HaircuttingStories.com

It was just like any other sales conference, at least at first. The company had been having its conferences there for years. There was the usual hair-raising taxi-ride from the airport, watching oncoming headlights appear seemingly on the wrong side of the road and the subsiding panic as you remembered your taxi was driving on the right. And then the expensive but understated resort hotel, completely luxurious with its marble-paved foyer, potted cycads and gently playing fountains. The flood of memories from previous stays, the familiar smell, the warm, late-summer evening on the Algarve.

I checked in, and was handed a message. This was quite a surprise. I am not a frequent business traveller, not a practised doyen of luxury hotels, and this had only happened on one or two occasions before. Its the sort of thing, I thought laconically, that is no doubt routine to James Bond as he checks in to the Istanbul Hilton for the umpteenth time, but not to a modest businessman like myself. So I opened the envelope with some curiosity. Written hastily on a scrap of hotel stationery was the message: Can I speak to you about something when you check in? Alison. And a mobile number. The very slight feeling of burgeoning excitement Id had all evening grew. Alison was a much-liked colleague, married with children and the mother-figure of the department we worked in. I was slightly puzzled, slightly alarmed and had a pre-sentiment of excitement and intrigue. What on earth could the message be about? Finishing the check in with the pretty Portugese receptionist and wishing her a goodnight I took my key card from the counter, stooped to zip up my bag and heard a commotion behind me, and Alisons sibilant voice, rising to a piping crescendo in a wailing plea.

But I have to; Id feel awful not to support Gisela.

No, you dont have to at all, rejoindered another of my colleagues, Im certainly not; its all getting too damn silly for words.
Hi you lot, I said as I turned and strolled over to join the group. Alison was with two of my other colleagues Shannon and Jane and in the middle of some sort of intense discussion. They turned and greeted me animatedly, asking in unison how I was and if Id had a good flight.

Whats going on anyway? I said, I interrupted something..? you all seem very agitated about something or other?

It's this damn company slurred Shannon, in her growling American drawl. It takes the biscuit. Have you not heard?! All the women are supposed to get themselves short haircuts tonight for the gala dinner to support Gisela, for chrissakes. You heard about her, right? Can you believe it! Shannon was almost laughing with the force of her incredulity.
What? I said in astonishment. Youre joking. No, she said, not joking honey. Those two idiots in HR are behind it..

The two idiots, as Shannon bluntly referred to them, were our pretty but gormless HR Director, Pamela, and her smarter but much more junior sidekick, Flavia.

Were not being forced to have our hair cut, it's voluntary, corrected Alison, but everyone is starting to do it, to show support for Gisela. Alison looked red-faced and somewhat distressed. It moved me to see her scared like that.
I see. I heard Gisela had breast cancer, I said, rather lamely, feeling that I should indicate in my remark both that this was a bit of a womans thing and that I felt slightly out of place.
Which is terrible for her of course, but I dont want all my hair cut off! And then again I feel guilty at not supporting her and now I feel in a terrible spot because the hotel salon is completely booked up and.gabbled Alison in a pleading spoiled little girl voice.
Look dont feel under any pressure, said Jane, calmly
Its al right for you, said Alison, ruefully but kindly, youve had yours cut
Yes, but its symbolic, said Jane brightly, I didnt have much cut off, and certainly didnt feel under any pressure to get myself scalped. She smiled winningly. I noticed that Jane had her shoulder length bob layered, cut close to her neck and revealing very pretty ears. She looked great in the cut. If she wasnt a nicer person and they didnt know her better the other women might have thought her attitude smug.

Look, Ive got to go; Im meeting Bob, put in Jane, and moved off waving a hand in valediction.
Me too, said Shannon. Bar later?
Yeah, sounds good I said. All seemed to agree by their nods and grunts.
7.30? said Alison. By the pool?
Shannon waddled off.
Not getting a haircut then Shannon? I shouted after her as she walked away, and received a two-fingered salute in reply.

