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She sat in the warm salon after her shampoo, waiting for her stylist to come and blow dry her hair and looked around her.  In the next chair sat a teenage girl and she was having an animated conversation with the male stylist who was clearly intent on persuading her to allow him to use his scissors on her gleaming dark hair which reached more than half way down her back.  At last the young girl gave a slow nod of acceptance and with an excited look on his face the stylist picked up his scissors.  She could see that the girl looked tense and nervous as her head was tilted forward and a thick sheaf of her long hair was grasped and ruthlessly the blades began slicing into her hair almost at the nape.  She gave an audible gasp as she realised how much of her hair was being cut but she now had no control of the situation.  Clare gave a little smile to herself as she saw the long locks being tossed to the floor and the scene brought back the memories of many years ago… 

I had been 15 and had gone on an exchange visit to France with the family of Marie, a girl of about my own age who had spent the previous summer with me and my family in England.  Marie and I had got on well together and I was now looking forward to my stay in France.  Marie spoke very good English whilst my own French was quite limited but I hoped to improve it during my stay.  A day or two after her arrival Marie announced that she was going to the local salon in the town to have her hair shampooed, trimmed. and blow-dried  “Would you like to come with me?” she asked. 

At this time my hair was almost waist length, light chestnut in colour with natural sun bleached blonde streaks and I loved it long. I was very proud of my hair and knew that it attracted many admiring comments and I spent a lot of time keeping it in perfect condition and went to a salon about every 6 weeks and had a fraction cut from the ends. I loved having my hair expertly brushed and blow-dried but was always very tense as the scissors snipped about my hair.  About a year earlier I had gone to a new salon that had opened locally and despite my explicit instructions to the young male stylist to just trim the ends of my hair, he removed more than 6 inches.  I had been shocked and horrified when I saw the amount of hair tumbling down from his snipping scissors but he ignored my protests simply saying he was removing my split ends.  Of course this was rubbish as my hair had very few split ends but once he had begun cutting off that amount I had to let him finish.  I cried all the way home and was upset for weeks until my hair began to look longer again. 

I realised that some hairdressers were just obsessed with cutting off hair and was very relieved that now the girl who looked after my hair did only take a small amount off each time she cut it and thus kept it in perfect shape and condition.  My hair had been long ever since I could remember and for school I had to wear it tied back in either a thick gleaming plait or a ponytail but I loved it when it was loose and swinging over my shoulders and back.  Recently my mother had told me several times that I should have my hair cut shorter, at least to my shoulders, as it would be more fashionable for a young teenager.  I was fleetingly tempted to have a new hairstyle but the thought of having to sit and watch shearing blades remove great lengths of my precious hair was too frightening to contemplate so I dismissed the suggestion. 

  However just before I had come to France two of my friends had parted with their long hair. One had been delighted with her shoulder length bob that was at least 6 inches shorter than previous but my other friend’s hair had been cut a lot shorter and she hated it.  I was very surprised she had had so much hair cut off as her hair had been longer than mine but it appeared that she had fallen victim to another scissor happy male stylist.  She had asked for her hair to be restyled but had stated she didn’t want it shorter than just above her shoulders and had watched horrified and helpless as her almost waist length hair had been cut to jaw length.  Actually I thought the haircut suited her but could empathise with her distress as she had endured the torment of seeing precious long locks falling from shearing blades and then not liking the final result. Her experience only emphasised my feelings. First, avoid male hairstylists, as they always seem to want to cut off a lot more hair than requested, and second, allowing long hair to be cut was a very big decision, as it would take a very long time to replace.  However, still at the back of my mind was the thought that it would be exciting sometime to have a complete change. 

When Marie asked me if I would like to go with her to the salon I felt it would be interesting, so I told her I would but quickly added that I had only recently had my hair trimmed and would not need anything done.  Marie’s hair was about 6 inches below her shoulders in a riot of soft dark tumbling curls and on the way to the salon she ran her hands frequently through her hair and said, “I would like to grow my hair as long as yours but it seems to take ages and my mother says I should keep it trimmed to keep it in good condition.”  She gave a little smile, “I don’t really mind going often now though as last time I went there was a gorgeous looking young stylist there and he really flirted with me.”  She paused and said with a little smile, “It is a pity he speaks hardly any English!” 

I had brushed my hair for ages that morning and had then tied it loosely back and loved the heavy bouncing feeling of my gleaming long hair as it swayed behind me as we walked down the street to the salon. We pushed open the door of the smart hair salon and were immediately enveloped in the warm heavily scented air and I looked around with interest.  It was a very modern looking salon with a reception desk just inside the door and a comfortable looking waiting area with several chairs and then four styling positions, of which three were occupied by customers and two female and one male assistant were working.  Towards the rear was a smaller room containing 2 shampoo basins and also what looked like a small beauty and make-up area. 

