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It felt awkward sitting in a classroom again. After all, it had been twenty five years, a husband and a twenty year old son ago, that I had last sat in such a regimented setting. I didn’t know anyone, but the whole point of doing a class at night school had been to change that. I wanted to meet new people, people not necessarily looking for a relationship or a quick screw like you would find on dating sites. Doing this would expose me to a different type of person, a broader spectrum of people to interact with. I tried to look around without obviously looking around, even though I suspected that I wasn’t alone in trying to gauge the rest of the class. On the face of it, it was a varied group, which in a way was why I had chosen to do Spanish for beginners. I hoped to get a group with some more mature people in it and I wasn’t disappointed.

After the first three or four sessions, I had settled in to the group, found people I could chat to at the breaks and people that I could share a laugh with at my frequent difficulties with pronunciation. The following week, the teacher said that she had a quick announcement to make.

‘Okay folks, I don’t know if this will interest any of you, but the beauty course is looking for some help. They need models for their classes for the next few weeks. The note doesn’t say what for, but the tutor tells me they’re a nice crowd. They do make-up, beauty treatments, hair styling, you know the sort of thing. Anyway, I said I’d let you know and if any one’s interested in finding out more, have a word at the break.’

Then we were off, into Spanish at break-neck speed.

At the break, I just happened to be in the queue for the coffee machine behind the tutor.

‘Any takers for the beauty thing you mentioned?’ I asked, as something to say.

‘Why? Are you interested?’ she asked.

‘It would take more than a student to make me beautiful’ I replied bashfully.

‘Nonsense!’ she replied.

‘I’m not sure I fancy the idea of being covered in make-up. They’d probably make you look like a clown’ I laughed.

‘You won’t know unless you try’ the tutor replied.

‘That’s true’ I agreed.

‘Shall I tell them you’d like to know a bit more about it?’

Now I was starting to feel that I was being drawn in to something that I didn’t want to be drawn into.

‘No, I was just curious if anyone else was going’ I replied.

We changed the topic and chatted while we waited for our coffees to cool sufficiently to drink. Then it was time to go back in.

‘I’ll join you in a moment’ the tutor said. It was more like several minutes before the second half of the class began and I could try out the new vocabulary that had been introduced that session. It flew by and although I was finding it tough going, I was enjoying it. I gathered my things and headed for the door.

‘Maggie, have you got a second?’ the tutor said as I passed her desk.

I looked round at her and changed direction.

‘I hope you don’t mind, but I spoke to the tutor of the beauty class and said that you’d expressed an interest. She’d love to tell you a bit more about it if you don’t have to dash.’

‘Now?’ I asked.

‘Their course follows this one, just down the hall’ she said.

I couldn’t think of a reason not to.

‘Well, I suppose’ I replied, unconvincingly.

I waited for her to pack her things and then let her guide me down the corridor. The tutor was friendly, taking the time to explain what they needed before taking me over to one of the students who wanted to practice some make-up ideas. She was a friendly, chatty girl who made the time fly. Before I knew it, the tutor had appeared and asked her to clear up for the end of the class.

‘That wasn’t so bad was it?’ the tutor asked.

‘No, it was fun’ I replied, thinking that I was made up like a lady of the night.

‘We’d love to see you for the Thursday hair class, if you have time’ she said.

‘What’s that for, apart from the obvious?’ I asked.

‘As much or as little as you fancy. We need models for the hair washers, we need models for the cutters and colourers. Everything really.’

‘Who decides what happens?’ I asked cautiously.

‘We’ll start with the hair wash, so no need to worry. After that, it’s up to you, whatever you have time for.’

Remarkably enough, I had no plans for Thursday evening and couldn’t think of any reason not to go to the class. Again, it was something new for me and I decided that it might be fun. The tutor had said enough to convince me that I wouldn’t be expected to do anything that I wasn’t comfortable with, so I decided to throw caution to the wind. I paused at the front door to check myself in the mirror, thinking that there was no reason why I should be single. Okay, I was in my mid-forties, but I scrubbed up quite well. I still had a decent enough figure despite not doing too much to keep it that way and I’m sure somebody would be pleased to get their hands on it.

I walked into the class and the tutor introduced me to a student who I probably wouldn’t have guessed was a hairdressing student. He was quite tall, slim and had a nice smile. The most noticeable thing about him though was that he didn’t have the mannerisms or affectation that I’ve encountered when I’ve had guys do my hair in the past. My current hairdresser is a woman, so it’s not even something that I’ve given any thought to for a while. Paul led me over to the basin area where he showed himself to be more proficient than I would have expected, his touch more what I would have expected from a seasoned professional than someone supposedly at college. Not that I had any complaints at all. I lay back, enjoying his touch as he shampooed me, slowly and luxuriously.

After a couple of minutes he broke the silence.

‘Are you just doing shampoos or are you a bit more adventurous?’ he asked.

‘Your tutor just said that she needed shampoo models’ I replied simply, wishing that he would just go back to what he had been doing.

‘Be careful of that guy in the black tee-shirt if you do decide to do something else. We call him “Eddie”. You know “Edward Scissorhands”. If ever there was someone trying to get into the wrong job, it’s him’ Paul advised.

‘So who’s a safe bet then? You?’

‘Just about anyone else. It’s just that he’s the reason why we lost our last two models. Shameful’ he said.

‘I’ll remember that’ I said, trying to make a show of settling back to enjoy what he was doing.

‘Come on, Paul. We haven’t got all day’ I heard the tutor say.

That was the end of my pampering. Paul rinsed me and then was helping me upright, a towel swiftly wrapped around my head to catch the drips. Even then, he was gentle, patting my scalp before leading me to a styling station to dry my hair. I watched him in the mirror, watched his concentration, his determination to achieve the best result that he could. I approved. He certainly wouldn’t win any awards for speed, but that was fine by me.

The dryer went quiet and the tutor sidled up again, silently, unnervingly in a way.

‘What do you think, Mrs Willets?’

‘Maggie’ I replied. ‘Very pleased. Paul’s done a wonderful job’ I replied. I meant it. My hair looked sleeker than it had for ages, but that probably had something to do with the lack of attention that it usually got from me.

‘Have you got time for someone else?’ the tutor asked.

‘Another wash?’

‘If you have time.’

I had the time, but did I want to? Could I think of a reason not to? No.

‘Happy to’ I replied. ‘Thank you Paul’ I said, looking up at the slightly bashful-looking young man. I got up and was introduced to William. In a black tee-shirt. It was “Eddie”. I looked at Paul who appeared to want to say something, but couldn’t work out how, without giving the game away.

I followed William to the basin area, glancing over my shoulder at Paul. whose face was a barely disguised frown. The tutor had gone to check on somebody else, leaving me at the mercy of “Eddie”.

I assumed the position again, apprehensive. William certainly lacked Paul’s touch and his overall manner. I quickly concluded that he was a charmless young man who should be guided away from such close contact with the public. He was firm, rough almost, making me regret my willingness to help out.

‘You should let me cut this for you. It doesn’t really suit you the way that you have it’ he said. That was some opening gambit.

‘I like it the way it is’ I rebutted, not worried whether I upset him or not.

‘Really, somebody your age shouldn’t have long hair’ he continued.

