A professor of mine once told me that the key to writing anything was understanding and that understanding came from research. It's strange how things like that stay with you, only to resurface years later. Well, about ten years later to be a little more precise. So, I suppose that I have him to blame for where I am now.
If only he knew that his words would lead me to a funky hairdressing salon in town in search of experience. Any sort of experience. I had been reading haircutting stories for months, good, bad and indifferent. As fast as they appeared, always wanting more. Just about every conceivable scenario had been written about, and even some that would never dawn on the average reader. No matter how good the story, I was always left wanting more, wanting to know more, wanting to know how the story evolved. Was it all imagination or was there an element of truth?
The obvious answer to my thirst was to write my own stories, although that removed the element of surprise for me. After a couple of attempts, I decided that the element of surprise was important. I liked to read a story not knowing in advance how it was going to end. I also liked to read stories with a little more detail and lead-in before the girl with the long hair got it all shaved off for no apparent reason. I wanted to feel that I was there, wanted to know what the atmosphere was like and my stories so far had been lacking in that respect. Of course I had been in innumerable salons over the years, but most of those visits had been wasted. My interest in hair-cutting had only recently been awakened, and my deeper interest in writing about hair-cutting experiences was only a matter of weeks old.
To look at me you would never know of my interest in slightly more extreme hair matters. My hair is shoulder length, mousey, cared-for, but in a neglected sort of way. Trimmed regularly, but never very much. I've taken an interest in what has been going on in the salon around me on previous visits, but only on a superficial level. I had never engineered visits to salons where there was likely to be more adventurous cutting or colouring, but if it was going on I had looked. Ever since I stumbled across haircutting stories though, my interest has developed, feelings have deepened. I have started to understand.
Then the dilemma begins. What to do? Do I keep observing, do I take the plunge myself?
"I'm sorry to keep you, Jenny", came the voice. Reality interrupted my revervie. I looked up and smiled. The stylist was probably in her late twenties, two or three years younger than myself. Very vivacious, slim, well-proportioned. Collar-length hair that obviously had a lot of care and attention lavished on it. It had been expertly coloured in a shade that I'm sure had some exotic name, but to me was black, deepest black. A black that was blue. I tried not to stare, but it was so difficult. I just wanted to commit as much of this to memory as I could for use later on.
"No problem" I replied, with a smile that was a little less practised than hers.
"I'm Susie, by the way" she said.
"Pleased to meet you, Susie" I said. The key to what I was doing rested in it being an unfamiliar scenario. It just wouldn't work in my usual salon. Although I had already decided that a 'usual salon' was a thing of the past for me. I followed her through to the main salon, trying to watch her, to look at my new surroundings, to look for other customers, everything at once. It struck me amost immediately that part of my plan had already been blown out of the water. I had not yet got a gown on and here I was with a major part of my research going up in flames. It wasn't an open salon back here, it was sort of a cubicle arrangement, so you couldn't actually see what anyone else was getting done. True, there were the sounds and smells of a salon, but that isn't the same when you are trying to gather snippets to put into a story. How can you describe what you can't see? My mind was working in over-drive. I should leave. Try somewhere else.
Susie was holding open one half of a sort of ranch door that led into the cubicle. Unless you were either very short or very small there was little chance of seeing anything in here. She had picked up on my reservations.
"Don't worry, I don't bite" she said, with that smile again.
"It's just..." I said.
"I know, it's a little unusual. That's what they were aiming for when they did the design. Something a little different from the usual salon setting. The idea is that it makes the customer feel a little more comfortable than some vast expanse of floorspace. A bit more like getting your hair done at home."
"No, it's fine" I said, "I've just never been anywhere like this before".
"Exactly, that's the intention. Make it seem like a different experience."
She held out a gown for me. Arms in first. Need to remember details like that, I thought. I declined coffee and sat in the styling chair.
"Now then, Jenny, what can I do for you?" she asked. She stood behind me, fingers already running through my hair.
"So the receptionist didn't tell you?" I queried.
"To tell you the truth, the girl who took your booking isn't in today and none of us could decipher what she had written in the diary".
I nodded. Here was my chance. Quick trim and out. Appointment somewhere else tomorrow to gather more information for my story.
