HaircuttingStories.com

When I was in my mid-twenties I met Jenna on “Love at AOL”, which was kind of a precursor to Match.com. We hit it off okay and met for dinner a couple of times. She had a very pretty face and a great smile. She was a very attractive but a little heavy, though she told me she had actually lost about forty pounds not too long before we met. She said she was still working at losing more weight, but I thought she looked pretty good already. Her eyes were very blue and she had a terrific smile, and her hair was gorgeous – it was about mid-back length, very thick, medium-brown in color with some lighter brown highlights expertly scattered through that looked great. She had a center part with no bangs, and she had a lot of expertly cut long layers and it looked beautiful. I mentioned how pretty her hair was on our first date and she smiled and blushed, and then immediately said she had to “confess” that she spent a fortune on it. She said she had a friend who worked in a very expensive salon, and even though her friend gave her a break on the prices she still spent an awful lot on cuts, color, and various products to use on her hair. I said that I thought it was worth it because she looked absolutely great, and she blushed again and smiled.

 I was always very wary about appearing to be “too” interested in hair, so after complimenting her and telling her how beautiful her hair was I tried to casually move on to other subjects. But Jenna kept bringing the conversation back to her hair, telling me how when she was in high school she’d had it really long, down to her waist, and then she cut it all off into a short pixie cut when she went to college. She liked the short hair for a while but then decided to grow it again. She’d been growing it long for the past few years and a few months ago it had been almost to her waist again. She was concerned that super-long hair didn’t look professional enough for her job and one day when she was at her friend’s salon for a trim she told her friend about her concerns and asked what she should do. While they were talking about it her friend sectioned off Jenna’s hair for the usual half-inch trim and then (while they were talking about it, and without really asking Jenna first) snipped off ten inches, bringing the length up to mid-back. Jenna said she was more than a little shocked at first, but then realized that her friend was right and she had really needed to take off some length.

 Then Jenna said something that made my heart leap and got me very excited, though I tried very hard not to show any outward reaction. She said that was actually “kind of exciting” to sit there in the chair and have somebody else decide your haircut. She said that she’s always been so particular about her hair all her life, and that sitting in the chair and having someone else decide she was going to get ten inches cut off when all she wanted was a trim was “kind of fun, like I was under a spell or something.”

 Jenna kind of laughed at herself and said she hoped I didn’t think that was too weird. I didn’t answer her for a few moments because I was absolutely stunned by the possibilities running through my head. I found myself thinking that maybe Jenna has a haircutting fetish like me! Wouldn’t that be indescribably awesome if it turned her on to be taken to a salon and have me decide what haircut she gets? I couldn’t believe this might actually be true and my mind was running at top speed through the possibilities this might open up and how I should best go about dealing with this. Meanwhile, of course, Jenna was still waiting for an answer, so I stammered through something about how I didn’t think it was weird at all and I’m sure lots of girls would probably feel the same way.

 Jenna seemed satisfied by my answer and she jumped right back into her story, telling me how after her friend took it upon herself to take off ten inches from the length, she also decided (again, without asking Jenna first) that Jenna’s hair needed lots of layers to give it movement and style. Jenna told me that as her friend was cutting the long layers she could see big pieces of her hair getting snipped off, piece after piece, and even though she was “kind of freaking out” on the inside, she was also still feeling like she was under a spell or something, like she had no control over what was happening to her. She said it was almost like she was “trapped under the cape” and was helpless to do anything as her friend cut the long layers. My mind was still reeling with the possibility that maybe I’d actually found a hot girl with a haircutting fetish, but I was completely focused on her story and getting more and more excited by the second.

 My mind almost exploding with the possibilities in front of me if I was right about Jenna, I barely managed to stammer something unintelligent like, “So, you felt like you under a spell?”

 Jenna didn’t seem to notice how excited or distracted I was. She just nodded and said she almost felt like she couldn’t even move under the cape. Then she said, “Don’t tell anyone, but it was kind of hot! You know, I’m not a lesbian or anything, but it was kind of hot to have her in control like that.”