‘Excuse me?’ I said, not quite believing what he had just said.

‘It’s just that older women don’t suit long hair. That’s what the books say’ he added, digging himself in deeper.

‘Do they also tell you that it isn’t polite to say that to a customer?’

‘You’re not really a customer though, are you?’ he said.

‘You’re right. And if I was, you’d have just lost one.’ I replied, starting to feel really annoyed. I wanted to get out of there.

‘I didn’t mean anything’ he said, sounding as if he did have some understanding that he had been a little more direct than was wise.

‘Don’t worry about it, but if you can finish now. I need to go.’

Thankfully he did as he was asked, not objecting when I told him that I would towel it myself. I could see the tutor the other side of the room, studiously staying away from me.

‘If you come over to the tables, I’ll dry it for you’ William said, having the good grace to sound awkward.

‘It’s fine. I’ll sort it out when I get home’ I said.

William departed without another word, leaving me to dwell on the fact that at the tender age of forty-six, I was viewed as an old crone by kids of college age. I wanted to get out. I draped the towel over the back of the chair and picked up my bag, heading for the bathroom so that I could at least make myself look reasonable for the journey home.

I just made it to the corridor when I heard hurried footsteps behind me.

‘Maggie’ the voice said. I turned.

It was Paul. ‘I can’t say I wasn’t warned’ I said.

‘Just think what he’s like with scissors.’

‘The world just has to hope that he doesn’t qualify’ I said a little harshly.

‘I don’t think there’s too much danger of that.’

‘I need to go.’

‘Don’t you want to dry your hair first?’

‘I just need to go’ I repeated.

‘I could do it really quickly.’

‘You’re very sweet, but I’ll be home in a couple of minutes.’

‘It’s a shame’ he said.

‘What?’

‘That he’s lost us another model. I had ideas, things we could try.’

I raised my eyebrows.

‘I don’t want to go back in there’ I said, becoming conscious of my wet hair.

‘I work in a salon’ he said rapidly.

‘It’d be closed now’ I said obtusely.

‘I didn’t mean now. You could make an appointment. I could do your hair properly’ he offered.

‘That would be nice’ I said, trying to be polite.

‘Give me your phone. I’ll put my number in for you’ he said.

‘Is that the way young people do it?’ I asked, reaching in my bag.

‘I haven’t got any business cards yet’ he explained.

‘So you do this for everyone?’ I asked while I watched him dextrously key in the digits to my phone.

‘Not everyone, no’ he said, embarrassed.

‘Thank you’ I said, taking my phone off him. I started to walk.

‘Ring me, anytime’ he said as I headed for the ladies.

‘I might just do that’ I replied, holding up a hand to wave goodbye to my career as a hairdressing model.

It took several hours and half a bottle of red wine to get over what that boy said to me. Eventually I decided that it wasn’t worth fretting over and to put it behind me. I did think it a shame though that the class was missing out as a result of one misguided student.

Over the coming days, I didn’t give “Eddie” any further thought. I did, however, think about Paul’s gentle touch on my scalp a little more than I should have. I put it down to the fact that I hadn’t been on a date for longer than was good for me and that if “Eddie” had kept his mouth shut, I may have found a little pleasure even in his clumsiness. Paul was just more sensitive and would make someone a great partner one day.

It took me until three days after night school to give in to the temptation to ring Paul. My mind had been host to a battle between Paul’s respect and “Eddie’s” disdain and I decided that I didn’t think that Paul should lose out because of one bad apple.

‘Paul?’ I ventured when the phone was answered. ‘It’s Maggie. From the other night, at college’ I explained, not sure how many clues would be required.

‘Oh, hi. I’m working at the moment, can I call you back?’ he replied flatly.

‘Of course’ I said, feeing deflated, although not sure why. The phone went quiet.

It was more than an hour before my phone rang. I looked at it and wondered whether I should just let it ring.

‘Hello.’

‘Hi Maggie. It’s Paul. Sorry about before. My supervisor was standing right next to me and she’s a bit strict.’

‘I’m sorry if I got you into trouble. I was just wondering about your suggestion that I make an appointment.’

‘Yeah. About that. She watches me like a hawk, even though I don’t need it. I’m nearly qualified and everything, but she treats me like I shouldn’t be near anything sharp. I don’t know if you’d like her hovering like that.’

‘Sounds worse than college.’

‘It is. At least there, they know what I can do, they leave me alone, but here…’

‘So it’s not a good idea then?’

‘Not in the salon, no.’

‘That’s a shame. I was looking forward to seeing what you could do for me’ I said. I almost embarrassed myself with the way that sounded.

‘I was hoping you’d ring, just not when she was there.’

‘Is she always there?’

‘Yeah. I could meet you for a coffee. We could talk about it. You could come to college and we could do it there’ he ventured.

‘I’d like that. The coffee part. I’m not so sure about going back to the college’ I replied. That was true. I’d even decided to give up my Spanish class as I didn’t want to bump into anyone from the beauty class in the corridor.

In less than two hours I was in a coffee shop in town waiting for a teenager. I must be mad!

‘Sorry, she kept me back’ Paul said, slightly flustered when he turned up.

‘Don’t worry about it’ I replied.

We chatted about nothing at all while we waited for his drink to appear and that was the cue for me to move the topic of conversation.

‘You know, your little friend “Eddie” told me that older women shouldn’t have long hair’ I said.

Paul smiled.

‘You don’t agree?’ he replied, feeling his way through the minefield.

‘I don’t agree that he should be referring to clients as “older women”. Let’s face it, most of his clients will be older than him.’

‘He was probably nervous’ Paul said defensively.

‘You didn’t call me an older woman. You didn’t tell me that I should cut my hair’ I objected, probably sounding more indignant than I intended.

‘You shouldn’t cut your hair. That’s my job’ he replied, trying to lighten the mood.

‘You’re very diplomatic, even where “Eddie” is concerned.’

‘Not always’ he replied, lowering his head to take a sip of his tea. I looked at him.

‘So that’s what you wanted to do, even though you didn’t say anything?’ I said.

He looked puzzled.

‘You were thinking about cutting my hair while you were washing it?’

He smiled enigmatically.

‘So what are we going to do?’

‘I don’t know’ he replied.

‘I think I should book an appointment at that salon of yours. It would be funny to watch you while that supervisor of yours monitors your every move.’

‘No it wouldn’t. We couldn’t talk or anything.’

‘Surely she doesn’t stop you talking to customers?’

‘She gives me a look. Says it all. She thinks I need to concentrate on what I’m doing and I can’t do that if I’m asking about people’s holidays.’

‘Please don’t do that. Ask about holidays. Everybody hates it’ I replied.

‘But it’s a good place to start if you don’t know someone’ he objected.

‘Believe me. Don’t.’

He was quiet for a moment.

‘Going anywhere nice for your holidays?’ he asked, almost keeping a straight face.

‘Just when I was going to ask you to cut my hair, you blew it’ I said, draining my cup. ‘I’d better be off.’ I looked at him, my poker face more successful than his.

‘You weren’t?’

‘What?’

‘You weren’t going to ask me to cut your hair?’

‘You’ll never know’ I replied, reaching for my handbag. I took out some money and put it next to my cup.

‘The salon’s closed anyway’ he said, reverting to teenage-type.

