen this reaction many, many times over the years and knew this was going to be more than just a haircut. I lifted her shorn ponytail and showed it to her and asked her if she wanted to keep it but she declined. I smile and said that I would add it to my collection of severed ponytails. I then ruffled my fingers through her hair and picked up one of my smaller scissors and began to snip, snip, snip pieces of her shaggy remaining hair. Lifting and slicing over and over again, sending shorn strands sliding upon her shoulders, chest and onto her lap. Debbie once again closed her eyes as I was slicing her hair off, but this time began to...uhm, pleasure herself, rubbing parts of her body and slipping her fingers between her thighs....
She leaned back as I was cutting her crown hairs and as she did this I placed my hand under her chin, tilting her head back as I stepped behind the chair and started to use scissor over comb method over the top of her hair. Essentially giving her a longish, choppy crewcut with each pass of the comb and scissor...her moans and ahhs told me she was thoroughly enjoying being in my chair and in my care.. Taking my time as I was taking her shorter and shorter, methodically snip snip snipping away. I leaned in and whispered to her, my warm breath in her ear, saying "this short style really suits you", she smiled and uttered, 'please keep going"..stroking herself with a quickened pace. She seemed lost in her own world of pleasure as I continued to cut her blonde hair off. Snippets of golden hair slid down her face as I sliced her hair around the sides with my scissors. Bending her ears as my scissors reduced her hair to less than 1/2 an inch, lifting and cutting, lifting and cutting over and over again. Her sighs and ooooohs filled the room as my scissors clicked over the comb, cutting her hair closer and closer, soon her sides were all shorn. I cut precise points into her sideburns and began blending her hair on up to her crown hairs again. Using blending shears, I graduated her very close scissored crewcut all along her sides. Her continued silence, essentiallg gave me carte blanche, to cut her hair even shorter on top. Soon her crown hairs were just about an inch as I combed her hair back and scissored it into short and spiky layers. I stopped and ruffled my fingers through her hair, sliced bits and pieces rained down on the towel across her shoulders and onto her lap. Her breathing was rapid and she shook as an orgasm escaped her body. The shudders made it very obvious that her climax almost timed perfectly with me finishing her crewcut. She opened her eyes and looked in the mirror as I showed her her new haircut. The surprised look on her face was priceless, soon followed by a smile and a girlish giggle. She said, "oops I guess I should have opened my eyes sooner and I might have more hair", we both laughed. She stood up from the chair and threw her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek asking me, "what can I do to pay my barber for his excellent service" and gave me a wicked grin.
INTO THE GARDEN
A STORY BY CLIPER2
She felt his hand push aside her hair. Then his breath on her nape. A dry tongue traced a line from the base of her neck into her hair line. Then a kiss. There, just beneath her hair. She winced just a little as her hair pulled taut upped the ante, that slow tongue circling. Wet. She leaned into it, her back hard against the ungiving wood of the chair. Another stroke of the tongue, from skin to hair, rewarded her.
Then, a pause. A click. A buzz rose in the still of the garden. There. Behind her right ear. She could feel it -- sense it -- before she heard it. A hand returned, fingers combing through her dark tresses, slipping through the silkiness, then stopping suddenly.
A fist balled up, pulled softly. Her hair lifted skyward, offered to the spring clouds. She smiled softly to herself.
Her nape exposed, her chin on her chest. Her eyes, unable to focus on her bare breasts, took in the yellow tulips rising between her feet. Her feet flat on the ground, her toes tingling in the still cool spring soil. Her hands gripping the arms of the chair.
A spasm of fear. Raw, chest-pounding fear cut through her. But not just fear, a deep unexpected thrill.
Oh, how fear and pleasure are often such close relatives, kissing cousins.
Only the sound -- that vibrating buzz -- suggested reality.
The minutes leading to this flashed through her mind, altered memories already, the pleasure elbowing out the fear.
She shifted a little against the uncomfortable seat of the chair and felt her own slickness.
She'd followed him down here after a long lunch filled with smirking gazes and several glasses of an Italian red, unsuitable for the light meal, but she'd indulged his romantic attachment to the wines and the country.
The path from the house led to a bosque of trees and then into a clearing in an old forest. Daffodils, late because they were starved for sunlight, reached for the afternoon sky, turning their white and yellow faces like sundials begging for a tan. Emerging ferns -- painted ferns with their silvery foliage -- filled the few spaces between blooms.
She was curious, even a little fearful. But she’d learned to trust him, to explore the adventure with him.
When they reached the center of the daffodil drifts, he'd stopped, grasped her hand, turned to face her and kissed her gently. Then he walked behind a tree on the clearing's edge and came back, carrying an old quilt. He spread it across the daffodils, crushing some, then turned and reached for the top button on the short dress he'd picked for her that morning.
His fingers worked their way down the row of buttons, pausing only when the last had been undone and the dress gently flapped in the soft breeze. She shrugged it off her shoulders and it fell in a heap behind her. She stood, naked, in the long afternoon light, her winter white skin seemingly picking up the glow of the white daffodils surrounding her.
He began undressing, his eyes on her, her brown eyes alighting with a smirk as he fumbled with buttons.
When they were naked, without artifice, in the garden, he approached, sniffing at her ear, running his right hand through her shoulder-length hair, nuzzling for long minutes. Then a soft kiss. She felt his hand behind her, supporting her as he lowered her to the quilt. He spread her hair on the softness, then moved her hands above her head.
That tongue began to create small circles on her neck below her ear while his right hand massaged her stomach, then teased lower.
Slowly.
Everything was excruciatingly slow.
Controlled.
Anticipatory.
The long tease.
The spicy sweet scent of the daffodils. The playful pauses when his tongue lifted from its appointed rounds.
Minutes? Hours? She didn't know now. She knew it built hypnotically then surprised her with its intensity. After, he lay on his side, gently stroking his hand across her chest just below her tender breasts.
Now, she sat rigid in a chair, resting after his attentions to her. Her hands were flat on the arms of the chair. Her hair pulled taut in his hand. She awaited a different kind of naked, a scary, unsettling bareness she would be unable to disguise.
He'd led her deeper into the woods from their first trysting spot, trying without success to suppress a grin. Even she had to smile through the little rush of fear unsettling her stomach, racing her pulse.
He pulled firmly on her hair, establishing a caring, shared dominance, then retreated from the harshness with an ever-so-gentle tongue on her nape.
One stroke of his tongue.
Then another.
That tease. From bare skin his serpent slid up into the hair of her nape. Then a pull, gentler this time.
Then the sound.
Buzzing.
Louder now.
Closer.
A rasp.
Coolness on her nape.
Something soft tickling her breast.
That tongue, harder now, exploring...soft bristle.
Out of focus, eyes cast down, she could see a line of black, like a Frankenthaler slash through the middle of a painting, highlighted against her opaque white breast.
Another stroke of the tongue. A re-establishing of dominance by firmly grasping her hair. Breath.
That sound, that buzz, whirling like a muffled blender. Louder. Then that coolness on her nape.
Instantly, his tongue on her new stubble. So controlled. So slow.
Her dark hair, again floating past her right eye, this time wafting down to settle on her thighs.
There was a slight readjustment. She could feel him move away from her right ear. This time the tongue began between her shoulder blades, the hair was pulled straight towards the sky. A long, slow lingering, positively pornographic lick. A duller buzz. Vibration. Rasp. Coolness. She could feel the blades moving up her neck.
Then that inspecting tongue on new stubble.
He paused. Then his hand reached around, setting the clippers between her legs, resting against her thigh.
Vibrating.
Shocking.
She began to reach down to adjust the humming clipper, to move it to a resting spot away from her thigh. Instantly, his hand stopped her. Tsk, tsk. He positioned her hand back on the end of the chair's arm. The cool vibrations continued to tease her moistness. Slowly. Not firm enough to send her over the edge. Persistent. A slow, vibrating tease.
Now, something new.
Against the back of her head, his finger worked a slow massage on her nape. Then his thumbs, pressing firmly, moved in circles over the clipped area. Slowly. Gently but firmly. She began to sway. His lips nuzzled the stubble. Her eyes closed, drawn to the rhythm.
He eased away and she felt a finger slide up her thigh then veer off. Tease. He picked up the clippers again. A bird call -- perhaps a cardinal -- cut through the drone.
A tongue, a pull, a breath of her hair. That whirring buzz again, behind her left ear.
Stroke after stroke. More hair falling.
He was, in a way, undressing her just as surely as if he were undoing buttons on her dress. He was, certainly, giving her new clothes, breaking a trail to new frontiers.