 Since this was only our first date, I thought the only logical way to interpret that statement was that Jenna was simply flirting by telling me she was turned on having someone else in control. Since I have a tendency to over-analyze things, I couldn’t decide if she was telling me this particular story because she had a specific interest in haircutting, or if she was just flirting by telling me she enjoyed having someone else take control in a general way. Since I had not met any other women with an interest in having me control the fate of her hair, I was reluctant to believe it had actually happened. I thought it much more likely that Jenna was just flirting in a general sort of way, and had happened to pick a story that involved her hair simply by coincidence.. But I couldn’t ignore the possibility that maybe I had actually found someone who would enjoy having me act out my fantasy and take her to a salon and tell the stylist to cut her hair the way I wanted it.

 As the evening wore on and Jenna kept mentioning her hair every now and then, I couldn’t help but hope that maybe she had a specific interest in haircutting just like I did. But I also thought that maybe she mentioned it so often because she noticed that I seemed very interested in the topic of her hair, maybe (she probably thought) because it was so beautiful, and that she had no idea I was actually getting turned on by the talk of haircutting and control. I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions or say anything too specific because I was still tremendously anxious about what I thought would be embarrassment of having people find out I got turned on by haircutting. I knew I had to wait until I was sure she shared my interests before I could admit anything out loud.

 The rest of the dinner went by quickly and we were getting along pretty well. She seemed to find a way to mention her hair every so often, but I still didn’t know if that was because she was interested in it, or because she thought I was interested in it. Our second date the following weekend went pretty much the same way, with her making a comment about her hair every so often. At one point she mentioned again how she had cut her hair short when she went away to college, and I asked her how that had happened. I was hoping she had another story like the first, about how it had been cut by a stylist who didn’t wait for Jenna’s permission to start. However, she just told me that when she went to college in the late 1980’s many of the other girls had short hair, and she felt out of place with her waist length hair, so she went to a nearby mall and had it cut into a fairly short, somewhat spiked pixie cut.

 I asked her how she liked short hair after being used to having her hair so long. She said that she had like it just fine and that it saved her tons of time in the morning having it short. She added that she should probably cut her hair short again because it’s so much more practical and professional-looking. Her next sentence froze me in place like time itself had stopped. I still remember every word she said.
 “But now I’ve gotten so used to having it long; I’ll probably never go short again. Unless, you know, I had to.”

 I almost felt like I couldn’t breathe for a moment or two. Was she really telling me that she would get a short haircut if someone, maybe even me, told her to? Was she letting me know that was something she’d do? Or was I reading too much into what she was saying? I waited to see if she would say anything else that would help me, but she didn’t. I desperately wanted her to say something clear, like telling me she would only get a short haircut if her boyfriend or (someday) her husband took her to the salon and told her she was getting a short haircut. But, of course, she didn’t say anything like that – that would have been too easy…

 I told myself not to jump to conclusions or say anything embarrassing. I told myself that maybe she meant someday she might get a job where her boss told her she needed a more professional hairstyle, or maybe she meant that when she had kids someday she would have to cut her hair so they wouldn’t yank on it. I didn’t know what to think. Maybe she was telling me that she was hoping I’d step up and take control of her hair, and that if I did that it would turn her on. I just didn’t know what she was thinking, and I was very afraid of jumping to the wrong conclusion and saying something that would let her know I had a haircutting fetish. The girls I’d dated before had never been very understanding when I’d told them about my hair interests, and had generally seemed to think I had something wrong with me. Some had been downright cruel, accusing me of being a sexual deviant and stuff like that. I was tired of that happening and I didn’t want it to happen again.

 Even though I was hopeful that maybe Jenna truly had a haircutting fetish and wanted me to take her to a salon for a short cut, I was far too timid about voicing my hair interests to say anything. I mumbled something noncommittal and we went on with dinner. We were still getting along fine and the dinner went very well. We went out for a while afterwards but didn’t go back to my place or hers. We had a very nice, long kiss goodnight, though, so I was hopeful of my chances on our next date.

 During the week we often exchanged instant messages on AOL whenever we were online together. I didn’t really like IM’s, but she put me on her friends list and would send me something every time she saw me online.

