Home » Language » English » A Set of Clippers (Part 1)

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It seems to me that most of the time, when we show a desire or want to do something, it comes from a deeper need. Whether it is a passion, a gut feeling, a fond remembrance, it means more when it is accomplished.

My name is Tracy and I want to tell you about my haircut. Well, that sounds so self-centered, doesn’t it? I guess in a way, it is. But it opened up doors to me that I never thought I would open. Most girls think that way, I think, but when the time comes, some of them get won over and change their minds. I was one of those girls.

I wore my hair in a variety of different styles, one of my favorites was just simply taking it and bunching both sides of my hair up and making two ponytails. My hair was down to about my shoulders, ashen brown and straight as anything. There wasn’t even a hint of a curl in it.

My mom prided herself on my hair; it went below my waist up until the year I graduated. I had won a basketball scholarship to the state college, but I wanted to get it cut that summer, which was brutally hot. My mother finally relented and I had it bobbed to about my chin. The girl who cut it used clippers and everything. It was the first time in a long while that I had sat in a chair, at the whim of my decision and my stylist’s. Now, stylists are expensive (what isn’t these days) and I had a good mind what I wanted. My mother was shocked and scandalized by my choice, but she couldn’t glue it back on either. She muttered she never thought in a million years that I would get my hair cut so `brutally short’.

That summer, on a whim, I bought a pair of electric hair trimmers; I got a good deal on a used Wahl clipper set, with three blades and two guard attachments. I didn’t have a whole lot of money, and I wasn’t even sure why on earth I had bought them! It just seemed like a good deal and I wanted something, perhaps, to cut expenses and cut my own hair. That, like the clippers, sounded like a good idea at the time. In hindsight, well I guess you’ll see!

I kept my hair trimmed that summer, to keep that short, cool look. I wanted to feel cool during the heat, and by all accounts, it was brutally hot that summer. I think we set some kind of record, but I don’t remember now. The local weather people probably would, but I had other things on my mind, like getting ready for school. I did as much practice as I could in the local gym, and outside when it wasn’t too brutal for a little outdoor action.

My best friend, Katyann was at first appalled at my haircut choice. She seemed genuinely shocked that I had chosen to snip of all that beautiful long hair.

“It kind of grows on you, short hair,” I said. I smiled because I knew it would be a sort of indication of the new me. “I feel so much better.”

Katyann shook her head in a sort of exasperated way. She had longish, shoulder-length brown hair with reddish highlights and bangs cut over her forehead. I think that was as brave and short as she was willing to go.

“But,” Katyann protested, “you look too old. All that long, flowing, beautiful hair was like a river and it made you look young!”

“Are you saying I look old?”

Katyann bit her tongue. “Well,” she prevaricated, “maybe just older.”

I laughed. “Well, that might help me out a bit. Katyann, sweetheart, I am going to college. I need to start looking older. I have to do away with the old high school self and start getting ready for college life.”

Katyann never really understood why I had done it, no matter how I chose to explain it. She was going out of state to Yale, so I knew we would not see each other much except for Christmas break and summer. She wanted to study, what was it now, oh yes – Modern Journalism. She was a good writer and she was active in school groups that sought to `better society’ etc. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, mind you, but she could look and act like a bit of a snob. Her family was pretty well off, so I guess the girl’s having long hair was a symbol of stature. Now, Katyann could not understand why I chosen to have my stature shorn off under the influence of a pair of electric clippers. See? I told you she couldn’t understand it.

Then I recalled that Katyann’s mom had pretty short hair. I don’t know why but I remember once her and I discussed getting a haircut. “You should cut yours, dear, just a little bit,” she’d say. I told her I wanted to but my mom forbade me from going for it. “The less you get to cut it now, the shorter you’ll get it cut later when you can.” Never a truer word has been spoken. Katyann’s mom was a lawyer in some influential firm downtown. She told me how when she left for college, the first thing she did was get a haircut. “Not a little, mind you, but a lot. And I liked the feel of the hair so short. I experimented around with different styles until I settled on this one. I like it, but some girls go even shorter.”