The seconds stretched into minutes and the waltz continued up her nape and on both sides of her head where he attentively teased the gentle curves of her ears with his tongue. He paused a minute to eye his art: the contrast was arousing. Her black hair circling the top of her head, awaiting its free fall. Virgin-white skin just showing.
He moved to the front, his arousal bumping her knee. A gentle hand under her chin angled her brown eyes so they met his smiling blue gaze. Tenderly, almost with regret, he stroked the thick darkness that remains. Then his hand brushed it down over her forehead. This time she actually felt the buzz as it passed by her ear to the crown of her head. The rasp was sustained. Blurry clumps fell before her eyes. Suddenly, she could see him clearly again.
And in that instant she realized it was gone. She had surrendered to the fearful temptation he held before her months ago.
Free.
Naked.
Yet beautifully attired.
In naked beauty more adorned, more lovely than Pandora, she thought.
She smiled. A woman once again ruled by her curiosity. In Paradise .
A breeze stirred the tulips, rustling the leaves. This, she thought, must be what it's like to be born, to come into the world fresh, naked, without the crutch of style, of covering.
Finished, he massaged her again, this time shifting between strong hands and one damn insistent tongue. The buzz remained, inside her now, though the rasps were over.
Moving in front he reached down as she sat expectant. A hand behind her head. He leaned over. A long kiss.
She wondered if she should rise as he turned away briefly. Then he was back, smiling, almost chuckling. His hand smoothed her head from front to back, rippling over the stubble, bringing it -- and her -- to aroused attention.
A soft horsehair brush supplied a tactile tease. First over her eyes, slowly, softly swishing. Then her ears, her shoulders scrunching with the tickling. And those shoulders are next, feeling the gentle tease of the brush that cleaned the black hair from her white skin. She realized the yellow tulips about her have become hangers for dark strands. Her hair will return to the Earth with the spring rains. Each year she will see those tulips and remember.
But her reverie, broken by the tenderness of the brush on her nipples, became ever more erotic, more sensuous than any hand. The brush moved to her thighs, bypassing the wet, begging center.
Time, finally. Gently taking her hand in his, he beckons her from the chair.
Their bodies touch, her breasts pressing against his chest, their thighs slipping against each other.
A kiss.
A tongue.
A breath.
A look and a grin. Or was it a leer?
Teasing.
His hand stroked one more time from her forehead back, then settled on her nape and he slowly lowered her to the cool garden floor. Greenery forms the headboard of their earthly bed.
They rocked, swaying in the garden.
Exploring in the forest of tulips.
Naked, utterly naked. But adorned as never before.
A STORY BY CLIPER2
She took her time, laying out the implements of the preparation, the beginning of going shorter, just shorter.
Then she ran the warm bath, so soothing after a long week. She added a little scented oil as the tub filled. Then she slipped in up to her neck, the ends of her hair floating on the surface.
She imagined the day, her day, that lie ahead, her body responding to the images she carefully drew in her mind. This was luxury time, anticipation time.
Eventually, she sponged herself clean, then reached over for the lather and the razor, shaving her legs with long, luscious strokes, being sure to get every spot, ever so careful.
When she was smooth, she drained the tub and say on the side, eyeing the implements. She toweled herself dry, then took the small Remington clippers in hand, returning again to the side of the tub.
She turned them on, the familiar hum arousing her, hardening her nipples, and then she slowly took them through the curls of her pubic hair. The preparation had begun. Slowly, enjoyably, she used the clippers, shaving her curls clean, occasionally resting them against herself, enjoying the vibration.
When she'd given herself a proper bush buzz cut, she admired it, took a deep breath, and then reached for the lather. Smooth, he'd said. He wanted her smooth. She rubbed in the lather, carefully spreading it around, but not in. And then she began stroking the razor, taking it all off, the last of it, committed now to the transformation, the experience, the arousing adventure."
Posted by Harriet.
SHORTER, JUST SHORTER
She entered the suite knowing only what would result from this day. But not how. And that was even scarier. This odd sensation, racing between terror and erotic thrill bounced around her stomach, almost making her lightheaded.
She had fantasized about this day so often; just a few images made her wet. But now that it was here -- now that it was real -- not cyber fantasy, her fear threatened to rule her.
She thought back. It started in her kitchen. He knew she was a sub. And she'd heard about his interest, though she didn't understand it.
"So, you like to cut women's hair?" she teased, her tongue loosened by the red wine.
She was leaning against the counter. He was sitting at the table and he slowly rose, walked to her and ran his hand through her thick, shoulder-length hair, stopping only when he'd grabbed a fistful at her crown. Then he pulled, firmly. Hard.
In that instance, she felt the charge to her core.
"Yes," he said. "I do."
"How would you cut mine?" she teased.
"Shorter," he said. "Just shorter."
Over the days that followed he sent her story after story as well as some pictures. She read them, finding herself surprised by her reaction. She'd never thought of a haircut as sensual, as sexual. And she certainly didn't think it was an act of submission. But clearly, it was.
And the more she thought about being in that chair, being unable to control her fate, the more it turned her on. One night online he laid out a scenario for her. As he started spinning his tale in line after line on the flickering screen before her in the dark, she roused. Within minutes, she was soaked, her hairy pussy begging for a quick touch and release.
She could have lied; she could have claimed to be as frigid as Martha Stewart in a McDonald's, but she was too far gone, too far into a fantasy so seductive she wanted it to be real.
Today, she would step across the borderline between fantasy and reality.
Of course, it took some doing. But it was worth the effort, worth the chance, for the adventure.
He locked the hotel door behind them.
A dozen white roses sat in a cut-glass vase on the end table. Next to them was a hat box, a large hat box.
As she headed for the couch to sit down, he intercepted her with a kiss on the cheek.
He pulled her hair. Hard. Then released it.
He sat down on the couch.
"Very good," he said, eyeing her short dress.
"Now remove it."
She stripped, dropping the dress and her bra at her feet. No panties, of course.
Her bush had been neatly trimmed.
Then he walked to the vase of roses, plucked one carefully and dipped the bud end in a pitcher of ice water. He embraced her, enveloping her. She felt him lift the thick, blonde hair on her nape and trace the icy rose from there down between her shoulders. He pulled her tighter to him, the flower, as shocking cold as any whip, followed her spine and traced the soft curve of her right cheek then slid up and over to the other side. A thorn raked the soft skin of her ass. He stopped, bent down and sucked away a drop of blood.
He pulled the rose back, iced it again and this time started on her side, following her rib cage down the angle of her hip to her thigh. Then he traced the rose up the other side, bending over to bite first one nipple then the other as he did. She knew to not move, to not even shift her weight. He ran it down to her triangle, along the thin line of hair emphasizing her lips. Then he stopped.
She realized the symbolism of the roses. How many times over the years had men impressed by her stunning looks favored her with a dozen? How many times had she relied not on her intellect, her wit, her imagination, but the genetic wheel of fortune that had given her a lusty body and head-turning hair? How shallow a gift had those roses been? How ironic they now heralded her transformation.
"Come," he said, pulling her by the hair, almost dragging her from the room into a larger one, the center of the suite.
At one end of the expansive room, framed by flowers, was a straight-backed metal chair with floating arms. To the side of one sat a tray on legs with the equipment. In a sight line from that chair, the roses in the vase had been moved atop a dresser. On the other side was an examining table with stirrups in place.
He walked her over the chair, its metal cold to the touch. She felt a chill as she stood there and watched him walk over to the dresser and lift the big hat box she'd seen earlier to reveal a wig on a head stand, a wig exactly in her color and length. Was it there just to remind her that there were no boundaries?
He came back to her, ran a finger along her cheek and smiled. Cocky. Masterful. She'd imagined that smile even before she saw it; there was just something in his attitude.
He ran a finger from under her hairline down her spine and over her ass. Tender. Soft. Just the right pressure. She relaxed, grew aroused. Her nipples hardened. And then Master Barber stepped away.
Taking a brush, he stroked her locks, bringing them down in front of her eyes as she leaned over the chair. After several minutes, her hair was tangle-free, soft. Her arms ached.
She turned to face him and he offered a gentle kiss on the lips, guiding her over to the examining table and helping her up, then placing her ankles in the stirrups. Exposed. Vulnerable.
His hand stroked her hair, then reached down to rub her hairy mound. She arched back, leaning into the soft leather of the table, feeling it cool on her skin.
He smiled, looking down at her. Then he picked up the small gray clippers. Click. Hum. He stepped between the stirrups and held the clippers firmly against the inside of her left thigh, the vibrations coursing up her leg and to her center. Then he began a grand tease, running them over bare skin, watching to see if she'd squirm.
Just when she was about to be exasperated by the hesitation, she felt them on her mound, then heard the quick rasp as they nibbled at her curls.