 On Thursday afternoon the next week I was online in the late afternoon. Jenna sent me an instant message to say hello, and after a few minutes of chatting she sent me one that stopped me cold.
 She wrote: “I’m going to the salon for my appointment in a few minutes. Do you want me to tell her to give me bangs?” 

 I only hesitated for a moment, since I was actually a little more comfortable with her not being able to see my reaction. I thought quickly and decided to go for it, hoping she was really asking what I thought she was asking. I wrote back that yes, she should get bangs cut. She asked if I was sure and I tried to be as assertive as I could without being creepy. I wrote: “Definitely. Tell her to cut some nice, thick bangs, a little on the long side so you can brush them to one side. I think you would look great with that.”

 I was hoping she’d write something that would give me a little clarification as to what she was thinking, but she didn’t. She just wrote, “Okay” and that she’d see tomorrow night when I came over to have dinner. I was hoping there might be some way to go pick her up right now and take her to the salon myself, but I didn’t see how I could possibly manage that. I thought that if I took her to the salon to have bangs cut I could make a pretty accurate assessment as to whether she was getting turned on by having me decide she should get bangs, or if she was just flirting with me in a general way and doing it by asking me about bangs was just a coincidence. I asked her in the IM when her appointment was and she said it was in just a few minutes and she had to run out the door right now. Since she lived abut a half an hour away from me, I knew I couldn’t manage to get over there in time. Figuring out what was going on would have to wait, but I was more and more hopeful as time went on that she had a haircutting fetish that fit in very nicely with my own.

 The next twenty-four hours seemed to last forever, since I was dying to see if Jenna had actually gotten bangs and, if she had, if she had gotten long bangs that she brushed to one side. I loved the way that looked when it fell over a girl’s eye, and I was hoping she had gotten them cut that way. I was very much hoping that she had done so because that would be a good indication that she was going to do what I wanted with her hair, and that would be absolutely awesome! I figured that if she had gotten the bangs cut that way I would feel confident that she had a “thing” for being told what to do with her hair, and that opened up all sorts of possibilities for us.

 When I got to her house to pick her up I almost ran to the door, so eager was I to see if she had gotten the bangs I told her to get. When she answered my knock I saw that she indeed gotten thick bangs cut, and that they were a little on the long side. They weren’t brushed to one side, but other than that they looked pretty close to what I had told her to get.

 Jenna held up her hands, indicating the new bangs, and said, “Ta-da!” She was smiling as she asked how I liked them. I told her she looked great and she blushed. Suddenly she said, “Oh, wait a second,” and she reached up with her fingers to brush her bangs off to one side.

 “I believe you requested bangs brushed to the side, sir,” she said jokingly, smiling all the while. My heart leaped again, hoping that I wasn’t wrong in assuming she got her bangs cut exactly like I told her to because she liked me being in control of her hair.

 Jenna laughed again as she struck a pose in her doorway, hands on her hips and her left leg forward. “So, how do you like the bangs now? Side-parted, of course, not center-parted!”

 I told her again that she looked great, but I felt the tiniest little pang in my gut that maybe she was mocking me a little. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was laughing at the thought of her cutting her bangs a certain way because I told her to, and instead had just gotten her bangs cut the way she wanted to regardless of whatever I may have wanted.

 The moment passed and I went inside her condo with her. We had a great time together again, and once again she mentioned her hair a number of times. She asked me several more times if I really liked the new bangs, and each time I told her I did. She would brush her bangs to one side and then lean in close and ask if I really liked them as she leaned in to kiss me. She seemed to be perfectly fine with everything that had gone on and I began to think that I had been mistaken when I thought she’d been gently mocking me earlier.

 Even though I was dying to ask about her salon visit, I didn’t want to seem overly eager. Luckily, she brought it up herself, transitioning smoothly into her salon visit after asking me for the third time if I really liked her bangs. 

 “I can’t believe you had me get bangs,” she said in mock disbelief, shaking her head as she fingered her hair. “You wouldn’t believe how much hair was in my lap when she was done!” 