I don’t remember much else about that conversation, so I don’t recall what my answer was, but I did get it cut pretty short. I mean, what girl in her right mind would want a haircut that used electric clippers? That was a tool reserved for boys, wasn’t it? Now I had a pair of them, and I think I justified it by saying I could learn to cut hair. My mother didn’t know I had them. Well, she didn’t until my younger brother Danny asked for a cut with them.

I recall that I had three blades, a #000, a #1 and a #1A. I wasn’t sure what lengths they cut to when I bought it. The two guards were a #2 and a #4, and at least they said `1/4 inch’ on the #2 and `1/2-inch’ on the #4. I knew the others were shorter. Anyway, Danny asked for a short summer cut from me, since he knew I had bought them. I almost got creamed, but I guess at the time, I was pretty excited. I was going to try them out!

Danny’s hair was darker than mine, a sort of medium brown and straight as mine. It hung very limp and flat; there was no life to it. I guess it came from Dad’s side of the family. Mom’s hair was a bit curlier, a sort of honey-blond. Dad’s was straight and darkish. Danny and I went into the cellar and he sat on a stool. I wrapped a towel around his neck, much like barbers did in town. I felt for a shining moment that I was a professional stylist, and my brother was to be my first client!

When I look back, I should have learned a lesson that will come in a little bit, but I guess some lessons have to be learned the hard way, don’t they? I brought the clippers out with all the guards and attachments. I selected the #4 attachment and snapped it on. I began cutting the hair on the back of his head. It was basically an all-over cut, uniform in length, so it wasn’t like I could really do it wrong. I felt a strong urge growing down below and I shifted uneasily, realizing my panties were going to get wet. I mean, come on! I’m getting aroused? But the feeling grew and my nipples began to harden, even as I tried to concentrate on cutting his hair. As I neared completion, he looked in the small hand mirror he’d brought.

“Nah,” he said. “It’s still too long. When the guy cuts it, it’s shorter.”

I nodded and turned off the clippers. “I have a #2 here. That’s a quarter inch long.”

“Hmmmm, I think that was it. It was nice, but I think I want to go a little shorter. Anything like that in that box?”

“Well,” I muttered, poking through the metal blades. I have a #1 on, but I don’t know how short that cuts. Looks like it’s pretty severe without the plastic thing to hold it up.” I had yet to learn the plastic thing was called a guard or a comb.

“Well, let’s go with that. I want it shorter. Take the thing off and try cutting it.”

In hindsight, as I pulled the #4 guard off, I would have tried to do it in an innocuous position, so he could check it out. Did I? Of course not! I snapped the clippers back on with a POP and moved behind him. I reached to the front of his head and began to pull the clippers back over his crown. The hair that remained was incredibly short and bristly, like hirsute sandpaper. It actually felt awesome! O
f course it did, it wasn’t mine!

After the first pass, I let him feel it and look in the mirror. “Holy crap,” he cried. “That’s pretty short!” He rubbed the strip of mown hair vigorously. “It feels really weird. I think it’s how I may go from now on. Keep on, sis!”

So, without much trepidation, I proceeded to buzz the rest of it as short. It was incredibly short and felt rough to the touch. I don’t think he’d ever had it cut so short. I did the crown first, so he could look at it full on, and then I clipped the sides and back at the same length. Then I tried to cut the edges of the neckline to square it off, and for the first attempt, I think I did a pretty fair job.

I finished up in about ten minutes, and he was rubbing his head like crazy now. “Thanks, sis,” he cried. “This is totally awesome!”

“Now, just remember if mom or dad asks you, you had it clipped downtown. Right?” Yeah, right.sure.

“Sure! Whatever you say!” He ran out and went to meet his friends, sporting the ultra-short buzz cut his sister had provided.

When he came home for dinner, he told me his friend Barry wanted me to cut his hair the same way. Wow, I was getting clientele! Then my mom saw it and raised holy hell. She screamed at him, asking him who cut it. “Tracy did,” he said, without batting an eyelid.