He made another pass, holding this time just above her lips. Vibrating. Buzzing. Soft electric waves teasing. As he finished the last pass, he let the clippers linger for minutes...slowly building in intensity.
Then he stepped back and pused. The next thing she felt was an icy cold rose shocking her shaven mound. Then a finger. Then the clippers. Again. Lingering. Her hips began thrusting. Finally, he pulled the clippers away.
He shoved two fingers inside her. She gushed.
Later, he would break out the lather and blade for an especially smooth finish rewarded with a slow tonguing. But that was later.
Now, she was mellow, laying there, staring at the ceiling, letting the last waves of her orgasm wash over her.
He allowed her to get a breath. Then he helped her unsteadily to her feet and into the metal chair.
With her in the chair, he ran his hands through her thick hair, massaging the back of her neck gently.
He picked up a brush from the tray and ran it through her hair, stroke after stroke, offering a moment of gentle relief in a sensory marathon.
She leaned back into the strokes of the brush, followed by his hand, closing her eyes. Her hands relaxed on the chair's arms.
Finally, he finished and stepped in front of her, his eyes smiling.
He made sure her hands were taut to the arms of the chair. No need for ties. She knew better than to move. Then, because the arms floated, he was able to move her knees apart, positioning her feet so her toes pointed drastically outward, showing her smooth, shaven pussy to everyone.
He pointed to the tray and she realized what he meant. She reached for the small gray clippers she'd first seen months ago. He slapped her wrist, pointing to a much larger, red pair of clippers next to them.
"Attach the blade," he whispered to her, nodding to a series of three on the tray marked "crew," "buzz" and "shave." She grabbed the "buzz" and fumbled with it, eventually his hands covered hers and helped with the final adjustment as the blade clicked into place.
"Turn them on," he said loudly.
She looked at him, eyes wide and pleading. They were eyes that so often got what she wanted merely by seeming vulnerable, by offering her beauty in exchange. It had always been too easy, too sure. Now, those eyes and her beauty only met his cold resolution.
"Turn them on," he said more forcefully.
She felt her fingers move without her brain's consent. CLICK. The buzz was much louder, the vibration in her hands went straight to her soaked pussy, awakening it again. Her nipples swelled. He kissed her ear, then her nape.
Then he held out his hand. Meekly, she proffered the buzzing clippers.
She heard them behind her ears, wavering. Another long pause.
The sound changed in pitch.
"Bow your head," he said.
She froze.
His fist balled up her hair, her long, thick hair and pulled from behind. Hard. Her head bowed.
She felt the vibration. The warmth. The coolness. A flash of color tumbled by her right eye, curling on her breast briefly, then slithering down over her thigh.
There was another pass. And one more. Vibration. Warmth. Coolness. Hair falling, collecting on her bare thighs.
Then a pause. He reached around lifting her chin. With his right hand, he held the clippers just above eye level. Pausing.
Then the clippers bit into her hair cutting a swath down the middle, her thick blondness falling to either side, tickling her shoulders, curling around her hard nipples. He went all the way from front to back without pause.
"Shorter. Just shorter," he said.
With the third pass of the clippers followed by his stroking hand, she came. Again. In spastic gasps, her slickness cool on the metal seat of the chair.
Spent, she smiled. She'd dared. And she'd been rewarded.
With the clippers off, the room fell silent. He stepped in front of her and swished a horsehair brush over every inch of her body, starting with her face, moving to her shoulders, then her breasts and thighs, swishing away the fluffy dry curls of hair. It was relaxing, terribly sensual. She recharged as her body was massaged, cleaned of the ticklish hairs.
After a pause, he plucked an icy rose from the vase and bent over the chair. His first kiss was behind her left ear. Then her cheek. Then her lips. Then the rose stroked the hairline of her nape, a vitally different sensation than the one just hours ago when he'd lifted her hair to make the same motion.
He stroked her, cared for her, embraced her physically and emotionally for long minutes. His tongue came back again and again to her bristled nape.
Later, he would run a hot bath and sponge her from buzzed head to toe.
Then he would give her a stunning black cocktail dress. Bareheaded, he would escort her to the best restaurant in the city, where they would toast life's daring adventures.
Everyone would stare at her. They were stares unlike any she'd felt. Because they didn't admire the shallow outside. No, those stares admired the daring inside, something far more seductive than mere looks.
Unbound, her passion made her ever more beautiful. And ever more eager. She squirmed all through dinner and drinks, eager to get back to the hotel and feel his hands on her head, his tongue on her nape…and beyond.
A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN...
A story by (Harriet) Scissors_fan
Better said, a match made in a barber chair. Mary and Mike met on the internet and before meeting in a non-virtual environment, they decided to exchange private messages for a while. One subject led to another, and it didn’t take much time for him to tell her he was a barber. That was the point most girls he dated before would gently say they expected to know a man who was younger, older, or whatever. Money issues, status, those were John’s most valued hypothesis to explain rejection to his most beloved occupation. A whole series of “you seem to be a nice guy but…" permeated his dating past. He knew that working as a barber was not as popular as being a doctor, lawyer, rock star or astronaut. As a matter of fact, he had attended the university for 10 semesters, graduated in Counseling and Community Psychology, but decided that he could exchange a fancier lifestyle for the pleasure of working with peoples’ hair, following the steps of his father. That was what he dreamed of, since he was a kid.
Mike also happened to be a haircut fetishist, a hard to admit preference, and that was really supposed to continue buried under tons of disguises. He was sure punishment is deserved for those who dare revealing and practicing their unusual grooming kinks. At work, he wouldn’t mess up things, his clients always got exactly what they wanted and all the satisfaction he could get from work was from tipping, added to the feeling of a well-done job and his clients’ satisfied faces. But his mind and soul every now and then got trapped in the turmoil defined by haircutting and shaving obsessions, fantasies, movies and pictures.
The evening he told her his profession was the first occasion in which things were completely different from his previous life. Usually, the slow ritual of intimate self- disclosures, so typical in flirtatious conversations, changed completely after he told a chick that he earned his living cutting people’s hair and shaving guys. He was surprised when Maria seemed to get even more interested in him after learning he was a barber. It was empowering for him to realize that he wouldn’t be rejected, at least for professionally using razor, scissors and clippers. He imagined that, if he was really luck, quite soon she would ask for some professional advice concerning hair coloring or something of the same kind. As a matter of fact, Mary felt intensely excited at the moment he revealed his occupation. Those were her words, “so you are a hair expert". The computer camera was off and he couldn’t witness her broad smile.
She presented herself as “just an office assistant", who spent eight hours a day “dealing with insurance and that kind of boring stuff". The coincidence is that at a semi-conscious level Mary was also a hair fetishist; she was the type of girl who not even knew such things co-exist in the incongruent world of normalcy and hypocrisy where she lived. She simply felt something strong and disturbingly nice every time hair was to be cut, mainly hers. Her emotions and desires hadn’t been named yet, but they seemed to be absurdly weird, wrong and rejectable. Definitively, it was something to be away from and get rid of. And now, she met a barber. He seemed so gentle, nice to have long conversations with, charming. Too strange, she thought.
In order to make a long story short, suffice it to say that it took almost a month until they decided to meet at a café, located just five blocks from Johns’ working place, the store he inherited from his Italian father, deceased right after he got his Master degree. The old barber chairs were in good condition, just the leather parts have been substituted by new ones. Two red chairs, but the other barber moved to south some months ago and now John felt as a king without vassalage. This was OK for him. The problem was that he also felt as a slave of his unfulfilled desires. But now he hopes he may move far away from his impulses and unusual fantasies because he met that lovely long haired lady, talkative, smart eyes, charming, sexy, with large insinuating hips and expressive boobs. They were dating and she had accepted him. Triple wow experience. And there were those vanilla scented curls, she was a wonderful brunette. Photos and web cameras have hidden her beauty and all that sensational hair. Too much for a single guy and self-repressed haircut fetishist, a guy craving for reciprocal love and a little bit of hair play.
