“Will someone cut my hair?”
Say what you will about Ellie, she knew how to make an entrance.
My junior year at a small rural college in Kentucky found me spending weekends in a trailer with three girls and usually their current boyfriends. Ellie made it clear that she was owned by no one, but we were in as steady a relationship as she was willing to offer at the moment.
I was of course hopelessly smitten – the state enhanced by her absences from the trailer for weekends on end, off to places… and people…. upon which I did not wish to dwell.
A guy with Pam looked up from the TV set. “I will cut it for you,” he said, getting up from the floor.
“Ellie, we will cut it in the bathroom,” I said quickly countermanding the interloper. He looked at me, then slowly sat back down on the floor. While I had no claim on Ellie, I had more claim than anyone else in the trailer, for the two other guys had each paired off with the other two girls sharing the trailer with Ellie.
I herded her back down the short hallway from which she had just emerged, and ushered her into the bathroom. This was of course what she wanted… she was the center of attention, she had my undivided attention, and she was confident of manipulating me into whatever outcome she desired.
I knew all this… I also didn’t care.
Standing five feet – eight inches tall, her thick black hair fell heavily to just above her waist. The trace of Cherokee blood in her ancestry belied itself in her cheekbones and skin coloring – giving her a dusky appearance that was totally alluring to me.
And, while I still cut my sister’s and mother’s hair when I saw them, I had yet to cut the hair of my girlfriend, as tenuous a description of Ellie as could be found.
Yes, there was that unrequited cut of Gretchen’s hair, but after a few trims of the boy crop I had given her, she left my world not to be seen again.
Standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, Ellie looked at me with a knowing smile. Handing me the comb and scissors she held in her hand, she said “Enjoy it.”
Tossing her hair back over her shoulder and allowing it to swing along her back, she said “And if you do a good job, I may let you trim it again. Maybe.”
Had I been that obvious? I didn’t think so… but Ellie could show exceptional perception when it suited her. That perception, I decided, was about to be tested.
Ellie’s hair, heavy and straight, was spotlessly clean and dry. Perfect for the cut I had in mind.
Her hair was precisely parted down the center of her head. This made life easier for me, as I just had to sweep the section of hair that fell behind her ears forward over her shoulders.
I combed the back of her hair to its full length just above her waist, then turned her around so she faced me.
I made a triangular part from the middle of her head, angling down to her temples, pulling her hair forward, covering her face. Placing the shears above her eyebrows, I sawed through the heavy lock I held in my left hand. The hair came free, and mid-length bangs neatly arced across her forehead.
Wide eyes of shock and disbelief stared at me, her mouth open as she sucked in air.
“What…. Bangs? I have never had bangs….”
“You can’t have a Louise Brooks bob without bangs,” I sad as I again turned her, this time with her right side facing me. I could see Ellie shifting her eyes to get a glimpse of her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
“Bob? A bob is short, Martin. I can’t have my hair cut short. I have always had long hair.”
I angled the
comb from the corner of her mouth to just above her earlobe, the using this as a guide, cut three feet of her hair with the scissors. After I cleaned up the line of the cut, I again turned her so her left side was facing me. Now she could see her cut side out of the corner of her eye. I heard a gasp.
“Martin, my hair….”
“Will look stunning,” I said, finishing the sentence for her.
To Ellie’s great credit, she knew further protests would be pointless. She stood quietly as I sheared away the left side of her hair, matching the length of the right.
Turning her again, with her back toward me, she could fully face the mirror and see her banged and bobbed front and sides. Her hands came up as the touched the ends of her shorn sides.
“I hate what you are doing to me,” Ellie said softly.
“If you still hate it in the morning, I will apologize,” I said gently pushing her head down.
Some of Ellie’s long-hair combs that she used to keep her locks out of her face were on the counter. I used these to hold the mass of hair that was above her occipital bone out of the way. For the rest of this cut, I was sorely missing my lack of clippers.
I quickly sliced through her silken hair at her hairline. Then using the flat side of the comb as a guide, I did quick barber-style snips, working the comb up the back of her head to the part by the occipital bone. It took a few minutes to get the back clipped down to a neat, uniform quarter-inch. Picking up a nearby razor, I dampened her nape, and quickly stroked away the neck hairs that the scissors could not completely remove. For lack of the proper tools, I was improvising pretty well.
The final step was to take out the combs, and let the remaining hair fall down to its original length. She would feel this hair hit her nape and would feel the weight disappear as I blunt-cut the back to complete the bob.
I glanced in the mirror and saw a stern mask staring back at me. Holding the back locks between my fingers, I cut the remaining hair, allowing it to tumble to the floor of the bathroom. When I finished, Ellie had a neatly-scissored inverted bob that exposed a hint of ear and a beautifully shaped nape.
Using a towel, I brushed the clipped hairs off her neck and shoulders.
“Done,” I said.
She looked at me in the mirror.
“Why?” she asked.
I spun her around so she faced the mirror, slipped my hands under her skirt, not surprised to find the lack of underwear. Pushing her forward, she caught herself, bracing her hands on the countertop as I quickly entered her. Her head shot up, looking at me in the mirror, as her mouth clamped shut, only partly stifling a sound that was a mixture of a scream and groan, but all animal.
A few minutes later, she had calmed her breathing and turned to face me again.
“That is why,” I said.
Her face flickered through fear, surprise, lust, uncertainty, and loss-of-control, finally settling on cool arrogance.
“Clean this place up,” she said as she walked to the door.
It was déjà vu again, as they say, as for the second time I heard excited screams of shock, surprise and amazement while I swept up massive mounds of shorn tresses.
But Ellie once again was the master of ceremonies for her own life. As I put the cramped bathroom to order, I heard Ellie’s voice through the wall.
“I thought I would try something different. What do you think?”
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