So much for what he had promised! A part of me wanted to kill him, another said, you should have expected it. Your brother can be as dumb as two wet socks. My mom screamed at me and asked me why. I told her he had asked me to. Where did you get the clippers? I saved up for them and bought them used. Dad looked beamingly at Danny. “Well,” he said, in a way silently supporting me as well, “it saves us having to pay for his summertime cut.” I smiled slightly, but my mom would have none of that.

“What are you smirking for, young lady? Just because you butcher your hair off, now you can butcher your brothers too? How dare you!”

My father stepped in. “Now Estelle,” (that was my mother’s name) he said firmly. “Just a minute. You know Danny gets a short crew cut every summer and that’s what this is. Maybe the girl did wrong, but she saved us a couple of bucks. Maybe we ought to think about getting home haircuts to save some money.” My mother mollified, but still looked daggers at me. “She had no right,” she finally said, subsiding. She never threatened to take away the clippers, but she sure was steamed about it for about a week. I had gotten a summer job so she couldn’t withhold my allowance. She punished me by making have to come straight home every night after work for two weeks. I could not even practice basketball!

I did manage to get over to Barry’s house to give him the cut. I brought the clippers with me and after telling my mom I had to work a little late to cover another employee, she said OK. I smuggled the clipper box out and brought it over. Cutting Barry’s hair was like cutting Danny’s, except Barry had very fair skin and blond hair. Still, the feeling was the same and the same moist insistence built up in my panties as it had for Danny. My nipples became erect and hard, just as they had done before. It was not some weirdness, or an unusual reaction. It almost seemed like the combination of clippers, the sound and the act of cutting hair so short was in some way, erotic. That’s later how I came to think of. The buzzing clippers were a sign of my own erotic imagination. They were an extension of my sex.

Barry’s mom came in when I was doing it and I thought she was going to cream me. Instead she looked puzzled for a moment, then a big smile broke out. “Saving us a couple of bucks on haircuts, huh? Wow, you sure you wanted it so short Barry?”

“Yeah mom. Just like Danny’s. She got in trouble for cutting his.”

I blushed hard and paused. Barry’s mom patted me on the shoulder. “Your parents ought to be glad when they can save a buck or two on haircuts. They are so expensive! Still, if Barry wants it that short, cut on! It’ll grow back.”

I smiled gratefully and I resumed cutting the rest of Barry’s head. Unlike my brother, Barry told my mother that `his dad’ had cut it, after seeing how good Danny looked in it. In retrospect, I think Barry would have made a better younger brother. Still, what was done was done. “It’s just my hair,” he told my mom. “Short feels really good. I love it this short!” My mom gave me a glance, but I was stone-faced. She never accused me of mowing Barry’s hair off. No, I don’t think she even suspected.

Well, the day that I packed my things and moved into the big city was a huge day for me. I went around the city a couple of times, looking for a place to work part time while I went to school. I had a copy of my first semester’s schedule, so that helped out in letting prospective employers know when I’d be free. I thought it was a dud, but one place called me the next day. It was a dry cleaners, one of the last places I went. The owner was very nice, an Asian gentleman with nice, short hair. I told him I liked his haircut. He smiled and he asked me what I was going to study in school.

“Basketball and well, I haven’t really decided yet. I have a scholarship for basketball.” At the time there was no such thing as the WNBA, so I would have to study other things as well.

He nodded. “It will come to you, I’m sure. Do what makes you feel warm and happy inside. Follow your heart and your talent will follow.” He told me that on occasion he got tickets to the NBA and maybe I would like to see a game or two? I told him sure!

“No promises, I don’t always get them,” he said, and then motioned me up to take a brief tour. “All the employees wear these apron smocks, gloves and headgear. They like to call them `shower caps’.” He laughed. “Most of them I think would rather do without them. Or else shave their heads. But it helps keep the clothes at their cleanest, I believe.” When he mentioned the shaved heads, I tensed a little. I can’t tell if he noticed. I felt a little twinge down below. It was the first time in a while that I had felt that secret urge. I hoped he hadn’t noticed.