"So what's it to be?" she persisted.
I couldn't do it. I don't know why, but I had taken a liking to her. She was friendly without being over-bearing, she was a smart looking girl, she was ideal. It was just the salon. Time to decide. What was I here for? Would I get the whole experience somewhere else, I doubt it. Wherever I went, I would have to compromise on something. There would always be something not quite right. Here I had got a stylist that I liked, and that was a vital element. I would stay.
I swivelled round in the chair to face her. "Well, Susie, I thought that I would leave it up to you." I said. She pulled a wide-eyed, surprised face.
"Your choice, cut, colour, both, neither, it's up to you," I said.
"You're not going to give me a clue?" she asked.
"Anything you want," I said. Easily said, but quite what I was letting myself in for, I wasn't sure. This would give me the material for a story, but would I be able to go to work next week, that was the real concern.
"Wow, you're a brave lady" she said.
"More like a bored one" I replied.
"Ah, but are you an adventurous, bored one?" she asked.
"You're only young once" I replied, surprising myself with just how corny that sounded.
"I think we should have that coffee first" she said.
She turned away from me and went out of the doors back into the main part of the salon. I was alone with my thoughts. I looked around me and then stopped. Time to decide how I was feeling. Remember it. I was certainly nervous about what other people would say, but I was strangely calm about the actual process that I was about to go through. What exactly was I about to go through? I could just walk out of here with my split ends trimmed. Susie could be the world's least adventurous stylist for all I knew. She was back. Two expensive looking cups on a tray. She placed them on the table just to one side of me. I reached over to pick one up, but then set it back down again, knowing that it would be too hot.
"So, you trust me then?" she said.
"You've got that sort of face," I replied. She smiled. She turned the chair around so that I was facing the mirror and she was standing behind me again.
"OK, let's shave it all off, shall we?" she said.
"If you want," I replied.
"Well, that wasn't what I expected you to say," she replied.
"You really can do whatever you want, just don't tell me what it is," I said. I kicked myself for not saying that to her first of all. I wanted uncertainty, I wanted some tension. Was the game up by what she had just said? No, it was just a throwaway remark, I'm sure.
She started cutting. I started to concentrate. She changed position, opting to perch on a wheeled stool while she worked. Her face was close to mine. Concentrating on what she was doing rather than on me. Intimate, yet not intimate. The cubicle was silent except for the sound of the scissors, still apart from the occasional movement of the stool. I was trying to register sensations, actions, smells, but then I realised that I really was getting a trim. The tension was there in the room, expectation, uncertainty, and all for a trim. Perhaps it was for the best. I would go somewhere else tomorrow, just as I had thought before I came in here with Susie. At least I would have the benefit of being here, have the benefit of meeting Susie. I liked her, she would definitely appear in a story, just not as someone doing a half inch trim. Certainly not as someone doing a half inch trim as fast as she was doing this one. She was almost done.
She put the scissors down.
"You've not drunk your coffee" she said.
Once more she had shocked me out of my little world. I reached over for the cup and downed the contents in one, rather un-lady-like gulp. I was ready to get out of there. I put the cup down.
She started to brush my hair out again and put the brush down after a few strokes. She had hardly made any impression in my hair since I came in, so there was little to be done to sort it out. She turned the chair so that I was facing her again. She looked at me intently, perched on her stool.
"It suits you like that" she said, smiling that smile again.
"Thank you" I said meekly.
"You sound disappointed," she said.
"I just thought that a hairdresser would kill for the chance to do anything they liked" I said.
"I try to behave myself on the first date" she replied.
"Very wise" I replied, not quite understanding her remark.
"Did you really think that I would go wild without knowing anything about you?" she said.
"So you'd be a bit more daring if you knew me, is that what you're saying?"
She nodded, pushing herself and her stool away with her feet.
"Okay" I said slowly, "how about lunch?" I asked.
"I don't do lunch" she said.
"Dinner?" I ventured.
"A drink, and then we'll see" she replied.
What was I getting myself into, I wondered. She took the cape off me and walked with me to reception where she took my money for the cut.
"I finish at 6" she said as I turned for the door. I kept walking, not quite knowing what to say.