‘We could have improvised. I don’t live far’ I replied. I could see the disappointment in his face. I felt cruel.

‘I’ve got my stuff in the car’ he said suddenly.

‘What stuff?’

‘She doesn’t like me leaving my things in the salon. I take my bag home every night’ he replied.

‘And you think I’m going to invite you home to cut my hair, just like that?’

He returned my gaze, confident, but not arrogant.

‘I’ll ring you’ I said, standing up. I paused for a moment and then headed for the exit, leaving him there.

I reached my car and got in, taking a deep breath. I looked in the rear-view mirror and smiled, felling a little cruel for teasing Paul like that. I looked at my hair, flicking a stray tress back into place. I wanted my hair cut and I wanted Paul to do it. I reached into my bag and flicked through the contacts list on my phone.

‘Hi, I was wondering if you’d be able to cut my hair’ I said formally when the call was answered. My request was met with silence.

‘You do make home visits, I take it’ I added.

‘Yes, I do’ the voice replied. I started my engine.

’23 Huntingdon Crescent. About 15 minutes would be good’ I replied, ending the call. I wondered if Paul took his calling seriously or whether he appreciated a little playfulness?

I drove home, wondering what would be going through Paul’s mind. Would he even come? I had my answer shortly after I got back when I saw a car pull up outside. He could have used the drive, but he pulled up on the street. Interesting. I moved away from the window, not wanting to seem too eager. I counted to five once the doorbell sounded and then answered.

‘Paul, thanks for coming’ I said.

‘Lucky you caught me’ he said. ‘I was just about to ring a mate to go out tonight.’

I wondered whether he was bluffing.

‘We can do this another time, if you want’ I said.

‘No, I’m here now’ he replied, making a good job of sounding like he was serious about making other plans. I moved down the hallway, towards the kitchen.

‘Can I offer you a drink?’

‘No, I’m fine’ he said.

‘Take a seat, please’ I said, eyeing the black bag in his hand.

‘She really makes you take that home every night?’

‘Daft, isn’t it?’ he replied.

‘So, what have you got in there?’

I watched him ease the zipper from one end to another, wondering just how many pairs of scissors a budding hairdresser needed. His fingers dipped inside and came out with a hairdryer. That explained the bulk that I could see.

‘I thought we could do it in here’ I said. The bathroom would have been better, but I was reluctant to invite a stranger, a very young stranger at that, deeper into my private space.

‘Fine’ he replied.

‘So what were you thinking of doing?’ I asked, feeling slightly awkward.

‘While I was washing your hair?’

‘How were you thinking of cutting my hair, but we could start there if you want’ I replied. Paul had gone strange on me. I started to wonder how I could bring this to a close. It was a bit stupid of me to think of inviting him home in the first place.

‘I didn’t think you’d ring again. After what you said in the coffee shop’ he said.

‘I was only teasing, take no notice’ I said.

‘I know, so was I. I wasn’t thinking anything while I was washing your hair’ he said.

‘You disappoint me. I was thinking a lot’ I said.

‘Really?’

‘Maybe. But then I’m too old to have thoughts like that. So “Eddie” says, anyway.’

‘He’s just a dick’ Paul said, before realising that he had used a word that he perhaps shouldn’t use outside the circle of his friends.

‘Sorry’ he added quickly.

‘Don’t worry about it. I’ve heard worse’ I replied. ‘So, my hair. What do you think?’

‘Something short’ he ventured.

‘I didn’t realise that I’d asked “Eddie” into my house’ I replied.

‘You’d look really good with short hair’ he replied.

‘Because I’m old, is that it?’

‘You’re not old’ he retorted. ‘You’re probably younger than my mum’ he added.

‘That’s something, at least’ I replied with a smile. I looked around, trying to work out the best way to do what we had to do. ‘Is this okay?’ I asked, pulling out one of the chairs from under my kitchen table.

‘Fine, yeah’ he replied.

‘Should I go and wash it?’ I asked, feeling strange, seeking guidance from one so young.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll damp it down if I need to.’

‘Are we at least going to discuss what I want before you start?’

‘I was going to do that once you’d sat down’ he said, although it seemed to me that he had overlooked that part of the process.

I was starting to get a little tetchy, although I’m not sure why. I hoped that Paul didn’t notice as I didn’t want to put him off his game.

‘Shouldn’t we do this properly so that I can let your tutor know how you did?’

‘Probably best that she doesn’t find out’ Paul said.

‘Why?’

‘She doesn’t like us working without supervision.’

‘I thought you said that she’s happy for you to do your own thing?’

‘She is, but only when she’s in the room in case I need help.’

‘So we’re jumping the gun a bit then?’

‘As far as she’s concerned, but we don’t have to tell her. She’s told me I’m good enough to pass my exams and my supervisor at work hardly ever has to butt in, so I should be okay.’

‘You’ve no idea how that fills me with confidence, Paul’ I said with a chuckle. I sat on the chair, arms folded, legs crossed. Paul drew another chair close until he sat opposite me, bent forward, elbows on knees, examining his canvas. It was slightly unnerving.

‘Tell me what you think and I’ll tell you if I want to do it or not’ I said after a seemingly lengthy period of intensity.

‘It’s chicken and egg, isn’t it’ he said enigmatically.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘Should you be telling me what you want me to do or should I tell you what I want to do?’ he explained.

‘You’ll want to do “scissors, paper, stone” next to see who goes first.’

He looked at me blankly. Maybe kids didn’t do that anymore?

‘Never mind. I like the idea of going shorter, but I don’t think I want to go too short’ I said, touching the ends of my dark blonde hair and examining them to see if they were split or not.

‘So how short would you be happy with?’ he asked.

‘About here’ I said, touching my left hand to my collar bone. I looked down at the six or seven inches of hair that I had just condemned.

‘That would work’ he replied.

‘So that’s the consultation done then’ I joked.

‘Sorry. I just think that cutting it to there is a good first step. It’ll make it look more cared-for in a way. At the moment, it just looks like you let it do its own thing, pretty much.’

‘I have the ends trimmed every six weeks or so’ I objected.

‘I know, but it still looks like you don’t give it much thought’ he continued.

‘Maybe you’re right’ I conceded.

‘So shall we go with that?’ he asked.

‘Hang on a sec. You said that it would be a good first step…’

‘Yeah. Then you could see if you wanted to go shorter or stop there.’

‘That’s probably not a bad idea’ I replied. I wondered why there seemed to be this drive to get me to go short. Was it something that they had been taught or was it just that I would actually look better with short hair rather than with my blonde hair breaking over my shoulders? I know that there had been many occasions recently when I had become exasperated with my hair and if someone had been around with a pair of scissors during any one of those, then I would have let them chop it off. I had actually picked up the phone and made an appointment after one such incident, but by the time the appointment came, I had calmed down and just had my normal trim.

There’s not a lot that I can say about the cut itself. I did miss the hair wash experience as we decided that it was easier if I wet it down myself in the bathroom. Paul did the cut exactly how we had agreed, not talking much, but putting me at my ease. He was friendly and pleasant, although probably more at home in a salon rather than someone’s kitchen. When he’d finished, I went into the hall and looked in the big mirror, turning my head from side to side, watching the movement, watching the swing. It was odd to see the scope it had to travel now that it wasn’t impeded by my shoulders as had been the case before I started. It was off my shoulders, but below my collar, in a sort of no-man’s land. I thought of it as a haircut for someone who couldn’t make their mind up to go properly short, but I liked it.