A tall young man then emerged from the rear of the salon and greeted Marie warmly in a torrent of French that was far too fast for me to understand and then she introduced me to him as her English friend and he smiled and welcomed me in French spoken more slowly so that I was able to understand.  He stared at my hair as though hypnotised and reached out and gently touched it and said in very fractured English, “You’re ‘air is very beautiful.”  I felt slightly embarrassed at his intensity and managed to stammer some sort of reply in my poor French. He released my hair and then turned to Marie and said something to which she shook her head and I could see his look of disappointment.  She turned to me and said,  “He wanted to know if you were having your hair done as well.  Are you sure you wouldn’t like him to do it?”  Fleeting thoughts of having this very attractive man working on my hair, stroking, brushing, arranging, even scissoring was very exciting and tempting but I knew that it would also be very risky.  If he wanted to do something drastic to my hair would I be able to resist him and probably not even fully understand what he intended and I had also vowed to avoid male hairdressers at all costs. 

I told Marie to tell him that perhaps my hair may need a trim before I went home but I have only recently had it done.  He smiled his devastating smile and said slowly in French so that I was able to understand that he would look
forward very much to doing my hair at any time.  He sat Marie in the chair and put an enveloping white cape around her and I watched a little enviously as he skilfully brushed her hair for a few minutes and tried to understand the animated conversation they were having.  He then began to lead her to the shampoo basins at the rear of the salon and one of the assistants who was now free clearly offered to shampoo her hair. 

Marie stopped and said,  “Paul would like to brush and arrange your hair whilst I am being shampooed.  There will be no charge.”  I felt my stomach lurch at the thought of this very attractive man working on my hair but I replied as though I wasn’t too concerned and said, “That would be nice but make sure he knows – no scissors.”  Paul nodded as Marie translated my reply and then eagerly motioned me to the vacant chair.  I sank into the comfortable chair with my heart pounding with excitement and anticipation as he enveloped me in a large white cape, lifting my long hair free and then swiftly removing the ribbon I had tied my hair back with and allowing the long tresses to spread out across the gown. 

He stared hard at me through the mirror with a slight smile on his face as though he knew how much I was looking forward to him brushing my hair.  My body gave an involuntary shudder of pleasure as he very tenderly now began pulling a brush through my long hair.  I closed my eyes in ecstasy as he skilfully brushed my hair; he lifted and sifted it with his fingers as well as the brush and I think it was one of the most erotic experience I had ever had.  He paused and I opened my eyes and saw that he was staring at me through the mirror and then he said slowly but in French so that I was able to roughly translate.  “You are a very attractive young woman and no longer a child. Your hair is superb but has no style, it is far too long – it is still childish.  Let me create a new image for you.” 

I was very tempted to immediately agree but still hesitated at allowing him to do as he wanted for the thought of male stylists and scissors still scared me. “ Not today,” I stammered.  “I will think about it and perhaps before I return home.”  He gave a shrug of disappointment and then swiftly began arranging my hair in a simple upswept style.  I watched him as he worked and tried to imagine what it would be like if those skilled hands were wielding scissors instead of brush and comb.  In a few minutes my hair was piled high on my head in a simple elegant arrangement of soft fronds and curls which looked stunning.  I was amazed at the difference it made to my appearance and how much more elegant my hair looked and of course how it was a far more sophisticated style than loose flowing hair. 

He looked pleased as he saw my reaction and picked up his scissors and clicked then near my hair and then said with his charming smile, “Next time I cut!”  I gulped and gave a little nod but wondered if I would be able to pluck up the courage to let him.  Marie now retuned from the shampoo area and stared in amazement at my hair and said, “Oh that looks stunning.”  I stood up from the chair and returned to one of the waiting seats as Marie took my place in the chair.  My head felt quite strange with my hair worn up and I could not resist touching the nape of my neck which was now revealed and enjoyed the sensuous feel of my own fingers stroking the skin. 

The young stylist now turned his attention to Marie and combed through her damp hair and he talked animatedly to her whilst she looked at her reflection doubtfully.  Their French was far too quick for me to understand fully but I gathered that he wanted to give her a different style, which she was resisting.  At last they seemed to have reached a compromise and he picked up his scissors and tilted her head forward, sectioned off the lower layers of her hair at the back and then began cutting. To my surprise I saw thick damp locks at least 6 inches long begin to roll down over the white cape and drop heavily to the floor. This was definitely not to be just a trim!  He swiftly worked at the back of her bowed head, removing her hair just below collar level and then he straightened up her head and she looked a little anxious as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.  She twisted her head slightly in an effort to see more of her reflection but he firmly repositioned it and sectioned off a thick lock of hair across the top of her head. He combed this straight upwards and held it between his fingers about two inches from her scalp and then with several rapid snips he cut of the hair above them. 

