This is another true story of my dating years with a haircutting fetish I was too embarrassed to share with anyone.
Sometime in 2002 or 2003 I met Melanie on Match.com. We hit it off and began dating. She clearly had a few issues regarding her last boyfriend, and I slowly began to realize over time that she needed to have a boyfriend she could feel superior to. Apparently her last boyfriend had made her feel quite inferior at times, and she wanted to make up for that. To that end, she often asked me questions or made statements that were obviously intended to draw a childish or controlling reaction from me.
She would say things like, "I'm never getting rid of my four dogs" and then wait for my reaction, as though she were expecting me to have some sort of problem with that. When we were getting ready to go out, she'd suddenly insist on taking her car, and then she'd ask if I had a problem with girls driving instead of guys. She'd tell me she wanted to pick the restaurant or the movie and then watch my reaction to see if that bothered me. I think she was waiting for me to object to something so she could take the high road and let me know I had no right to tell her what to do with her dogs, no right to keep her from driving if she wanted to, and no right to prevent her from choosing which restaurant we went to.
Of course, I didn't have a problem with any of those things, and I was very agreeable all the time. I think that bugged her a little, too, since she had no reason to feel superior to me. But, despite her issues, we seemed to get along pretty well for a couple of weeks.
She was an attractive woman with a nice body, and her face was pleasant, though her nose was a little large. She had absolutely gorgeous hair, which was down to her belt and was slightly wavy, very thick, and dark blonde. It didn't really have a style, as it had no layers in it at all, but she did have very thin, very wispy bangs (probably no more than a quarter-inch deep into her hairline) which barely came down to her eyes. I didn't like the thin bangs and thought she would look better if she cut some more, but I didn't say anything about that at first. Even with the wispy short bangs her hair was gorgeous. She usually put it in a ponytail, but she could French-braid it in record time as well.
One night as we were sitting in her living room watching a movie (with her four dogs lying on the floor nearby) and she was sitting in front of me as I gave her a shoulder massage. Her hairbrush was lying on the coffee table and I reached in front of her to pick it up, asking her if she'd like me to brush her hair. She said that would be nice and I started to gently brush through her hair, making sure not to pull on any tangles. She certainly seemed to like it. I ran my fingers though her thick hair a few times, commenting on how beautiful and soft it was. I was really enjoying myself as I played with her hair, and I was also (of course) picturing how great it would be to take her to a salon and instruct the stylist to give her short pixie cut.
Almost as if she could hear my thoughts, Melanie suddenly spoke up and said that she was going to be cutting her hair sometime soon and donating it to Locks of Love. She said that one of the women in her office had a niece diagnosed with cancer and that she (the woman in the office) had recently cut off her long hair and donated it to Locks of Love. Melanie said she thought that was so generous of her that she decided to do the same thing.
I was surprised, and also a little nervous (as always) that she had somehow figured out I had an unusual interest in haircutting and that's why she had brought it up. However, I was a little more well versed at this point in my life at dealing with the topic of haircutting, so I responded by telling her how really nice it was of her to do that. She seemed surprised by my answer and told me she was serious, that she was going to cut her hair really short and donate it all to Locks of Love. I told her again how generous that was of her, and that I thought she was a really nice person for wanting to help kids with cancer.
She didn't say anything else immediately, so I continued playing with her hair, running my fingers through it and brushing it for her. Over the next hour or so while we watched the movie, she mentioned at least a half-dozen times that she was really serious about cutting her hair, and that she hoped I was enjoying myself playing with it now because she was going to cut it all off sometime really soon. She emphasized more than once that in a little while she wouldn't have any long hair left to play with, and she was going to cut it really, really short, so I'd better enjoy myself while I could. Each time she said something like that I would just lean over and kiss her, and tell her, "That is so nice of you to donate your hair like that. I bet you're going to look great with short hair."
I could tell she didn't know what to make of my reaction, because it clearly wasn't the reaction she was expecting. Later that night we were lying in her bed after having sex and she told me that she'd come up with the idea of donating her hair when she was with her last boyfriend, and he'd reacted by telling her that her hair was her best feature and if she cut it off she'd be nothing special to look at. He told her she'd be just plain stupid to cut off her hair and when she asked him if he would dump her if she cut it he had refused to answer her. She told me she liked my answer a lot more, but also said she didn't know if I really meant it or was simply telling her something nice because I was "on my best behavior". Little did she know how much I truly wanted to see her get her beautiful hair cut short...
We generally only saw each other on weekends but we would speak almost every night on the phone. Over the next couple of days she kept mentioning that she was really serious about the haircut and that she'd probably be getting it done this weekend or next. I kept telling her how nice it was for her to donate her hair and, trying to work in a little something for myself, I even told her that I would be happy to come with her when she got it done if she needed some moral support. She seemed stunned when I offered to do that but after a moment, she playfully threatened to "drag me along" just to see if I really didn't mind if she cut her hair. I was dying to tell her how much I'd love to watch her get hair cut short, but I tried my best to play it cool.