She was the kind of girl who was also searching for love and had no idea where it would be. Bad former love affairs, dull dating experiences, this is a fair description of her past. Concerning her feelings about haircutting, she knows that since early in life, she preferred to keep her hair as far as possible of the scissors. Occasionally, she was obliged to go visit a lady hairdresser simply because she didn’t feel qualified for performing a nice self-trimming. She also remembers that when someone once asked whether she had watched Edward Scissors Hands, she had answered that the movie was so entertaining to her... Her words, she thought, sounded like dirty talking, but she simply couldn’t understand the reason. And no matter how, she couldn’t also grasp why she felt strangely aroused every occasion she passed around a barber shop, a place that seemed so manly and forbidden for a girl like her. She vaguely recalled one episode of her early years when her father took her to the barber’s with him, for the sake of his haircut and a cone of chocolate ice cream after for them both. If her memory doesn’t betray her, she had listened to her father telling the barber that his daughter, “the young lady in pink dress sitting over there", should be given “a induction haircut, white walls and almost no hair on the top", right after he was properly groomed. She was too young to discriminate between a joke and the threat of a radical tonsure. Of course, the haircut was not supposed to happen. Those minutes of the barber’s snipping and buzzing her father seemed to last forever, and only then she could understand he was just playing with her. She was just given a lollypop for patiently waiting for her father’s cut and was guided to the ice cream parlor holding hands with daddy. She had no clue of what an induction haircut was supposed to mean, but those words would certainly bring a touch of humiliation and ugliness to her life. Yeap, any forced haircut would be unbearably disturbing and painful for the six year-old blond girl. But every time she recalled that story, she felt something pretty close to sexual arousal. That was her secret paradox, a hidden, almost unconscious one.
Coffee was wonderful, the conversation amazing. Both seemed so pleased together. And, all of a sudden, he had the idea of inviting her to his shop. He would be glad to show her how he had honored his father’s memory and proudly maintained the family tradition. She couldn’t feel more disturbed and excited. The primitive memory of the induction haircut came right back to her guts.
No, she can feel he was no Sweeney Todd, a serial killer, or something similar. His piercing eyes transmitted other emotions. Sweet, self-confident, kind of sexy, trustable. Would visiting his place seem too vulgar for a first date? After all, he lived upstairs the two-storey shop. More than twice, in clubs or bars, she had already had some kissing action with men she just met thirty minutes before, so what’s the reason for her reluctance this time? Why not accepting his invitation now? She thought she would leave anytime she wanted, reassuring herself that there would be no problem to give a quick look at a place similar to the one she feared so much- for eternal fifteen minutes- 22 years before. And her barber is such a tempting one, she recognized that. Yeah, why not?
Fireworks are too much of a cliché. Sparkles don’t help either, if someone looks for a good description of their encounter. She even felt comfortable to tell him about her traumatic childhood memory. He was fascinated with the story, and as a counselor he was professionally trained to be understanding and non-judgmental to others. He listened attentively to her and gently guided the girl to one of his chairs, saying she could relax there because no bad things would happen to the pretty lady that he was hosting. Never, he promised, honoring the memory of his father who had never forced a client, even children, to undergo a haircut.
Mike showed her the scissors, razors, brush, capes, clippers, shampoos and lotions. He also promised none of them would touch a centimeter of her scalp and hair, except in case she lusted and begged for any of them. Not that day, at least, for that was a unique opportunity for mutual recognition, validation of desires, full self-expression and some careful touching and whispering and kissing, he thought. That day, she even grasped the barber brush and played with it, touching their faces and nape and making fun of it. Nice beginning, but that was all he got. After, they moved upstairs, in the coziness of his apartment, they had great moments together.
Day by day, Mary noticed that the seeds of haircutting lust had been planted in her mind. They trusted each other; he respected her feelings, although he secretly wished he could cut at least a centimeter of her hair, just for the sake of feeling the scrunch of the scissors or the buzz of clippers. He daydreamed about the occasion.
The interesting part of the story is that gradually Mary felt an imperative urge to become her lover’s client. In order to face her primitive phobic and sexual emotions, it would be necessary a reenactment of the traumatic event, the solution may be a consensual haircut. But the girl doubted if her man would accept the burden of dealing with the fears and strange emotions that haunted her every now and then. Would she refrain from squirming and crying? Would she be able to restrain herself, demonstrating confidence in his hands and intentions?
A person doesn’t need to have a very naughty imagination to guess the way he felt when she asked him to play her private barber, “just for a trim". At the verge of a heart attack, he accepted, “Sure, sweetie, I’ll be honored, but only if you really feel I should" were his exact words. He said they would set a day for the trimming, and that, for the present moment, a sensual hair washing at his chair would be a nice beginning. Sweet and sexy words whispered close to her, scalp and nape massage, gentle hair drying and zillions of touches, hugs and kisses at the barber chair became their favorite routine before lovemaking.
Trained to be a professional counselor, he knew that overcoming fears require gradual and frequent increases of her pleasant contact with his chair, haircutting tools and the barber action itself. He wisely explained to her how trauma can be installed, maintained and modified. Contrasting her real experience and his academic theoretical knowledge shed some light to her childhood trauma. He dared to tell that in some cases emotions are elicited in a confusing way, a person could fear and be strangely aroused for that same thing… Mike was rewarded by the careful talk. She was very open to him concerning her strange feelings, desires, fears, and now everything finally made sense for them both. He loved what she told her. But it was not time yet to confess his fetish to his Rapunzel. It would be pure nonsense to risk her adherence, up to the moment, to a minor, but so precious, trimming.
Mike kept very clear in his mind that he was pairing her being in the chair for a sensual hair wash to hot lovemaking. He hoped that this would help promote the gradual dissolution of trauma. Going to the barber and having the hair snipped was supposed to be a pleasant occasion, an opportunity for being pampered and leave the shop looking even more attractive. Love and haircutting would win.
Saturday he closed his shop doors and carefully cleaned his place, had a shower, groomed himself to the best, bought a dozen of roses and tried to compose a flower arrangement in a vase, all this to make the surrounding of his chair the best he could. His mp4 player was ready for love songs, in the velvety voices of Billy Holiday, The Puppini Sisters, Edith Piaf and others. Unusual in barbershops, he casually left a bottle of Port Vintage wine nearby. Tiny glasses too. A brand new white cape with pink stripes and a more than white smock completed the setting for the “most important trimming of their lives", as they decided to name the experience.
Mary was not able to sleep the night before her great moment. She longed for the haircutting as hell and still felt butterflies in the stomach. Her man was trustable, he would take very good care of all the long hair she was overly attached with. She had the clear purpose of asking for half an inch trimming, just to test the waters. Dressed as a modern princess, Mary and her mane followed anxiously, and full of repressed desire, to Mike’s place, the dreaded barbershop. A passionate kiss and a long hug sealed the beginning of the evening. He decided he would be professionally courteous to the most, and this helped his girl to relax. A glass of the Portuguese wine finished the task of guiding her favorite client to his chair.
“Well, it’s time to plop into the chair, milady". And there she was, feeling as if she were five years old again and getting prepared for the radical shearing. Being 26, she was able to identify that the wetness down there couldn’t be defined as a fear reaction. Something else was going on, and now it was totally acceptable. He placed the paper tissue and put the cape around her neck and fastened it tightly. She felt a little bit helpless, her delicate body rested unseen in the huge chair, hidden by the striped cotton cloth. Mike pumped the chair, and asked what Mary would like him to do, his green eyes enchanted with the sight of his muse.
“Just a trim, please. What about half an inch?"
“That will be, miss". He brushed her hair without hurry, then hold his scissors, he felt them heavier than the usual, it was the weight of the task. He started the cutting and showed her the very first snipped hair, to prove her he was faithful to her intentions. Shortly, the trimming was done. It didn’t take long for the couple to realize that they wished for something more intense and satisfying. She took the initiative.
“Would you mind cutting a little bit more? There still seems to be split ends everywhere… Two inches, at the most, OK?"
Definitively, God has listened to his prays and he was in Heaven. The Italian-descent young barber couldn’t avoid getting excited, he hoped it remained unnoticed. “Good decision, your hair deserves the best treatment." He decided to propose something bolder. “Would you mind if I use clippers to even up your hair? The final result seems to be more precise, let me try this with just a small part of your hair and you tell if you like it or not, all right, miss?" She just nodded, his proposal was so electrifying that she couldn’t utter a single word of approval. The brief buzzing sound inebriated her, and she allowed the rest of the trimming to be a clipper cutting of imaginary split ends. Before complying with her, he interrupted the cutting to tell that he has learnt with his father that clippers should first be introduced to kids before they touch their heads. How was he trick?
In a didactic and friendly tone of voice he talked to her as if she was a five-year-old, “Hey, do you wanna see how this buzzing machine work? Let me show you." He approaches the clippers to his own arm and slightly touches the skin. “It’s great, it buzzes and I can feel it. That’s something nice. Wanna try this? It’s a cool feeling!" Just like 99% of the kids, she felt impelled to accept the offer of her barber (what a friendly smile, who would resist it?) and asked him to let her feel the touch of the blades in the palm of hands and the arms. After this, he resumed the haircutting. He tried to work methodically slow in order to savor the moment. He kept strictly obedient to her request. “Trust is a central issue", he thought.