We got back to his office and he and I sat down. He asked me a couple of more questions about my schedule, etc. I leaned back and relaxed, we seemed to get along. Then he began to run his hand through his hair.

“My goodness,” he said. “Do I ever need a haircut!”

I tensed again. and I wondered if he in fact had noticed! He was testing my reaction, I was sure of it. “Sure, you could go a bit shorter, I guess.” I was playing it safe.

“I might shave it all off,” he said. He must have noticed my reaction. Then he laughed lightly. “Well, I guess not.”

The old feelings were coming back. The wet insistence in my jeans, and the slight stiffening of my nipples, the indicators were back! It was all there, just like it had been when I cut Danny and Barry’s hair.

“So,” he said, making no visible reaction to my body’s reaction to the hair references. “Do you have any questions for me?”

“One,” I replied. “Is there a dress code?”

“You mean other than the smock and headgear?” I nodded and he sat back. “No, not really. Wear what you feel is comfortable. It’s warm in here. Many girls wear shorts or skirts, t-shirts and sneakers.”

“What about haircuts?”

“Pretty much anything is OK,” he said. “The cap is a requirement though.”

“I understand,” I said and he and I rose. We shook hands. He promised he would call me soon. The next morning the phone rang and he asked me if I would take the job. I said I would. He told me when to report for a training session and I agreed.

School started and I got into the swing of things pretty easily. I hadn’t yet decided what I wanted to do, but I noticed that there was a `Beauty Sciences’ college and looked into what they offered. The assistant dean told me it was for those wanting to become hairdressers or barbers, make-up girls, etc. I asked what the core requirements were and when I would have to decide. “Soon,” the woman said. “The courses tend to fill up quick
.”

“And what about money. I mean after I graduate? How’s the cash?”

“I won’t lie dear, it depends on the person and the customer. You can make decent money with tips. You fancy yourself as a hair stylist?”

“A bit of a barber, really. I have my own pair of clippers. I used to cut my brother’s hair and his best friend’s too.”

The woman frowned a bit. “Well,” she sighed. “It’s a bit unusual for a girl to want to be a barber. Usually they want to wield scissors and a set of curlers. But, you can do what you want.”

I told her I was interested and she took my name down. “Let me know for certain within a week or two, if you are sure,” she told me. “Here, take a brochure. Thanks for being interested.”

I really wondered as I shook her hand and walked away whether I was losing my mind. The feelings down below and I wanted to do this for a living? Was I insane? I talked to my advisor about it. Well, I told her that cutting hair was something that made me `feel good deep down inside’ and should I consider it? She smiled and nodded.

“I think it’s called a fetish, if I get your drift,” she said conspiratorially. “I love feet myself. Touching and caressing feet makes me so happy. I think you share that feeling.”

I nodded. “Yes, I think it’s something like that.”

She smiled broadly. “Then, yes, you should. Although pay close attention that your fetish for cutting hair doesn’t cloud your judgment. You should be able to control yourself at all times.” I nodded again. “And one word of warning,” she said. “It might be that you’ll loose your fetish and regret being a hairdresser. If it’s a special event, it will boost your inner self. If it’s a daily job, you might find the allure and raw sexual appeal to be gone and they don’t come back.”

I thanked her and went to sleep on it. The next day was my orientation day at the dry cleaners.

The next morning, I decided what my course of action would be. I opted to get into journalism, like Katyann, but with a slant towards sports. I called the assistant dean and, since it was a Saturday, had to leave a message. I told her I wanted to study and minor in hair styling and barbering. If that was OK, she could put my name down in ink.

I then went to the dry cleaners and arrived at 10 o’clock. There was one other girl there with very short, reddish hair. It was spiky and stood up on top. “Wow,” I told her. “That’s sure short!”

She smiled. “Use to be so short, it was like sandpaper. I got it cut off for $500. Some guys taped it and sold the tape to people who like to watch. That was a bit weird, but it was $500 I could use.”

