HaircuttingStories.com

It would have been the easiest thing in the world to say "No".

Perhaps I should have. But I didn't.

At the age of forty-five I could almost explain it away as desperation, put it down to the fear of never having the chance again. Although as a divorcee with my only child in her final year at university, there was no real reason why I should have said "No". 

It started harmlessly enough. A casual encounter with a man in a supermarket, a chat over the fresh produce of all things. So a trip to stock the fridge turned into a glass of wine which turned into dinner, which in turn led to something quite unexpected.

I'm not unhappy with my figure, although I have to be careful with what I eat, hence the time spent poring over the selection of fruit and vegetables in the supermarket. I'm 5'8" tall with light brown hair down to my bra strap. That lunchtime I was on a half day and on my way home from work, so I was smart, but not over-dressed.

I was trying to decide what sort of fruit I wanted, when a grapefruit rolled down the display and I was just too far away to stop it from tumbling to the floor, although I tried my best.

'Good effort' the voice came.

I turned round to see who had seen my futile stretch for the runaway fruit, which I was just picking up off the floor. Businessman, forties, smart, basket, bottle of wine, meal for one. I smiled and placed the grapefruit back in the display, ready to continue my browsing.

'They do tend to stack them a bit too steeply in here' he said innocuously.

'Yes, they do, I replied, turning to him before turning back to the fruit again straight away. I was aware that he hadn't moved away.

'I hope you don't mind, but I'm not much of a one for chat up lines. I was wondering if you would like to help me out with this bottle. Please don't be embarrassed to say no, I'd quite understand' he said in a very polite, almost too polite manner. I looked at him.

'I only came in for some fruit' I said, before realising how lame that sounded.

The awkwardness passed quickly and we chatted about nothing in particular for a couple of minutes before I agreed that I would go to the pub around the corner to continue our chat. One thing led to another and by the time that we had decided on dinner, I was won over by his charm. It had been a good while since I had been out with anyone and even longer since I had liked somebody enough to take things any further.

By the time we were putting down our knives and forks I had decided that I knew what I wanted for dessert.

'How does the pear tart sound' Oliver asked as we looked through our respective menus. I had wondered whether I should wait for the 'goodnight' peck on the cheek before signalling my willingness to let the evening develop, but instead I allowed my pent-up frustration to break through my more usual reserve.

'It sounds fine' I replied. 'I think I'd rather fuck though' I said, leaning towards him across the table. He looked at me. I had said the wrong thing. I had misjudged him. I had blown it.

'Did I just say that out loud?' I asked with a smile.

'

Your hair's too long' he said, before putting his hand to his mouth. 'Did I just say that out loud?' he mimicked.

There was silence for a moment.

'My hair?' I queried, reaching up to touch the ends. That had completely thrown me. I had just brazenly offered to go to bed with a guy who I had just met over a runaway grapefruit and here he was brushing it aside (if you'll forgive the pun) to ask me to get my hair cut. I stared at him, not sure whether to be insulted or not.

'So that's a "no" to the casual sex then?' I commented.

It was his turn to look at me intently.

'I'd better explain, hadn't I?' he replied, before launching into a quite passionate description of what I can only describe as a hair fetish. I really didn't know what to make of it, but he calmly explained that he was only interested in women with extremely short hair or even women who had shaved their heads. I wondered whether he wanted to do the cutting or was it just the fact that a woman had short hair that turned him on. Was he some sort of control freak, looking for gestures of obedience? There were so many questions in my head, but I was still smarting from his avoidance of a tumble in the hay with me.

'Have you had much success with this?' I asked, glossing over all of the other questions in a bid to put an end to our meeting.

'It really wouldn't be polite to talk about other companions that I have had' he replied.

'I'll take that as a "no" then' I said, perhaps a little too sharply. He shrugged his shoulders. He asked the waiter for the bill and reached for his wallet. As he took out his credit card he also took out a business card which he passed to me.

'If you ever change your mind, I'd love to hear from you' he said.

I took it out of politeness, now just eager to get out of there. 

Oliver offered to walk me to my car, but I declined and walked pensively back to the supermarket car park. That had to have been the weirdest experience that I could remember. Perhaps he didn't see picking up women in supermarkets as much of a challenge and wanted to make the chase more exciting for himself. But why hair? Why haircutting and why so extreme? Because he wanted to reduce his chances of a conquest to a ridiculous level? Who knows?

I thought about that strange encounter all the way home. I was annoyed and disappointed. Disappointed in myself because I had gone out with an attractive man on a whim, but had come home frustrated, despite having brazenly offered myself to him. If ever there was something to dent someone's confidence, that was it! I poured a glass of wine in the kitchen and headed to the lounge. As I straightened my laptop on the coffee table, it dawned on me that I should see how widespread Oliver's little peccadillo was. I sat in the armchair and drew my legs under me, settling in for a surfing session. 

