HaircuttingStories.com

This story takes the characters from 'The One That Got Away' down a different path from the one in the original story.

For scissors_fan, without whom this story would not have been written.

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 and 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 peck on the cheek as we parted outside the pub before going back to the car park to our respective cars. All manner of things had been going round in my head, all manner of wild ideas that I had thought about during my 'fallow' months.

I paused for a moment.

'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.

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

'I suppose not, but you can see why I'm curious, can't you' I said.

It would probably be best if I let you see some of the stuff for yourself, it would have more of an impact than just me trying to describe it for you.

'Is this a new twist on "Would you like to see my etchings"?' I asked.

'Not at all, I can give you a few web addresses if you'd rather look in your own time'. 

Or not, I thought. I was still struggling to believe that I had done everything apart from sending the guy an embossed invitation to the grand re-opening of my underwear and here he was offering me the addresses of a few websites to look at. I started to think that all was not well with him, mechanically, if you know what I mean.

After a few more exchanges I found myself back in my car, following him back to his place. At the point of leaving the restaurant, I would have been up for a knee-trembler in the car-park, but that was clearly not on the agenda. When we got back to his place I could see why. I followed my own Professor Higgins up to his front door and into his rather impressive house.

He showed me around a few of the rooms and deposited me in what was at first sight a study, but with a few more comforts than I would have expected from a pure workspace.

He turned a computer monitor on and hunched over it, leaving me standing looking at his bookshelves. Professor Higgins wasn't too wide of the mark as he did appear to be well-read, particularly in French literature. There were some names that I had heard of, but plenty that I hadn't.

'Here, make yourself comfortable and I'll get us a drink' he said. He thoughtfully made sure that I was happy with the workings of a computer and left me looking at a screen full of text. I started to read, quickly realising that I should focus more on the content than on the style. So this was what turned him on, I thought as I scanned the pages. There were more stories and I only had a chance to get through five or six by the time he returned with a tray.

'How are you getting on' he asked.

'So this is what you read, now that you've read all of those' I said, pointing to the bookshelves.

'Tastes change as you get older' he replied.

He put the tray down. I looked at the glasses of wine, thinking that I might be in need of a couple of those! 

He left me again, saying that he would be back in a second. I was skimming details of haircuts, shaving, tattoos and was just sharing a the experience of a woman having a nipple pierced as Oliver came back in with another tray. He put it down.

I looked at the tray and then looked at him. 

'You're kidding!' I said, realising that his selection of reading material for me hadn't been random.

'Just a guess' he replied.

'Now?'

He reached out a hand and stroked my face, his fingers brushing my skin tenderly. The re-shaping that was going on in the front of his trousers betrayed his enthusiasm for what he was proposing.

'Not here?'

'Here' he said quietly.

'But a lady has to have some secrets' I replied.

He unzipped his trousers and I could see now why his excitement had been so prominent. He wasn't wearing any underwear. His impressive erection was also unobscured by any pubic hair. His lower belly and balls were completely hairless, something that I had never seen before on a man.

'So you expect me to shave myself in front of you.

'I'm afraid that he doesn't respond well to undergrowth' Oliver said, smiling and pointing at his hardness. 'He tends to lose interest.'

I couldn't believe that I was sitting there with a grown man talking about his cock in the third person like that. I reached out to touch it, but he drew back. Bastard!

'It's like that, then is it?' I asked. He nodded his reply. "Little Oliver" seemed to agree.

'So reading a few stories is supposed to have my knickers sliding round my ankles, is it?' I asked, knowing that in the current circumstances, my knickers were coming off regardless!

'Don't you like what you've been reading?' he asked.

'I'll need to read them at my leisure so that I can appreciate them properly' I replied, standing up.

Oliver made no move towards me, made no attempt to kiss me or to grope me. It looked like he really was going to wait until I had made myself "acceptable" to him. I looked at the items on the tray that he had brought in. I undid the zip on my skirt and let it fall to the floor before sitting down again. I saw Oliver register the fact that I was wearing hold-up stockings rather than panty-hose and hoped that I scored a couple of points for surprise value there. I looked at him and then lowered my gaze to the prize that was on offer if I did what he asked. I took a deep breath and raised my hips to slide my panties off. The sight must have been enough to horrify poor Oliver!

I looked down at my luxurious brown bush for a moment. I trimmed myself whenever I went on holiday for fear of alarming other bathers with escaping strands, but apart from that, I was always "au natural". There hadn't been anyone to change my custom 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 newspaper or magazine aimed at women with finding a mention of "personal care", but it was a subject that I just glossed over.

'Do you have a preferred way to do this?' I asked.