Alison and were now alone in the foyer, her grey-blue mooncalf eyes looking at me forlornly.
Whats this note about then? I said, slightly sternly, but with a faint smile.
Alison flushed and smiled back. About all this Gisela business she said, with a nervous laugh. Seems ridiculous, I agree, I offered. But whats it to do with me? And then she looked directly at me and smiled.
How are your haircutting skills, Andrew?
I tried to look suitably puzzled, although by now the penny had well and truly dropped and I was getting very excited indeed. I mustnt betray it though, I said to myself. I looked at her, a pretty woman of 40-ish with reddish blonde hair in a slightly unfashionable shoulder length bob. An English rose, and quite a pink one. A year or so ago Alison had started growing out her layers and having occasional trims. It was a long-running saga in the office. I always wondered why women who were growing their hair kept having their hair trimmed at the usual intervals. I supposed as long as you had less trimmed off than grew in a couple of months then progress was made, inexorably, towards the longer style you were seeking. There was even a hint of an angle in her bob-type hairstyle, with the back shingle-cut shorter, stacked is I think the hairdressing term for it. Id always thought how much better shed look if she was just than tiny little bit more adventurous, perhaps having a fringe cut into the front, having the angle pronounced more and maybe going for a more barbered look at the nape. Something slightly more daring in fact. But the end result had been this very safe long bob with a centre part. To be cruel, you could say that like many middle aged women Alison carried a bit too much weight, particularly around the face, and the safe bob didnt do anything to adjust your initial perception of her as a rather frumpy, posh, very English lady. After just long enough a pause I spoke, quietly and levelly.

You want me I said, with all the incredulity I could muster, and with an ironic smile, on my face to do what Alison?!
I want you to cut my hair now, Andrew. Before the gala dinner.
Yes! she laughed, in response to the what the****? look Id put on my face. And after a pause and with some insistence, she pleaded with me. Please?! Im serious!
You really mean that? How on earth could I? Come on
Theres no one else to do it she wailed, and I need it done. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease!!!
It seems like theres some sort of mass hysteria going on here, Alison. Are you sure its really necessary to have a short haircut for this evening? Arent things getting out of hand a little? Alison looked at me coyly and, very excitingly, I wondered if her enthusiasm was an unconscious betrayal of some vague erotic impulse to have me barber her, rather than a desire to socially conform. After a long enough pause I said:
Anyway, supposing I agreed. How short would I have to cut it?
She flushed to the roots and ran her hand protectively up into her thick red mop of hair.
I hope not too short? I smiled.
Oh gosh I dont know about that, she offered rather lamely. I dont know how short, she said, tears welling in her eyes. I saw Sheila in the distance before and shes had her head shaved - completely bald! Im not having that she said hotly.
I wasnt for a minute suggesting it, I quipped. I havent agreed to cut it yet
Alison flushed again. Perhaps just a crop like Janes? Im worried about having it all cut short. Im not as slim as Jane, or as pretty.
Look Alison, I said, putting a hand on her shoulder, sensing her distress and feeling at once protective and predatory, Ill give you a haircut, a trim, what ever you want, providing it goes no further than you and I that I cut it for you. I dont really want a reputation as the office coiffeur. We both smiled at that. Come to my room in half an hour, its 237. Ill see what I can do. And what am I going to use to cut your hair with Alison, a pair of nail scissors?
Ive got a kit! said Alison brightly, as though it was the solution to all of the worlds problems, not just that of her haircut.
A kit? Really? I rejoindered sarcastically and brightly.
Yes, they were giving them out at the hair and beauty presentation, and I um borrowed one. Ill bring it dont worry.
OK I said, smiling in a whatever-next sort of way, see you in a little while Alison