“Are they around now,” I asked, with a gleam in my eye.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not until spring break usually. In the fall I think they go to like Daytona Beach or something.”

“Too bad,” I said and then the owner came in. He welcomed us. He introduced the red-haired girl as Ann. “I like her haircut,” he said with a wink. He introduced me and then we went out onto the floor. We watched the process for about 10 or 15 minutes, while he explained what we were going to learn. “It will be easy going at first, but you’ll need to learn and retain. Once you master these machines and the dry cleaning process and can work every station, you’ll work the counter to help customers.”

I smiled. Everything seemed to be going so well and he certainly seemed an easy-going boss. “Even if you shave your head for $500,” he said to me as we moved over to another station. I looked startled. “What if I shave it for the heck of it,” I asked.

“Well, even so, you will have to help customers eventually. The people up front, they are bare headed. But you need to know the process behind what we do first so you can help a customer decide what they want.”

I grinned. Ann looked over and smiled. “Well,” Ann said, “I’m not adverse to shaving it down again. But the $500 is sure nice in the pocket when you are going to school.”

We continued on our way and then the tour was over. We were led to a room where we would don our apron-dresses, our caps and gloves. We practiced putting them on, then we were led to separate areas to work with an experienced worker for a while. I worked with a woman until we got a lunch break, then I worked at pressing with a man until my shift was over. I was exhausted. Even observing was hard work. Ann came off shift at the same time and we met in the changing room, where we learned where to put the used aprons, caps and we threw away our gloves. Then we met at the owner’s office door (he had left for the day) and we looked at our schedules. I wrote mine down in a little daily reminder notebook I had.

Ann turned to me. “Hey, how about a pizza tonight?”

I shrugged. “Sure, but I got a few things to take care of at my dorm first.”

“OK,” Ann nodded. “Then maybe we could check out the college record store and call it a night. Wow, I am wiped out.”

“Me too,” I replied. “It sure is hard even when you’re looking on.”

“And I’m glad my hair’s so short. Otherwise it would be brutal.” She eyed my mop. “I guess you kinda know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do! What time should we meet?”

Ann looked at her watch. It was a quarter past 5. “How about 6:30?”

“Great,” I said. “See you then.” And we left, going our separate ways.

I got back to my dorm room and it was quiet. My roommate was obviously out. She had a job somewhere in town. Down by the train station, I think. I glanced at her desk calendar; it noted she was on until 6:30. Perfect!

I checked the answering machine, but there were no messages. My parents usually called on Sundays to check on me and I called once or twice during the week when I felt a twinge of homesickness.

I reached below my bed and pulled out a small wooden chest, a gift from my grandmother. I opened it up and looked at the only possessions I had brought from home. Some lingerie I had saved up for, a pair of leather pants, a couple of dresses, some papers and notes from high school, a few magazines on basketball and, at the very bottom, an innocuous black case. Ah! That was the treasure I sought. I pulled the case out of the case and rested it on top of the other clothes and miscellaneous items I had brought. I wondered if I was sane.

I got up and stripped to the waist. I removed my regular bra and put on a sports bra instead. Then I peeled my jeans off, and took off my panties. I then pulled out a pair of sweatpants and put them on. I was pretty casual now. I grinned as I caught my reflection in the mirror on the closet wall (the closets were free-standing with a draw curtain across them). I put a chair in front of the mirror and then I opened the box. There were my trusty Wahl clippers. I reached in and pulled them out. I inspected them for damage and then I reached in and pulled out the trusty #4 clipper guard. I snapped it on.

Before I knew it, I was in the chair and looking at my reflection. I heard the clippers snap on and my right arm began to flex toward my head. The whirring chatter of the cutting blades got louder. It was if I was having an out of body experience. Immediately my conscious mind became aware of only one thing, the wetness in my crotch. It was intense now! My nipples were hard and erect now too. I felt a warm glow all over. I licked my lips sensuously and shifted slightly in the chair. My arm reached my head and began to push the clippers up the side of my head.