'Probably best to start with the scissors' he said.

'Must you stand and watch like that?' I asked, self-conscious for a moment. It was one thing to spread your legs in the heat of passion, it was another entirely to do it while some guy just stared at you.

'Just ignore me' he said.

I thought for a moment. Ignoring someone was not easy when they were standing naked in front of you, stroking their erection!

'If you want me to do this, I want you to come here first' I said.

He paused and then stepped forward. I also stood up and cupped his shaven balls in my hand, marvelling at the different way they felt from others that I had been acquainted with. I could see him tense a little as I raked him with my nails.

'I want you to appreciate what I'm going to do for you'  I said.

'Go on' he urged, still aware that his jewels were enclosed.

With my left hand I undid the buttons on my blouse and wriggled free from my bra. I let his eyes appreciate what had just been revealed to him. Not the best pair of boobs that he had ever seen, no doubt, but the best pair that I had got. I always thought of them as my finest feature and made a point of revealing them and allowing any onlooker to appreciate them fully. They were only a "B" cup last time I checked, but the part that pleased me most was my nipples and the large circle of dark skin that encircled each one. I pinched my left nipple and pulled it taught, smiling while I did it. I moved my other hand along his shaft slowly, feeling him move with my touch.

I sank to my knees and took him into my mouth quickly before letting him slide out. I kissed the smooth skin where the traditional tangle of hair had once been, trailing my tongue across and around as I wondered whether he had it done professionally or whether he got that sort of close finish by his own hand. Despite his earlier resolve, there was no objection from him as I took him in my mouth again. I sucked and I licked, proving to myself that his aversion to pubic hair wasn't as deep-seated as he would have had me believe. After a few minutes of close attention I released him and reached over to his tray of equipment, which helpfully included a selection of condoms. How thoughtful! At that point, I really wasn't interested in colour, flavour or texture. I just knew that he was outside and I wanted him to be inside. I ripped open the packet and slipped the rubber over him before standing up.

Still holding him, I turned my back and placed one foot on the sofa, leaning forward to support myself against the back of it. The movement of my hand told him all that he needed to know and left him to debate whether his resolve was greater than mine. What a thing to be hesitating over, faced with a reasonably attractive woman bent over and waiting! For a moment I felt no contact and started to think that I had encountered a remarkable specimen. Then there was the briefest brush of something of his against my lips, finger or cock I didn't know, before he left me in no doubt that he was actually interested. 

The first thrust took me by surprise when it really shouldn't have. After all, I was waiting for him, but it was the ferocity of it, whether it was his annoyance at my reluctance to play his game or just his frustration at being made to wait, I don't know. I gasped as I felt his lower belly slam into my backside, again and again and again. His hands had started off on my hips, but now they were reaching for my hair, gathering it, winding it round and round, pulling it. It was a little sore, but my attention was mostly on the powerful thrusts driving me towards the wall, to the point where I thought that I was going to have to call a halt while I re-positioned myself. My fears were ill-founded as I felt him slip from inside me. He fumbled at me urgently, turning me, pulling me off the sofa and on to my knees. I had never been a fan of this sort of thing, but in the circumstances I closed my eyes in readiness. I opened my mouth and waited for the warmth, only to hear the grunts and to taste nothing. Oliver had had other ideas, as I could tell from the wetness seeping through to my scalp.

I opened my eyes to see Oliver, flushed and looking at me. He knelt down and touched my hair, moving his hand upwards. He brought it down and touched his fingers to my lips for me to taste my trial-version "Oliver conditioner for normal hair". I tried to keep as still as I could so that the stuff didn't drip too much. Oliver cupped my breasts and played with my nipples gently, in complete contrast to his aggression of a few moments ago. He moved a hand downwards and pulled at a curl of my pubes.

'Now?' he asked.

'Now' I agreed.

We went upstairs, hand in hand, where we showered together. He stood behind me and washed my hair for me, slowly and sensuously, interspersing a scalp massage with nibbles on my soapy ears and neck. It brought a whole new meaning to that lovely old song "I've got to wash that man right out of my hair"! We both knew what was about to happen and in a way, I couldn't wait. The thought of sitting on a chair in his study, legs akimbo, was not one that I found exciting. Standing under the jet of a warm shower, water dripping from me was a different proposition altogether.