The next half hour was easily long enough for me to contemplate fully what Id agreed to. Those thirty minutes were a complete heaven-sent opportunity for lingering anticipation of erotic enjoyment. Anticipation had always been a big part of sexual pleasure for me. I had long since fully realised my secret hair fetishism, and in particular the strong desire to put it in to practical effect. Cutting the hair of a lovely ordinary very middle class jolly hockey sticks English woman, and cutting it very short, was to me more perversely erotic than cutting the crowning glory of a younger perhaps more glamorous woman a fantasy Id often had, but was probably never ever going to actually happen. The element of everyday ordinariness and the tenuous and ever-shrinking connection with mundane reality sharpened the erotic power of the situation. I was jelly legged and dry-throated with unreleased sexual tension by the time I heard the soft knock on my door

Alison was standing there looking flushed and very pink around the gills. I smiled warmly and let her in, getting a waft of her perfume, body heat and feminine bulk as she brushed past me. Shed changed and was wearing tight white jeans and a pale green tee shirt. She turned and looked at me pleadingly and raised a hand to her hair, laughing nervously

I dont know if I can do this, she said, and moved towards me. I stepped forward and hugged her, feeling her warmth and softness and her perfumed thick hair on my face.
Well you dont have to then I said, lets just forget it.
We hadnt disentangled from the embrace and were both clearly enjoying the contact, I pulled my head back from her face and looked at her in the eye, then very deliberately at her hair, as if assessing it. Alison stared back. I lifted my left hand and touched her hair at the back stroking it down and once my hand had passed the lower hairline at her neck, pulling it in under her stack of hair and pushing up wards, feeling her neck and scalp and the heat under her dense fragrant mop of hair. Then I did the same with my right hand so that both were up under the soft, warm mass.
Youve certainly plenty of it, I said, and after a pause hair I mean. My voice was thick with desire and I looked unwaveringly into her eyes as I said this.

Maybe Ive some hair to spare then, she said, laughing nervously. She looked down shyly. She had thrown the kit on the bed. I picked it up and unzipped it and took out the box of tricks.
Gosh! Clippers! she said, and comically, OO-ERR!! And after that jest a strange look of steely determination came over her. She pulled a chair over, sat on it, and said simply:
Come on, Andrew. Do it.
So I did. The chair faced the mirror and I stood behind looking at Alisons reflection in it.
I put my hand on her shoulders. I suggested she went to wash her hair and she obliged. I went to the balcony, opened the doors and breathed in the heady warm evening air in attempt to gather my thoughts. Returning indoors I heard her call and found her kneeling over the side of the bath, head a mass of white foam, trying to operate the shower hose. I helped rinse her clean of suds, pushing my hands through the squeaky hair, now darkened to chestnut brown by the water. I wrapped a big white bath towel round her shoulders and another round her head, and helped pull her upright. Her face and forehead looked big naked and pink under the turban towel.

I helped her to her seat. She sat there very still, wearing the towel, looking like a pink maharaja. I unwound it and towelled her head vigorously for a few seconds, then threw the towel n the bed. I took up the comb and began to comb out the dampened hair from the ends upwards, slowly so as not to pull it.

I think we should give you a crop, I said as I combed, with a deliberating look straight into her anxious eyes. Youve been growing out your layers into a one-length bob, and in one way its a shame, but I think if we reintroduce them at the back and sides we can leave something of this one-length look at the top.
She smiled and said, My! I thought you knew nothing about hair!
I continued my discourse on her style solution:
You want a cut that is different and is in the spirit of this evenings event, but youre worried about having too radical a cut, so dont worry Alison I wont completely shave you
Oh, thanks for that, she said.
But I think a good short crop at the back and sides would look quite radical for you and also suit you well. It would be a sort of Eton Crop, like Radclyffe Hall, but not quite so severe - with a more feminine touch. I laughed.

Alison looked solemn and pink faced and just murmured sceptically. Hmmm. She smiled weakly.