‘I approve’ I said, putting Paul out of his misery.

He didn’t hang around any longer than he needed to. He insisted on clearing up which I thought was sweet of him, even though I would do it all again once he had left. I spent the next while peeking at myself in the mirror as I went past one, getting used to my new look, congratulating myself for doing something a little different for a change.

Dare I say it, but after two weeks or so, I was hankering after getting my hair cut again. I had got used to it not covering my boobs as it had previously and even got a little thrill out of walking around after a shower fully exposed, in a way that I hadn’t been able to for a long time. Not that there was ever anyone there to care, of course, but it gave me something to feel pleased about at least.

I’d felt comfortable with Paul, both to have him guide me on what to do with my hair and to have him in my house. The only thing was that I liked going to a salon and being made to feel a little special for an hour and that didn’t seem possible while Paul was still regarded as a trainee. Now that he’d opened me up to the idea of doing something different with my hair, I started to think about going to a new salon, giving them freedom to experiment. That would get me the salon experience, but it would also strangle whatever Paul could do for me. Would he know? Well, yes he would, depending on what I had done and whether I bumped into him again. Would he care? Who knows?

Despite my misgivings about missing out on the salon experience, I rang Paul, waiting until I knew the salon would be closed. The last thing I wanted to do was to cause trouble for him with his supervisor by ringing him while he was at work.

‘Hi Paul, it’s Maggie Willetts, I don’t know if you remember…’

‘Of course I remember.’

‘I’m sorry to ring you out of work hours. I could ring you at work if you prefer, it’s just I don’t want to get you into trouble.’

‘Work’s fine now. We had a big row and cleared the air. She knows to give me some space now’ he laughed. ‘What can I do for you anyway?’

‘You’re sure you’re alright to talk?’

‘Sure’ he replied. It was nice to hear his voice again.

‘I was wondering if you’d have time to tidy me up again. I know it seems like no time, but I was looking in the mirror today and I thought that I could do with a bit more care and attention.’

‘When were you thinking?’ he said without passing further comment.

‘It depends if it’s easier to come into the salon.’

‘You could, but I’d have to let you know tomorrow what I’ve got free. Were you wanting it done tonight?’ he asked. I hadn’t expected him to suggest that and felt a little “jump” at the prospect of seeing him so soon.

‘It would be lovely, but it’s not giving you any notice. It’s not fair’ I replied, thinking even more how wonderful it would be to have him appear.

‘I could be with you at 7:30, I don’t know if that’s any good. I need to have a shower and get changed’ he said.

‘It would spoil your evening. I couldn’t ask you to do that.’

‘My pleasure’ he said, sounding older than his years.

‘You’re too kind. If you’re sure you’re okay with it, 7:30 would be marvellous’ I replied.

Seven-thirty it was and I could think of nothing better to do except to have a shower and get changed myself. I smiled as I dithered over what to wear. As if he cared and as if it mattered. He was a trainee hairdresser and he was coming to cut my hair, pure and simple. I did want to look nice for him though.

The doorbell rang and my stomach leapt. I chastised myself for being silly and went to open the door. There was Paul with his bag of tricks.

‘Hi Paul, come in. Thank you so much for putting yourself out like this’ I said. I thought that I could smell that he was only just out of the shower and told myself off once more. I led him through to the kitchen and offered him a drink. He chastely accepted a Coke to my white wine, putting his bag down on the worktop.

I could feel him looking at me, assessing me.

‘It still looks good’ he said, realising that he had been caught. He nervously unzipped his bag, making himself look busy by getting out his scissors and comb while he thought about whatever he was thinking about.

‘Do you think so? I keep looking at it and thinking that it doesn’t sit as well as when you did it for me. Then I think that I should have let you cut it shorter, maybe it would lie better.’

I looked at him intently as he nodded slowly.

‘You’re not sure about me going shorter?’ I asked.

‘No, you should. You definitely should’ he said.

‘Not much doubt there then’ I said a little nervously, watching as he dug in his pocket. He pulled out his phone and looked like he was searching through his contact list. He put the phone to his ear, while I tried to resist the urge to think ill of the young for their lack of manners.

‘Hi, Eddie’ Paul said. ‘Yeah, it’s me, Paul. Are you doing anything?’ He paused and looked at me. ‘It’s just, you remember that Mrs Willetts from college? Yeah, the model lady. She wants you to cut her hair. Yeah mate, short as you like.’

I glared at him.

‘I’ll call you back’ he said, responding to my gaze.

‘What?’ he asked, as innocently as he could.

‘Was that “the” Eddie, the one you warned me about?’

He maintained the lock on my eyes, but couldn’t sustain his expression. He started to smile and then his smile became a laugh.

‘Got you!’ he said.

I paused again.

‘Very funny. You didn’t ring him, did you?’

‘The look on your face was priceless’ he replied.

‘Well, that’s broken the ice anyway’ I said.

He was still laughing. Right up until I told him that I had changed my mind about getting my hair cut and that he should leave. His expression changed to one of bewilderment and disappointment. I had got him again, just like the first time in the coffee shop. His relief was palpable when I smiled. I held out a hand of peace and the frisson that raced through me when our fingers touched reminded me of things that had become only memories. We maintained contact longer than the original gesture merited. Paul’s right hand reached up and touched my hair.

‘What are we going to do with you then?’ he asked.

‘What would you like to do?’ I asked ambiguously. He was still holding my right hand lightly. I could have drawn away, but I didn’t. His other hand swept my hair away from my neck, gathering it behind my head.

‘I think I’d like to see more of this’ he said, adjusting his position, looking at my exposed neck, coming closer. His grip on my hair tightened, easing my head backwards slightly.

‘Is this something they taught you at college?’ I asked, aware of his breath on my exposed skin.

‘They said that we should assess our subjects from all angles’ he replied.

‘So, what do you think?’ I asked, wondering whether this was going to develop. I was certainly in closer proximity to Paul than I had ever been with any hairdresser and in closer proximity than I had been with any man for many months. When I say “man” I had to remind myself that he was still at college. Younger than my son!

‘I want to see more skin’ he said. ‘A lot more skin.’

‘Men usually buy me dinner before they say that to me’ I replied. My mind was racing, trying to work out whether I should nip this in the bud. Was I really that desperate that I would fuck a teenager? Was it even desperation to want to fuck someone who made you feel good about yourself, even if there was a chasm between our ages?

He laughed and squeezed my hand before letting it go, although he kept hold of my hair.

‘So you like pulling a girl’s hair? Is that why you want to be a hairdresser?’

‘I am a hairdresser’ he replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice. I still wasn’t sure what was going on. I looked at him for a clue, but got my answer when he leaned in and kissed my neck. That seemed to break the spell and he pulled back as if burned. Still he held my hair.