Oliver soaped me, working the lather in, while I had the water on my back. He crouched down and went to work. There was no precision in what he was doing. He wasn't interested in creating a work of art or doing some sort of topiary. His goal was de-forestation! I watched as my bush gave way to an alien landscape of gentle contours, wondering at the same time about the practicalities of dealing with the less accessible bits. That problem was solved by getting out of the shower and lying on a towel on the floor while Oliver performed his task. There was no difference in being exposed to him like this or downstairs, but the context was so different. His original location lacked any eroticism, this one had it in spades. Satisfied with his work, Oliver patted me with the edge of the towel. He then checked his handiwork with a dedication rarely seen by man. His lips and tongue covered every inch of the area that he had just revealed, before her explored parts that he hadn't needed to denude. The man's hunger and commitment were a marvel and had me showing my appreciation more times than I could count. 

Oliver used the time to "re-generate" and whilst I would have been happy to end our session when his tongue got tired, he had other ideas. This time it was different, gentle rather than frantic and angry as our first session had been. Whether this meant that he was happier with the way I looked now, I don't know. I liked the rough Oliver, but I really loved the gentle Oliver. Perhaps I would be lucky enough to see both of them from time to time.

We showered again and I left to go home, eager to stretch out in my own bed to recover from my exertions. Despite the scarcity of men in my life in recent times, I was really reluctant to give up the luxury of being alone when I slept!

Oliver and I made no firm plans when we parted, so it was no surprise that I didn't hear from him for a few days. I spent that time engaged in research when I came home from work, reading stories on the website that he had shown me, watching videos of haircuts. It got to the point where I was embarrassed at the amount of time that I had spent online, but made myself feel better by telling myself that there was just so much material and how I needed to be thorough. It did remind me of a tee-shirt slogan that I had seen on a spotty teenager in town recently: "So much porn, so little time!". Don't worry, sunshine, I thought, you're not likely to be distracted from it until they find a cure for those spots! How cruel I can be sometimes!

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. 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. It also intrigued me that haircuts appeared to be inextricably linked in the minds of many to other forms of personal expression such as tattooing and piercing, neither of which had ever held any attraction for me. And then there was the pubic shaving that Oliver had espoused himself and initiated me into.

I had become so immersed in my new hobby once I got home that a phone call from Oliver was almost like an intrusion when it came. We chatted like old friends, relaxed in each other's company. After a while he suggested that we should have lunch on Saturday and do a bit of shopping. I agreed to meet him at the statue in the middle of town and that was it. I was alone with my laptop and wine again.

When Saturday came, I was excited at the prospect of seeing Oliver, knowing that I was now much better versed in his favourite subject. I had lost count of the number of stories that I had read, but was now something of an expert. I wondered whether there would be anything in my relationship with Oliver that would add to the permutations of relationships, locations and events that I had spent so much time absorbing.

After seeing Oliver's appreciation of my hold-up stockings I decided to go the whole-hog and wear stockings and a suspender belt for him for our meeting. Even if the chance of him not seeing them was small, it would still make me feel good knowing what I was wearing underneath my dress. As I made the final adjustments to the fastenings on my suspenders, I looked at the pretty panties that I had laid out on the bed, and smiled. 

When I left the house, the panties were still where I had laid them out! I had never done anything like that before and felt wanton and exposed, and I knew that I would struggle to keep the smile off my face as I walked around. I could feel the fresh breeze caress me; so much better than the imaginary tumble weeds that had blown around my private parts for so long! I was at the meeting place in town just ahead of 11 o'clock, but there was no sign of him. I looked around, hoping to see him approach, but there was nothing. Was I being stood up so soon into our relationship, I wondered? Just as I was deciding that my excitement had been misplaced, my phone rang. At least he had the decency to tell me, I thought as I answered it.

'Janet!' he said.

'Oliver, it's okay if you're running late' I said, not even giving him the time to explain.

'I'm not late, it's just that there's something I thought you might like to do before we meet' he said.

'What's that?' I asked. 

'Look at the front of the statue' he said. I did.

'Now look to your left.' I looked.

'Do you see the glass door, next to the red one?'

I did.

'They're expecting you. I've told them what you'd like and I've paid them, so all you need to do is to go in and they'll do the rest. I'll see you when you get out and we'll go for lunch, how does that sound?' he asked.

'But...' I started to say as I registered what I was looking at.

'I'll see you in a bit' Oliver said and ended the call. I was left looking at the door of a trendy-looking unisex hair stylists.

I wondered whether this was Oliver showing himself as a control freak or whether it was just something that he had read in one of those stories. I had initially been concerned when he had wanted me to shave myself before he would have sex with me, but given the way that that had worked out, I had dismissed it. Now here was something else. What would he do if I didn't go in? What would I do if passed up on the opportunity to explore an element of my new-found interest?