The combing lasted about five minutes, far too long really, but I wanted to get Alison used to me touching her. I combed her quite roughly, frequently pushing her head forward to better get at the back. Then I mussed it and combed it with my finger ends, pushing the floppy hair this way and that. Then resuming the combing I took up a can of revitalising mousse, squirted a nugget into my left palm and the room was filled with its sexy, soapy perfume. I spread the mousse over both palms and fingers then worked it in, right from the roots to the tips, repeating the process at least three times. At the end of this she looked red faced and pretty in the mirror.
Lets start, I said.
She smiled at me uncertainly from the mirror. I picked up several clips from the bag and with the comb sectioned the back in a very straight line half an inch above the tops of the ears. From top of ear to temple at each side I combed a straight horizontal line and pinned the hair forward and down away from the back section. Gently the hair was combed vertically down in each side section then I scraped together the top section and with one huge butterfly clip (and not that neatly!) captured the whole top growth and pulled it up high and clear. The thick damp hair at the back was wavy and I combed it straight down over and over again. Already the hair was a bit dry and I sprayed the top to rewet it and combed forward a front section down over her forehead and over her eyes. I picked up the black masculine-looking clippers, which were thick, smooth and quite heavy, and plugged them in. The switch was on the side and I pushed it forward experimentally. A higher pitched whine than expected started up. Alison reacted immediately. AAAAGh, she sang out, laughing nervously and ducking her head forward. NOOOOO!

I looked at her cowed face in the mirror, which had assumed an expression of comic terror combined with pleading resignation. I smiled. Not ready yet, I said gently. Relax. I switched off the clippers and in the unnerving silence searched in the bag for a no.4 comb attachment and fitted it. There was a knack to it and it took a while for my nervous fingers to snap it into place. While I did it I told Alison that she must keep still, not be nervous, and most of all not move her head while I was cutting her hair. She kept a fixed smile on her face and bit her lip, just nodding very slightly in answer to my advice.
Im really scared, said Alison. Seriously Andrew. Are you going to cut my hair very short?
Yes, I said, very short, as agreed. A good short crop, my lovely, I repeated

I flicked the clippers on. Alison was looking straight into the mirror; impassive, erect in her chair like the head girl at prize giving. Her normally rosy face was very white. The smile had gone.
I put my hand on top of her head and inclined it gently forward. Then I thrust the clippers up in to the back section of her hair, sweeping up from the hairline to the top edge of the section. Some hair fell away thought not as much as I expected. As I approached the top of the pass I lifted the clippers away. After a few passes I started to feel confident with the rhythm and use of the implement, keeping it straight and level to the surface of the head. There was a fair pile of gingery blonde fluff and stubble now on the rough towel, added to by each stroke. I worked across the neck and back of the head. At the sides I angled the clippers in towards the centre line so as to clean up the edges, and to crosscut by turning the clippers at forty-five degrees and making overlapping parallel passes. The effect was of a neat short haircut, beautifully layered, graded and tapered, but not as short as I had in mind. The clippers really were wonderful. I was so engrossed I had almost forgotten Alison and when I glanced at her I noticed she had her eyes shut and that tears had been streaming down her cheeks unnoticed. The insistent buzzing stopped abruptly as I switched the clippers off. I felt appalled.

Dont cry I said in the eerie silence, and offered her a tissue. Im sorry she said. A hand appeared from under the towel and she took the tissue and wiped away her tears.
Better, I said? Keep your eyes shut if youre scared. Just think of nice things and trust me.
OK she said, with a weak smile
It was a smile that was gone the instant I snapped the clippers back on again. I had forgotten to change the attachment, switched them off again and fitted a no. 3 guard. Alison glanced up when the motor stopped and I saw her lovely eyelashes flicker with apprehension as the buzzing sound restarted. I pushed her head gently down and repeated the cross-sweeping strokes but about an inch short of the height I had clipped to before. This repeated with a no. 2 guard, this time only clippering the final inch above the hairline. At last the No. 1 guard was used on the hairline, again lifting the stroke so it blended in with the slightly longer hair higher up. I ruffled the shorn hair roughly with the heel of my hand, pushing her head forward as I did so. The shaved area felt stubbly but soft, and I brushed the clippings away with my fingers quite vigorously.
Youre making me look like a boy she said solemnly, looking up at me extremely reproachfully from under her brow.
Nonsense I replied, its a boys haircut, sure, but you dont look like a boy, youre much too girly and pretty. Youll look like a lovely mature woman with a sexy short boys hairstyle, thats all. Relax. And please dont forget you asked me to cut your hair off so you could show support for Gisela at tonights gala. I said it gently and we exchanged a glance which was intimate and rather nice.