I looked at him, wanting to tell him that I didn’t mind, but wanting to see what he did next. He leant in to kiss me on the lips, slowly, eyes open, staring deep into my own. His arms were around me. I responded to him, hoping that this gentle touching of lips would develop into something a little more convincing. I was waiting for hands to start roving, testing boundaries, but instead felt his hand still loitering at the back of my head. I eased open my lips to allow our tongues to meet and felt immediate disappointment as he eased away from me. I looked at him, saw the sheepish expression on his face, and watched him raise his left hand. A hand that was clutching a fistful of my hair, hair that was no longer attached to me. I looked at his right hand and saw the scissors that had been on the worktop. That explained why he hadn’t gone grabbing at my boobs or backside.

‘So that was just a distraction then?’ I said, reaching up to the back of my head to assess the damage. I lowered my eyes to the front of his jeans, saw them straining.

‘My, my’ I said, letting him know what I was looking at. He still had that sheepish look on his face, apparently waiting for my reaction.

‘The classes have moved on a bit since I was there’ I said, our stand-off continuing.

‘I should go’ he said quietly.

‘Oh no you don’t! You can’t get a girl all excited and then just leave. It’s just not polite.’ There, I’d said it. Although this young man had just hacked off a hank of my hair, I was excited. Or was I excited BECAUSE he had hacked off a hank of hair, which was probably the last thing that I was expecting out of this get-together? He was showing me that he was inventive, which made me want to see what else he had got in mind.

‘Maybe I’ll let you tidy up what you’ve done once I’ve dealt with this’ I said, reaching forward to stroke the tent in the front of his jeans. Despite my touch he didn’t move, didn’t interpret my approach as consent for him to dive in.

‘May I?’ I asked as I reached for his zipper. It seemed such a shame to have whatever it was that he had in there all cooped up. He let me draw the zip down and open his waistband, which was sufficient to allow me to see the tip of his cock peeking over the top of his underpants. The elastic wasn’t sturdy enough to keep him in and it certainly wasn’t strong enough to keep me out. I slipped my hand down, curling my fingers around his shaft.

‘You’re a big boy, aren’t you?’ I remarked, pleasantly surprised at what I was feeling. ‘Is all this for me?’ I asked, looking up reluctantly.

‘Maybe’ he said.

‘Aren’t we sure of ourselves!’ I commented, pleased at his confidence despite standing there apparently making no effort. He didn’t reply.

‘So you think I’m going to do all the work, do you?’ I probed. His response was a kiss, passionate, forceful even, one of his hands cupping the back of my head to pull me as far in to him as he could. His fingers were strong on my scalp. I tightened my grip on his cock. This could be a more interesting evening than I had envisaged. What I had thought of as a haircut by my “private” hairdresser with the possibility of a pleasant scalp-massage was now looking like it was going to be something much more fun indeed. Our tongues did battle, each trying to get deeper into the opponent’s territory than the other. There was a lull, a pause to assess tactics and then the passion was back again. I could feel him hardening further if that were possible and hoped that I wasn’t going to be rewarded with a handful of cum before I had had chance to get anywhere. We eased back, warily watching each other.

Paul reached for one of my boobs at last. I closed my eyes as he cupped it and then squeezed. I felt his breath on my neck and then felt him move behind me, pleased to feel him get interested. He was holding both boobs, nuzzling my neck, pressing his hardness into my buttocks. I may be about to couple with a student, but I really didn’t care. His hands moved away from my boobs and I felt them moving south before they broke contact. He nuzzled my neck again and I felt his fingers brush my skin. Then I felt what could only be the scissors again.

‘Paul!’ I said, turning round.

Paul was standing with scissors in one hand and another hank of my hair in his other. I watched the hand with the hair as it moved to his groin. He took hold of himself, my hair forming a glove around his cock. I was astonished and enthralled at the same time, watching my severed hair surround this young man’s impressive erection as he worked his hand backwards and forwards. At that moment I should have been outraged at what he had done to my hair, but my response was simply ‘Here, let me do that’.

I knelt down and took over from him, careful not to let any of the hair fall away from where he had positioned it. I leaned my head in and took him in my mouth, thinking that this was the weirdest blowjob in the world. Who knew that I was so kinky? Certainly not me. I wondered what else I would get to discover about myself before the night was out, because despite his youth, Paul was bringing things out of me that my ex-husband never managed.

Everybody jokes about getting a stray pube in their teeth when in such a position, but nobody would expect to get a mouthful of their own hair while doing the deed. I felt his hands on the back of my head, trying to work out whether there was anything in his hands. It was just him, so my hair wasn’t under threat while I was doing that. I settled into a steady rhythm and was able to think about what had happened to my hair. There seemed to be quite a lot of it either on the floor or in my mouth, so that had to mean that any “rescue cut” was probably going to be reasonably short. Not necessarily a bad thing, I mused, determined to enjoy the transition, however unexpected.

I decided that I had pleasured Paul like that long enough. I didn’t want to do it for long, worried that it would over-excite him and also worried about choking on my own hair. I eased back and looked up at him, only too aware that I had strands of hair in my mouth. I wanted to let him look, let him savour the sight if this was his thing. What I didn’t want to do was to allow him to come before I had even got my clothes off!

He gently picked bits of hair from my mouth and dropped them to the floor. I looked up at him, mouth wide open, while he made a final check. I made use of the time to slide his jeans and underpants to the floor so that he could step out of them in readiness for whatever was to come next, which was the point at which I realised that the hank of my hair that he had wrapped around himself had actually masked the fact that he was quite hairless down there. His lower belly and balls were smooth, which caused a little tremor in my special place. I had never encountered a shaved man before and never been faced with an erection in all its glory. I took the weight of his balls in my hand and dipped my head in to run my tongue along his shaft. I took him in my mouth and then felt him pull my head in towards him, further than was strictly comfortable. I eased back, only for him to pull me back in. Paul didn’t say a lot, but he knew what he wanted. I tried to relax, but found it difficult. I decided to change the focus and released him from my mouth.

My fingers went to the buttons on my shirt, my head tilted upwards to look at him. I dropped it on the floor and knelt up to undo the zipper on my skirt.

‘I hope you’ve got something to put on that’ I said while I was escaping from my underwear. I sat back on the floor, so pleased that I had a rug in my kitchen to make things comfortable. I could immediately sense that he was less than enthusiastic at the contrast between his lack of pubes and my trimmed, but still reasonably hairy pussy.

‘I’ll do something about it next time’ I said, teasing a tuft between my fingers.’

His response was to turn towards his bag and to brandish some electric clippers at me, the sort that are used for trimming neck hair. It looked like he had other ideas and I wondered if he was able to see what had felt to me like a tidal surge in my pussy. The thrill of the prospect of a man shaving me before screwing me was exquisite. I teased the tuft out to its full length, opening my legs as far as I could to show my agreement. I had once shaved my pussy lips for a guy who asked me, a couple of boyfriends ago, but if I had to be rash and take a guess, it would be that Paul wasn’t going to settle for any half measures. I leaned further back, offering up my pubes in sacrifice, just wanting to get to the part where I got screwed.

I tilted my head back when I heard the clippers turn on and hoped that he wouldn’t nick me. I felt him stroke my mound and had to have a look. There was a furrow through my pubes, from top to lips. It looked funny, but Paul wasn’t one to hang around, making a second pass and then a third to clear pretty much all of the hair that I could see. I could see my pubes curled up on the carpet, no longer doing what they were meant to do. I looked at the curve of my mound, looked at my slit, almost ready to receive an eagerly awaited visitor. The “welcome mat” was gone, but Paul had made sure that there would be a very warm welcome indeed from now on. I looked sexier, even if I said it myself. I wasn’t hiding from anything, my lower belly was crying out “I’m here, come and get me!”

