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Dental records are an amazing innovation. They are universally held to be the definitive method of identification. In the case of my relationship with my Angel they merely confirmed later on in our time together that the first time I saw her was on my way to the dentist. It was a hot summer day in the inner city and I sat parked at lights on my way to the surgery. At the junction stood a hairdresser’s and from it and into the bright sunlight walked a vision. How I managed to drive away from the lights even though prompted by the horn of the car behind is a mystery. The woman who had just emerged from what looked like a rather conservative looking salon wore black denim jeans, a white cap-sleeved blouse and a freshly barbered head of near jet black hair. Annoyingly I was off in traffic in an instant, late as usual, for my dental appointment. To say I never gave it another thought would be too much of an exaggeration but the image stuck in my head and the drive past that salon became a detour I would repeat in the following months.

I met my Angel G, the love of my life, when she took over lecturing Sociology at the adult evening class I was attending half way through the following academic year. We finally got together after the exams and within six months moved in together. We were both in our late twenties and my hair fetish was my darkest secret. G wore her hair in a naturally wavy bob but on the night we ended up in each others arms she had arrived with the slightest amount of her nape recently exposed. I touched it instinctively as we went to the bar during the evening and I felt the nearest thing to an electric shock pass up my arm.

As we were consumed by passion at the outset there seemed little need to introduce my predilection for the removal of lovely hair. In the months which passed it would slowly emerge that my libido reached melting point after a monthly short back and sides in any number of different salons. Eventually we talked about how I thought she would look great with her hair short and she cut me off by telling me the shortest she had worn her hair had been for a friend’s wedding the previous summer. The only reason she grew it out was that her hairdresser had left the salon at the junction where I had stopped at the lights and try as she might to locate him, ex-hairdressers have a way of being made to disappear by irate salon owners not wishing to advertise to their clients how they can follow them. It didn’t take us more than a couple of minutes to discover that the date of the wedding and the dental appointment were adjacent and as for times, that too checked out. I even remembered her attire and that too put her in the frame as the vision that had emerged from the salon on that hot summer morning two years earlier.

Although not wishing to appear too anxious I did pursue the enquiry and asked how long and how often she had visited that hairdresser, only to find it was her first and only time, adding that she’d love to find him again wherever he was working in the area. Finding a hairdresser called “Zak” even in a big town would be easy I thought and with a little digging I was soon able to find he had moved only a couple of miles away and was using his real name Mike in his new workplace. It was done, G had made a wish and I made the appointment so they could be reunited in a steamy salon within a few days.

In the days before she could drive it was a great excuse to be able to offer lifts and meet her when she was tired or after an evening with her friends on the town. On this occasion she had gone to the salon straight from work and I had promised to pick her up half an hour after her appointment time. The salon was in a pedestrian precinct so I had the great opportunity of making a couple of passes in front of the shop window just to check on progress. It being autumn there was a small amount of steam on the window and it was enough to spoil any long distance view. I opened the door and sat down in the waiting area finally getting my first look at this wonder barber wasted in a unisex salon. How disappointed I felt when I saw G wandering over towards the styling chair nearest to me in reception although still gowned in an knee length back fastening green silky smock, but with damp hair from the backwash and seemingly having lost only the slightest length. She sat down and Mike arranged the gown to prevent any more drips from leaking down her neck. Out came the dryer and I watched as he took great sweeping movements of his brushes to create a very admirable hairstyle. After several minutes of what appeared to be the finishing touches I could only sit and admire G in profile. Her beautiful facial features topped by a freshly washed and blown head of thick vibrant hair. I almost missed the half step Mike took towards the counter, I suppose, I thought it was the mirror he would have been reaching for to show G the back of her blow dry but there in his hand were the clippers and in a seamless movement he slowly eased G’s head forward half way to her chest and began to move the white Wahl clippers from the low hairline on the nape of her neck all the way up to level with her ears. She sat motionless and their small talk which I could hear but not make out ceased immediately. Again and again the clippers pushed into the thick locks and the silky gown acted as it had been made to do conveying the blow dried hair on its way to the floor. I was mesmerized. Here was the vision being recreated. Like a sculptor working to finish a work of art, the concentration on Mike’s face was only matched by the stillness of the head he was barbering. The back of the neck was now fully exposed and the artist moved first to the far side from me, the left, so I was unable to see the extent of the transformation taking place. The rest of the salon may as well have emptied as I could not have shifted my gaze if all of them had been naked. As I strained to see in the mirror G allowed the first movement of her face as she allowed herself a small self congratulatory smile. Mike moved to the right and again blocked my view but I was sure that due to the time he had taken on the left side there was major work taking place. Mike stood back to admire his work and for the first time G’s haircut was revealed. A smaller guard was fixed to the clippers and away Mike went again. Still no conversation took place.

The trimming had now become a major transformation and my feeling of exclusion grew as the barber / client silence intensified. Following every few strokes the head was repositioned by the barber placing thumbs behind the ears and fingers outstretched across the closely cropped temples sometimes raising and sometimes lowering the chin to such an angel I thought G’s head might fall off. The contrast between the tanned neck and face compared to the newly revealed nape and temples grew ever more stark. The clippers were switched off and Mike took almost too much care to brush G’s hairline, face and exposed ears with the soft bristled hand brush. G looked fantastic and the pair of them glanced at me simultaneously as if I could finally be let into the privacy of their reunion. G’s hair was no more than an elegant crown atop a cropped neck and temples. The blending in was nothing short of miraculous, pelt became styled inch and a half long waves as the occipital bone stood exposed for my inspection in close up for the first time. Watching mousse being applied to the new look altered it again Mike seemed to have enjoyed his hands being in contact with that beautiful head. Mike carefully removed the gown and the Angelic vision I had first seen two years earlier was again revealed, dressed in the same black denim jeans and white cap sleeved blouse. “Familiar?” was the only word she uttered. How I kept my hands from reaching out and how I kept my licence in the dash home I’ll never know. Our sex life moved to a higher plateau as we repeatedly recounted our versions of the encounter. Sadly Mike moved out of the area very soon after another couple of visits but the bug had bitten G and as in a
ll other aspects of our relationship she knew what kept her switches tripped and that quest to find “Zak” had done just that.

Now there was a small matter of keeping the Angel’s hair clipped…

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