The sound the clippers made as they started chattering through my own hair was a distant thing. All I could sense was: so this is how my brother felt when I cut his hair! And Barry too! No wonder they were so happy! I wondered if they felt the same sense of sexual urgency I did. There was a fire down below now. I was sure I would orgasm before I was done. I was warm all over now. My other hand wanted to reach down my sweatpants and help relieve the urgency that was pounding at me. But I managed to control myself enough to know that once I was done, the pleasure would naturally follow
. There was no doubt about it.

I repeated the gestures, almost mechanically. My conscious mind was only vaguely aware of the consequences I would have. I smiled when I thought how Ann had it cut for $500 and I had it cut for the feeling, the love, and the desire of it all. And, above all, the wet urgency that was radiating from my crotch as I cut my own hair off.

My hand moved around to the back of my head. With my left hand, I traced out where I had not cut, and with my right I pushed the clippers slowly up my head, from neck to crown. I cut it myself the same way I had cut my brother’s hair and Barry’s. Slow but steady. As I reached the left side of my head, I switched hands. My right hand felt the soft bristle of hair. With a shock, I realized it was my own. The next instant the warm feelings were back and I was pushing the clippers up the left side of my head. And all the time, a tiny voice seemed to echo in my head, like what my own brother had said when I sheared his head.

It’s not short enough! I want it shorter.

I breathed out slowly, which was difficult in my body’s heightened sexual energy. Still, I managed to keep shearing the sides. I then moved to the crown. I put the clippers to the edge of my hairline on my forehead, and then began to push them back. Great reams of ashen brown hair fell of my head. I hadn’t realized how much hair was on a head until this very moment, the moment I was denuding myself of hair. Clumps lay on my shoulders, my bra, and my sweatpants, simply everywhere. My hot and throbbing pussy had not relented, even though my conscious mind was screaming what do you think you are doing?

I felt a moment where I wanted to paraphrase Patrick Henry, the colonial revolutionary. I regret I have but one head of hair to lose for my fetish. And how true was that. I don’t know why I thought that or what made it come to the forefront of my mind at that very minute, but there it was. And I thought, how true it is!

I realized that my entire head was now shorn to ½ inch long hair, uniform in length. I switched off the clippers and moved closer to the mirror. I grinned at the buzzed girl that stared, grinning as well, back at me. I ran my hand through the hair. It was soft, with just a touch of resistance, but not as much as I wanted. I turned my attention to the box and removed the #4 guard. I placed it back in the box and pulled out the #2, which I snapped on. I took one last look in the mirror at the buzzed young woman I had become and steeled myself to take the buzz down another step. I went back and sat down and switched on the clippers.

It’s still too long. When the guy cuts it, it’s shorter.

I silently nodded for a moment as I contemplated my brother’s words and the sea of ashen brown hair that mottled the tile floor. I then raised the clippers with an almost unconscious ease and my hand began to push them up the side of my head again.

The difference this time was harder to notice, since a ¼-inch isn’t the same when you compare it to loosing 3 or 4 inches of hair. Still, I was sure that when I ran my fingers over ¼-inch long hair, I would be able to tell the difference. I paused after the first pass over the right side of my head and felt the hair I had just cut. Sure enough, it was much more bristly, more like a soft, insistent sandpaper on my head. I also became aware of a cool breeze from the window snaking across my head. I’d never paid attention to the wind before, but now it was caressing my shorn scalp and I rejoiced in the way it felt. Yet another reason to shear it off, I thought.

Methodically I moved around the sides of my head. I wondered what my mom would say if she could see me now. What would Katyann say? I almost wished I could see Katyann now. After she got over the shock, I’d sit her down in the chair and begin to force her to have the same haircut. Mowed right down. It would serve her right. She had never understood why I wanted it be shorter and shorter. She’d never keep it so short, but for a while she’d be forced to accept it, perhaps even embrace it. Well, she’d probably never embrace it the way I have. Why should guys have all the fun?