The next step of his strategy was to make the girl leave the chair as soon as the cut was over and, consequently, make her feel still deprived of a little bit more of that emotionally charged, sexy and frightening experience. “I don’t want to sound unprofessional, but do you know you are my favorite and most beautiful client?" (his sincere words were whispered in her ears, in the middle of haircutting). His finger delicately touched her cheeks when he added: “Your face is so fantastic that it should be ornamented with modern bangs, matching the hot woman you are. But this is my professional advice and I respect your fears, so we are not doing anything you don’t wanna to…"
Changing the tone of voice, he added: “Well, miss, the trimming is over". He removed the cape and the tissue, saying: “For behaving as well as a grown-up lady you deserve a rose, instead of a lollypop". She welcomes the flower, accompanied by kisses and powerful hands invading her scalp all over. He helps her getting out of the chair.
Upstairs, after dinner and the best lovemaking of their life, she said: “You know what? You’ve mentioned that bangs would be nice. Were you serious about that, Mr. Barber?"
“Have I ever lied to you? No kidding at all, baby. But you have to think twice before this step, your look would change completely and I would necessarily have to cut lots of long hair in the front to give you those sexy bangs. Forget about this for a week or two, and then we’ll see if the wish is still really strong. Then I will gladly do what you tell me to.
“No, Mister. Let’s move to the chair. It’s now or never." They got dressed again before going down, just to pretend that was a formal barber-client relationship. His plan was progressing brilliantly. They were both and predator playing that therapeutic haircutting game. “Would mind cutting my bangs with the clippers? I appreciated so much the final result when you used them…" To be honest, she couldn’t tell the difference between scissors and clippers cutting in terms of hair texture or whatever, but she desperately wanted to know how the vibration of the clippers felt touching her forehead.
“Do you agree that lots of your hair will be on the ground pretty soon, miss?" This was her last chance. “Move on, please, before I regret." Cape, neck tissue, the pumping of the chair. Everything was ready for the second round. He kissed her and used hair pins to separate what was supposed to be clippered from the rest. Facing each other, he slowly approaches the buzzing machine to her eyes and ears. Finally her forehead feels a delicate vibration and then clumps of long hair start to fall around her. A new experience. Frightening and so good, more of the second than the first.
He was right, her look was astounding! How could she, for so many years, walk around with a plain, boring haircut? And those strange bodily sensations definitively got a new name: arousal, sexual arousal. No more shame for that. Good bye repressed feelings. Hello, new life! The unrevealed plan weaved by her beloved barber was a huge success.
Too much for a single holiday. Not to mention the wild sensations in bed, when they kind of expanded the pleasure of the shearing. At the office, Maria’s co-workers enthusiastically complimented her for the change. She couldn’t feel better. Their romantic affair gained in depth and sensuality, indeed. She revealed her beauty to the world. Barbershop action became irresistible.
It didn’t take long till they felt something was missing… Another trimming? “No, that doesn’t sound enough." One day, during a walk at the park, they couldn’t avoid putting their attention on a girl with bangs, ponytail and a slightly buzzed nape. She asked if he would agree to buzz a small area of her nape, she would keep that hidden during workdays, but would love to try ponytails on the weekends. Her request was a huge turn on to Mike. “Let’s go home right now, my buzzed-to-be muse."
She had no clue about guards. He explained the expected function of each one and they decided to test some numbers, for the sake of extending their pleasure. The #3 guarded clippers did their job pretty well, irradiating shivers of pleasure by her spine. Then #2, followed by # 1. He seemed to be as concentrated as a neurosurgeon in the operating room. But with a hard-on. He kissed her now sensitive nape, removed the tissue and cape and freed her hands, which drove to her own exposed skin. An incredible feeling. It reminded her when she hugged her newly shorn daddy and also Mike’s nape, after every time he clippered himself in front of the mirror. Being clippered was superb, touching her own the nape was amazing and being licked, kissed, touched there corresponded to a newly discovered G-spot in Mary’s body.
Mike felt brave enough to tell her he was a hair fetishist. Her answer surprised him. “Intuitively I already knew that, since you got excited during my haircuttings." She was even relieved to know that the excitement was mutual. She commented on her getting wet, with goose bumps, as he did the scissors cutting and used the clippers. That was a long talk, with the purpose of making explicit what their minds and body already knew. No guilty or shame, it was a liberation for the couple of hair fetishists. He showed her a new world of websites he visited, he invited Maria for a DVD session at home, full of images of radical haircutting, popcorn and caressing. What she liked the most were the haircutting fantasies, such well-written stories. She always identified with the girl being shorn. And some light bdsm barber scenes seemed to be her cup of tea. Those tales captivated her. They fueled her imagination and as Mike’s birthday approached, she told him she wanted to offer the ultimate gift for the occasion: he would give her an angled bob with clippered nape. He was also authorized to choose one among five tales of her choice to fit the bob haircutting into the story they were going to role-play.
He read the stories in two days and decided to keep secret of his choice. “It will add some spice to the role-playing" he muttered to himself. And now he had to provide something to immobilize her in the chair. The story depicted the progressive haircutting of a girl forced into submission by a cruel master barber and dom. Handcuffs or straps? Some barbers keep leather or velcro straps available in a drawer in case they had to force kids to stay in chair for an undesired shearing. His father newer allowed that in his shop, but now Mike was forced to buy some, for her wrists and ankles, not to mention the chest. Her breasts will have to be massaged very carefully due to the pressure exerted by the strap in the chest, and an inexperienced girl, as the character was supposed to be, will cry rivers and yell… and maybe get really wet. Straight razors, foam, was it time to use them? How would it be? Would Mary or her character freak out?
He kept in mind that the purpose of his birthday fun and sexy gift was necessarily related to offering Maria a gorgeous haircut, compatible to her face and lifestyle. He was committed to this, but great fun is also allowed and expected by both. The day arrived, she was as asked to wait for him at her place at 08:00 pm, and the scene was supposed to start as soon as they met. He had the key of her apartment and almost never used it. But in order to pretended he was an intruder, as written in the story he had chosen, he arrived two hours earlier and invaded her apartment with the key she gave him. She was sleeping a little bit and was shocked when “a man" woke her up, with aggressive manners, asked the girl about her parents and as he realized they had left for the theater and the girl was alone, he ordered her to be ready for a long ride. By the threat of the straight razor he was holding (a plastic, fake one; he vividly remembered that his father gave him the toy that was part of a “barber kit for kids" when he was eight), she was led into his car. To keep the car drive, he only teased her verbally while driving, suggesting how much he would explore her body and hair. As soon as they arrived, they hurried into the shop, doors and windows closed, and the show began. An angled bobbed hair, very sophisticated, precise and audacious emerged as the result of threats, fingering, probing, buzzing and snipping. For the first time in her life she was pussy shaven by the man who kidnapped her. She had no ideas where he got those leg stretchers. Her character begged, cried, yelled, sobbed, and Mary, the actress, got the most rewarding experience of her life. Mike couldn’t believe how good they were: an incidental observer would feel tempted to call the authorities, accusing him of inflicting cruel suffering to a young teen. Later on, he regretted they didn’t get a video copy of their scene.
It was awesome to cut several inches of hair. The barber chair was positioned facing the wall, but she could see the hair falling heavily. He alternated scissors, his Solingen German straight razor and several Oster clippers for this initial cutting. Just for the fun of it, trying to force the girl to foresee what the future saved to her. When all the hair was up to her shoulders, he gave them a break and decided to “check if the straps were hurting" his beauty. They knew they weren’t, but they acted as if she was suffering from the tightness of restraining. He removed her clothes, some pieces were reduced to rags, for he used his cutting instruments to help him with the task of revealing her nudity. His chair was in the horizontal position and the heavy barber easily dominated his skinny victim. She was the perfect drama queen. Squirming, asking for mercy and enjoying all his moves. Just like the story he selected for Mike.
Back to the seated position, and immobilized in the chair with the help of smart knots of the large cape he bought for the occasion, the shearing of the nape started, after side hair was put apart by four pins. “All this mass of hair in the nape has to go. Do you know what an induction haircut is, uh?" His voice, full of simulated villainy, was not able to disguise his pleasure. He perpetrated the shearing, saying that maybe a bald captive would make him happy. For a second she panicked, but the shine of his eyes and a reassuring wink, completely out of the script, made her feel fine again. And also wetter and wetter. As the basic structure of a buzzed nape was ready, it was time for some “naughty refreshment" before the trimming of the side hair. She would like to retribute the contact immediately, but he planned that occasion as a kind of passive game, and he said “Oh baby, now you are going to be examined by my friend, Dr. Badman". He even bought a second hand lab coat for the occasion in a Salvation Army store. Just like the fake straight knife, his esthetoscope was made of plastic, from Toy’s R Us. Fingering, kissing, touching and probing every part of captive Mary’s body brought a new meaning to the art of haircutting. They enjoyed that to the most. He proceeded as the evil man he was supposed to be, and after a series of orgasms, the final part of Mary’s haircut was supposed to start. The barber was back again, full of appetite to reduce her mane to piles of hair on the ground. They wer exhausted, and no one wanted to ask for an interruption. There was code for that, “Mike/Mary, let’s stop for a second". None of them ever considered recurring to it.