Paul leaned in closer, wielding the clippers gently around my nooks and crannies. I still had a stubbly shadow, but I suspected that he had plans for that if his own groin was anything to go by. The clippers went quiet and he smiled at me, the first obvious communication from him for a while. He planted a kiss in my stubble triangle and then trailed his tongue lower. I had to give him credit, he knew where everything was and what to do when he found it. I lay flat on my back, arching slightly, hips pressed upwards, pussy gifted to his tongue. Oh God, why hadn’t I done this before? Why had I wallowed in barrenness because I’d had a couple of lousy experiences? It was my turn to hold the back of Paul’s head and pull him into me. I doubted that he would gag on me the way that I had when I’d been a little too ambitious with his cock, but there was a distinct danger of him suffocating if I wasn’t careful! He teased and nipped, fucking me with his tongue, leaving nowhere unattended. My hips were pushing higher all by themselves, eager to make sure that there wasn’t the slightest chance of a gap between his lips and mine, but then he broke contact, peering the length of my body, licking his lips in an exaggerated fashion.

I watched in disappointment as he stood up, my eyes following him eagerly to see why he had gone and when he would be back. He fiddled with his black bag, unzipping a side pocket and when he took his hand out I could see what I was hoping to see.

‘Just in case?’ I observed. I sat up and saw him smile, ripping the packet with his teeth. I watched him roll the rubber over his cock which was bearing up much better than I would have expected. He closed the gap between us, but showed no sign of coming back to floor level where I was. He touched my face and ran a hand through my hair, stopping abruptly. I felt a tug as he started to lift me using the handful of hair that he was holding. It wasn’t rough, but he left me with no doubt that it was time to stand up. He kissed me again before sliding round my body, his grip on my hair unwavering. The pressure was now forwards and downwards, leaving me with no option but to brace myself on the kitchen counter, arms outstretched. The next thing I felt was the tip of his cock confidently trying to make its own way inside me. There wasn’t the fumbling that I might have expected, just a cursory pause and then I was taking a deep breath as he slid inside me. He had both hands buried in my hair, holding my head and drawing it backwards. He wasn’t thrusting, he was just embedded in me at that point, his hairless groin melded with my backside. His focus was on my head, on my hair, stroking it, pulling it gently. It was unlike any screw that I had ever had before. There was no urgency, no attempt to thrust me into the middle of next week before the guy comes sooner than I want.

While Paul did what he was doing with my hair, I amused myself by squeezing him and then relaxing. Good for my muscle control and hopefully a little thrill for him at the same time. He responded by tightening his grip on my hair, pulling my head back and then he started to slide in and out, slowly, deliberately, showing admirable self-control. I was in heaven.

‘Do you want me to cut this off for you now?’ he asked, breaking his silence at last.

‘Can we do it after?’

‘Then it’s just like a normal haircut. Don’t you want to try something different?’

‘I can’t really think about my hair at the moment. I want to enjoy you properly, then I’ll think about my hair’ I replied, squeezing him again.

‘I want to cut it while I’m fucking you’ he said, emphasising his point with a buck of his hips.

‘Why’ I asked, my breathing becoming deeper.

I saw an arm reach from behind me towards the scissors on the worktop.

‘Just fuck me please’ I said, not wishing to sound desperate, but I didn’t want him to be distracted. I saw his fingers stop short of the scissors. I squeezed him again in a bid to draw his attention to what I wanted him to be doing. I could get my hair cut anytime, but I couldn’t get the sensations that were coursing through me from just anywhere. This was a first for me and I wanted to savour every moment as it was meant to be savoured.

‘It’ll be shorter if you don’t let me do it now’ he said, countering my squeeze with a series of thrusts.

‘I don’t care. I just want more of that’ I replied breathlessly. His pumping picked up pace.

‘Don’t rush’ I said, not wanting it to end.

‘It’s going to be really short’ he whispered in my ear. ‘Do you want that?’

‘Anything you want, just don’t stop fucking me’ I replied. I eased my legs slightly further apart as a signal that I was resolved not to go anywhere until I was ready. For his part he thrust more vigorously, making me feel like he was trying to lift me off the floor. I closed my eyes to concentrate, happy now that he had settled into a more regular pattern, allowing me to let the waves build and roll over me. I was at the brink and then months of denial and disappointment burst through me. I cried out, leaving Paul in no doubt as to what had just happened. He paused to let me gather myself and then much to my disappointment, he pulled out.

‘Wait…’ I started to say, but stopped when he patted the worktop and urged me to jump up. Seeing my expression, he pulled out one of the stools and held my arm as I did what he asked. I was trying to work out potential permutations when he went for the obvious one, positioning me so that I was on the edge of the worktop, leaning back, legs spread, student’s mouth latched on to my freshly-shaven pussy. It only took him a couple of minutes with his tongue and surprisingly efficient fingers to make me come again. I’m only an occasional squirter, but he brought the best out of me, much to my mild embarrassment in the presence of someone that I barely knew.

I looked at him, wondering what I had done to deserve this. Maybe it was a reward for putting up with my ex-husband longer than I should have or to compensate me for not having relationships while my son was still around. Maybe it was to compensate me for the “hair-trigger men” that I’d had the misfortune to get laid by since.

I was slightly wary of the build-quality of my worktop and swung my legs to dismount. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, looking dishevelled and flushed and well I might after the evening that I had had so far. I wrapped my fingers round Paul’s cock again wanting to reassure myself that it was real. It most certainly was.

‘I’m being selfish’ I said, happy as I was to have come twice so far.

‘After’ he said cryptically.

‘After what?’

‘After I cut your hair.’

‘Have you ever heard the saying “All work and no play…”‘ I asked, starting to wank him slowly.

‘This is all play’ he replied.

‘Don’t you want me to finish you off first?’ I asked. He shook his head. ‘Well, I need some more wine before I do anything else.’ I held up my empty glass to invite him to join me, but he shook his head. I got him more cola from the fridge when I filled my wine glass.

‘It’s actually nice to have a breather’ I said. ‘Believe it or not, I’m not in the habit of doing this. I’m a bit rusty, but you’ve probably guessed that already from the cobwebs you found down there.’

‘You’re a very sexy lady, Mrs Willetts’ he said, taking a sip of his drink and ignoring my attempt at self-deprecating humour.

‘Your opinion is obvious’ I replied, nodding towards his still erect cock. I was married for fifteen years and had never felt as comfortable with my husband as I did with Paul just then. We never fucked anywhere but the bedroom and the idea of the two of us standing around the way that Paul and I were, stark naked in the kitchen, was just something that would never have happened. It was a shame. I could see Paul looking over the rim of his glass at me as he took another drink.

‘Great tits’ he said as he took the glass from his lips.

‘Is that how they’ve taught you to talk to your customers?’ I asked, very pleased with the compliment, even if my boobs weren’t quite where they’d used to be.

‘Only to the ones with nice tits’ he replied with a smile.