I was still mulling over various options as I climbed the stairs. A door at the top opened up onto a bright reception area where a smiley-looking woman with fashionable glasses welcomed me. I announced myself and she said 'Ah, yes' in a tone of voice that said "You're the one with the pervert, aren't you?". I ignored the implication and tried to act as if it was completely normal to walk into a hairdressing salon with no idea what to expect and apparently little option to express an opinion. I could always walk out, but then I didn't want to.

There was an element of excitement about it that was making me regret leaving my knickers lying on the bed at home! I was still pondering that thought when a younger woman appeared who introduced herself as my stylist. I could sense her appraising me as she approached, trying to reconcile what Oliver had told her that she was to do with the reality of her subject matter. At least she didn't throw her hands up in despair and proclaim that she was a hairdresser not a magician!

She led me in to the salon proper and held a gown out for me. I felt awkward, not knowing what to say.

'I take it that you've had your instructions' I said eventually, eager to break the silence.

'Oh yes, your husband was very clear. He wanted it to be a surprise for you, so he said that I'm not to tell you what I'm going to do' she replied.

'Don't you think it's a bit weird?' I asked.

'We get asked to organise surprises from time to time, so it's not that strange' she replied.

'I'll let you get on then' I said, deciding that the best course of action was just to go with the flow.

Despite the fact that Oliver had introduced me to the whole idea of hair and haircutting as something more than I had previously thought, we hadn't spent any time comparing notes. Of course I knew that he liked short hair on women and he had told me when we were at dinner that first evening that the idea of headshaving was a turn on for him. What he didn't tell me was what circumstances would determine whether he found one approach more attractive than another. We really needed to have that discussion before much longer.

I mulled over my own potential preferences as the girl washed my hair, slowly and efficiently. I examined what she was doing at each stage and how it made me feel, determining at the outset that the best guide to the whole of this experience was the level of threat to my panty-free status. The hairwashing was pleasant enough, but I decided fairly early on that the real measure of my excitement would only kick in when the cutting began. A hairwash was a hairwash after all. She seemed to take a long time over the washing, but after rinsing my hair, she applied some conditioner and as a part of that, she treated me to a bonus scalp massage. During the actual wash, I had tired of looking at the bumps and cracks in the ceiling, but now that she had started with the scalp massage, the ceiling faded away. I imagined myself somewhere else entirely, nowhere specific, just somewhere dreamy. I could have slipped into unconsciousness as her fingers moved and danced over my scalp, time and time again. Her boyfriend must be the luckiest man alive if she deployed those fingers on him, I thought. Her voice brought me round as if from an anaesthetic, blinking at the intrusion of the light and reality. She smiled at me as I sat upright, a towel drawn from my shoulders and over my head. As I got up, I made a mental note to look for videos of scalp massages when I got home. Perhaps that was something that I should explore a little when I was alone!

The girl led me to a styling station, where I was dried and combed, still tingling from the scalp massage, but also anticipating the cut. What had Oliver asked her to do? Would I like it? Had he asked her to do something horrendous to humiliate me or was he not like that? I was still unsure of his motivation for sending me up here like this.

I looked closely at my hair, hanging straight to my shoulders and then disappearing out of sight. It would probably not be closely acquainted with my bra-strap for very much longer, I thought. I braced myself as the scissors got nearer and then the first cut was made. The stylist made no attempt to conceal what she was doing, approaching her task from the front and snipping my hair about level with my jaw. As an opening shot, it could have been worse. I looked down to see a hank of my hair lying in my lap. This better be worth it, I thought as she made more and more cuts.

I kept my eyes open, watching my transformation from a middle-aged woman with the hairstyle of a twenty-something to a middle-aged woman with a stylish, classic cut; just off my collar, but still over my ears. If this was what Oliver had specified, the man certainly had taste. I smiled as she made what appeared to be the final adjustments.

'Do you like it?' she asked.

'It's lovely!' I said appreciatively.

'Just the colour to do then' she said.

I looked at her inquisitively.

'He really didn't tell you anything, did he?' she commented.

'Nothing!' I replied.

'How exciting!' she replied.

'You think so?' I asked, trying to draw a little more out of her.

'It's a bit like letting your man blindfold you, isn't it, you don't know what to expect' she said, laughing.

'I hadn't thought of it like that' I replied, realising that she was right.

'Would you do it for your man?' I asked as she started to fiddle with various bits and pieces on a trolley.

'Let him blindfold me or let him tell someone what to do with my hair?' she asked.

We have a naughty one here, I thought!

'Either, but the hair thing is the one that is probably more important as you have to walk round with whatever he decides to do to you, don't you?' I replied.

'I suppose you do. I don't know, I might let him. I'll see what you think of this first though' she replied, mixing some foul-smelling potion in a pot. 

