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"No way" he said emphatically.

"I did mine for you" I replied.

"That's different, you're not on display in the changing room are you?" he countered.

"What difference does that make?" I asked.

"The other lads will think I'm some kind of pervert if I turn up there with no pubes."

"Tell them not to look then".

"Ha-ha" he replied.

I thought for a moment.

"You don't do yours, I won't do mine" I said childishly.

"It's up to you" he replied, even more childishly, I thought. It was time to change the subject. But I didn't.

"come with me to the spa, loads of guys go."

"I'm not going to some feminist stronghold, god know's what they'll cut off".

"You go to a woman's hairdresser" I taunted.

"It's unisex".

"And how many other men do you see when you're there?"

"That's not the point" he said, starting to get riled.

I tried to calm him a little.

"I'm not asking you to do anything that I wouldn't, am I?"

"And I'm not asking you to come to my barber".

I paused for a second.

"I don't follow" I said, a puzzled expression on my face.

"All I'm saying is that you go to your place and get done what you want and I'll go to my place and get done what I want and then we're both happy".

"What I'm trying to tell you is that I am not happy. I would prefer you without that tramp's beard that you have for a crotch and I don't think that it's too much to ask."

And then the silence descended. And the TV was louder that evening than it usually is. And the doors got shut a little more forcefully than they usually do.

It was several weeks before I felt able to broach the subject again. I picked a moment when we were both on the sofa watching TV. I had my legs across him and he had one hand resting on my thigh, playing with the clasp at the top of my stocking. At such times he was at his most receptive, his most vulnerable.

"Rich, I don't want us to fight again, but will you try it for me while we're on holiday. They'll have time to grow again before you get back if you really don't like it."

"Try what?" he asked.

"You know, shaving".

"Don't start that again" he said.

I grasped his wrist and pulled his hand away from where it had been resting.

"I'll make the appointment" I ventured.

"I told you - don't ask me to come to your place unless you're prepared to come to mine."

"I'll come to yours, that's not a problem."

"Oh no, missy. Same place, same thing" he said.

"What do you mean?"

"His'n'hers, top'n'tail" he said.

"You've been hanging round with those people again haven't you?" I said.

"What people?" he said, a little too defensively. I let it slide this time, but filed it away for later use.

"What you're saying is that you'll match my Brazillian if I match your haircut, is that it?"

He nodded.

"And what I'm saying is that you can sleep in the spare room tonight" I said, and got up.

I lay there for hours thinking that I really didn't want to go on holiday when there was so much tension between us. My hand strayed to my thigh and then higher and higher, finding comfort in the warmth of my re-growth. My untended bush was meant to be a punishment for Rich, but he was trying hard not to object. Regardless of how things panned out, I knew that I was going to have to get rid of it soon. I had become so used to being smooth that it now seemed wrong to see a dark triangle when I got out of the shower and positively lazy to be able to wind a tuft around my finger. My thoughts turned to the trip to the spa, to the gentle application of the wax, the violence of the actual hair removal and the emerging innocence as the therapist revealed more and more of my most private self.

The following day I made appointments for both of us at the spa and left a note on the table to tell Rich when they were for. I came in late, didn't see him and took myself off to the spare room. The note was still there, there was no comment to give me a clue as to whether he would turn up or not. When I got up the next day he had already gone to some meeting or other. The appointment wasn't until nearly lunchtime so I took things easy and then showered, luxuriating in the hot spray.

I washed my hair slowly, feeling my nipples pucker as I started to think over what Rich had said. He'd come with me to get waxed if I went with him to get my hair cut. He'd never paid too much attention to my hair or how I wore it. It had been much longer when we met, but I had gradually cut it to just below shoulder length as I was finding it harder and harder to spare the time to maintain it. He hadn't objected to it getting shorter, but then again he hadn't encouraged me either. It seemed to be a case of 'whatever's okay with you is okay with me'. So where had this business about me getting a haircut with him come from? There was only one thing for it. I turned the water off and got out of the shower. I dried myself quickly, reaching for my robe straight away rather than going through my moisturising routine. There would be time for that later.