It took very little effort to stumble upon Oliver's soul-mates. At first I was amazed at how something as mundane as a haircut could become so multi-faceted, but the more I delved, the more I understood. As the evening wore on and the wine went down, I was drawn further and further into the subject, watching videos, reading serious research, reading fictional stories written for like-minded people. It was these that intrigued me, as they really provided a window into the thoughts of the inhabitants of this place. Not all of it was to my liking. Anything to do with violence or torture turned me right off, so I didn't even bother with those topics, but there were elements that I found intriguing, exciting even. The element of surprise, even stories with a hint of submission tended to be ones that I found interesting. I had been willing to submit to Oliver in one way, but perhaps that was just too obvious for him. He wanted something more subtle. It also intrigued me that many of the stories contained elements of other forms of personal expression such as depilation, tattooing and piercing, none of which had ever held any attraction for me. 

I read many stories of stylists who shared this interest, wielding clippers on unsuspecting clients, persuading them to have more severe haircuts than intended or desired. Never in all my years of haircuts had I encountered a hairdresser who had taken this line. There had been one incident where I hadn't been clear in what I had asked for, but there was no harm done and I wasn't unhappy with the end result.

I put the laptop back on the table, my curiosity sated for the moment. I looked at the clock. Time for bed.

I undressed in the bathroom as the bath was running, images and themes running through my head from what was probably an over-long first exposure to new ideas, for me anyway. I looked down at my luxurious brown bush. I always trimmed myself before I went on holiday to prevent escaping strands from alarming other bathers, but apart from that I was always "au natural". There hadn't been anyone to change my habit for a good while and in the past, no-one had seemed to care enough to ask me to do anything about it. Obviously it was difficult to read any women's magazine without finding a mention of "personal care", but it was a subject that I just glossed over. Now my head was filled with ideas of haircutting and the pleasure that some people derived from it.

I turned the taps off and reached into the cabinet for my small scissors. I teased a strand of hair from the edge of my bush and drew it to its full length, surprising myself at the capacity of the coiled hair to expand quite so much. I snipped it off about an inch from the end. Nothing! It did nothing for me. It was still just like a pre-holiday chore. I tugged at a strand towards the centre, an area that I had never trimmed before and cut that to a similar length. I tossed the severed hair into the toilet bowl, disappointed that I was still not experiencing any frisson of excitement. I cut again and again, gathering my curls in the palm of my hand as much as I could so that there would be less to clear up later. I had succeeded in reducing my undergrowth to a pelt of fur that was less wild than before, but which would still be considered a pretty full growth for most women. I put the scissors down and got in the bath. As I washed, my eyes were drawn to my razor on the side of the bath. It was time to be more ruthless, more creative.

I soaped myself and picked up the razor, stroking it gingerly inwards at the top of my triangle, trying to gauge where the centre line was and the point at which I should stop. I repeated the stroke on the other side which gave me a better idea of the width of the strip that I was leaving. I smiled as I looked at the triangle with the two rectangular bites taken out at the top before making another cut further down. I shaved and I shaped until I had created a rectangle about an inch and a half wide. I paused to inspect my handiwork, marvelling at the amount of skin that I had revealed and how it contrasted with the hair that was left. I traced down one side with my finger. Now that was enjoyable! My finger kept going, telling me that I had more work to do further down. 

I adopted a most ungainly position as I assessed what needed to be done and how I was going to do it. With a bit of manipulation I exposed my most tender bits to the world, removing any chance of them seeking a hiding place, for a while at least. I got out of the bath completely and stood on a towel to assess my handiwork in the mirror. Not bad for a first attempt! To the casual observer, I had trimmed the sides and created order out of chaos. I parted my legs slightly. There was little obvious difference and my modesty remained covered unless I adopted quite a wide stance. I thought about the descriptions in some of those stories.

Who would know, except me, I thought as I touched the razor to my lips, shaving higher up or lower down, depending on which way you looked at it! I looked in the mirror again before shaving right up to the top of my slit. Another glance in the mirror showed the full effect, even with my legs together. There was no hiding it. My lips were on display! It wasn't right though. The patch of pubes was still too wide and too long, it just didn't look right, now that I had bared myself further down. I took the scissors and cut the length down to a half-inch or so and then took the razor and shaved another strip to make for a leaner rectangle. I was now the owner of what I believed was known as a "landing strip"! I looked in the mirror and ran a finger along the edges of the strip. I closed my eyes and pondered my next move. Stop there or go on? Who would know, I asked myself as I opened my eyes and ruthlessly dragged the razor through what remained of my pubes. I went over and over my mound, eager to do the best job that I could in my first ever attempt at hairdressing. I put my tools down and patted myself with the corner of a towel. I looked in the mirror, admiring myself, thinking how wanton and depraved I looked. Ready for sex, but with no-one to oblige. I tidied up the mess that I had made and went to bed, smiling at the thought of my newly-christened "pornstar pussy".