I finished by fading the edges at the bottom edge of the hairline to no.1, then using the reversed unguarded clippers to neatly shave a very slightly curved line into the sides of the inverted triangle that was now her brutally shorn nape. I left the bottom edge, the truncated apex of the triangle, natural. Alison had thick hair that grew quite far down her neck, and the clipped velvety vee-shape was perfection. At least to me it was.

Alison looked very relieved when the clipper shaving of her nape was finished. Her face was very flushed and pink from being bent forward for so long. The next phase was even more dramatic however. I re-wetted the left side and combed it straight. I then casually lifted a section of the side towards the back with the upside down comb and lopped it off with the scissors at top of ear height. The six-inch length fell like a damp dark snake on to her shoulder and slid down the front of the cape into her lap. I glanced at Alison, who had seen the unceremonious cropping of her tress and had gone pale as a ghost. When I looked again her eyes were screwed shut. With repetitive flowing use of the comb and scissors in perfect harmony I lopped off the rest of the side, working slowly towards the front. On the ends of the shorn side section I used the thinning shears about an inch up from the cut end, to reduce the bulk, and also cut some vertical sections at 45 degrees to her head. Some of these I randomly notch-cut. Around the ears I carefully cut arcs with the scissor points, leaving a long sideburn in front of the ears, but close cropping the hair above and behind the ears. The ears were on the large side for a woman but nicely shaped and lay close to the head.
Alison had been silently sobbing, shoulders gently shaking, for a full two minutes by this point, but I had to be callous if the haircut was to be concluded and I carried on, silently ignoring her. The fringe was lopped at eyebrow height in a slightly curving line that dipped down at the temples. I then made sure the right-hand side was completed in the same way. There was now a tangled mop of her shorn-off hair in her lap and on the floor, some dried to red-blonde fluff and stubble, some in wet, snaking, darker tresses. I picked up the thinning shears again and chopped at the hair at the junction of the longer top and the shaved back, to blend the lengths in, and generally cut off about another inch at the top, towards the back to give a smoother flow from back to front.
Nearly finished, my love, I said softly.
Good! she said hotly. Im surprised Ive any hair left! You absolute beast Andrew..
I looked at her quizzically as if offended by her last remark and she rewarded me with a reluctant half-smile. Her haircut was obviously not a joking matter, even though she had seemed quite cheerful about it before the scissors and clippers actually stared their work on her mane.
Lets clean you up, I said.
I loosened the towel, depositing a fluffy ball of her clippings on to the floor and, using a big make-up brush as a neck-brush, flicked the clippings from her neck and shoulders, and behind her ears. I especially enjoyed brushing short lengths of stubble from her forehead, nose and eyelashes with a deft flick. She was reasonably clean after about a minutes work, though a persistent speckling of blonde stubble that had dried fast on her neck and shoulders had to be removed with a gentle scrubbing from a rough, slightly damp flannel.

Finally I worked some mousse into my palm and rubbed it into her hair, particularly the roots of her crown. I made care to rub the mousse in to the ends of the hair. I then put the dryer on full blast and gave her a quick dry from the roots outwards, massaging and combing the hair with my fingers, and blowing away the rest of the clippings with the fierce blast from the nozzle. Then, as a last stage, I dipped my fingers in a jar of firm-hold wet-look gel and mussed some of it into the front forelock, separating the strands, and working a little of the gel into the roots to give a slightly spiky, choppy look. I twisted the strands of her sideburns together with a dab of gel to make a pointed and dark curl that ended in the slight dimples at her cheeks. My work was complete. The final touch gave her an elfin look despite the matronly solidity of her neck and shoulders.