On Thursday that week she called me up and announced that she had "done it." I asked what she was talking about and she said that she had gone to the salon that day and cut her hair short. She seemed to be acting triumphant, somehow, as though she was about to be proved right about something. At first I was very disappointed that I didn't get to see the haircut, but I figured that had been a long shot anyway, and I was still very eager to hear about the haircut and to see Melanie with a short pixie. I also suspected, I don't really know why, that she was bluffing and hadn't really cut her hair.
I told Melanie I thought it was awesome that she donated her hair to help sick kids and that I couldn't wait to see how great she looked in her new short haircut. She was silent for a few seconds and then warned me, "I'm serious. I got it all cut off today. It's really short now, like boy-short." I told her I couldn't wait to see it when I came over tomorrow. She paused for a few more seconds and then asked if I was really still planning to come over for dinner tomorrow. I told her that of course I was, but that maybe I should take her out for dinner instead to show off her new hairdo. She was obviously a bit taken aback, and after a few minutes of conversation she confessed that she hadn't really gotten her hair cut and had only said it to see what my reaction would be. I asked her why she would do that, and she told me she had wanted to see if I was really going to be supportive if she cut her hair, or if I was just going to dump her because I was a control freak. I assured her I wouldn't mind one bit if she cut her hair, and I repeated my offer to come with her when she did it to lend my support. She laughed at that and again threatened to take me up on it, saying, "Watch out or I just might drag you down to the salon and make you sit there next to me and watch the whole haircut!" I didn't want to let her know how much that would drive me crazy, so I continued to play it cool and tell her I'd be happy to do that. It was clear that she simply couldn't believe a guy wouldn't mind if she cut her hair, and there's no way she could wrap her mind around the fact that a guy might actually want to go with her and watch her get her long gorgeous hair chopped off into a sexy short pixie.
The next day I went to her house and spent the night. I casually asked her at one point how short she was planning to get her hair cut and she immediately grabbed a magazine off the countertop and opened it to a picture of a model with a short pixie with long bangs swept to one side. The sides and the back were quite short, but they were scissor-short (which I prefer), not clipper-short. It was a terrific haircut and one that I'd absolutely love to see Melanie get. When she showed me the picture she did it in a sort of challenging manner, sort of a "See! I really mean to cut my hair short! I even have a picture all set to bring with me!" I told her that cut would great on her and she looked at me sort of disbelievingly, saying, "I'm serious. I'm bringing that picture with me and I'm going to tell her to cut it that short." I gave her a kiss and told her again that she'd look great with that cut.
By now I had the feeling (I was rather slow about realizing this, I know) that Melanie had no intention of cutting her hair and was only testing me to see how I'd react. I had an idea of how to handle that.
That night I played with her hair a lot, especially while we were having sex. I thought there was an outside chance that it would be getting cut the next day (if the plan I was formulating in my head actually worked) and I wanted to enjoy it while I could. I even murmured a few things like, "You have such soft, gorgeous hair - it's like silk. It's almost a shame to cut it all off." I knew comments like that would simply reinforce Melanie's belief that I didn't really want her to cut her hair and was only saying what I thought she wanted to hear.
It was obvious to me by that point that Melanie knew she had gorgeous hair and that she knew it turned me on to play with it. I could also tell she enjoyed having me touch it and pull on it during lovemaking. I was all but certain she had been bluffing about the hair donation, but I thought that there might still be a way I could maneuver her into getting her beautiful hair cut short. I didn't really love the fact that she was constantly testing me to see if I was like her ex-boyfriend, so I thought using that against her would have a touch of poetic justice about it.
The next day we went to the mall. On our way out of the house I grabbed the magazine with the picture of the haircut she'd chosen. I tore the page with the haircut out and stuck it in the side pocket of Melanie's purse. Just as we were leaving she suddenly said that she wanted to drive instead of taking my car. I said that was fine with me and she kind of raised an eyebrow and looked at me, and then asked if I was really okay with being driven around by a girl. I said it really didn't bother me and she said something like, "So you keep saying. We'll see." She was testing me again and it made me even more eager to try out my plan when we got to the mall.