I woke early the following morning and thought of all the chores that needed to be done. I would usually get dressed before breakfast, but decided to put on a robe, leaving it unfastened whilst I made something to eat. I kept stealing glances downwards, surprising myself at how alluring I found the sight of my bald flesh. With toast in one hand and the other free to navigate the web, I sat with my laptop while I ate. I told myself off for spending so much time looking, but I had become fascinated by those stories and by the little videos that I had found. I was acting like an obsessed teenager, but the ideas and images were turning me on more than anyone had managed in years. So what was I going to do about it, I wondered? Go into town and get myself clippered, tattooed and pierced ready for work on Monday? That would go down really well, wouldn't it? And what then? Pick up a guy in a bar for a casual screw? I needed to get a grip!

I showered quickly, resisting the urge to explore my new smoothness more closely. I got dressed and went into town with the intention of distracting myself with a bit of clothes shopping before getting down to the reality of what needed to be done at home. I needed to drag myself away from laptop-world and into the real world. I parked the car and sauntered towards the main shopping area, glancing into the occasional hairdresser's window in the way that I had read about. I saw nothing of interest and wondered why people actually bothered to do it. What were the chances of seeing something exciting actually going on? True, I did see a couple of staff standing around waiting for something to happen, but nothing came of it, whereas if it had been the plot of one of those stories that I had read, I would have been straight in there, got my head shaved by an eager barberette and then ended up in the sack with her. Not in my world though!

I looked in a couple of dress shops, but had no interest in what I saw. It was one of those days. 

I wandered off the main street and decided to see what delights the side streets could offer. I stopped in my tracks as I saw the gothic lettering of the sign. I looked at the building, trying to get a feel for what could lie within. There were some pictures in a small display case, but if anything, they would put me off rather than lure me inside. I took a step closer to the door and then another. I pushed the door handle, hoping in a way that the place was closed and that the impulse that was driving me would be thwarted. The door gave and there I was, standing in a tattoo and piercing studio, feeling more out of place than I have ever felt before. 

The figure that welcomed me politely was a cliche. If you saw him on the street you would either think that he had just been released from prison or that he worked in a tattoo parlour. Although reasonably dressed in a tee shirt and jeans, he was big and hairy and covered with tattoos. Much to my surprise, he didn't sound as gruff as he looked.

'Hi, what can I do for you?' he asked in a voice that didn't really go with the rest of him.

'I, er, was thinking about getting a couple of piercings' I said, none too convincingly.

'Where?' he asked, clearly not one for small talk.

'Here' I said, pointing a little self-consciously to my chest.

Without going into too much detail, it wasn't long before I was sat on the edge of a large black treatment table wearing just my panties while the man-monster did what he had to do with my nipples. I tried not to think too much about the mechanics of the process and just tried to fill my head with the idea that what I was doing was rather on the kinky side for me, even though it may be run of the mill for some people. There was something decidedly erotic about having this large man fiddle with my boobs and nipples, even though he was causing me some serious pain at the same time.

'You can open your eyes now' he said.

'All done?'

'Have a look if you don't believe me, he said with a smile.

I looked. The pain did not lie. I did indeed have bits of metal sticking out of my nipples.

'You're right' I replied, trying to enter into a similar level of levity.

'Anything else?' he asked.

I thought about the previous fifteen or twenty minutes, the intimacy of the situation, the erotic nature of the whole process. I looked at him.

'Any ideas as to what you could do down here?' I asked, looking at my crotch.

'You're brave all of a sudden' he said.

'I wasn't thinking piercings' I said, but I'm open to any other ideas you might have'. I surprised myself with just how porn-movie corny that must have sounded.

'A tattoo then?' he offered.

'Do you have anything that would fit?' I asked. If he didn't respond to that, I was going home.

He reached up and stroked my face with the backs of his fingers. I moved towards them to show that his touch wasn't unwelcome. His fingers twirled in my hair, tugging slightly. I looked at him and touched my own hand to his crotch. He pulled my hair some more, drawing my head back, to the point where it was starting to hurt. I squeezed him through his jeans and with surprising speed for a man of his size, he turned me and bent me over the table. I felt a sharp pain as my boobs touched the surface and drew myself away slightly. 