I picked up the phone in the bedroom and rang him. His phone was off. In a meeting. Damn. Back to the bathroom for the moisturiser. This was a well-practised routine which I was careful to hide from Rich most of the time. I wanted it to retain its ability to turn him on as he watched me cover myself ever so gently in the lightly-scented cream. He had never asked me to let him help, the same as with suntan lotion when we were on holiday. Both scenarios had the same outstanding effect on him and confirmed him very much as a 'watcher' in such circumstances. My fingertips lingered longer on my breasts than usual, although I knew that they were already well-covered with cream. Application with several fingers became caressing with two fingers. My nipples responded faithfully and then became harder as I suddenly realised what was going through Rich's mind. He wanted to watch me get my hair cut, but had not wanted to let me know his secret. And it wasn't just a trim that he wanted to see, it was a major overhaul. A tremor started to build in my lower belly. My caress turned to a pinch, my left hand moved downwards towards my belly. The moment was lost as I encountered hair instead of the smoothness I wanted. I would wait.

I dressed leisurely in my best underwear and finished off with a simple blouse and skirt. Make-up on, I headed for the door. I was outside the spa a full ten minutes before I was due and I waited in the car park for Rich. The minutes ticked by and with the time almost 11 I was forced to accept that he wasn't coming. I don't really know why I expected anything else.

Although I hated nearly everything about the process of waxing, I loved the finished product. In less than half an hour I was back in the car, streamlined and ready to go. I smoothed a wrinkle in my skirt, taking the opportunity for a furtive stroke of my groin. The skirt was too thick for me to feel any real benefit, but it was enough for me to know what was there now. No longer a tangle of hairs, but a porcelain smooth mound leading to untold pleasure. Unless of course you were too stupid to turn up to your appointment, as was the case apparently with my beloved Rich.

I left the car park, the slight wheel spin completely unintentional, although I did derive some satisfaction from having done it and from seeing people look around to see what sort of hooligan was in their midst. I drove towards town.

I had intended to exercise Rich's credit card a little more than he would have liked, but try as I might I just couldn't work up the enthusiasm. I walked past shop after shop, but nothing drew me out of my world and into theirs. And then I saw it. I crossed the road at a trot and with one smooth bound I was across the pavement and opening the door. In that short time, from dis-interest to compulsion, all I had seen was the name of the shop - "redz". Trendy spelling, trendy lack of capital letters. Trendy. Or whatever word the young people of today used, anyway.

"Hi" I said, slightly out of breath after my exertion, "Have you got anyone free?"

"What's it for?" came the standard question.

"I feel in need of a bit of colour" I said.

The receptionist looked own towards her appointment book, scribbled quickly and then was on her feet guiding me into the salon.

She introduced me to my stylist, a reassuringly middle-aged, but still attractive lady called Sue. In a matter of seconds I was caped and sitting at a styling station.

"So, what's it to be?" she asked, breaking into a friendly smile.

"Colour" I said. "I need colour."

"And any particular colour?"

"Red. Something vibrant, bright" I said.

"Well, you've come to the right place" she said.

"That's what gave me the idea. I just saw the name across the street and thought I should just do something rash for once in my life."

"There's no harm in that" she said as she walked off to get a colour chart.

I loooked through the samples and pointed to one.

"My, my, that is bright" she said. "And are we doing anything with the length?"

"I think the colour is enough for now" I said.

And that was it. Painless. Within two hours I was standing in front of the full length mirror at home, admiring myself. Half an hour later I had actually decided on what I would wear to put an end to hostilities with Rich. I could actually have done with it all having taken a little longer as the wait for him to come home seemed interminable. Then there it was, the sound of his key in the door.

I heard him put his case down and hang up his coat. That was my cue to come out of the kitchen. He stopped dead.

"What......?" he started to say.

"You missed your appointment" I said, interrupting him.

"I couldn't get out of my meeting...." he started to say lamely.

"And you would have if you could have, is that it?" I asked.

He hadn't actually noticed that my dress wasn't fitting quite the way that it would normally. He did notice though when I slipped it off one shoulder, the zip already undone. He noticed the basque and the stockings, but his gaze returned to my hair.

"Your hair..." he said.

"You have until I count to 3 and then the wrapper goes back on your new toy........." I said. I didn't need to get beyond 1.

He was like a man possessed when he slipped off my panties and saw the results of my first appointment. All the tension of recent times was gone. Thanks to his deft tongue, I came before he had even got his trousers undone. He broke away while he undressed. I glanced towards the window, wondering what any neighbour would say if they walked up to the front door and happened to look in the front window.

