Something kept drawing me back to those websites, pictures of long haired women transformed with clippers into bald beauties. I read the testimonials, that all the women were happier once they parted with their tresses, and looked even more beautiful. Not to mention the looks on their faces as they were being sheared. My thick curly locks had grown about to my shoulders again, and had overtaken my face. I just couldn’t stand it any longer. I was finally going to cut my hair the shortest it had ever been in my 25 years.

I went to the salon I had last visited, and this time a male stylist called my name. I sat down in his chair and told him I wanted to go very short. “Well, how short do you mean? Hair like yours isn’t going to look good too short, not to mention you don’t have the right facial features. I’ll take it to about four inches,” he said.

I wasn’t too happy, but the shampoo relaxed me. The warm water, the minty shampoo, and luxurious lather were overwhelming. I started feeling a bit more positive once I was caped and sitting in the chair. He quickly hacked off my curls, true to his word, leaving the length at four inches all over. He didn’t even use the clippers on the nape! I looked like a poodle, and pulled my winter hat over my awful looking mop.

As I rode the train home, I contemplated what to do. Maybe with some styling products, or if I brush it out, it will look cute. I couldn’t even imagine that it would, so when I came out of the subway I remembered the beauty supply store near my apartment. I trudged in, and walked around, looking to see if they had clippers. They were behind the counter, and I asked the clerk for a model I could afford.

I went home, and went in the bathroom and pulled off the hat. I could hardly stand to look at my ugly haircut, and knew what I had to do. I should have just done this in the first place and saved myself the humiliation, not to mention the $40 for the haircut itself, but remembered how good the last shampoo felt through my long locks. They felt so soft as I ran my fingers through for the last time. I stripped naked so I wouldn’t have to deal with the hair falling in my clothes. I took the clippers out of the box, and read the warning about oiling the blades. I squeezed it out onto the metal, and clicked the clippers on. They buzzed to life, and I watched the oil work its way through them. I switched them off, and put the longest guard on them, the #4.

I switched the clippers on again and slowly brought them to my head. I wasn’t really sure of what was the best way to attack this, so I started shearing the back. It was hard getting the clippers through with that guard; even though my hair was shorter, it was still extremely thick. I was able to get rid of some of the bulk though. My hair resembled the shape of a mushroom as I pushed the clippers higher to the crown. I felt myself getting very wet though, as I continued, but was a little unsure as to what to do with the top. Finally, I stopped the clippers, and took the guard off. “What the hell,” I thought to myself. I switched the clippers back on and drove them right down the middle. I stood there stunned as what was left of my locks went fluttering to the ground, shocked that I was able to do this to myself. I also felt the area between my legs throbbing with pleasure. Once the thick hair was sheared, I went back over my head, slowly, reducing what was left to a velvety softness all over my head. I bent my ears down, carefully getting the strays hiding back there, fearing the roar of the clippers. My head felt so light, and I really did look better! I ran one hand over my head as I stood in front of the mirror feeling the new sensation and the other hand down below, not recalling when I had ever felt so wet. I brought myself to the most amazing orgasm I had ever felt. I was glad the stylist had wrecked my hair.