Our fledgling conversation died as she painted and wrapped and fussed. Then I was alone with my thoughts while the chemistry did whatever it was doing. There was something very erotic about this whole process, something way more of a turn-on than reading those stories. True, they had laid the foundations for where I was, but they were no substitute. I smiled when I thought of the consequences of a grapefruit falling to the floor. I could never have imagined that a piece of fruit would result in my sitting knickerless and pubeless in a hairdresser's, having who knew what done to me, all to satisfy the whim of a man who I didn't really know.

Oliver's co-conspirator returned at the allotted time to rinse the chemicals off me and to finish whatever it was that she had been instructed to do. By the time that she was done, I was sitting at the styling station staring at someone who was vaguely familiar. The reflection reminded me of me in a way, but also reminded me of a character from some 1980s detective show that I vaguely recalled. The reflection had short, white blonde hair. It looked immaculate, but I really wasn't sure that it was me.

'Well?' she asked, sensing that all was not well at all!

'I have to be honest, it's not what I would have asked for' I replied, immediately regretting my comment. The girl had done what had been asked of her very well. It wasn't her fault that she had got caught in somebody else's fetish, after all. I did my best to undo the damage of my first remark and despite her insistence that Oliver had paid her in advance, I paid her again and told her to treat it as a tip. It made me feel better.

I descended the steps, not sure whether Oliver would be at the door or not. He wasn't, but he was lurking by the statue and I saw the recognition on his face as soon as I opened the door. We walked towards each other.

'You look beautiful' he said, leaning in to kiss me.

'Do you think so?' I asked.

'Of course. Don't you like it?'

'I think I look like a poor-man's Madonna' I replied.

'Not at all' he said, kissing me again. His tongue parted my lips, darting, flicking. Perhaps it had been worth it after all!

We headed off to lunch, during which Oliver pressed me to tell him every detail of what went on in the salon; how I felt sitting there, not knowing what was going to happen. It excited me more to talk about it than to have sat there and had it done. At least I could pretend that it hadn't really happened. Until I went to the ladies, that was, when that peroxide woman made an appearance again. How was I going to explain it at work on Monday? A mid-life crisis, an experiment gone wrong?

I returned to the table, but Oliver was just checking over the bill and getting ready to leave.

We strolled down the street, hand in hand. Oliver pointed things out to me in various shop windows, but all I saw was the blonde woman again. I was trying to like it, but I really wasn't sure. Oliver picked up on my lack of enthusiasm for my new look as he was trying to get me interested in the display in an underwear boutique. Little did he know how little underwear I actually had on at that moment. He said that he would buy me whatever I wanted, but I declined, saying that I probably wasn't in the mood. I decided to leave that sort of shopping for another day.

We walked on, somewhat aimlessly and then all of a sudden he stopped.

'Will you let me try again?' he asked.

'Try what?'

'With your hair' he replied.

'It's fine, I'll get used to it, I'm sure' I replied.

Please let me' he almost begged.

'What do you have in mind?' I relented.

'Go in there' he said, looking over my shoulder. I turned to see what he was looking at. A barber shop.

'But you've just had me sit for two hours to get this done' I said.

'Never mind. Would you like me to come in with you this time?' he asked.

'It's a proper barbershop?' I queried.

'Looks like it' he confirmed.

I thought back to some of those stories again. Was this part of the plan or was he just improvising now, I wondered?

'What do you want me to have done?'

'Your choice' he said.

'My choice?'

'Mine doesn't seem to have gone down too well, does it?' he said.

'It's fine honestly' I replied. I could sense that he was getting impatient.

'I wanted it to turn you on. I didn't want it to be "fine"' he said.

'Parts of it turned me on' I confessed.

'But not the end result.'

'Perhaps not' I confessed.

'Would it turn you on to go in there?' he asked.

'I don't know' I replied. That was the truth. I really didn't know what I wanted just then.

He got his wallet out and took out a wad of notes.

'I'll tell you what. I'm going to go home. Here's some cash. Just go a bit mad, blow the lot and then get a taxi. I'll see you at home and we'll have some wine and go to bed, how does that sound? he said.

It sounded to me like we were in trouble. I started to object, but he held his hand up.

'Surprise me' he said and turned away. I watched him go, wondering what to do.

Standing around like an idiot wasn't much of a plan, so I walked towards the barber shop, thinking that it would be a chance to see what it looked like, even if I didn't go in. It was empty, that's what it was like. Well, when I say empty, the barber was sitting reading a paper, but there were no customers. He was younger than I would have expected, probably in his thirties. That sounds really stupid, doesn't it? Why shouldn't he be young?