The sides were gradually assuming their final length and shape, it was necessary to connect parts, do some final touches and guide the role-playing to its epilogue, so that Mike could have the honor of showing Mary the product of all that wonderful opportunity she generously offered them both. First, a quick hair wash, performed with faked brutality. The truth is that the she was so sweat that some fresh water and a shampoo would be good for his adorable captive. Time for blowdrying and the use of hairbrush, in order to give a nice shape for the untamed hair. Perfection.
Mike, no more as the cruel villain, his heart racing fast, tired after the erotic haircutting, used a wet towel to tenderly remove hair from her body and dry pat her. Each part he cleaned was kissed with passion and respect. His muse was ready for the mirror, after he offered her a silk lace robe. He wasn’t sure if her goose bumps now resulted from feeling cold or excitement.
She got speechless, her recently acquired bangs were nothing when compared to the positive impact of her new haircut. She turned her head right and left for the sake of observing the movement of her hair, capturing details, getting a better view of the buzzed back, partially reduced to stubble. And the way it feels as she runs her fingers all over the scalp… They hold each other tightly for long minutes, her tear drops now were pure bliss. That was a magic moment for those two hair fetishists.
Later, after sealing the evening with some rest, good wine and food, he promised her that next time she would discover the glory of nice shaves. “But my birthday is so far from now… What about a special holiday in two weeks?"
Thanks for reading. A long journey for the couple, that’s what I a wish them. I hope you enjoy this haircutting fantasy. Sorry for language flaws, I’m a non-native speaker of English. I'll enjoy to be informed about your impressions.
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Banjocandybar wrote what he call a short story with a rushed end.
Mike also happened to be a haircut fetishist, a hard to admit preference, and that was really supposed to continue buried under tons of disguises. He was sure punishment is deserved for those who dare revealing and practicing their unusual grooming kinks. At work, he wouldn’t mess up things, his clients always got exactly what they wanted and all the satisfaction he could get from work was from tipping, added to the feeling of a well-done job and his clients’ satisfied faces. But his mind and soul every now and then got trapped in the turmoil defined by haircutting and shaving obsessions, fantasies, movies and pictures.
The evening he told her his profession was the first occasion in which things were completely different from his previous life. Usually, the slow ritual of intimate self- disclosures, so typical in flirtatious conversations, changed completely after he told a chick that he earned his living cutting people’s hair and shaving guys. He was surprised when Maria seemed to get even more interested in him after learning he was a barber. It was empowering for him to realize that he wouldn’t be rejected, at least for professionally using razor, scissors and clippers. He imagined that, if he was really luck, quite soon she would ask for some professional advice concerning hair coloring or something of the same kind. As a matter of fact, Mary felt intensely excited at the moment he revealed his occupation. Those were her words, “so you are a hair expert". The computer camera was off and he couldn’t witness her broad smile.
She presented herself as “just an office assistant", who spent eight hours a day “dealing with insurance and that kind of boring stuff". The coincidence is that at a semi-conscious level Mary was also a hair fetishist; she was the type of girl who not even knew such things co-exist in the incongruent world of normalcy and hypocrisy where she lived. She simply felt something strong and disturbingly nice every time hair was to be cut, mainly hers. Her emotions and desires hadn’t been named yet, but they seemed to be absurdly weird, wrong and rejectable. Definitively, it was something to be away from and get rid of. And now, she met a barber. He seemed so gentle, nice to have long conversations with, charming. Too strange, she thought.
In order to make a long story short, suffice it to say that it took almost a month until they decided to meet at a café, located just five blocks from Johns’ working place, the store he inherited from his Italian father, deceased right after he got his Master degree. The old barber chairs were in good condition, just the leather parts have been substituted by new ones. Two red chairs, but the other barber moved to south some months ago and now John felt as a king without vassalage. This was OK for him. The problem was that he also felt as a slave of his unfulfilled desires. But now he hopes he may move far away from his impulses and unusual fantasies because he met that lovely long haired lady, talkative, smart eyes, charming, sexy, with large insinuating hips and expressive boobs. They were dating and she had accepted him. Triple wow experience. And there were those vanilla scented curls, she was a wonderful brunette. Photos and web cameras have hidden her beauty and all that sensational hair. Too much for a single guy and self-repressed haircut fetishist, a guy craving for reciprocal love and a little bit of hair play.
She was the kind of girl who was also searching for love and had no idea where it would be. Bad former love affairs, dull dating experiences, this is a fair description of her past. Concerning her feelings about haircutting, she knows that since early in life, she preferred to keep her hair as far as possible of the scissors. Occasionally, she was obliged to go visit a lady hairdresser simply because she didn’t feel qualified for performing a nice self-trimming. She also remembers that when someone once asked whether she had watched Edward Scissors Hands, she had answered that the movie was so entertaining to her... Her words, she thought, sounded like dirty talking, but she simply couldn’t understand the reason. And no matter how, she couldn’t also grasp why she felt strangely aroused every occasion she passed around a barber shop, a place that seemed so manly and forbidden for a girl like her. She vaguely recalled one episode of her early years when her father took her to the barber’s with him, for the sake of his haircut and a cone of chocolate ice cream after for them both. If her memory doesn’t betray her, she had listened to her father telling the barber that his daughter, “the young lady in pink dress sitting over there", should be given “a induction haircut, white walls and almost no hair on the top", right after he was properly groomed. She was too young to discriminate between a joke and the threat of a radical tonsure. Of course, the haircut was not supposed to happen. Those minutes of the barber’s snipping and buzzing her father seemed to last forever, and only then she could understand he was just playing with her. She was just given a lollypop for patiently waiting for her father’s cut and was guided to the ice cream parlor holding hands with daddy. She had no clue of what an induction haircut was supposed to mean, but those words would certainly bring a touch of humiliation and ugliness to her life. Yeap, any forced haircut would be unbearably disturbing and painful for the six year-old blond girl. But every time she recalled that story, she felt something pretty close to sexual arousal. That was her secret paradox, a hidden, almost unconscious one.
Coffee was wonderful, the conversation amazing. Both seemed so pleased together. And, all of a sudden, he had the idea of inviting her to his shop. He would be glad to show her how he had honored his father’s memory and proudly maintained the family tradition. She couldn’t feel more disturbed and excited. The primitive memory of the induction haircut came right back to her guts.
No, she can feel he was no Sweeney Todd, a serial killer, or something similar. His piercing eyes transmitted other emotions. Sweet, self-confident, kind of sexy, trustable. Would visiting his place seem too vulgar for a first date? After all, he lived upstairs the two-storey shop. More than twice, in clubs or bars, she had already had some kissing action with men she just met thirty minutes before, so what’s the reason for her reluctance this time? Why not accepting his invitation now? She thought she would leave anytime she wanted, reassuring herself that there would be no problem to give a quick look at a place similar to the one she feared so much- for eternal fifteen minutes- 22 years before. And her barber is such a tempting one, she recognized that. Yeah, why not?
Fireworks are too much of a cliché. Sparkles don’t help either, if someone looks for a good description of their encounter. She even felt comfortable to tell him about her traumatic childhood memory. He was fascinated with the story, and as a counselor he was professionally trained to be understanding and non-judgmental to others. He listened attentively to her and gently guided the girl to one of his chairs, saying she could relax there because no bad things would happen to the pretty lady that he was hosting. Never, he promised, honoring the memory of his father who had never forced a client, even children, to undergo a haircut.
Mike showed her the scissors, razors, brush, capes, clippers, shampoos and lotions. He also promised none of them would touch a centimeter of her scalp and hair, except in case she lusted and begged for any of them. Not that day, at least, for that was a unique opportunity for mutual recognition, validation of desires, full self-expression and some careful touching and whispering and kissing, he thought. That day, she even grasped the barber brush and played with it, touching their faces and nape and making fun of it. Nice beginning, but that was all he got. After, they moved upstairs, in the coziness of his apartment, they had great moments together.
Day by day, Mary noticed that the seeds of haircutting lust had been planted in her mind. They trusted each other; he respected her feelings, although he secretly wished he could cut at least a centimeter of her hair, just for the sake of feeling the scrunch of the scissors or the buzz of clippers. He daydreamed about the occasion.