I looked up at him as he came back towards me. My gaze lowered to his belly. Whatever I had done, it was what he wanted. I could see that. He started to get to his knees. I took my cue and turned over, head to the floor, buttocks raised. I felt one of his hands gather my hair as the other hand was guiding himself into me. His tip was nuzzling the lips of my pussy for the briefest of moments and then he thrust into me. He tugged back my head, arching my back. Although I had plenty of other things to be thinking about just at that moment, I had a sudden worry about not being able to wear a skirt for a while until the carpet burns had healed on my knees. For several seconds he was thrusting into me more forcefully, more passionately than I think he had ever done and then almost as quickly he withdrew. He moved around in front of me and standing now, he bent down to touch me on the shoulder, urging me up. I went to stand, but it was clear that he wanted me still kneeling.

He bent slightly to touch my chin, moving his fingers across to touch my hair. He brushed it forward with his fingers, covering my face with a red curtain. He pressed his thumb to my cheek and then I realised that it wasn't his thumb. He was wrapping his glistening penis with my hair. I reached up to replace his hand with mine, careful to keep the strands of hair wrapped around him. I masturbated him slowly with my right hand while stroking his leg with my left, higher and higher.

"Do you want me to cut it?" I asked him softly. He moaned.

"Tell me what you want me to do" I said a little louder.

"Cut it" he said breathlessly.

"How?"

"Short".

"How short? I teased.

"All......" he started to say. He was suddenly distracted by the thrust in his groin and I was distracted by the warm glob of semen in my eye. I flinched, he spasmed again, catching me on the breast this time. I pulled him in to me, taking him in my mouth. His spasms subsided. My own still flickered on as we hugged and caressed. In all of our time together we had never coupled like that, he had never come on my face, but then neither had anyone else. I was surprised, a little shocked and more than a little turned on by the thought.

We subsided to the floor and held each other silently for what seemed like an age, before the practicalities of being uncomfortable set in. Rich got up first and headed for the shower. I joined him and let him wash my hair. I had hoped for a repeat performance, but I think that given the intensity of what had just happened, I was being overly-optimistic.

We didn't make eye-contact until I was combing my damp hair at the dresser.

"The hairdresser said that she thought this colour was a bit slutty - she doesn't know how right she was!" I exclaimed. Rich smiled an awkward smile. I got up and hugged him.

Over the coming weeks I got used to the new me. The red faded slightly, and it was starting to be chased out by the new growth of my natural mousey hair. The red had been fun, but never as much fun as that first day. It brought out the slut in both of us and changed our relationship quite dramatically, but regardless of what we did, we couldn't recapture that moment.

Over breakfast I looked up from my toast and said "Isn't it about time you got your hair cut?".

Normally there was little that I could say that would get Rich to look up from his newspaper, but this time he did. He blushed slightly. I put my hand to my own hair and ran my fingers from my scalp to the ends. "I need to get something done about my roots" I said. He looked back down at his paper without saying a word.

It was while I was doing the dishes that I could hear him talking in the study. Not what he was saying, just that he was talking to someone. A business call probably. He stayed in there for a while, giving me time to finish tidying up downstairs and make the bed. He appeared at the bedroom door, leaning in slightly, taking his weight on the hand holding the frame.

"I'm just popping down to get my hair cut, since you think it's such a mess."

"Okay" I said, barely pausing to look up at him.

"Do you want to go for lunch after?" he asked nonchelantly.

"Okay" I said again.

"Come on then" he urged.

He drove a little faster than he would normally and I could see his frustration at not being able to find a parking space within spitting distance of his hairdressers. Finally stationary, he took the key from the ignition.

"Where do you want to meet?" I asked.

"I need to run" he said "Just come in with me".

And with that I followed him into his Unisex sanctuary for the first time. It wasn't quite as feminine as I had thought, but it was a long way from being a masculine retreat. He nodded a greeting to the receptionist.

"Hi Rich" the receptionist said.

"Do you want to follow me, Mrs Hastings?" she said. I looked at Rich.

"You said you wanted your roots doing." he said, a little shyly.

"I know, but I thought you might like to help me decide what to do." I said.

"I'll come down with you, while I wait for Fran", he said.

True to his word, he followed me like a lost sheep as I in turn chased after the receptionist.

"Hi Rich" said the stylist "so this is the lovely Mrs Rich" she said looking at him. "Pleased to meet you Mrs Hastings, I'm Fran" she said, turning her gaze towards me.

"But...." I started.

"I thought it would be nice for us to have the same hairdresser" he said.

"Well, yes...." I said, not wanting to offend Fran.

She swung a cape towards me, holding it out for me to get my arms in. I sat down, suitably protected.