I hurried home, eager to write down whatever I could remember of what had gone on in the salon. It certainly hadn't been the experience that I was expecting, but then I hadn't expected it to develop into a social event either. I spent rather longer at my computer than I had anticipated and ended up hurrying to get changed and showered before it was time to go out. It was all rather rushed, but I made it to the salon for a minute after 6. I had watched one of the stylists leave as I walked up the street and initially thought that it was Susie, having given up on me. The lights were dimmed in the salon window, but further back in the salon they were still on full. I knocked on the glass door. Nothing. I knocked again. I saw a head pop round one of the partitions in the salon. Susie.
My heart pounded as I watched her walk towards the door. She beamed as she opened it for me. "Hi" she said, welcoming me as if she hadn't seen me for years, rather than hours.
"I didn't think that you would come" she said.
"Here I am" I said, arms held out from my sides.
She walked further into the salon. I followed. We were back in the cubicle. There was a bottle of wine on the table where the coffee had been earlier.
"I thought we were going out" I said.
"I'd rather be here than being pestered by half-drunk idiots in a bar" she said.
"You're lucky you get the half-drunk ones" I said, taking the glass from her.
She motioned to me to sit again, as she took up her perch on the styling chair. She took a leisurely drink of her wine and set the glass down. She reached over and took my glass from me and put it next to hers. She took the gown that was draped next to her and swung it over me, not quite as precise as earlier.
"I've been thinking about what you said earlier" she said.
"And..."
"And I don't want you to go away with the wrong idea of me."
"What idea would that be?" I asked. She handed me my glass again.
The air was filled with an insistent buzzing sound, like an angry insect.
"Close your eyes, there's something I forgot to tidy up this morning" she said.
I closed my eyes. I felt her hand under my chin as it gently tilted my head up.
The buzzing got closer, I could feel the movement in the air as the device got closer to my face. There was the lightest touch, precise, slow. I opened my eyes and turned my chair round towards the mirror.
I was speechless.
"We can leave it like that if you want" she said. I was still speechless.
"I thought you were a hairdresser not a beautician" I said, unable to take my gaze away from the mirror. I turned my head slightly, as if doing this would make my eyebrow re-appear. She had shaved off my eyebrow. I couldn't believe it. I turned back round to face her.
"Close your eyes again" she said. The buzzing got closer again. The lightest touch on my left eyebrow. She was so gentle, she was almost caressing me. The clippers moved to the other one as she tidied up what she had done by stealth before. She turned the chair again. It's amazing how much difference eyebrows make to your face. They seem so insignificant until they're not there. I reached for the wine again. I drained the glass as I tried to organise my thoughts. I don't think that I was mad at what she had done. She had taken me by surprise. My stomach fluttered.
She sat back down on her stool and looked at me.
"It looks good, they were too bushy before," she said.
"You're full of surprises" I said. "One minute you turn down an offer to do anything, next minute you're stealing people's eyebrows!"
She leant forward and placed the lightest kiss on each eyebrow, well, where each eyebrow had been. She sat back and sipped her wine again as if nothing had happened.
I had the chance to walk out of the salon this morning before she had done anything, and how glad I was now that I had stayed. There would be material here for several stories at this rate. I sought refuge in my wine glass again. Not the wine, just the glass. Something to hold. Something to fiddle with. She was kissing me. Gently. Beautifully. Her tongue trying to part my lips. I let her. I stopped trying to remember feelings and sensations. I was being kissed by a woman. Properly kissed. With a tongue. Her tongue in my mouth. Probing. I pulled back. She was looking at me. I closed my eyes and moved to kiss her, this time it was my tongue in her mouth. I stopped. Suddenly embarrassed.
"I've.......I've not done this before" I said.
"Don't worry, there's no rush" she said gently.
"How did you know I would scream and run away?" I asked.
"If you were going to do that, you would still have eyebrows" she said.
"Now what?" I asked.
"Whatever you want" she said.