Amidst the sounds of belt buckle and zipper, there was the welcome sound of a condom-wrapper, suggesting that this wasn't a rare occurrence for him. I quickly found myself spread-legged, making up for lost time. His thrusts were moving the table across the floor, as he pumped and pumped with his considerable weight. He would never win any awards for love-making, but if you were just looking for something a little more basic, he was ideal. He pulled my hair forcefully as he came, turning my head, trying to get his lips on to mine, but he was too late. I pushed back against him, indicating that I wanted to get out from under him. I turned to face him, smiling.

'You've no idea how much I needed that' I said, looking for something to clean myself up with.

He clearly wasn't one for a cuddle afterwards and it was all that I could do to get a leaflet out of him telling me how to care for my new piercings. We said our goodbyes and then I was back out on the street, physically fulfilled for the first time in months. I thought back to my reading of the previous evening and how proud some of those writers would be of me.

I walked slowly up the high street, hoping that I wouldn't have a big bruise across my midriff from where I had been pounded against the edge of the table.

After my exertions I was in dire need of a coffee and something to eat. I found a small coffee shop and sat while I gathered my thoughts. I wondered whether I should just put off any other experimentation and head for home. I drained my cup and decided that the answer was a resounding "No" to that thought. I started to walk again and looked in at each salon I passed in the vain hope of finding inspiration. Once again, none was on offer. I walked further and came to a barber shop down one of the side-streets. I glanced in to see a woman working on a client. A barberette! I broke my step and turned back to the door, the germ of an idea in my head. The woman looked up as I entered.

'My husband asked me to meet him here, is it okay if I wait for him?' I asked.

'Of course, make yourself comfortable' she replied. 

I sat down on a bench that had seen better days as I tried to develop the idea that I had. I was, however, distracted by the woman running the clippers up the side of her client's head, peeling the hair away. It was an inch or so long, but where the clippers had just travelled, there was only stubble. It was quite a sight to see in the flesh. Watching a clip on a website is one thing, but to be close enough to enjoy the full atmosphere of the experience is quite another. It didn't take long before the cut was finished and the guy was on his way. I looked after him as he went, appreciating what he had just done.

'Is your husband a regular?' the voice asked, interrupting my thoughts.

'I'm not sure, to tell you the truth' I said 'he just said that we'd meet here.'

I looked at her, assessing her 'comfortable' look. She wasn't unattractive, but it was clear that she was her own boss and didn't need to dress to meet anybody else's standards. What she wore was comfortable, practical and no doubt reserved for work. It didn't matter how many bits of hair collected in the seams and folds, the clothes were functional and unlikely to even go back to her home. As for the woman herself, I would guess that she was a little younger than me, she wore little makeup and wore her blonde hair in a ponytail. It was clear that she wasn't here to be picked up, but that she was comfortable in her own skin.

She was quiet for a moment and then I declined her offer of coffee, the other cup still fresh on my tastebuds. The next five minutes passed in silence and I was starting to feel awkward. I looked at my watch.

'Can't you ring him?' she asked.

'He's turned his phone off' I replied.

'Oh well' she commiserated.

'I'm starting to think that he's not coming' I said, embarking on my lie. 'I think that he has this idea that if I sit here long enough, I'll ask you to cut my hair' I added.

She looked at me with a puzzled expression.

'He's been talking to me about me getting my hair cut really short' I said, testing the water. She said nothing.

'He's even said that he wonders what I would look like if I shaved my head' I said, venturing further onto thin ice. 

I saw the surprise on her face.

'What do you think about that?' she asked, clearly wary of offering an opinion at this stage.

'It would certainly be easier to look after' I replied with a smile. 'After seeing your last client, I can see the attraction.'

'Daryl? He's a lovely lad, he does that every now and again during the summer. It suits him.'

'That's what I've tried to work out, whether I could carry off really short hair' I said.

'No reason why not' she replied.

'It's actually doing something about it that's the problem though' I said.

'Are you sure that's what your husband wants you to do?' she asked.

'I know it's what he likes, he's shown me some pictures' I said, wondering how much longer I could keep up the pretence. I was also becoming more conscious of the ache in my boobs.

Another customer came in and looked at me before starting to sit down.

'Come ahead, the lady's waiting for her husband' the barberette said.

I got to watch the clippers in action again, although not quite as dramatically as before. I thought that I was being subtle, but at one point, just as the barberette drew the clippers over the guy's scalp, I saw her look straight at me. At least I thought I did, maybe she was just checking something on the street outside.

She finished off and took the guy's money from him before we were alone again.

'I don't think he's coming, is he?' she asked as the door closed. I wondered whether she had seen through my little pretence.

'Perhaps not' I admitted.

She walked towards the rack with the gown that she had just taken off the previous guy, but then turned as she sensed me getting up. She watched me as I headed to the chair and paused.

'So I still need this then?' she asked.