'Hello' I said as I walked in the door.

He looked up from his paper, a little surprised to have been disturbed by a feminine voice.

'What can I do for you?' he asked.

'Do you feel like sorting out a bad decision?' I asked.

'How can I help?'

I pointed to my head. 'A spur of the moment thing. Not very clever. I just want to get rid of it' I said, staccato-like.

He raised his eyebrows.

'When you say "Get rid of it", what were you thinking?' he asked.

'It's more a question of what was I thinking when I got it done' I laughed. He waited.

'I've always thought I would look good with a crew-cut' I said calmly, thinking back to my stories again. How would this go? Barber rubs hands at prospect and ruthlessly shaves woman's head? Barber comes on to woman and puts up "Closed" sign before she lets him have his way?

'Crew-cut? No problem' he said, putting down his paper and indicating that I should take the seat that he had just vacated. So, this was going to be straightforward then. No discussion, no objection, no funny business, just a haircut.

I put my handbag on the shelf just to one side of me and took my seat. It was more masculine than the seat that I had so recently occupied at the other salon, but then what did I expect? That was only the beginning of the differences that I was to experience. Since I hadn't been enveloped in a gown, I was expecting a cape to come swirling over me, but the barber was busying himself at my neck. I felt a tightness as I watched him in the mirror, fastening a white strip around my throat. He picked up on my curiosity.

'Nothing to worry about. It just helps stop the bits going down your back, that's all' he explained.

I looked at myself for an instant, just before the cape enclosed me. I couldn't recall this detail from any of the stories that I had read or seen it in any of the films that I had watched, but here I was with my own little collar. To me it wasn't just functional, it was a fetish symbol, a symbol of my new devotion. 

Everything about this place was more masculine, heavier than what I was used to in women's salons. Even the cape was denser that I expected. This didn't float over you and settle gently, this made its weight felt, pressed you down into the chair. Now we were getting into the territory of some of those stories. There were no handcuffs, but I did imagine myself forced to stay where I was, arms invisibly pinned by my side, helpless, at the mercy of this handsome, dark-haired man.

'So what would you like me to do?' the barber asked, destroying my nascent fantasy in an instant.

I called on my not-insignificant research for inspiration and guidance.

'Let's just do a number two and to hell with it' I said, not really feeling as reckless as I tried to convey to him.

'Sure?' he asked.

'Positive' I said, wondering whether to focus on what was about to happen or take the sensible path and think about anything but what I was doing. How I regretted my decision to go commando, today of all days.

'All over?' he asked.

I nodded, thinking what a waste of money it had been to go to that salon, Oliver's and mine. Although we could both chalk it up to experience.

The clippers buzzed with that sound that is unmistakable, but so hard to describe. I always turned up the speakers on my laptop just to enjoy it, hoping against hope that there would be an actual soundtrack to any film clip, rather than some dubbed music. I thought for a split second about Oliver and then my attention was caught by the feel of clippers on the crown of my head for the first time. You always remembered significant first times, and this was one that I was determined to remember. My hair moved backwards; white-blonde hair that wasn't really mine. If it had been my natural coloured hair, I might have felt a pang of regret in amongst the fluttering in my stomach, but instead I just had fluttering. Wonderful, pleasurable fluttering.

My barber concentrated on the task in hand. I wondered if he would be different if I let slip that I was sitting there bare-arsed and readier for action with each sweep of his clippers. I wasn't going to offer, but I was unlikely to refuse if he propositioned me! But then this wasn't one of my stories, it was a high-street barber's with a lull in trade on a Saturday afternoon. I went back to watching my "imposter hair" falling to the cape, feeling relief and satisfaction at seeing it go. The barber urged my head forward while he worked at the back of my head, giving me the opportunity to study the fallen hair. It wasn't mine, I told myself.

In a couple of minutes, my head was upright, the clippers were silent and I was looking at myself in the mirror, a layer of stubble on my scalp. I leaned forward and fought the cape to free one of my hands. I rubbed a hand over my scalp, front to back, back to front. So this is what it feels like, I thought. No matter what amount of skill and training that my stylist of this morning had, she could never replicate the feeling that I had now. Not unless she used the clippers on me, of course. Even then, would I get the same pleasure out of being clippered by a woman as I just had being clippered by this tall, dark chap? I doubt it somehow.

'Is that a stunned silence?' he asked as I continued to paw at my scalp.

'I was just wondering if you could go a bit shorter round the sides, that's all' I said. Story-world meets real-world, with job-world awaiting on Monday!

'No problem' he replied. I liked him and his no-nonsense approach. I wondered if he would be the same in bed or even in the back-room of a barber shop.