As we were walking around in the mall we went past one of the chain salons and Melanie told me that's where she's gotten her hair trimmed in the past. I asked her if that's where she had planned to get her hair cut, making sure to slightly emphasize "had planned" to imply that I believed the threat of a haircut was now in the past. Melanie caught on right away, looking at me with her eyebrow arched again and saying, "What do you mean - 'had planned'? I just haven't decided if I'd rather do it this weekend or next, but I'm going to cut my hair." I smiled and with only the slightest, most subtle hint of condescension said, "I know you are, and it's going to look great when you do." I leaned over to kiss her when I said it and she pulled back slightly and told me she was being serious. I said, "I know you are. And I'm being serious when I tell you I think that's very generous of you and that you're going to look great with short hair." As I said it I made sure to speak with just the tiniest, most fractional hint of boredom, as though I was saying something out of habit that I didn't really mean, but was trying to conceal that fact from her. It worked.
"You don't think I'm going to cut my hair," she said with a half-smile on her face, as though pleased with having finally come up with the solut
ion to a difficult puzzle. "That's why you've been so supportive and so flattering, telling me how great you think it will look. Because you don't think I'm actually going to do it, right?"
"I think if you want to cut your hair you will, and if you do it will look great," I told her in a deliberately unconvincing manner. "But it doesn't really matter, because I think you are beautiful now and you'd be beautiful if you cut your hair. I'm not worried about it."
She looked me over, still with the half-smile on her face as though she was pleased with herself for figuring out what I had really been thinking. She didn't seem the slightest bit mad at me; instead, she seemed happy that her suspicions had been proven correct. "You're not worried about it because you're confident I'd look good with short hair, or you're not worried about it because you don't think I'm going to cut my hair?"
I smiled and didn't really answer the question, telling her I was sure she'd look good with short hair and that I wasn't really worried about it.
She eyed me for another few moments and then said that maybe we should find out how she looks with short hair. I said that would be fine with me. She kept eyeing me and said maybe we should do that right now. At that point I told her the picture she showed me was in the side pocket of her purse, and that I'd put it in there before we left the house. She seemed surprised and reached into her purse, pulling out the picture. She said, "You put this in here because you're sure I'm not going to go through with it, right? Like you're teasing me or something?"
I told her I was sure she would go through with it, and that I thought donating her hair was a very generous thing to do and that she'd look great with that haircut. Again, I put just enough boredom into my voice to very subtly suggest that I was merely repeating lines instead of saying what was on my mind. Again, she fell for it.
"What would you say if I said I wanted to into the salon right over there and get my hair cut right now?" She had braided her hair that morning before we left and she flipped it over her shoulder as she asked the question, grabbing the end of the braid in her hand and gesturing with it for emphasis.
"I'd say let's do it," I replied immediately, letting just a hint of smile flash across my face as though I didn't believe she'd actually do it. She caught on right away.
"You don't think I will, do you?" Melanie paused for a few moments, looking at my face as though assessing my reaction. I figured she was ready for my next play, so I plowed on ahead.
"Look," I said, "I know you think I don't want you to cut your hair, but I'm really fine with it. It's your hair and you can do what you want with it. And I really do think you'd look great with short hair."
She sort of smirked as though she didn't believe me and said, "Yeah, right."
I looked at her for a minute as though I was trying to figure out what to do, but I was really just biding my time according to the plan. After a pause I reached out for her hand, and, after a moment's hesitation, she let me take it. I said "Come on" and started to walk toward the salon a short distance away. She almost immediately pulled up short and asked what I was doing. I told her I really had no problem with her cutting her hair, and that to prove it I was going to walk her over to the salon and pay for the haircut myself. I told her all she had to do was show them the picture and then sit back and relax. I started walking toward the salon again without waiting for an answer, but I could see the wheels turning in her mind and I was confident she was under the assumption that I was hoping she'd back out without actually cutting her hair. She allowed me to tug on her arm for a moment and then smiled and willing walked beside me toward the salon. I made sure to let just a hint of a smile flash across my face and I made sure she saw it.
We got to the entrance of the salon and saw that there were quite a few empty chairs. The receptionist asked if she could help us and Melanie looked over at me with an 'I-dare-you' smile on her face and said to me, "I don't know. What do you think?"
Hoping against hope that this scenario would play out as planned, I told the receptionist that my girlfriend wanted to donate her hair to Locks of Love and get a short haircut, but that she was a little nervous about it. The receptionist immediately made a big fuss over how great it was that Mel was going to donate all that hair and she called over one of the stylists right away. The stylist brought Mel over to her chair and sat her down. I followed and asked if it was alright to sit in the next chair, which the stylist assured me was perfectly okay. She asked Melanie if I was her "moral support" and Mel smiled and said that I was actually there because even though I had said I was okay with her cutting her hair, she kind of figured I was going to wimp out at the last second and "start crying" about it. She didn't say what she'd do if that happened, and the stylist gave me kind of a dirty look as she let Mel's hair out of the French braid and started combing through it.