I nodded and smiled as I sat down.

'I'm just trying to decide between something and nothing' I said as I made myself comfortable.

'Well, I can't put it back on, so you need to make your mind up' she said as she swirled the gown in preparation for putting it over me.

'Shall I be brave?' I asked.

'Shouldn't you ask your husband if that's what he wants?' she asked in return.

'He's not here, so it's more a case of what I want now' I said, wishing in a way that I hadn't invented a husband. Or was I just thinking about Oliver and what he would want me to do. No, it was what I wanted that was the only thing that mattered now.

'I may as well do it properly if I'm going to do it' I said.

'All off? You're sure?' she asked, reaching forward for the clippers.

She was certainly more reticent about what was about to happen than I was, which amused me. I thought about what I had done today and wondered whether I was just seeing it as a last blowout before I felt too old to do any of it. I had surprised myself with the ease that I had offered myself to both Oliver and to the big man, but I had already dismissed that as just another experience. I was still aching from my exertions of this morning when my attention was drawn by the sensation of a hand moving up the back of my neck, underneath my hair. The hand was followed by a different sensation and then I felt the hand move and a touch of fingers towards the base of my neck. The stylist had paused for a moment to assess what she had just done, but faced with no objection, she repeated the move another couple of times. I felt the clippers climb higher the second time, all the way to the crown of my head. I clamped my knees together, watching in the mirror for the moment when I could actually see the effect of what was being done. I still didn't know how much notice she had taken of what I had said, how short she was taking me.

The clippers were at my temple and climbed rapidly up the side of my head. I had my answer.

'So you went with "nothing" then?' I said, trying to imagine the rest of my head looking like the strip at my temple. She smiled at me in the mirror. There really was nothing there anymore. Hanks of my hair were tumbling down the shiny material of the gown and collecting in my lap. I could see the barberette hesitate as she wondered whether to move to the other side and go for matching sides or whether just to move progressively across my scalp. She chose the progressive option and eased the clippers across the top of my head. It was like watching this happen to somebody else, to one of the other customers that I had watched a few minutes ago. I felt no regret, just curiosity and an element of excitement that I was actually doing it myself after watching so many others do it on the internet.

She definitely had a no-nonsense approach to the task once she had started and just ploughed away across my scalp until there was nothing left for the clippers to bite into. She turned the clippers off.

'That the sort of thing you had in mind?' she said, running a hand across my scalp.

'Perhaps not quite so short' I replied, with a smile, reaching up so that I too could appreciate what I felt like now. She was still stroking my scalp and I brushed her hand with my fingers. Now that did send a jolt through me! She took her hand away and placed it on my shoulder waiting for my reaction.

'Could you go shorter?' I asked.

'Really?' she asked, not quite believing what I had asked.

She raised her eyebrows a fraction and  crouched down to look in a cupboard to one side. I forced myself to check her out in the way that I had never previously considered checking out another woman, looking at the curve of her denim-clad thighs and buttocks. Was that doing anything for me? I wasn't sure as she stood back up. So much for my internet-induced experimentation. Perhaps I hadn't given myself enough time, I thought. I wondered whether she shaved herself, the way that I had. I urged myself to try to picture myself with her.

She squirted some foam from a can into the palm of her hand and spread it gently across my scalp.

'That feels lovely' I said, wondering whether I would get a response of any sort.

She said nothing, but I felt her touch change slightly, become lighter, as she spread the foam down the sides of my head. Had I stumbled into a lady with an alternate lifestyle, one of the inhabitants of the fiction that I had been reading so much of? I told myself that I had surely had enough fulfilment for one day, but still there was a nagging doubt at the back of my mind. A doubt about myself, a doubt about her and the beginnings of a desire to find out on both counts.

I watched intently as she guided the razor across my scalp time and again. The amount of foam diminished as she made me smooth.

'Tempted?' I asked as she wiped the last traces of foam from my scalp.

'What by?'

'To try it?' I said.

'That depends on what you're suggesting' she fired back at me.

Perhaps I wasn't going down the wrong track after all, given her apparent willingness to play games. She finished towelling me off and undid the gown. I sat for a moment, looking at myself in the mirror as she hung the gown up and then I stood to take a closer look.

'Do you think your husband will like it?' she asked.

'I've got a confession to make' I said, as I told her about my ruse.

'I thought as much' she said with a wry smile. I dipped my hand into my handbag to find my purse and paid her. As she handed me my change, I threw caution to the wind.

'You wouldn't fancy going out for a drink sometime, would you?' I asked.

She looked at me for a second, either considering the implications of my offer or just teasing me, I wasn't sure which. She reached for a pen and scribbled on a business card before handing it to me. I looked at it and now the woman who had just inducted me into the world of the hairless enthusiast had a name.