I was absorbed in the situation. I stood up. I reached over to put my glass down out of the way. I slipped off the gown and let it fall to the floor. I moved around to the side of Susie. They were there. Silent. I picked them up. The humming noise was back again. I had read so many stories. I reached over. She didn't flinch as I placed them at her temple. They were remorseless. She was quiet, still. I looked at what I had done. A patch of blue-black stubble was all that remained at the left side of her head. I moved them upwards, taking the fringe above her left eye. She smiled.
"Well, well, that's both of us surprised" she said.
"I didn't mean........." I said.
"It's a bit late now, isn't it?" she said, still with the same even tone in her voice.
I worked away, amazed at what quick work these clippers were making of her beautiful hair. She sat patiently, silently while I stripped away more and more of her hair. I knew that I wouldn't need to try hard to remember the sensations from doing this. It was wonderful, erotic. The clippers vibrated in my hand, insistent, hungry. I started to go over areas that I had already done, determined to prolong the experience. I moved around in front of her to examine my handiwork.
"You're beautiful" I said. She got up to have a look in the mirror, bending slightly so that she could see properly. She ran her hand over her scalp.
"And how do I explain this tomorrow?" she asked.
"Can't you say it's some sort of vitamin deficiency" I said.
"I don't think so" she said, a playful tone in her voice, thankfully.
She stood up and turned towards me. Her hand went to the waistband of her skirt and unfastened it. It fell to the floor. Her red top was cropped at navel level. She had no panties on. She moved her left hand down to her mound. It was perfectly smooth. It was simply perfect. She sat on the edge of the styling chair and leaned back. She spread her legs.
"What do you want, a formal invitation?" she said. There was that smile again. I knelt. I owed her that much after what I had just done. This was all new territory for me. I took it slow. She didn't object. I wondered when it would be my turn. For this, for a haircut. She shuddered. I kissed her belly gently and stood up slowly. She sat up.
"Not bad for an hors d'oeuvre" she said. I felt awkward. I licked my lips, tasting her. She raised her hand to her head, stroking it gently. "I could get to like this" she said.
I poured more wine for both of us. She raised her glass. "To new experiences" she toasted.
She put down her glass and stood up. I knew what was coming. Or at least I thought I did. She stood and looked at me. She tilted her head. I looked at her. I understood. I unbuttoned my shirt. In seconds I was naked.
The clippers popped to life. I was still standing. I went to sit down. She stopped me. She knelt at my feet. I kept my bush trimmed, but not shaved the way that hers was. She was about to change that. The vibrations of the clippers went through me. It was exquisite. I knew that whatever else happened from now on, I was a convert to the shaven mound. It wasn't perfect this time, but we could deal with that later. It was good enough.
I sat down, desperate to feel the clippers on my head. I heard them. She turned them off. She bent forward. She flicked them on again. They had a guard on this time which they hadn't when I clipped her. She started at my forehead, moving slowly backwards. I closed my eyes, eager to savour the moment. She worked quickly, expertly. My hair fell silently into my lap, the experience heightened by it falling onto naked flesh. My nakedness was being covered.The clippers stopped. I opened my eyes. I still had hair. My head was covered by a pelt half an inch or so long. I looked strange, alien, with no eyebrows and cropped hair. The clippers popped back to life. I could see that there was no guard now as she brought them up to my forehead. The feeling was more intense this time, although how much of that was imagined I don't know. I never dreamed that I would be sitting in a salon, naked, having my head shaved by a woman with no skirt on. Even if I had imagined it, would I have dared to go through with it. I would never know.
The room was silent again. She was stroking my head. No she wasn't, she was smearing something on it. Moisturiser? No, shaving foam. I closed my eyes as she stroked my scalp with the razor. Then the inevitable. The tremors went through my body. Susie stopped shaving momentarily. She planted a kiss between my shoulder blades and carried on.
"You can open your eyes now" she said.
I smiled a bigger smile than any that she had done all day. I had done it. I was bald. More than that, I was eyebrow-less.
"Well, are you going to sit there all night?" she said.
I stood up and bent to pick up my clothes. I dressed in record time, while she swept the hair from the floor. Not the most romantic task, but someone had to do it.
My story remains unwritten. I haven't been home for two days now and I could probably say that I have been too busy gathering material to actually put it into story form. I don't know how things will turn out for Susie and me. For the time being I am happy to let things run. Happy and hairless, that is.
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