As my hands moved around my head, the sound of the buzzing and crunching continued. I then began to push the clippers back from my forehead. Although there wasn’t as great a difference, there was still some difference and I noticed it. My scalp was hiding underneath there and it was trying to come out! I smiled and continued to push the clippers back in overlapping lanes of ¼-inch long fuzzy, bristly joy. I wondered if this is how Ann felt when she got her $500 for her haircut. I tended to think she hadn’t.

Now, I was sure that I had gone too far, but I could not help the elated joy that my mind and body gave me that I had done it. Plus, if I had never sheared it off, I would never know what it felt like. Now, I could not say I didn’t!

Before I knew it, I was staring at an even more sheared girl, who grinned madly at me. She was grinning like she knew how she felt about short buzz cuts and was willing to infect me with it. I realized that I was madly grinning, rubbing my left hand over my short, bristled scalp and enjoying every second of it. I was really feeling wonderful now.

The throbbing in my crotch had taken on a new insistency. It was not like when I sheared Danny or Barry. That was different. Now I was in control of my own destiny and I felt like it was a decision I could accept and live with. The Girl Who Loved Buzz Cuts, I thought. I’m sure it would make quite a stir on the basketball court as well when the games began. Maybe I’d even start a trend?

Almost without realizing, in fact at the time I can’t recall if I had noticed, I had unconsciously removed the #2 guard comb off the clippers and switched them back on. Now there was a #1 blade, bare and without any attachments whirring and buzzing in my right hand and I lifted my arm.

It’s still too long. I want to go shorter.

Like I had done with Danny, when I started cutting with it, I reached up and placed the bare, warm blades against my forehead and began to push back. The chattering crunch of hair resounded again. More ashen brown hairs, less than a quarter of an inch long now, began to fly off my head and begin their short fall to join the others on my shoulders, my sweatpants, my bra and on to the floor.

Holy crap, that’s pretty short!

It was pretty short, but I was pretty sure I’d wanted to go to this length ever since I had first sheared Danny’s! Of course, I was a girl so it made less socially acceptable, but I found I didn’t care. I mean, of course I wasn’t looking to become a social pariah, but I did want to clip my hair and now I had! There was no going back now. My mother would be livid if she saw me right now. By Christmas break, if I didn’t cut it again, it would be about an inch and a half long. It would be too short for her not to notice. And, in all probability, it would be too long for me not to want to cut it back again! I caught sight of my wolfish grin. I hadn’t finished cutting it yet and I was contemplating another haircut! Still, give it a week, I thought.

I worked my head over again, the unguarded metal blades chattering and buzzing my hair off with a satisfied SHHHHIIIICCCKKK sound. I loved the feeling. The whole room felt cooler now, despite the raging warmth between my legs. My pussy must have been about soaked now. Never before had I felt so sexy, so horny and so pleased. Running the clippers over my head was like a sensuous animal, caressing and loving my scalp and my shorn hair. I rubbed it over the sides of my head, more and more hairs were falling to join their fellows strewn about my chair. I finished up and switched off the clippers, the silence was almost deafening. I stared at my reflection and for one horrible moment I realized that I had just butchered my own hair off. There was nothing left but stubble!

Then I began to smile. The smile was one of pure joy as my hands caressed the rough sandpaper coming out of my sc
alp. My hair was a mere 3/32 of an inch long now. It was like a new sexual high for me as I rubbed my own head gleefully. No matter what, cutting hair was, for me, a moment of extreme passion which I enjoyed thoroughly. As I stood up and gazed closely at my own shorn head, I suddenly realized that my brother was right to be excited. How would he react if he could see me right now?

I looked at the clock, which said 5:45. I needed to clean up. Quickly I put the clippers away and brushed up the hairs I had sheared off. I put them into a resealable bag and put them in my trunk. I hurried to the shower and washed the remaining hairs off my body and finally gave in to the urgency in my pussy. That was the best orgasm I had ever had! I put on a baseball cap, dressed and hurried down to the pizza parlor to meet Ann. I wondered how she would react when she saw my buzzed, shorn hair. I wouldn’t have long to wait to get the answer.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

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