'Thanks, Suzanne. I'll give you a ring' I said.

'You'd better tell me your name, don't you think' she said smiling.

'Janet' I replied, slightly flustered.

'I'll see you, then Janet' she said, reaching up to touch the side of my head.

'Maybe I can persuade you to join me' I said, my glance at her hair not going unnoticed.

'Maybe you can' she replied, making me think that perhaps not all of those stories are so farfetched.

I left and went out on to the street. I was feeling a little sore and was really feeling in need of a soak in the bath after my busy day. I wanted to feel my newly-shorn scalp in the comfort and privacy of my own bathroom and also wanted to check that all was well with my new jewellery.

Settling in to the hot bath was wonderful. I lay there for almost an hour with a smile on my face for much of the time. I had positioned a mirror so that I could see myself where I lay and I just spent the  time looking from my scalp to my pierced nipples to my hairless mound. I thought of how far I had come since that chance encounter with Oliver and wondered just what else I would investigate in my new-found "before it's too late" frame of mind. 

The first time that I walked into work was a major milestone for me. I could sense people stare at me wondering what I had done and why, but as word spread in the coffee room I started to get more and more people coming up to me to congratulate me on what I had done, saying that they wished that they had the courage just to do something wild. As each of them spoke, I thought Gollum-like about my rings. They had indeed become "precious" to me as symbols of my quest into the wilder-side of life. That was one hurdle successfully negotiated, but the more important one to me would be what to tell my daughter. Would I tell her that I had shaved my head completely as it would have grown to a reasonable length by the time that I was due to see her again? Perhaps I would just tell her that I had decided to have a rather severe crop and forget about the full story. That would be one for another day, definitely!

It was one evening mid-week that I settled down with a glass of wine and my phone. Suzanne's card lay enticingly on the armrest, daring me to ring her. I took another sip and then dialled.

'Hi Suzanne' I said 'it's Janet. Bald Janet' I added.

'Well hello, Bald Janet, nice to hear from you' she replied.

'I was wondering if you fancied going for that drink sometime' I said.

'I'd love to' she replied, more enthusiastically than I expected. It was good to hear.

We made our plans for the Friday evening and Suzanne said 'I'll see you on Friday then, Bald Janet'.

I paused for a moment.

'Is there any chance of Bald Suzanne coming instead?'

It was her turn to pause.

'You'll have to wait and see, won't you' she teased as she hung up.

I put the phone down and reached for my laptop, a warm glow spreading through me at the thought of what I had just done.

Thursday and Friday dragged as if I were a kid waiting for Christmas. In a way I was. I had asked Santa for something special and now I just had to see whether my request had been heard. I raced home on Friday evening planning what to wear for my "date". I dumped my keys on the table in the hall and headed upstairs to the shower, undressing as I went. I really hadn't looked forward to anything as much for so long and was just hoping that I hadn't mis-interpreted the signals from Suzanne. It was as much as I could do to keep my fingers from lingering over my shaved scalp and to restrict myself to "essential contact only" as I shaved my mound again, restoring its smoothness. I cupped my soapy boobs, pleased that they weren't tender anymore as I touched my jewels, as I had come to think of them.

I dried myself and then put on the simple outfit that I had decided upon. I didn't want to wear anything too fancy and certainly didn't want to wear anything too tight. As it turned out, my choice was pretty much in line with what Suzanne had decided upon. I say Suzanne, as it was Suzanne rather than "Bald Suzanne" who greeted me as I met her at the pub. That tempered my excitement a little, but I still had butterflies at the thought of going out for a drink with another woman who wasn't a friend as such. She was an unknown in the way that a man is an unknown on the first date. What would he be like, what would he do, what would I do in response?

Suzanne and I chatted easily in a quiet corner of the pub. I liked her company and as far as I could see, she liked mine. We listened intently to each other, smiled and laughed. I wondered how the evening would play out, whether it would end in disappointment, in embarrassment, but then fate intervened. Our little chat was interrupted by somebody who clearly thought that he was the local Romeo as he tried out his chat-up lines. He ignored me, probably confused by my bald head and directed his clumsy remarks at Suzanne.

'Can't you see I'm taken?' she said to him with a serious expression, before removing any doubts that he may have had by leaning in and kissing me.

'I'm sorry, I didn't know you were a dyke' he said rather loudly before turning away, defeated.

I looked at Suzanne as she broke contact.

'Shall we go?' she said.

I drained the last mouthful of wine from my glass and got up, pleased at the way the unknown man had removed some of the weight from my shoulders. I still wasn't 100% sure that Suzanne hadn't done that just for effect, but I was sure that I wanted to do it again. I let her walk in front of me for a couple of paces to let me look at her in more feminine attire. She held herself differently than she had in the barber shop, allowing herself to be a woman effectively, rather than suppressing her sexuality. The curve of her hips was more accentuated, the length of her legs revealed by her higher heels. I decided that I could certainly get to like what I saw. She paused as she reached her car.