 I tried to sound casual, saying I could imagine it was a lot, since she was going from no bangs to bangs and her hair was halfway down her back. Inside, however, I was far from casual.. I was intensely focused on her saying, “…you had me get bangs…” and what that probably meant. I was becoming more and more comfortable with believing that I had finally found someone who would get as turned on by having me in control of her hair as I would be by being in control of her hair. I was quite pleased and became even more so as I let myself grow more and more comfortable with the idea that I would be able to indulge my fantasy without worrying about being called a freak or having my girlfriend tell me there was something very wrong with me.

 Throughout the evening Jenna continued to make comments like, “I can’t believe you had me get bangs” and “I can’t believe I got bangs just because you told me to!” I felt like mentioning that she had actually brought up bangs first, and had asked me if I wanted her to get them, but I was hopeful that Jenna was indulging in her own fantasies by saying that she had gotten bangs because I “told her to”, so I didn’t attempt to correct her. We wound up in her bedroom that evening, and while we were having sex she showed a definite interest in submission, asking me to hold her wrists down and at one point telling me to cover her mouth with my hand to keep her from talking. I thought that boded well for the prospect that she would enjoy having me take charge of her haircut, so I bided my time and waited for the next opportunity to mention it.

 As expected, after only a few minutes Jenna said something about her bangs and how she couldn’t get over how she had gotten so much hair cut off simply because I told her to get bangs. She said there were “piles of it” on her lap when her friend finished cutting the bangs. From my position on top of her, face to face, I ran my fingers through her thick dark hair, grabbing two fistfuls of it and pulling her head back slightly. Her lips parted and I could tell she was excited by the control I was exerting.

 “I want to see more than just bangs getting cut,” I said in a low, husky voice. “I want to take you to a salon and have them give you a very short haircut.” I ran my hand through her long dark hair as I said, “I want to walk in there with you and tell you to sit in the chair quietly as I instruct the stylist how to your hair; I want to watch as all this length comes off; and I want to see you walk out of there with a short, sexy pixie. How would you like that?”

 I was fairly confident by that point that Jenna would be “into” my fantasy, and her reaction appeared to confirm my hopes. She closed her eyes for a moment, tilting her head back slightly, and ran her hands softly up my back. She pressed her hips up into mine and moved her head from side to side, feeling her hair run through my fingers as she did so. In a low, breathy voice she practically whispered, “You want me to cut my hair short?” I said that I did and she arched her back in obvious pleasure. Her eyes were still closed and she writhed a bit beneath me. When she opened them a few seconds later her eyes were bright and she was still a bit breathless as she whispered, “You want to take me to get all this long, beautiful hair cut off?” As she spoke she ran her fingers through her hair, extending her arms until they were straight out over head, letting thick locks of hair spill between her fingers. I was tremendously turned on by her reaction and could barely keep myself from attacking her in a fit of passion. I murmured again that I wanted to take her to a salon and decide what kind of haircut she would get and once again she appeared to get turned on by that, arching her back and pressing her hips up against mine. As she pulled my face closer to hers, just before she kissed me, she whispered, “Okay.” We kissed passionately for a few moments, and then she pulled slightly back and said very clearly, “You can cut my hair if you want.”

 To say I was thrilled to hear that wouldn’t really do justice to how happy I was at that moment. I fairly attacked her at that point, completely focused on taking care of her with as many orgasms as I could give her to show how much I appreciated her indulging my fantasy. She was certainly happy with my performance, telling me over and over again how great I was making her feel. To be honest, though, I was already concentrating so hard on how I could work out the details of taking her to a salon and getting her a sexy, short pixie cut that I hardly even heard her.

 Throughout our lovemaking that night she mentioned her hair and getting it cut numerous times, much more often than I did. I took that as a good sign, especially when each time she mentioned being taken to a salon for a short haircut it seemed to turn her on a little more each time. A couple of times I would grab her hair in a thick ponytail and tug on it a little, whispering that I would be taking all this gorgeous hair someday very soon. Both times I did that she reacted with obvious excitement, smiling easily, eyes bright, and breathing quickly in arousal. At one point I ran my fingers through her thick dark hair and whispered that I couldn’t wait to take her to a salon for her haircut, and maybe we should do it first thing in the morning. She murmured back that I could take her there whenever I wanted and that she “belonged” to me. I liked the sound of that and continued to think of the logistics of taking Jenna to a mall or salon the next day and getting her a nice short pixie.