Its so short, she said softly. Youve given me a haircut all right, Andrew. Youve cropped me.
She was inspecting it closely, watching herself in the mirror, dipping her head, turning it, feeling the shaved back with her fingers.
I watched her, a frumpy middle-aged woman now transformed, exploring and judging her radical new look, her features sharpened and made anew by her cropping. Her large grey-blue eyes looked larger and sexier, her cow-like blonde eyelashes more alluring. Her delicately formed but substantial ears, framed by a neat arc of short hair, made her look boyish, the clippered short back and sides almost manly but not quite, her femininity rescued by her beautiful full lips and shapely chin, the sinuous long side locks, and the fullness at her crown. Her occipital ridge and the subtle changes in slope of the sinuous curve that led up from her shoulder, to her neck and up over the back of her head was beautifully laid bare by her shearing. I felt in awe of my creation and the powerful erotic spell it had cast on me. When she finally stood, turned and held out her arms, the plump red-faced wretch that had sat and sobbed as her crowning glory was ruthlessly shorn had undergone a metamorphosis. The haircut had taken ten years off her, reinvigorated her sexual appeal. She looked very intensely into my eyes.
Thank you, she said.
I reached out and touched her soft bristly nape and pulled her face and lips onto mine, at once penetrating her lips forcefully with my tongue. We remained locked, stock-still but for the movements of our heads, French kissing like teenagers for a full five minutes. When we disengaged my head span so much that I stumbled.

Youd better go, my love, I said, breathlessly. Its 7.20.

I didnt see Alison again until much later that evening - apart from a few stolen glances. After a quick shower I was down at the pool at 7.30 for a quick gin and tonic, but she didnt show. Shannon, Jane and the lady responsible for the whole event, Gisela, were quite worried and texted her, with the reply that she was running late.

I wonder if she managed to get a haircut? laughed Shannon at one point, apropos of nothing but mischief. Shannons hair was uncut, as expected, and frankly an unruly mess. If anyone needed a cut it was her, I thought.

For the dinner we sat with pre-arranged people, and for me that involved some rather forced conversation with a couple of strangers - slightly humourless colleagues from our science division. My first glance of Alison, from about ten yards away, across the dinner tables, caused a huge wave of desire and excitement to flow through me. Shed made up beautifully, with a dark pink lipstick and the pendulous crystal-drop earrings that swung to and fro tantalisingly as she moved her head drew attention to her neck and ears. Her rather plump form was encased in a low-waisted black flapper dress, cut wide at the neck. A double string of large pearls and long cigarette holder completed the look. I continued to gaze at her longingly across the tables. As she spoke to people they obviously remarked on her new hair, as she frequently patted it, and felt the back with her fingertips, laughing coquettishly. They say that women know when eyes are focussed on them, and mine were certainly burning into the back of her head, willing to her turn. For a brief second she did exactly that and looked right at me, as if she knew instinctively my exact position. A quick smile of acknowledgement, but a deliberate and focussed one, nearly made me faint. In it I recognised the promise of intimacy to come.

I retired to my bed quite early that night, never one to enjoy organised celebration very much, despite the rich parade of shorn female heads on display. There was indeed much for the closet fetishist to feast on. Seemingly innocent questions to seemingly innocent victims of ridiculous hubris. My secretary, Janice, for instance, had had her long brunette curls shaved off either side of an inch-wide central strip that seemed to be untouched. Isnt that long curly bit thats left annoying you?, I said at one point when I found myself chatting to her and a couple of her untonsured friends. Yes, she said, would you like to shave it for me Andrew?, and giggled. If you like, I laconically replied. If only she knew. Such were the conversations being had everywhere around the room. It wouldnt have surprised me if several people discovered new sides to themselves that evening. But eventually I tired of the whole thing and went back to my room.