'In there, you know, I've never done that sober' she said.

I looked deep into her eyes.

'I've never done it at all' I replied quietly. She ran her left hand over my hairless scalp and kissed me again, lingering, exploring. Our lips parted.

'It's much better sober' she said before telling me her address and suggesting that I follow her in my car.

When I got to her house, she had already gone in, but the door was ajar. I knocked and went in, closing it behind me. I went down the hall, towards the sounds that I could hear in the kitchen and then found her by the fridge.

'I just wanted a cold drink' she said, sipping from a glass of what looked like lemonade. There was second one on the counter, waiting for me. She was leaning back against the worktop, watching, waiting as she drank. I wondered what I was expected to do, wondering just how far our relationship had come in such a short time, wondered how to test the waters. I knew what I wanted to do, but had no idea how it would be received.

I slipped the kitchen scissors out of the wooden knife block and looked at them, before looking at her. She took another sip, showing no reaction to the implement in my hand. I moved towards her and knelt at her feet. I looked up at her and without pausing further I started to cut upwards from the hem of her dress. I would offer to pay for it when I had returned to sanity, but for the moment, cutting her dress off seemed the most obvious thing to do, not to mention the most erotic thing that I could think of. I heard her take a sharp intake of breath as I made the first cut, but she stood motionless and wordless as I cut further upwards, revealing first her panties and then the bare flesh at her navel. She put her glass down as I stood up and placed her cold fingers on my scalp. I continued to cut, looking her in the eye as I reached her bra-less breasts and then made it to her neckline. The ruined fabric parted willingly, its function now gone. I kissed her nipples gently and then stood upright to look her in the eye. With my free hand, I eased the ruined material off her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor. She stood there in just her panties, curious as to my next move. I ran the point of the closed blades down between her boobs and across the gentle curve of her stomach before I paused at the waistband of her panties. I cut through the flimsy material and watched as the front fell away to reveal her to me. I now knew that she wasn't completely shaven, but she had been expertly waxed and shaped, a small heart-shaped oasis of short dark hair being the only remnants of her pubes. I smiled, wondering how it would feel against my lips.

She parted her legs slightly to allow the remains of her panties to fall to the floor, looking at me defiantly, daring me to make my next move. I traced a line with the tip of my finger from her navel until I felt it slip slightly into her furrow. She was still looking at me expectantly as I moved the focus of my attention from her sex. As the smallest sigh escaped from her lips, I placed my finger there for an instant to allow her to taste her own arousal and then moved my hand upwards to touch the ends of her hair. I held a tress by the ends and held it away from her head so that we could both appreciate its length. I positioned the blades of the scissors either side of the tress and slid them slowly closer to Suzanne's scalp. When the scissors had gone as far as they could, I locked my gaze with herss and closed the blades.

As she heard the scissors close, Suzanne sighed again before smiling. I reached for another tress and then felt Suzanne move her hand up my side to cup my breast. The look of surprise was from her unexpected discovery rather than from the sensation of another hank of her hair tumbling to the kitchen floor.

'Stop' she said. I was holding a third tress, but did as she asked.

'Let me see' she said, pushing me away slightly.

I had been quite enthusiastic about releasing Suzanne from her clothes, but now it was my turn, I was a little more hesitant. I suppose that taking my clothes off would be the final acceptance of what I was going to do, the confirmation that I was crossing a line that I had never crossed before and never thought of crossing until I started my recent reading.

I put the scissors down, looking between the hair on the floor and the tufts standing on the side of Suzanne's head. The situation could still be rescued for her, so I was eager to continue. The sooner I undressed, the sooner I could continue. I turned to offer Suzanne the option of undoing my dress the conventional way, which in hindsight I was pleased that she chose. I liked that dress and it would have been a shame to ruin it. I wondered whether she had a similar attachment to the dress that I had vandalised. She kissed my shoulder as she slipped the dress off me, and then I felt her fingers working the clasp of my bra. It fell to the floor to lie accusingly on top of my crumpled dress. Suzanne encircled me with her arms, hands roaming, stroking my stomach, moving up towards my boobs before moving down again. The flat of her right hand swept over my abdomen, without slipping too low and then it swooped upwards to capture my right breast. Her fingers played with the ring through my nipple as she nuzzled my neck.