‘That’s okay then’ I replied, my own eyes enjoying the sight of an erect young man in my kitchen.

‘How long have you done that?’ I asked with a nod to his hairless groin.

‘I don’t do it all the time. It’s something I do for special occasions.’

‘And what was the occasion, if I may ask?’

‘You’ he replied after a moment’s thought.

‘So you thought this might happen?’

‘I hoped it would, so I wanted to be prepared, just in case.’

‘Cocky’ I said, before realising just how appropriate that word was.

‘How about you? Do you prefer being hairy?’ he asked.

‘This is so strange. If anyone had told me that I’d be standing naked in my kitchen discussing my intimate grooming habits with a naked young man, I wouldn’t have believed them.’

‘But do you?’

‘It’s not something I’ve ever given much thought to. No-one’s ever asked me to do it and I haven’t felt the need before.’

‘Do you like it?’

‘It makes me feel slutty’ I replied.

‘Show me’ he said.

‘Just like that?’ I raised my eyebrows at him, but eased myself onto one of the breakfast stools as elegantly as I could. I took a sip of wine and fixed him with my best sexy stare while I opened my legs. I looked down, the sheer nakedness of my shaven mound very much still a novelty, something that might take some getting used to. I don’t know why I felt so coy, given what he had already done, but there’s something so shameless about opening your legs like that. I dipped a finger in my wine glass and savoured the cold shock as I ran it the length of my pussy lips. He came closer.

‘Tell me how short you want me to cut your hair’ he said, reaching up to touch the left side of my face. I took hold of his cock, still surprised that it hadn’t wilted like most of those that I had come into close contact with.

‘I think you’ve already determined that by cutting chunks off the back’ I replied.

‘Did you like that?’

‘Not as much as you seemed to’ I replied, giving him a little squeeze.

‘Can I cut more?’

‘So you’re asking me now, after the event?’

‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked, the question appearing to pulse through his cock as he spoke.

‘You said you were going to cut it short.’

‘When?’

‘When you were fucking me.’

‘Do you want me to?’

‘I think you’ve earned the right to choose tonight, don’t you’ I replied.

‘So, anything I want?’

‘Why not?’

‘You might not like it’ he replied.

‘I just want to get it done before this bursts’ I said, starting to wank him again. He squirmed away from me, clearly wanting the same thing. I saw him looking round.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘Where’s the nearest socket?’

‘There’ I pointed, indicating a cunningly concealed power socket. He nodded and went to his bag. He came out clutching another set of hairclippers, larger than the ones he used on my pubes. I waited for him to put them aside, thinking that he was just trying to get at something else. He didn’t. He uncoiled the flex and plugged them in.

‘You certainly know how to scare a girl’ I said jokingly. He smiled.

‘I thought it was my choice’ he queried.

‘It was. It is. But it’s my hair.’

‘Do you want me to leave it as it is?’

‘Of course not, but can’t you use scissors?’

‘I could, but this is quicker.’

‘But those are for men’ I shot back.

‘They’re also for sexy ladies who want to be even sexier’ he replied, touching the blades to my nipple. I closed my still-spread legs in some sort of self-defence gesture. He nodded towards to the chair. I looked at it and got down off the counter, heading for the chair.

‘How short?’ I asked simply, still not having received a satisfactory answer.

He pushed my head so that it was tilted forward and I was staring into my lap, looking at my hairless lower belly. I heard a quiet electric humming sound and the felt a movement up the back of my head, although I couldn’t be sure whether it was Paul’s hand or the clippers. Maybe he was just playing with me, teasing me again. If he was, he was making a concerted effort because the stroking sensation came again and again.

‘Please tell me you’re not really using those on me’ I said.

‘You said it was my choice’ he replied. ‘You’ll love it, really.’

‘Let me see. Let me feel what you’ve done at least’ I asked, slightly worried. A clippered pussy was one thing, a clippered head was something altogether different.

Paul surprised me by stepping to one side of me and gesturing to me to go ahead and feel. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.

‘That’s so short’ I said, feeling bristles on the back of my head. I moved my hand higher. ‘Have you done that all the way up? You have, you little fucker’ I said, only slightly playfully. It was bristly all up the back of my head, like a man’s head rather than mine. What I thought of as my mane of blonde hair, albeit dirty blonde hair, was no more. He was still holding the clippers. They were still on. I cupped his smooth ball sack in my hand.

‘I’d better be able to go out of the house when you’ve finished young man or I’m keeping these in a jar on the mantelpiece, do you understand?’

Despite my trepidation at what I was going to look like, I didn’t get up. Paul ran the flat of his hand across my crown, sweeping my hair backwards. As the clippers approached, I did the only sensible thing and touched a finger to my pussy, finding my pleasure button ready. I felt the clippers at my temple, pausing in front of my ear for a moment before moving upwards. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, not at all what I would have imagined, but from the point of view of my hair, the effect was devastating. A chunk of hair was in freefall, tumbling to land on my forearm. I was just sitting there and letting Paul do what he wanted and I was enjoying it. I was sure that there would be a proper term for my submissiveness in the “Pervert’s Dictionary”, but I didn’t know what it was. Paul was moving the clippers up the side of my head again and again, his cock bobbing in appreciation as he moved. I wanted to suck him, but didn’t want to make any sudden movement in case he cut me with those things.

He switched sides and I watched the pile of hair at my feet grow. I was languishing in the memory of all that had happened to me since Paul arrived and the sensations generated by my own fingers, of course. Paul paused and urged me to look up at him by taking hold of the as yet untouched hair on the top of my head. He guided my head downwards towards his cock, probably not realising just how much I wanted to do what he was urging me to do. I opened my mouth to receive him, gagging slightly as he touched the back of my throat. I barely had time to clamp my lips around him before I felt his warmth jet into my mouth.

I’m not sure if he had wanted to finish my haircut before that happened, but it was only a matter of time and I was amazed that he had lasted as long as he had. I eased my head back and opened my mouth so that he could see what he had just unloaded before I swallowed. That wasn’t something that I was in the habit of doing either, and could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I had actually done it. I never thought of it as very ladylike, but like everything else with Paul, it just seemed the right thing to do. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth and reached down to pick up some of my fallen hair, using it to wipe his cock. It spasmed to show its appreciation. I looked up at Paul.

‘This evening hasn’t quite worked out the way I thought’ I said with an appreciative smile. ‘How about a shower and then we can go somewhere more comfortable?’

I led the way and found myself in the shower being soaped while Paul stood behind me. He clearly had a thing about standing behind people while he did whatever he needed to do. I wondered whether it was something that came before or after he embarked on a career as a hairdresser. After washing my body, he washed my hair for me. It was strange to see and feel hair around my face, knowing that he had just used those clippers. I knew that the hair around the lower part of my head must be really short, so I could only think that he had given me a sort of undercut the way that you see in magazines. I was dying to see it, but more than happy to luxuriate in the sensations generated by his fingers across my scalp and the occasional nuzzle of his cock on my backside. I was struggling to think of anything that I wanted more in the world just then, than the attention that Paul was lavishing on me.