 I spent the night and woke up in bed next to Jenna. She was already awake and looking at me with a smile on her face. I took that as a good sign, too, that she wasn’t regretting any of last night’s events or thinking I was weird or disturbed for wanting to cut her hair. She told me that “Jenna doesn’t cook breakfast” and said there was a good diner down the road where we could eat. I told her that was fine with me and we showered quickly and then headed out the door.

 After breakfast I asked her if she wanted to go the mall and “walk around a bit”. She looked at me sideways with a little smile on her face, as though she was guessing that what I really wanted to do was take her to a salon for the haircut we talked about in detail last night. After a moment or two she said the mall was fine and off we went.

 As we walked around the mall I was discreetly checking out the salons I saw, looking for one that was deserted or nearly so. Even though it was only about ten-thirty on a Saturday morning it seemed like every salon we went by had enough people in it that I felt uncomfortable taking Jenna in and acting out my fantasy of directing her haircut. There had been one Regis Salon near where we came in that had three stylists in it, each working on a client, but no one in the waiting area. I decided that might be my best bet and steered Jenna back in that direction. She walked along willingly, holding my hand and chatting cheerfully the whole time. At one point she asked what I was doing and I said that I was just checking things out for what we talked about last night; she simply smiled at me and didn’t press for details.

 As we approached the Regis Salon Jenna slowed down and asked again what I was doing, though she asked with a sort of knowing smile on her face. I told her I was looking for a relatively empty salon for her to get her hair cut. She smiled again and moved a little closer, stroking my thigh with her hand as she leaned in to kiss me. She ran her free hand through her hair and asked me if I was sure about this, if I really wanted to cut off all her long, beautiful hair. I said that I was absolutely positive and she playfully stuck out her lower lip a little like she was pouting, telling me she’d already had “a ton” cut off when she got bangs and asked me if that was enough. I ran my hand down the thick soft hair that hung over her shoulder and halfway down her back and told her softly that I wanted to see “all of this length come off” and that I couldn’t wait to get her back to her house after the haircut to show her how turned on and appreciative I was that she was doing this for me. Again, Jenna just smiled and kissed me.

 I took her hand again and started walking toward the Regis Salon. She came along willingly, smiling up at me and squeezing my hand affectionately. I was in heaven at the thought of finally being able to indulge my fantasy and take a smoking-hot woman to a salon and get all of her long hair cut off into a sexy short pixie. I was still very nervous about the actual details; what I would say, where I would sit or stand, what to do if the stylist asked me questions, etc… But overall I was feeling exceptionally pleased with everything in my life at that moment.

 As we neared the door of the salon I saw a hairstyle photo poster on the wall that was pretty darn close to the exact pixie cut I wanted Jenna to get. It was short on the sides, with sharp “vee’s” of hair in front of the ears, short in the back, and long enough on top that it was brushed off to one side, including in front, where it was just barely hanging over one eye of the model. I would have liked it to be just a little shorter in the back, but on the whole it was close enough that I was willing to use it as a reference. I was very happy to see that, since it meant I could just point to that poster and tell the stylist that was what I wanted Jenna to get. I wouldn’t have to try to explain what I wanted and didn’t want, which would certainly make the whole thing easier on me. If I felt comfortable enough I would tell the stylist to make the back a little shorter, but if I felt a bit awkward and she cut it just like the poster that would be great, too.
 
 I was practically walking on air as we reached the door of the salon, especially when I saw that only one of the stylists was still working on a client. Of the other two I had originally seen one of them was nowhere to be found and the other was sitting in her styling chair, reading a magazine. There was no one in the waiting area. Everything was working out.

 Just as we reached the door Jenna suddenly swerved to the side, pulling me with her by my hand. She still had a smile on her face and was still holding my hand. I asked her what was up and she inexplicably asked me where I wanted to go now. I thought she was still play-acting and I told her I wanted to walk her into this salon and have her take a seat while I discussed her haircut with the stylist. Jenna looked at me for a few moments, still with a smile on her face, and then said something like, “No, really. Where do you want to go now?”