As the stylist was combing through her hair I suggested that Mel show her the picture she'd brought. Melanie looked at me in the mirror for a second because I had purposely made my suggestion sound overly-helpful, as though I still thought she was going to back out at any second. She leaned forward and grabbed the picture out of her purse, handing it up to the stylist. The stylist looked a bit surprised and said something like, hey, you weren't kidding when you said you wanted a short haircut. The stylist then assured Melanie that cut would look "really cute" on her.
While the stylist was combing out her hair, Melanie looked at me in the mirror again, staring steadily at my face. I knew she was assessing my reaction to what was happening. I was careful to keep my expression neutral, giving her just a slight smile as though to encourage her. I was pretty excited at that point and thought that, after she made the comment about how she thought I would "start crying" there was now a really good chance she'd be unwilling to back out and be labeled as "crying" herself.
"I said I was serious. It's all coming off," Melanie said, looking at me in the mirror. "In a few minutes I'll have a short, short haircut." I just smiled back at her and didn't say anything. The stylist was sectioning off small ponytails around Melanie's head, and her hair was so thick it looked like there would probably be eight or ten of them. I was kind of bummed out by that, since I really wanted to see one big ponytail chopped off, but I had figured this would happen. Melanie was staring intently at my face in the mirror, very focused on trying to figure out what I was thinking, but I could tell she was also very aware of the stylist putting her hair in little ponytails. I could tell she was getting nervous and I just hoped her pride would get in the way and not allow her to back out for just a few more minutes. The stylist was just finishing up securing the last section of hair and I was desperately hoping I could keep Melanie going for another sixty seconds until the stylist snipped off the first ponytail, after which I knew there'd be no going back.
I saw the stylist finish up the last ponytail and lay her hand maternally on Melanie's shoulder, asking gently if she was ready. Melanie was still looking at me intently in the mirror, but I knew she was acutely aware of how close she was to losing her magnificent mane of gorgeous hair. I could sense she was on the verge of calling it quits and I thought that one more comment by me might push her just enough to get her to go through with it instead of backing out.
I thought that a positive comment at this point would throw her a little off-balance and would make her even more reluctant to back out, so I told her how beautiful and unselfish it was of her to donate her hair in order to help some poor little girl with cancer. I said to think of how big a difference this would make in some little girl's life and I told her she was really doing a great thing. Mentally, I crossed my fingers and hoped that would do the trick. A few more seconds and the first ponytail would be cut and then it would be too late for Mel to change her mind.
Melanie still hadn't answered the stylist or said that she was ready, so the stylist asked her again, very gently, "Are you ready, honey?" Melanie finally broke eye contact with me and looked away, staring straight ahead into the mirror at her own reflection. She didn't say a word - it seemed that speech was beyond her at that moment - but she gave the tiniest little nod of her head. The stylist reached over to the counter and picked up her scissors. I was almost ready to burst with excitement. I was frozen in place, afraid to move or speak lest I break the spell and do anything to make her stop the stylist from doing what she was about to do.
Just as the stylist's hand touched the scissors Melanie said "wait" in a very tiny, very soft voice. She was still staring straight ahead at her reflection in the mirror. The stylist picked up the scissors as she turned back to her and asked, "What was that, honey?" My heart sank and I knew it was over.
Melanie shook her head a little and said "wait" again, this time in a louder voice. The stylist paused with the scissors in her hand, standing in front of Mel and looking at her with obvious sympathy on her face.
"I'm not going to do this," Mel said, her voice getting stronger as she spoke. She reached up with a visibly shaking hand and slid the first elastic band off one of the ponytails. "I'm sorry, I just can't do this." She pulled another elastic band free as the stylist told her it was perfectly alright and that she could always come in another day, when she felt ready. Melanie quickly removed all the elastic bands from her hair, as though she was afraid that as long as they remained in place there was a danger the ponytail they contained would be snipped off.
I was very, very disappointed but what happened next almost made up for missing the haircut. Melanie got up from the stylist's chair and came right over to me and hugged me. She said she was sorry she had doubted me and that she was so glad I didn't just like her because of her hair. Very softly, so the stylist wouldn't hear her, she whispered that she wanted to take me home so she could thank me and show me how much she appreciated me. I smiled, took her by the hand, and led her out the door so we could go back to her place.
Of course, what I really wanted to say was if she truly wanted to thank me she should sit back down in the stylist chair and tell the stylist to give her whatever haircut her boyfriend said to give her. But I figured I had pushed my luck far enough that day...
Rate this story now.
Enter some comments about this story or see what others have said on the forums.
Recommendations
If you liked this story, here are others that you might like.
Your Internet home for stories about male and female haircuts, head shaves, buzz cuts, alternative hairstyles, and more!
Copyright 2002-2012 by the owners of HaircuttingStories.com