Eventually he allowed me to turn to let me return the complement, soaping him, stroking him, feeling his cock and balls sleek with soap. I could feel him getting hard again which meant that it was time to get out of the shower. He helped me to get dry and when we were both ready, he used a towel to wipe the mirror clear of steam, allowing me to see what I looked like for the first time. My hair was still damp and from the front it looked like it usually did when I got out of the shower. I reached up, easing it out of the way and felt the bristles that had been hidden. I moved my hand around to the back of my head where there wasn’t any longer hair anymore to conceal the clippered hair.

‘I take it you still have some work to do’ I said to him, enjoying the caress of his hands on my buttocks. His right hand moved around the front, stroking my mound.

‘I need to shave you’ he said, an index finger sliding up and down my slit.

‘Pervert’ I said.

He excused himself to go and get his stuff and as I heard his footsteps on the stairs, I just hoped that he kept away from the windows! In moments he was back and I found myself prone on the edge of my bed, legs splayed, pussy covered in shaving foam. I watched as he wielded the razor deftly across my mound, wondering how many times he had done this. I looked for any trace of a tremor in his hand to betray his nerves, but he was rock steady. For one so young, he had clearly experienced a lot. He wiped the razor intermittently on a towel before making more strokes, every one purposeful and efficient. The white foam disappeared and with it any trace of stubble that the clippers had left behind. I had enjoyed touching myself after he had used the clippers on me and I could only imagine what I would feel like now that I was razor smooth. I felt no shame at his gaze and just closed my eyes and let it happen.

He planted a quick kiss on my mound and told me to go and rinse myself off, which I was more than happy to do. I was eager to feel the total smoothness of my mound and to present it to him to enjoy once more. When I got back to the bedroom, Paul was standing behind the stool from my dressing table. His clippers were in his hand. I stopped in my tracks, my elation at the wonderful softness of my bald pussy suddenly forgotten.

‘Come on. You know you want to’ Paul said. His cock was hard again.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘What you want me to do.’

‘You’re just going to shear me like a sheep and then I’ll never see you again’ I said, a touch of nerves in my voice. My hair at that point was in a state that could be rescued and made to look reasonable respectable. What was I letting myself in for if I took a seat as he suggested? He stood there, both clippers and cock ready for action and I could only surmise that if I wanted the latter, I was going to have to submit to the former. I had been given a taster and wanted more. I walked towards Paul and sat down, facing away from him.

‘Just don’t make me hate you’ I said, resigned to losing the opportunity to conceal at least some of what he had done. The clippers started to hum and it was too late. I could already feel hair tumbling to my lap as Paul ran the clippers across the top of my head. The mirror was to my left, so I couldn’t see what was happening. I just had to sit there with my thoughts, some of which were less than positive, some of which were based on feelings that an erect, naked teenager could arouse in a sex-starved middle-aged woman, herself naked. In a way, it was a price I was willing to pay for having my sex-life kick-started.

Paul was dragging the clippers over and over my scalp, this way and that, managing not to make it feel like that was what he was doing. I could sense that there was very little resistance. The clippers went quiet.

‘Would you like to see?’ he asked.

I swung round towards the mirror, perched on the side of the stool, feeling hair brush against my legs as I moved. I put a hand to my head to feel what hair was left. Paul moved behind me, a hand on each shoulder, erect cock between my shoulder blades as he waited for a reaction. I moved my hand with the grain and against the grain. It was short, even for a lot of men, less than half an inch all over, certainly. I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t me, but the reflection wasn’t unattractive. It was just very different. I was thinking about what I could say when people asked me why I had cut off my hair when Paul gently eased my hand away. He swept his own hand upwards, a hand that was clutching barely-audible clippers. I can’t really describe the noise that I made, but it was like a gentle “oh” sound. It was realisation mixed with some sort of sexual satisfaction all rolled into one. I didn’t want him to cut more, but I wanted whatever he wanted. Looking at my reflection, I could see that he wanted me without hair in front of my ear. His left hand tilted my head back, pulling it into his lower belly, where it inevitably made contact with his cock. The clippers had paused.

‘You’re really going to shave my head?’ I asked quietly.

‘Just think what it will be like when I massage your scalp without all that hair in the way’ he said, a finger stroking the bare patch in front of my ear.

‘I won’t be able to go out without any hair’ I replied, despite trying to imagine what a massage of my hairless scalp would do to me.

‘I’ve got wigs in the car, but I don’t want you to wear one’ he said, moving the clippers closer. My hands were holding the backs of his calves, allowing me to lean back against him, tilting my head backwards. I couldn’t imagine facing the world without hair, couldn’t imagine even looking at myself in the mirror without hair, but I did want him to shave me as quickly as he could. I wanted him to fuck my hairless pussy while he stroked my bald head, if that’s what he wanted. The first sweep across the crown of my head meant that it was all academic now anyway. He had just got rid of the bristles that he had already given me and confirmed my baldness. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift away.

Paul clippered off what was left of my hair and then resisting the urge to take him in my mouth, I let him cover my head in shaving foam and shave me completely. The strokes were the same confident strokes that had made my pussy so irresistible and I just hoped that the same would apply to my scalp. Would I be brave enough to walk round without a wig? I knew that I could do it if it was just for him, but outside? He stroked the razor across my scalp and I stroked my shaven mound, dipping a finger into my wetness from time to time. In my pussy’s opinion, having my head shaved was a very good thing indeed!

Paul eventually took my hand and led me to the bathroom, rinsing my head under the shower while I hung on to his cock, purely for balance, of course. He patted me gently with a towel and then led me for the grand unveiling. I stood in front of the mirror, eyes closed. I reached up to touch it before I looked at it. It made me tingle as I ran my fingertips over it, this way and that. I certainly liked that! I forced myself to open my eyes.

There was a wide-eyed bald woman staring at me. She had a man’s head on her shoulder, her boobs covered by hands that weren’t her own. The man’s head stuck its tongue out and moved behind the bald woman’s head. I could feel the tip of a tongue trailing up the back of my head. I thought that I looked exotic, too exotic to be living round here. Paul was squeezing my tits, pinching my nipples. I started to like the exotic woman in the reflection. I reached behind and took hold of Paul’s cock while the stranger watched him slide a finger inside her. I turned my head slightly.

‘I need you to fuck me’ I said. ‘Fuck me till I don’t care that you’ve shaved my fucking hair off.’ I usually saved swear words for fitting occasions such as cutting myself or tripping up, but it was wholly appropriate just at that moment. We paused only for Paul to slip a condom on and then he did what he did best and I discovered just how much he liked bald women.

Paul stayed the night. In the morning I got up for a shower, amazed at how easy and quick it is when you don’t have hair. I padded downstairs to make tea, avoiding the first mirror on the landing, but by the time I reached the foot of the stairs I stopped and turned towards it. I looked at myself from the floor upwards. My eyes lingered over my bald pussy, smiling at the attention that had been lavished on it over the past few hours. I looked at my boobs, similarly spoiled, and then I looked myself in the eye. I was bald, but I was striking, whereas before I had thought of myself as passably attractive, but nothing special. Now I was special. I ran a hand over my scalp, wondering how long it would be before the novelty would wear off. Not for a long time, I hoped. I decided at that moment that when I left the house, I wouldn’t be wearing a wig. I would be bald. Bald and sexy. A bald, sexy woman who was fucking a teenager, just hoping that she would be able to keep up!

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