 The stylist who was sitting in her chair was looking up at us as we stood at the door, so I moved us a couple of steps away before answering. I had a sinking feeling in my heart that I had been wrong, wrong, wrong about the whole thing and it was all about to come crashing down.

 “Well, I was being serious,” I said, trying to smile in my state of near-panic that this wasn’t going to work out despite all my hopes and dreams. Jenna was still smiling so I thought maybe she was just playacting at being reluctant or scared to go through with the haircut. “I thought you were okay with this. I’m going to take you inside and tell the stylist to give you a short pixie cut.”

 Jenna starting shaking her head but the smile was still on her face. “I’m not going in there,” she said. “I’m not letting any of those hacks touch my hair.”

 Hoping against hope that there was still a way to salvage this, I asked her if she wanted to make an appointment with her usual stylist. That was when she pretty much dropped playing along.

 “I’m not getting my hair cut,” she said, sounding quite annoyed all of a sudden. She tilted her head and looked at me like she was in disbelief. “You really thought I was going to cut off all my hair just because you wanted me to?”

 Jenna’s voice was a little louder than I would have liked, and in my embarrassment I thought the stylist in the salon could probably hear every word. Jenna wasn’t smiling now and I was actually a little surprised at how quickly she went from pleasant and smiling to sneering and derisive.

 “Why would you want me to cut my hair anyway? What’s wrong with you?” She was definitely speaking more loudly that I was comfortable with, even though she was probably only using a normal tone of voice. To my embarrassed ears, it sounded like shouting. “What kind of a guy wants to take his girlfriend to get all her hair cut off?” Jenna shook her head as though she simply didn’t believe what she was seeing. “I thought we were just playing a little game,” she said in a peevish tone, “and suddenly we’re at the mall and you expect me to let you decide how I get my hair cut? I don’t think so…” She turned away, raising her palm in a very annoying “talk to the hand” gesture.

 In my embarrassment I actually tried to apologize to her, saying I thought she was okay with this and that I never would have tried to get her to do anything unless she wanted to. I was speaking very softly, since it seemed to me that everyone in the mall was listening to us at this point, even though in reality probably no one was paying any attention to us at all.

 Jenna spun around as I walked after her and said in a slightly more even tone of voice, “Look. You seem like a nice guy, and I had fun last night. I did. But that’s all it was to me – fun. I didn’t think you really wanted to watch me get my hair cut. I mean, really, who does that? Why would you want to watch me get a haircut? What’s the big deal?”

 I started to answer her, hoping that maybe I could explain things a little, but she didn’t want to hear it. “I’m sorry you misunderstood me, but come on? I mean, really… You actually thought I was going to go to a salon with you and get all my hair cut off? No fucking way,” she said, shaking her head emphatically. “If you thought that there is something definitely wrong with you, dude. This isn’t going to work out at all between us.”

 I thought that last comment was a bit unnecessary. Did she think I still wanted to go out with her after that verbal lashing about how stupid and mistaken I was? She told me to drive her home and I was happy to do it, eager to drop her off and get away from her telling me how foolish I had been to actually believe her when she said she would let me cut her hair and that she “belonged” to me.

 In the car on the way back to her house she seemed to soften a bit, telling me she was sorry to “unload” on me like that but that she just “couldn’t” cut her hair the way I wanted her to. She said that she could tell I was upset with the whole incident, so it was probably best if she didn’t call me or email me anymore, but that if I wanted to talk to her sometime I could call her. I told her I’d think about it but I really wasn’t considering any future with someone who would talk down to me like that.

 To this day I don’t know how I could have been so mistaken about things with Jenna. I could have sworn she was very into it, very turned on, during the whole thing the previous night. I was very clear about what I wanted and she seemed to have been very clear that she was willing to do that and that it would turn her on as well. I suspect that she was initially willing to cut her hair the way I wanted, but at the last minute she chickened out and didn’t know how to get out of it, so she lashed out at me and pretended that she had never intended to through with it. That’s my best guess, but maybe I just completely misread things from the beginning. I have no idea…

Rate this story now.
5- Excellent 4- Very good 3- Good 2- Needs work 1- Poor  

Enter some comments about this story or see what others have said on the forums.