The knock came about half an hour later. I got up dressed just in my boxer shorts and opened the door a shade.
Whereve you been you dirty stop out? I jested. Come in, Alison. She did just that with the same waft of perfume, soft bulk and feminine presence. She was a sight. Her face was flushed and her eyes were shining, partly no doubt through drink but partly also I hoped, through reciprocated sexual desire. We immediately embraced in a passionate, tongue-probing kiss that ended with us both collapsing on to the bed. My cock was tenting my boxer shorts like a circus big top. We lay there, arms around each other, me stroking her hair and neck very gently, whispering to each other.
You are so beautiful, Alison.
Oh, come on. Im forty-five and fat.
You are. You look stunning in this flapper rig out. Almost as if you knew youd get this haircut.
I did, she smiled.
Oh, I said. You had designs on me?
No, designs on this haircut.
I see.
I looked at her again, lovingly and kissed her full on the lips, her ruddy face between my cupped palms.
Had you ever had you hair cut this short before, Alison? I asked as I pulled away momentarily.
No, she said.
Well theres a first time for everything I suppose, I said.
Yes, she said, a first time.
At that she bowed her cutely shorn head to kissing my throat and moved slowly down past my nipples, which she probed with her thick tongue, to my belly, then my pubis. Occasionally the cold touch of a crystal earring contrasted with the hot fleshy kisses. It was an exquisite sensation. I stroked her stubbly nape and soft tousled poll as she worked down, her lovely head bobbing like a bird grazing a field. I couldnt believe what was happening, or what I hoped was happening. I was now speechless, my higher brain functions closed down for sex. I had never felt so aroused, my cock so rigid. Finally she took me in her generous mouth, and I looked down to see her lips stretched over my glans. She was only using her beautiful, beautiful head, not her hands. Lifting me on an upstroke and swallowing a good half of my shaft on the down, getting faster by the stroke. I writhed like a man in his death agony, moaning softly in complete and utter transport. When I came it felt like a twisted garden hose I had once seen, unwinding and suddenly spurting, as the water pressure is explosively released. I literally saw stars, and continued to spurt for several jerks. I looked down at my gorgeous fellatrix. She had not known what to do at my crisis point and had half averted her face as she felt the tremor of my orgasm, and had been caught across the cheek and one eyelash by a glistening skein of semen.
Oh my, she said, what a mess.
I reached across for a tissue and wiped her clean.
There, my love, I said softly.
Have you done that before? I asked.
No, she replied.
Not even with Michael?
Not even with him. Dont make me feel awful, she said. You must think Im a tart.
Of course I dont.
Youll think me a complete fool, I said. But I love you, Alison.
I do think you a fool, Andrew, but thats terribly nice of you to say
Im not just saying it, I replied.
Your turn now, I said.