The interesting part of the story is that gradually Mary felt an imperative urge to become her lover’s client. In order to face her primitive phobic and sexual emotions, it would be necessary a reenactment of the traumatic event, the solution may be a consensual haircut. But the girl doubted if her man would accept the burden of dealing with the fears and strange emotions that haunted her every now and then. Would she refrain from squirming and crying? Would she be able to restrain herself, demonstrating confidence in his hands and intentions?
A person doesn’t need to have a very naughty imagination to guess the way he felt when she asked him to play her private barber, “just for a trim". At the verge of a heart attack, he accepted, “Sure, sweetie, I’ll be honored, but only if you really feel I should" were his exact words. He said they would set a day for the trimming, and that, for the present moment, a sensual hair washing at his chair would be a nice beginning. Sweet and sexy words whispered close to her, scalp and nape massage, gentle hair drying and zillions of touches, hugs and kisses at the barber chair became their favorite routine before lovemaking.
Trained to be a professional counselor, he knew that overcoming fears require gradual and frequent increases of her pleasant contact with his chair, haircutting tools and the barber action itself. He wisely explained to her how trauma can be installed, maintained and modified. Contrasting her real experience and his academic theoretical knowledge shed some light to her childhood trauma. He dared to tell that in some cases emotions are elicited in a confusing way, a person could fear and be strangely aroused for that same thing… Mike was rewarded by the careful talk. She was very open to him concerning her strange feelings, desires, fears, and now everything finally made sense for them both. He loved what she told her. But it was not time yet to confess his fetish to his Rapunzel. It would be pure nonsense to risk her adherence, up to the moment, to a minor, but so precious, trimming.
Mike kept very clear in his mind that he was pairing her being in the chair for a sensual hair wash to hot lovemaking. He hoped that this would help promote the gradual dissolution of trauma. Going to the barber and having the hair snipped was supposed to be a pleasant occasion, an opportunity for being pampered and leave the shop looking even more attractive. Love and haircutting would win.
Saturday he closed his shop doors and carefully cleaned his place, had a shower, groomed himself to the best, bought a dozen of roses and tried to compose a flower arrangement in a vase, all this to make the surrounding of his chair the best he could. His mp4 player was ready for love songs, in the velvety voices of Billy Holiday, The Puppini Sisters, Edith Piaf and others. Unusual in barbershops, he casually left a bottle of Port Vintage wine nearby. Tiny glasses too. A brand new white cape with pink stripes and a more than white smock completed the setting for the “most important trimming of their lives", as they decided to name the experience.
Mary was not able to sleep the night before her great moment. She longed for the haircutting as hell and still felt butterflies in the stomach. Her man was trustable, he would take very good care of all the long hair she was overly attached with. She had the clear purpose of asking for half an inch trimming, just to test the waters. Dressed as a modern princess, Mary and her mane followed anxiously, and full of repressed desire, to Mike’s place, the dreaded barbershop. A passionate kiss and a long hug sealed the beginning of the evening. He decided he would be professionally courteous to the most, and this helped his girl to relax. A glass of the Portuguese wine finished the task of guiding her favorite client to his chair.
“Well, it’s time to plop into the chair, milady". And there she was, feeling as if she were five years old again and getting prepared for the radical shearing. Being 26, she was able to identify that the wetness down there couldn’t be defined as a fear reaction. Something else was going on, and now it was totally acceptable. He placed the paper tissue and put the cape around her neck and fastened it tightly. She felt a little bit helpless, her delicate body rested unseen in the huge chair, hidden by the striped cotton cloth. Mike pumped the chair, and asked what Mary would like him to do, his green eyes enchanted with the sight of his muse.
“Just a trim, please. What about half an inch?"
“That will be, miss". He brushed her hair without hurry, then hold his scissors, he felt them heavier than the usual, it was the weight of the task. He started the cutting and showed her the very first snipped hair, to prove her he was faithful to her intentions. Shortly, the trimming was done. It didn’t take long for the couple to realize that they wished for something more intense and satisfying. She took the initiative.
“Would you mind cutting a little bit more? There still seems to be split ends everywhere… Two inches, at the most, OK?"
Definitively, God has listened to his prays and he was in Heaven. The Italian-descent young barber couldn’t avoid getting excited, he hoped it remained unnoticed. “Good decision, your hair deserves the best treatment." He decided to propose something bolder. “Would you mind if I use clippers to even up your hair? The final result seems to be more precise, let me try this with just a small part of your hair and you tell if you like it or not, all right, miss?" She just nodded, his proposal was so electrifying that she couldn’t utter a single word of approval. The brief buzzing sound inebriated her, and she allowed the rest of the trimming to be a clipper cutting of imaginary split ends. Before complying with her, he interrupted the cutting to tell that he has learnt with his father that clippers should first be introduced to kids before they touch their heads. How was he trick?
The next step of his strategy was to make the girl leave the chair as soon as the cut was over and, consequently, make her feel still deprived of a little bit more of that emotionally charged, sexy and frightening experience. “I don’t want to sound unprofessional, but do you know you are my favorite and most beautiful client?" (his sincere words were whispered in her ears, in the middle of haircutting). His finger delicately touched her cheeks when he added: “Your face is so fantastic that it should be ornamented with modern bangs, matching the hot woman you are. But this is my professional advice and I respect your fears, so we are not doing anything you don’t wanna to…"
Changing the tone of voice, he added: “Well, miss, the trimming is over". He removed the cape and the tissue, saying: “For behaving as well as a grown-up lady you deserve a rose, instead of a lollypop". She welcomes the flower, accompanied by kisses and powerful hands invading her scalp all over. He helps her getting out of the chair.
Upstairs, after dinner and the best lovemaking of their life, she said: “You know what? You’ve mentioned that bangs would be nice. Were you serious about that, Mr. Barber?"
“Have I ever lied to you? No kidding at all, baby. But you have to think twice before this step, your look would change completely and I would necessarily have to cut lots of long hair in the front to give you those sexy bangs. Forget about this for a week or two, and then we’ll see if the wish is still really strong. Then I will gladly do what you tell me to.
“No, Mister. Let’s move to the chair. It’s now or never." They got dressed again before going down, just to pretend that was a formal barber-client relationship. His plan was progressing brilliantly. They were both and predator playing that therapeutic haircutting game. “Would mind cutting my bangs with the clippers? I appreciated so much the final result when you used them…" To be honest, she couldn’t tell the difference between scissors and clippers cutting in terms of hair texture or whatever, but she desperately wanted to know how the vibration of the clippers felt touching her forehead.
“Do you agree that lots of your hair will be on the ground pretty soon, miss?" This was her last chance. “Move on, please, before I regret." Cape, neck tissue, the pumping of the chair. Everything was ready for the second round. He kissed her and used hair pins to separate what was supposed to be clippered from the rest. Facing each other, he slowly approaches the buzzing machine to her eyes and ears. Finally her forehead feels a delicate vibration and then clumps of long hair start to fall around her. A new experience. Frightening and so good, more of the second than the first.
He was right, her look was astounding! How could she, for so many years, walk around with a plain, boring haircut? And those strange bodily sensations definitively got a new name: arousal, sexual arousal. No more shame for that. Good bye repressed feelings. Hello, new life! The unrevealed plan weaved by her beloved barber was a huge success.
Too much for a single holiday. Not to mention the wild sensations in bed, when they kind of expanded the pleasure of the shearing. At the office, Maria’s co-workers enthusiastically complimented her for the change. She couldn’t feel better. Their romantic affair gained in depth and sensuality, indeed. She revealed her beauty to the world. Barbershop action became irresistible.
It didn’t take long till they felt something was missing… Another trimming? “No, that doesn’t sound enough." One day, during a walk at the park, they couldn’t avoid putting their attention on a girl with bangs, ponytail and a slightly buzzed nape. She asked if he would agree to buzz a small area of her nape, she would keep that hidden during workdays, but would love to try ponytails on the weekends. Her request was a huge turn on to Mike. “Let’s go home right now, my buzzed-to-be muse."
She had no clue about guards. He explained the expected function of each one and they decided to test some numbers, for the sake of extending their pleasure. The #3 guarded clippers did their job pretty well, irradiating shivers of pleasure by her spine. Then #2, followed by # 1. He seemed to be as concentrated as a neurosurgeon in the operating room. But with a hard-on. He kissed her now sensitive nape, removed the tissue and cape and freed her hands, which drove to her own exposed skin. An incredible feeling. It reminded her when she hugged her newly shorn daddy and also Mike’s nape, after every time he clippered himself in front of the mirror. Being clippered was superb, touching her own the nape was amazing and being licked, kissed, touched there corresponded to a newly discovered G-spot in Mary’s body.