One guard slipped off and another slipped on, we were away again.

'How's that?' he asked after a quick run at my temple.

'You could go shorter if you want' I replied.

'There'll be almost nothing left' he said cautiously.

'The sooner it's gone, the sooner I'll grow something better in its place' I replied practically.

'Okay. How about I take it to here' he suggested, indicating a point on the side of my head.

'Go right up' I said. He nodded and took me at my word, running the clippers up the side of my head.

'Too late to put it back now' he said ruefully.

'That bit's fine, the top's starting to look a bit long now, though' I commented.

He shrugged and carried on, consigning Oliver's grand design to the cape and the floor. My concern about explaining my bleached blonde look at work paled into insignificance now, if you'll forgive the pun. So it was that my nameless dark-haired stranger rendered me effectively bald on much of my scalp before taking the top down to a number one. I looked like a marine by the time he had finished, but he couldn't have done a better job. As he brushed the minute bits of hair from my scalp, I couldn't have been happier. He turned the chair and looked at me for a reaction.

'I never thought that I would do something like that, but it's a million times better than that blonde disaster I had' I reported.

'I'm glad you said it' he smiled.

'Do tell me it looks okay' I begged him.

'Your husband is a lucky man' he replied.

I waited for him to free me from the cape, in a way wishing that we were in story-world where he would have his way with me there and then. Unfortunately we were in the world of transactions, where I paid him and I said thank you. As I walked out, I told myself that it probably wouldn't be the last time that I saw him. I crossed the street, my thoughts turned to Oliver. Had I ruined things for him? Was that his dream style that I had just left on the floor? Would he have wanted to clipper me himself? I would have to wait to find out.

I walked up the street with some purchases in mind, but not knowing where to go. One of them was a present for Oliver that I had been pondering for a few days and now seemed like the ideal time. It took a while to find the place that I wanted, and then more time to pluck up the courage to go in. That major purchase done, I picked up another couple of things on the way home and then breathed a sigh of relief as I made it through my front door without bumping into any of the neighbours. Not that they would have recognised me, of course! I knew that Oliver had seemed to suggest that I get a taxi to his house, but I just wanted to be in my own space before I thought about anything else.

I poured a glass of wine and headed for the bathroom, eager for a soak in warm, bubbly water. I lay there like an Egyptian queen, waiting for someone to wash my back, but that someone didn't materialise. As I was relaxing with a mixture of fantasy and recollection of the day's events, my phone rang. I was grateful for the foresight that led me to take the phone into the bathroom and to leave it within reach. I had suspected that Oliver would ring me and when was more likely than while I was in the bath!

'Hello' I said hesitantly, not really knowing how we had left things between us.

'How are you?' he asked.

Naked and horny, I thought. 'Fine' I said.

'Have you got any plans for tonight?' he asked.

'I was thinking about going to the supermarket to get myself picked up by a stranger' I replied.

'Funny, I was thinking the same thing' he said. It appeared that things were okay. I was pleased.

I stretched out in the bath as we chatted for a few minutes and then I suggested that Oliver come over.

'I might not have finished getting ready, but I'll leave the door open for you' I said.

That meant that I had to hurry to get ready for him before he appeared. I got out of the bath and dried myself off, putting on my robe while I decided what to wear. In the end I decided to go with just stockings and a suspender belt to save myself the effort of undressing almost immediately! By the time that I heard Oliver coming to the door, I was well and truly ready for him. I picked up my phone and dialled.

Oliver answered after two rings.

'Janet?' he said uncertainly.

'Hi Oliver. I'll be with you in a couple of minutes' I said, pausing. 'While you're waiting, get undressed and sit on the chair. Open the box on the table and put it on. Most importantly, make sure that I have something to sit on when I come down, if you know what I mean! Is that clear?'

'Strange, but clear' he said.

'You'd better get a move on then' I said and hung up. I smiled and tip-toed downstairs, grateful for the solid construction of my house which meant that the stairs didn't creak. I was able to peek through the gap in the living room door, where I saw a naked Oliver, struggling to get the blindfold adjusted properly. The stylist had put the idea of blindfolds into my head and whilst I had thought it a little kinky at the time, in the context of the relationship that I now had with Oliver, kinkiness was relative and having him put on a blindfold was well down the list.

'Hello Oliver' I said when I was sure that he had it on properly.

'You know how to treat your guests, don't you!' he said. I had set out two glasses of wine on the table and I could see that he had taken a large swallow from one of them.

'That I do' I replied, taking a moment to look at him sitting there, naked and vulnerable. 