The locks tumbled down past her shocked looking face, on to the cape and then rolled off to the floor.  She opened her mouth in silent protest and gave a little gasp as another large section behind was given the same ruthless treatment.  I watched with fascination and Marie watched with a resigned expression on her face, as he worked rapidly across the top of her head cutting the hair down to about two inches.  The side hair was similarly treated and in less than 5 minutes Marie’s hair had gone from six inches below her shoulders to a quite short crop.  Once he had removed all the long hair he now worked carefully and much slower taking smaller sections and checking carefully the effect.  Marie still looked stunned at the amount of her hair that had been cut off but was still watching intently as he shaped her hair.  I had been quite aroused at seeing the ruthless way he had cut off so much of her hair and tried to imagine how I would feel if it happened to me.  I am sure it would be both exciting and terrifying at the same time, to be completely at the mercy of someone who could so drastically change your appearance and yet excitement at seeing a new image revealed. 

At last he put down his scissors and began drying the short hair using just his fingers to gently pull her hair into shape.  As her hair dried it began to fall in soft tendrils about her face and I suddenly realised that Marie was totally transformed from a young pretty girl into a stunning sophisticated teenager.  Her new hairstyle looked superb and as he put the finishing touches to his work I could see that Marie was now looking much happier as she realised how attractive her hair was looking.  She beamed as he showed her the back view of her hair and as she was released from the enveloping cape she raised her hand and her fingers explored her newly cropped hair.  She turned to me with a smile and said, “What do you think?  I didn’t realise he was going to cut it so short but I love it.”  “Oh it looks gorgeous,” I exclaimed enthusiastically, now almost wishing that I had allowed him to scissor my hair as well but still with the slight fear that I would not like the result. 

When we left the salon Marie couldn’t stop talking about her experience.  “ He said he wanted to change my style but I was sure I only wanted it trimmed a little so he said he wouldn’t cut it too short.”  She brought her hand up again and touched her tousled curls.  “Oh I was so frightened and upset when I saw how much hair he was cutting off, so much hair fell past my eyes and my head began to feel so light but then I looked hard at my image and realised how good my hair was looking” She reached out and touched my hair and said, “He told me how beautiful he thought your hair was but should be cut much shorter.  Do you think you will let him cut your hair before you go home?”  My stomach lurched sickeningly with both excitement and fear but I tried hard to be nonchalant and uncaring as I replied, “Oh it is possible but I am
not sure.” 

The time I spent with Marie and her family seemed to pass very quickly as her parents took us away for two weeks holiday and now there were only a few days left before I returned home. I still admired Marie’s hair and was in a quandary about what to do about my own. I remembered the thrill I had experienced when he had been brushing and arranging my hair but how would I feel if he was wielding scissors and cutting off my treasured long hair and I continued to put off any visit to the salon. The day before I was leaving Marie had planned to have a leaving barbecue in the garden of her large house and had invited a lot of local people. It started quite early and over the next few hours I had drunk several glasses of wine and it was about 8 o’clock when suddenly I saw Paul had arrived.  My stomach lurched as he came straight over to me and led me to a quiet spot in the garden and said slowly so that I could understand his French. “You have not been to see me yet.”  I hesitated and said haltingly, “I am sorry but the time has gone so quickly.  I will not be able to have my hair done before I leave tomorrow.”  He gripped my arm tightly and said, “Yes, come with me now.  I will open the salon especially for you.”  He was already leading me out of the garden and in my slightly befuddled state I didn’t resist and he led me down the village street and stopped outside the salon. 

He fumbled for his keys and I suddenly realised that if I entered the salon I would almost certainly be unable to prevent him from doing what he liked with my hair and of course that would be a drastic restyle.  My nightmare combination of a male stylist who I knew was also ‘scissor happy’!  But I was feeling so excited that this devastatingly handsome Frenchman was so keen to work on my hair that I knew I could not resist him.  He opened the door and then without putting on the lights led me through to the small beauty room at the back of the salon.  He closed the door and then put on the light and said, “I don’t want anyone to see that we are in the salon as my boss wouldn’t be very happy about it.”  Suddenly he drew me close to him and gave began kissing me urgently.  I could feel his hardness against me and I realised that my hair was probably not the main reason he had brought me to the salon. 