Mike felt brave enough to tell her he was a hair fetishist. Her answer surprised him. “Intuitively I already knew that, since you got excited during my haircuttings." She was even relieved to know that the excitement was mutual. She commented on her getting wet, with goose bumps, as he did the scissors cutting and used the clippers. That was a long talk, with the purpose of making explicit what their minds and body already knew. No guilty or shame, it was a liberation for the couple of hair fetishists. He showed her a new world of websites he visited, he invited Maria for a DVD session at home, full of images of radical haircutting, popcorn and caressing. What she liked the most were the haircutting fantasies, such well-written stories. She always identified with the girl being shorn. And some light bdsm barber scenes seemed to be her cup of tea. Those tales captivated her. They fueled her imagination and as Mike’s birthday approached, she told him she wanted to offer the ultimate gift for the occasion: he would give her an angled bob with clippered nape. He was also authorized to choose one among five tales of her choice to fit the bob haircutting into the story they were going to role-play.
He read the stories in two days and decided to keep secret of his choice. “It will add some spice to the role-playing" he muttered to himself. And now he had to provide something to immobilize her in the chair. The story depicted the progressive haircutting of a girl forced into submission by a cruel master barber and dom. Handcuffs or straps? Some barbers keep leather or velcro straps available in a drawer in case they had to force kids to stay in chair for an undesired shearing. His father newer allowed that in his shop, but now Mike was forced to buy some, for her wrists and ankles, not to mention the chest. Her breasts will have to be massaged very carefully due to the pressure exerted by the strap in the chest, and an inexperienced girl, as the character was supposed to be, will cry rivers and yell… and maybe get really wet. Straight razors, foam, was it time to use them? How would it be? Would Mary or her character freak out?
He kept in mind that the purpose of his birthday fun and sexy gift was necessarily related to offering Maria a gorgeous haircut, compatible to her face and lifestyle. He was committed to this, but great fun is also allowed and expected by both. The day arrived, she was as asked to wait for him at her place at 08:00 pm, and the scene was supposed to start as soon as they met. He had the key of her apartment and almost never used it. But in order to pretended he was an intruder, as written in the story he had chosen, he arrived two hours earlier and invaded her apartment with the key she gave him. She was sleeping a little bit and was shocked when “a man" woke her up, with aggressive manners, asked the girl about her parents and as he realized they had left for the theater and the girl was alone, he ordered her to be ready for a long ride. By the threat of the straight razor he was holding (a plastic, fake one; he vividly remembered that his father gave him the toy that was part of a “barber kit for kids" when he was eight), she was led into his car. To keep the car drive, he only teased her verbally while driving, suggesting how much he would explore her body and hair. As soon as they arrived, they hurried into the shop, doors and windows closed, and the show began. An angled bobbed hair, very sophisticated, precise and audacious emerged as the result of threats, fingering, probing, buzzing and snipping. For the first time in her life she was pussy shaven by the man who kidnapped her. She had no ideas where he got those leg stretchers. Her character begged, cried, yelled, sobbed, and Mary, the actress, got the most rewarding experience of her life. Mike couldn’t believe how good they were: an incidental observer would feel tempted to call the authorities, accusing him of inflicting cruel suffering to a young teen. Later on, he regretted they didn’t get a video copy of their scene.
It was awesome to cut several inches of hair. The barber chair was positioned facing the wall, but she could see the hair falling heavily. He alternated scissors, his Solingen German straight razor and several Oster clippers for this initial cutting. Just for the fun of it, trying to force the girl to foresee what the future saved to her. When all the hair was up to her shoulders, he gave them a break and decided to “check if the straps were hurting" his beauty. They knew they weren’t, but they acted as if she was suffering from the tightness of restraining. He removed her clothes, some pieces were reduced to rags, for he used his cutting instruments to help him with the task of revealing her nudity. His chair was in the horizontal position and the heavy barber easily dominated his skinny victim. She was the perfect drama queen. Squirming, asking for mercy and enjoying all his moves. Just like the story he selected for Mike.
Back to the seated position, and immobilized in the chair with the help of smart knots of the large cape he bought for the occasion, the shearing of the nape started, after side hair was put apart by four pins. “All this mass of hair in the nape has to go. Do you know what an induction haircut is, uh?" His voice, full of simulated villainy, was not able to disguise his pleasure. He perpetrated the shearing, saying that maybe a bald captive would make him happy. For a second she panicked, but the shine of his eyes and a reassuring wink, completely out of the script, made her feel fine again. And also wetter and wetter. As the basic structure of a buzzed nape was ready, it was time for some “naughty refreshment" before the trimming of the side hair. She would like to retribute the contact immediately, but he planned that occasion as a kind of passive game, and he said “Oh baby, now you are going to be examined by my friend, Dr. Badman". He even bought a second hand lab coat for the occasion in a Salvation Army store. Just like the fake straight knife, his esthetoscope was made of plastic, from Toy’s R Us. Fingering, kissing, touching and probing every part of captive Mary’s body brought a new meaning to the art of haircutting. They enjoyed that to the most. He proceeded as the evil man he was supposed to be, and after a series of orgasms, the final part of Mary’s haircut was supposed to start. The barber was back again, full of appetite to reduce her mane to piles of hair on the ground. They wer exhausted, and no one wanted to ask for an interruption. There was code for that, “Mike/Mary, let’s stop for a second". None of them ever considered recurring to it.
The sides were gradually assuming their final length and shape, it was necessary to connect parts, do some final touches and guide the role-playing to its epilogue, so that Mike could have the honor of showing Mary the product of all that wonderful opportunity she generously offered them both. First, a quick hair wash, performed with faked brutality. The truth is that the she was so sweat that some fresh water and a shampoo would be good for his adorable captive. Time for blowdrying and the use of hairbrush, in order to give a nice shape for the untamed hair. Perfection.
Mike, no more as the cruel villain, his heart racing fast, tired after the erotic haircutting, used a wet towel to tenderly remove hair from her body and dry pat her. Each part he cleaned was kissed with passion and respect. His muse was ready for the mirror, after he offered her a silk lace robe. He wasn’t sure if her goose bumps now resulted from feeling cold or excitement.
She got speechless, her recently acquired bangs were nothing when compared to the positive impact of her new haircut. She turned her head right and left for the sake of observing the movement of her hair, capturing details, getting a better view of the buzzed back, partially reduced to stubble. And the way it feels as she runs her fingers all over the scalp… They hold each other tightly for long minutes, her tear drops now were pure bliss. That was a magic moment for those two hair fetishists.
Later, after sealing the evening with some rest, good wine and food, he promised her that next time she would discover the glory of nice shaves. “But my birthday is so far from now… What about a special holiday in two weeks?"
Thanks for reading. A long journey for the couple, that’s what I a wish them. I hope you enjoy this haircutting fantasy. Sorry for language flaws, I’m a non-native speaker of English. I'll enjoy to be informed about your impressions.
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Banjocandybar wrote what he call a short story with a rushed end.
You need a crewcut. Have some extra wine for lunch where you can see a
barbershop, the men and women going in with hair, coming out with
haircuts. And crewcuts.
It's going to rain. You pay your bill and time it just right....?
Perfect. You duck inside the barbershop just as the downpour hits,
bumping into the door, a magazine for an umbrella, a few stray drops
follow inside to the tiles.
Some people had run out of the shop and down the street just before you.
Now you're surprised to find yourself alone with the barber, a handsome
man around your age with a white smock. He's broad, but in a healthy
way, with sharp blue eyes and a mustache.
He is bald as a cue ball. Yu give a little start and stumble as you
notice how gleaming white his scalp is. "Very recent…" are the words
your lips form not quietly enough.
"What was that, miss?" he asks with a broad smile as he helps steady and
lift you by the upper arm. He expects you to repeat yourself, and for
some reason you blurt the truth:
"I was just noticing how handsome you look with your head shaved bald,
and how recently you must have had hair by the looks of it. When did you
do it?"
"Just a couple minutes ago," he laughs, "and my hair is still on the
floor. I just thought I'd give it a try already. I've been wanting to
shave my head skin-bald for my whole life—I'm attracted to the look of
it on other men … and women."
Suddenly he grips you in his powerful arms and forces you into the
barber chair. He's too strong to resist; you whimper helplessly. There's
a cruel, angry look in his eyes now as he presses his face right up to
yours and forces a hard kiss on your lips.
"I'm going to SHAVE YOUR HEAD BALD, little girl! And you're going to be
my wife so I can make you stay BALD FOREVER!!!"