"Now, Mrs Hastings, what are we going to do about these roots?" she said.

"Call me Jenny, please Fran. 'Mrs' makes me feel old" I said.

She smiled. "I know exactly what you mean".

She reached up and ran her fingers through my hair.

"So are we touching up here.....?" she asked.

Before I could answer, Rich had jumped in.

"Can you sort things out without re-doing the colour?" he said.

"Typical man" Fran said quickly, looking at me.

"I just thought if it was shorter......." he said, somewhat shyly.

"The roots will still be there even if I cut it shorter" Fran said to him. I was starting to feel left out.

"Not if you cut it short enough" he replied.

"You aren't giving me much to work with here, are you?" she said.

"I don't know, a number three should do it" he said.

"And what does your wife have to say about that?" she said, a little sharply.

His wife was feeling left out. His wife was thinking back to the recent lows and highs of their relationship. She was thinking about the effect the unexpected dye job had had on him. What would he be like if she gave him what he wanted?

"Jenny?" she said.

"I don't mind, really. Whatever the two of you think" I said, trying to appear non-committal. Trying to hide my apprehension at being here. Trying to hide my fear of what could happen. Trying to hide my arousal and wondering whether I was foolish to let it cloud my judgment. Of course I was.

"So you're putting this lovely hair at the mercy of Sweeney Todd here?" she said, smiling.

"Whatever he wants" I smiled at her.

"Well, well, Rich. Looks like you're a very lucky man," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"I know I am" he replied.

"Pleeeease" I said in mock embarrassment.

"So Rich, the choice is yours" Fran said, adopting the tone of a quiz show host.

He hesitated. He held up a finger searching for a second to think.

"Is that your final answer?" she asked. I hate it when people say that.

Thankfully he nodded, rather than saying the obvious.

"One it is" she said, waiting for me to object. I didn't know the implications of what she was saying just then. She was giving me the opportunity to object, but I wasn't sufficiently wise to the finer points of men's haircutting to know what she was about to do to me.

The stylist picked something up from the shelf next to her and placed it close to her mouth. She blew sharply into the object and then almost immediately there was a mechanical buzzing sound. It stopped. She was just testing something. It started again and I felt her hand on my neck, brushing hair out of the way. The noise got closer to my ears and then I felt it. The sensation moved up the back of my neck close to my ear. Higher and higher. It went back down again and moved up next to where it had just been. The stroke this time was firmer, more confident. It went higher.

"All over?" I heard her say to Rich. He must have nodded as I didn't hear him reply.

She bent down to look at me. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"If it keeps him quiet." I said, pretending to be unmoved by the whole affair.

She didn't speak again until the clippers were turned off. I had already given up on feeling terrified as I saw the progress of the clippers over my scalp. There was no point. I was enjoying the sensation, but still trying to think up a cover story for friends and colleagues.

She touched up the edges at the nape of my neck and then it was quiet again. No longer the flame-haired tart - I was now a mousey convict. She brushed away the stray hairs around my collar and then I was free from the gown. Feminine clothes revealed to counter the masculine haircut. I liked it better now. I stood up. I leaned towards Rich and whispered in his ear "You had better be grateful".

He sat down in the chair, part of a well-practiced routine with Fran.

"So, what are we doing for you, Rich?" she asked. Not waiting for his answer, she continued "I think you should let your lovely wife decide, don't you?"

He nodded.

"I'll leave it up to you" I said, still engrossed in the change that I had just undergone.

"Well, if it's okay with you, I really don't think that a man should ever have longer hair than his wife. Just a little rule that I have" she said.

I watched in amazement as she drew the clippers over his scalp, from the middle of his forhead to the back. She had taken off the plastic comb on the clippers and they were now leaving nothing behind. She was scalping him. I could only guess what effect watching me get shorn had had on Rich, but I was very conscious of the effect on me. The only saving grace was that my condition was easier to conceal!

I couldn't believe that she shaved his head like that. Equally, I couldn't believe how good it felt as we walked back to the car. He rubbed my scalp and I stroked his. I moved my hand from his scalp to mine and started to think. Then I brought myself back to the moment in hand. I brushed my fingers over his groin and instantly knew the reason he was driving home so fast. I also knew that by tonight this particular groin would be as smooth as my own. All that remained for me to find out was why it was such a turn-on for Rich to see me get my hair cut so short. As we pulled up onto the drive, I decided that such enquiries could wait until later.

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