Who would have thought it?' she whispered in my ear, her other hand now roaming free across my abdomen and then downwards, following the smooth contours of my mound until she held me in the palm of her hand, fingers probing. I could feel kisses on my bald head, tweaks of my nipple and the delicious movement of her fingers through my wetness. I wanted to be touched like that forever, but I also wanted to cut her hair before we went much further. I clasped my hand over hers and slid her fingers out of me. I could feel myself on her as I gently pulled her away. I slipped my panties down and then turned towards her, my boobs enclosed in my hands, shielding them from her gaze for a final few seconds. She looked at me, willing me to reveal myself to her. I let my hands fall away.

'That is so sexy' she said, hands reaching for a closer inspection. I reached for the scissors and held them up.

'This first' I said, inching closer. I reached for another tress of her hair and with my attention focussed upwards, I felt an attempt to distract me as her fingers slid into me again. I knew that the longer I resisted the distraction, the more I would enjoy what was to follow, but it was difficult. I didn't want her to stop, but eventually I could reach no more hair from the front and had to relinquish the sensations that she was inducing. I moved around behind her, realising just what a mess I was making of her hair. I had hoped that the effect of the scissors would be similar to a clipper cut, but it was so uneven, tufty in parts, close to the skin in others.

She stood still, letting me do what I wanted until I reached the point where I had cut her hair down as much as I could.

'That's as good as it gets' I said, running my hand over what remained of her hair. She reached up and whilst she said nothing, I could sense her professional disappointment at the success of my efforts.

'Well, it's not bad for a first attempt' I said in my defence.

'I'll be back in a minute. Don't do anything I wouldn't do' she said, reaching in to kiss me quickly. She went out of the kitchen and I heard her pad upstairs. I had time to look around me, to ponder what I was doing, to realise that I was a 45 year old woman who should be settled into a routine of work and family. Instead, I had become a shaven-headed, pierced, about-to-be lesbian. I smiled and wandered about the kitchen, revelling in the thought of what I was about to do. Silly things crossed my mind as to the practicalities of what to do. How do you decide who goes on top, for instance? Is it just a free-for all? I came to the only appropriate conclusion that I could: suck it and see! 

Suzanne made her entrance while I had my back turned to the door, but a small cough made me turn around. In a short space of time she had shaved her head smooth. There were no more tufts or patches of stubble. I had to touch it. We reached for each other's head, stroking and caressing and that is where I have to leave you to work out the rest for yourselves. Suffice it to say that we worked out the practicalities of what we were doing and discovered what each of us liked and didn't like so much. The conclusion that we came to after a couple of hours was that we both wanted to try again. And again.

I arranged to meet Suzanne in town after work the following week so that I could hold her hand while she too became the proud wearer of nipple jewellery. We went to a different studio as I couldn't bear the thought of meeting the big man again whilst in Suzanne's company. I even thought back to that little lapse and regretted it a little. Not from the point of view of the experience, but from the point of view that it spoiled the day that I met Suzanne. Silly I know. I was no more successful watching someone else have a piercing than I was in watching my own. I held her hand tightly and looked away while the deed was done, only venturing to turn my head when I was assured that it was safe to do so. The bars through her nipples looked wonderful, even though I knew that I had to resist the urge to touch them for a while. I longed to feel them against my tongue.

We spent every evening together for a week and didn't appear to tire of each other's company. Indeed, I enjoyed having somebody to share my research findings with. We generally liked the same type of stories and even joked that we should try our hand at writing something ourselves. It was then that we realised the obvious shortcoming in our plan: everything that we had done had been inspired by what we had read, so we wouldn't really be adding anything new to the collection. We would perhaps have to wait a little to see how things developed for us before we went public in such a way.

When I say that we spent every evening together, we weren't in each other's company all of the time. I had taken to going into the supermarket each evening on my way home as there was something that I just had to do. It took several visits, but eventually I spied Oliver at the end of one of the aisles, so I engineered a meeting at the next one. I saw him look at me, fascinated at first, but then realising who it was that he was looking at. His expression changed slightly as he wasn't sure what to make of me.

'Hello Oliver' I said.

'Janet!' he exclaimed trying to control himself.

'Fancy seeing you here!' I said.

'That's quite a change. You look beautiful' he said, starting to turn on the charm.

'Oh, this!' I said, feigning ignorance at what he could be referring to.

'What made you...?' he asked.

'It was just something I fancied trying' I said, not wishing to elaborate.

I could see that he was desperate to take me somewhere so that he could talk about my shaven head and give me the opportunity to make him an offer again, but the whole point of this meeting was to give me the chance to decline any approach that he made. He had had his chance and failed to take it and now I was more than happy to show him what he had missed out on. I am happy with Suzanne and whilst I will be forever grateful to Oliver for what he introduced me to, he will never have the chance to share it.

I wished him well and left him there in the aisle with his basket and his disappointment with the one that got away.

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