I was even more excited and scared now because I was very inexperienced in sex and was still a virgin but knew I would not resist him.  I kissed him hard back and his hands were already undoing my blouse. Within minutes I was naked and lying on the full-length beauty couch and I could feel my long braid underneath my naked body that I had foolishly thought was the only reason he had brought me to the salon.  He shed his clothes and climbed on top of me and I gave a little groan of pain as he started to enter me and he paused and said with some surprise, “Virgin?”  I nodded but pulled him closer and murmured, “Don’t stop.” He was surprisingly gentle despite his excitement and the second time he entered me I had the most amazing climax that almost made me faint. 

He rolled off me then and started to put on his shirt and said, “We must return to the party now before we are missed.”  I stood up and said calmly, “No, not yet.  You have taken my virginity and now I want you to cut off my long hair as well and then I know I will no longer be a child as you told me a few weeks ago.”  He looked at me in surprise and then grinned, “Yes, you are right, you should have been rid of both these things before.  Sit here.” 

I sat in the small stool that was alongside the full-length beauty couch and he gazed down at me intensely before reaching out and gently lifted the long thick immaculate plait that I had spent a long time arranging that afternoon.  He gently fingered the long hair and murmured, “It is very beautiful but…….it must go. I will fetch my scissors.” I tried to calm my racing heart as I awaited his return, as I knew deep down that I still loved my long hair and was apprehensive about losing it.  I was still throbbing from the lovemaking and had no regrets at all over losing my virginity and hoped I would also not regret asking him to cut off my long hair. 

My stomach lurched as I saw him return holding a gleaming pair of scissors.  He moved swiftly behind me without speaking and firmly grasped my long heavy braid, pulled hard on it and then began forcing the scissors through right at the base.  I gasped with pain as he pulled on my hair and then with shock as I realised how much hair was being severed but at the same time I felt myself becoming aroused again.  I moaned again and tried to twist my head away from him but he savagely pulled harder on my hair and I could hear him panting as he forced the blades through my hair. 

Suddenly the tension on my scalp was relieved and he stepped back holding up my long silken plait triumphantly at arms length.  I could see that he had an enormous erection which increased my own feelings and I moaned again as he dropped the heavy braid to the floor and then he lifted me back onto the couch and we writhed together in a frantic embrace as once again he entered me. I soon exploded with multiple orgasms as he pounded away and then ejaculated.  He held me briefly in his arms for a few moments and then rolled off.  He stood up and gazed down at me for a moment and said with a smile, “ You are truly a woman now!”  I smiled back at him but said nothing. I could feel the strange sensation of my short hair now against the pillow but this did not even bother me.  I felt truly content. 

He held out his hand which I grasped and he pulled me to my feet and pointed at the stool again.  Obediently I moved over and sat down, meekly bowing my head as he picked up his scissors and comb and closed my eyes as he began cutting my hair again.  He worked steadily all over my head and masses of hair rolled past my face and onto my naked shoulders and back.  I could feel that he was cutting my hair really short but I didn’t care, I just enjoyed the sensuous feel of the snippets of hair on my naked skin and the lightness of my head now its burden of long hair was gone.  At last he seemed satisfied that he had removed enough hair as he put down the scissors and ran his hands over my shorn head.  I could feel that he must have cropped my hair almost to the scalp but the feel of his fingers were sensational.  I brought both my hands up as he stepped back and I could only feel a stubble of hair all over my head, he had clipped my hair to less than half an inch all over and now I felt my first lurch of panic.  What would I look like? 

Knowing of course that it was far too late to worry anyway I didn’t even want to look at my reflection yet.  I jumped up from the chair and said,  “We must get back to the party.”  I brushed away the snippets of hair that still clung to my naked body and then pulled on my clothes and a few minutes later we were back at the party.  Of course everyone noticed immediately what had been done to my hair and I was amazed that so many people were complimentary and a number even wanted to touch and feel my cropped head. 

I think that Marie was the only one who guessed what else had happened as she said to me quietly.  “I knew that you would not be able to resist his scissors or his charm!”

When I returned to England my ultra short haircut was a sensation and when I told a few of my closest friends the full story there was much admiration and envy of my experience.  I never returned to France again but I had a lasting memory of my experience as I was pregnant as a
result of that evening.  I looked over at the young man who was still cutting off masses of hair from the girl in the chair and he smiled at me and said, “I won’t keep you waiting much longer.” 

“That’s alright, Michel.”  My son had definitely inherited his father’s love of cutting off hair and probably his other passion as well but I was very proud of him

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