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Growing up my mother always made a fuss over my longhair. She wanted it looking perfect all the time. “Nice girls have nice hair!” was something I heard a hundred times. My brother didn’t escape either. She would brush and comb his hair before he ever left the house. I remember going into town with my father and brother one weekend. It was early in summer and dad took Martin to the barbershop. Mom had given instructions but dad wasn’t one to listen much. When Martin got in the chair my father told the barber to “Clean it up nice and short!” I watched in shock as he took the clippers and shaved right down the centre of his head. Mom was going to kill him. Martin started to cry but no one seemed to care. Dad got a lecture from mom, and Martin spent the next two years growing his hair. I remember running my hands over his bristly head. It gave me goose bumps. When Martin reached his teens he shocked all of us by once again getting his hair cut short. On his second visit he got it buzzed right down to his scalp, and kept it that short for several years.

I started work in this town about six months ago. I go home once or twice a month for the weekend. The whole hair thing had past into history until I met up with my best friend from high school. Donna had always had hair to die for. It was so perfectly straight and always had a gorgeous shine. When we talked on the phone she never warned me but when she walked into the restaurant I just about died. She’d cut her hair right up to her ears and it was chopped straight around leaving the back of her neck shaved. She tried to pass it off as just a change. “Everybody freaks out! Its only hair. Its not like I had brain surgery.” I was shocked. As we got up from the table I ran my hand over the back of her neck. It was so tingly. She turned, looked at me and laughed, “You like that?” I just smiled. Back at her place she had the long ponytail tied up and hanging on her bedroom door. She giggled, “Its 34 inches long!” I felt the displaying of her trophy had erotic overtones.

I was surprised that event affected me but for the next few days I wondered just what would prompt someone to make such a drastic change. It then passed from my mind.

Last weekend I stayed in town. I had things to do. One of them was to find a place to trim my hair. I hadn’t done anything with it since I got here. I’d also met Jim a few months ago and we got alone really well. He confessed he loved playing with long hair; so getting a trim wasn’t high on my list. I knew there was a shortage of salons. Our town only has 4000 people. There was Rita’s and a unisex place, which was really a barbershop advertising haircuts for the whole family. I decided to try Rita’s. She didn’t require appointments so after breakfast I walked down.

As I waited a mother sat with her daughter who was about 12. When her turn came the mother instructed Rita to cut her hair short. The long braids come off and Rita snipped around working a sort of bob look. The mother wasn’t happy and had her cut it shorter. This happened twice until the girl’s hair was cropped to just an inch or two all over. As the two left I walked to the chair. Watching that event unfold reminded me of Donna and the destruction she’d reeked on her hair. It also made me think of the erotic overtones. As I stared into the mirror I decided to get more than just a trim. It was almost to my waist but I convince myself to try it shoulder length. I was nervous as Rita wrapped the cape around me, “So! Just even up the bottom?” I was almost shaking as I swallowed hard, “Actually that little girl inspired me. I’d like to try it shorter!” Rita looked up surprised. My heart stopped. She smiled and shook her head, “That little girl had wonderful hair! It seemed such a shame!”  Then she dismissed her comment with little concern and asked, “Short like hers?” No one had ever suggested I have short hair. Getting it cropped like that was terrifying. “Not that short!” I explained, “Sort of shoulder length.” She nodded and assured me it would look better. She began snipping and I sat there feeling the surge of an erotic event. In just 15 minutes I was transformed and 2 feet of hair was on the floor. Rita had taken the liberty of cutting my hair right up to my chin. This was really short. I was shaking as she showed me the final look. I noticed a few stray hairs at the back of my neck and asked her to trim them up. She used the clippers and shaved my neckline all around the back.  I looked so different. I went home with my long hair coiled in a plastic bag.

When I got back to my apartment I put it on the kitchen table. I stood in front of the mirror combing my new short hair. I was very aroused. I felt my neckline. Now the goose bumps were real. The long sleek shine that had caressed my back came to an abrupt end just below my ears.

I stood there and thought what it would have been like to let her cut my hair short like the little girl. The thought of having the last remnants of my silky shine chopped into bristles made my body grow tense. Submission felt erotic. I told myself no one had seen me. I could get it cut again and my compulsion would remain a secret. But going back to Rita’s would be embarrassing. I decided to walk by the unisex place and see if they were busy. There was no harm in stopping to ask. I could always change my mind on the way!

As I looked in the window the guy was sitting in the chair reading. He looked up and our glances met. I would look foolish if I didn’t at least go in to ask. I opened the door and stood there. “Do you cut women’s hair?” He smiled back, “Sure do! How can I help?” I explained I had recently had my hair cut but the stylist didn’t want to go short. I went on to say, “I really wanted something that’s wash and wear.” He offered me the chair. I felt helpless to turn away. I sat down. As he adjusted the cape he looked at my neck. “Clippers around the back?” I knew he could see where Rita had used them. I nodded. “It’s shaved with the clippers back there!” He nodded; “I can taper that so everything blends in!” He went on, “What about the sides?” I wasn’t sure how short he meant but didn’t want to appear ignorant. I didn’t know what to suggest so I tossed my head a little, maybe it was a nod.  If he needed more information I was sure he’d ask. He stood beside me adjusting and oiling the clippers. Then ready to begin he smiled. I was shaking. My voice trembled, “I just don’t want to look like a boy!” He laughed, then turned my head to the side and pressed the clippers into my hair right in front of my ear. “Don’t worry about that!” he exclaimed as he pressed the clippers right up the side of my head. “Just look at Sinead O’Connor and tell me she’s not a woman!” The clippers passed onto the top of my head. He stepped aside and there to my horror was a path of pale scalp showing through every hair. He was shaving everything to just stubble.

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