'I'm pleased that you followed my instructions to the letter' I said, running my nails along the length of his erection. Without hesitation, I straddled him and guided him into me, sighing as I got what I had wanted all day. He lifted his arms, ready to wrap them round me.

'No touching' I said, bearing down on him, squeezing him.

'Do you like that?' I asked.

'I'd like it more if I could see you' he replied.

'You can, but there's a price to pay' I replied.

I felt him buck his hips upwards, as much as he could with the weight of my body pressing down on him, anyway.

'What's that?' he asked.

'Are you willing to pay it?' I asked, flicking the switch on the cordless clippers that I had bought when I left the barbers. I could sense him weighing up his options. I squeezed him again, enjoying the game, but eager to feel him unleashed.

'Yes' he said quietly.

I was going to run the clippers through his hair anyway, but it was nice to hear him agree! My attack was restricted by the ties on the blindfold, but I ran the clippers over his crown, sending his well-kept locks tumbling to the floor. He had given me no choice when I went to that salon for him and I was giving him no choice now. There was no guard on the clippers and they were extremely efficient. To the casual onlooker, I was now bald, because of the bleached-out stubble on my crown, but for Oliver it was the real deal. I was leaving him nothing. I tried to complete the job with the blindfold in place, but in the end had to accept that either I let him see me, or I had to leave a few bits for later. I switched the clippers off, pleased with myself. I squeezed him inside me again, desperate to feel his reaction to my hair cut and his own.

I slipped the blindfold over his head, watching him adjust to the light. Then I watched him react to my hair. He reached up to touch it as I leaned away from him, my hands around his neck for stability. My muscles were working overtime, squeezing him, milking him. He was staring at me, all thoughts of his own recent haircut apparently gone. That was a small price for him to pay. I leaned back further and his attention was diverted to my first purchase. 

'I didn't know what sort of jewellery you like. I hope these are okay' I said, pushing my boobs out, looking down to see the gold rings resplendent against my dark nipples. It had taken me days to pluck up the courage to do it, wondering about the pain, the effect on me, but in the end I had found enough examples on the internet to make my mind up. Still I had stood outside the studio after coming out of the barber's, steeling myself to do it. Now sitting here, straddling Oliver, head shaved, nipples pierced, I could think of nothing sexier. True, they still hurt and had made me decide not to wear the tight corset that I had also bought with the wad of cash that Oliver had given me, but that would keep for another day. I eased off Oliver and abandoned myself to him, shaved head downwards, shaved pussy upwards, gasping as he entered me again and slammed home. I had loved it when we had made love gently in the bathroom that time, but this was an occasion just to be fucked. I braced myself against him, as the room resounded with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, people grunting, soul-mates communing. Oliver's hands gripped my head, stroked my scalp, as he pounded and pounded and then he let go, rearing up, deep inside me. It was over.

We lay on the carpet beside each other, touching our heads, smiling at each other. Oliver didn't know whether to look at my head or my chest and I sympathised with him. His baldness or my proud nipples? It was a race with no clear winner.

'What made you go so short?' he asked eventually.

'It just seemed like the right thing to do. I really didn't like the length that the salon cut it, once it was bleached out. It was a bit too much for me. Made me feel like a hooker' I added.

'It was just an idea that I wanted to try, that's all' he said.

'So you don't mind that I cut it off?'

'Not at all' he said, starting to get up. 'I just intended to get you to go shorter in steps' he added. He held out a hand to help me to my feet and we climbed the stairs together, heading for the shower. Last time we showered together, Oliver washed my hair for me. This time, he shaved off what remained, ridding me of all traces of the platinum blonde stubble that the barber had left. I hadn't planned to shave completely, but again, it was just something that happened on the spur of the moment. Of course, the thought had been there, planted by so many stories, just as so much else had been. I winced occasionally as Oliver brushed my tender nipples when we repositioned ourselves in the shower for me to repay the compliment, but apart from that I just had feelings of pleasure and joy at what had happened.

I rubbed my hand lightly over Oliver's scalp to remove the final traces of shaving cream, smiling at him lustily, before assuming what was fast becoming my default position with him: my back to him, legs spread. Sex with my ex had rapidly become a chore after our daughter was born and that was probably what led to the demise of our marriage. Somehow it was hard to see that happening with Oliver. After all, I had been a part of a run of-the-mill relationship, never troubled by anything remotely out of the ordinary. Now here I was, hairless, bent over in the shower, watching droplets of water form and then fall from the gold rings through my nipples as the man that I shaved while blind-folded fucks me so enthusiastically that I wonder whether my legs will stand it! We were going to have to go some to keep up this sort of pace. I could sense another research session coming on. Or was I just coming?

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

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