I removed her dress, and underwear, and kissed her in the same way, working down over her large soft breasts to her large triangle of ginger minge. It was a tangled scrawl of pubes, a little unkempt. She lay there, arms behind her head, showing off such a large acreage of smoothly shaven armpit and soft bare breast, that this tangled undergrowth looked a little out of place.
I think pussy needs a trim, dont you, I suggested.
Where do your tonsorial skills end? she said with a smile.
I got up and took the clippers that had laid bare her nape and laid bare her Venus mound in the same way, shaving it to stubble with the unguarded blade. The clippers pulled her pubes slightly and she winced and gave out little exclamations. I then lathered and double-shaved her with my disposable Bic razor, very carefully, removing the stubble and soap with a damp flannel. Her pink slit and crinkled inner labia were beautifully revealed, and I dipped my head to work on them with the tip of my tongue. She moaned and writhed like a butterfly pinned. When she was nearly for the taking I stopped, and straddled her with my rigid cock swinging, plunging it into her clean slack cunt, at the same time pushing her legs up so her knees were level with her ears. Reader, I fucked her. I fucked her so hard and with such force that we both came within thirty seconds. Such was the frantic frequency of my shafting, I must have been on my sixtieth stroke. I bucked and snorted like a spastic stallion as I spunked, and she cried out with me, riding the wave. Afterwards as we lay together she told me that I had given her not only her first experience of cunnilingus, but her first orgasm too.
So you and Michael never do this sort of thing?
He doesnt like it, she replied. Kissing me down there
And you never come with penetrative sex alone?
No. But I enjoy sex with Michael, she said. Its not all bad.
I embraced her again for her loyalty, and frankness, and just out of sheer desire for her, which was already building in me again.
Youre amazing, she said, feeling me harden.
Theres just one more thing Id like us to do, I whispered.
Anything, she said. Im yours tonight. Your plaything. She didnt smile, she was deadly serious.
We fell asleep for a while, but woke in the early hours to more kissing and tender touching.
Please Andrew, a condom for this.
Yes, I said.

I sheathed myself. She knelt on the bed, face down, bottom in the air. It was pale and wide, and when I parted her cheeks the pale pink circular sphincter winked at me from its sallow concavity. I offered my greased cock head to the hole and pushed. It needed force to part the opening. Alison was sobbing gently.
Dont hurt me, you beast.
I wont, I replied, though I was unsure whether I could keep that promise.
Drop you shoulders and head on to the bed I said, so your thighs are closer to your body; try to relax your stomach. I guided her down, then pushed again.

Ohhhh, she exclaimed as my cock slowly eased its way in to her tight hole. Oh my God! Ohhhhhhh! One I was fully in I slowly withdrew until my glans was nearly out then pushed in again. Ow youre hurting! she sobbed. I moderated my thrusting, reaming her orifice gently until my final explosive push caused her to cry out in pain.
After I withdrew we lay together again in he darkened room, her face wet against my chest as I stroked her soothingly. Sorry about that, I said, it was a first time for me. I hope it didnt hurt too much, I said. It did rather, she replied, but was nice as well in a strange way.
I love you, I said again.
I love you too, she said. And then she added: Ive had six firsts today against your one, though, Andrew. Its been a big day for me. Firstly, my first very crop haircut. Then the first time I give oral sex to a man. Then the first time my pubic hair is all shaved off. Then my first experience of receiving oral sex from a man. Then my first orgasm. Then my first buggering. Am I in your debt or are you in mine? she said archly.
Im very much in yours, I said. And I have something to confide. I hesitated before continuing, slightly nervous about whether I should reveal the truth.
I havent cut hair before, but Im very interested in it. Womens hairstyles, hair salons, hair cutting. Its a thing Ive always had. I suppose you could say I have a fetish for female hair. I feel its deeply unmanly and its a big secret. But dont misunderstand; I love you as much for what you are as for your golden hair, to misquote Yeats about Maud Gonne
I know Andrew, she quietly replied. Ive often caught you secretly looking at my hair and other womens. Thats why I chose you. Im a fetishist too. I guessed that you were.
I looked at her completely astonished at how much I loved her, embracing her and kissing her again.
A First Time for Everything

It was just like any other sales conference, at least at first. The company had been having its conferences there for years. There was the usual hair-raising taxi-ride from the airport, watching oncoming headlights appear seemingly on the wrong side of the road and the subsiding panic as you remembered your taxi was driving on the right. And then the expensive but understated resort hotel, completely luxurious with its marble-paved foyer, potted cycads and gently playing fountains. The flood of memories from previous stays, the familiar smell, the warm, late-summer evening on the Algarve.

I checked in, and was handed a message. This was quite a surprise. I am not a frequent business traveller, not a practised doyen of luxury hotels, and this had only happened on one or two occasions before. Its the sort of thing, I thought laconically, that is no doubt routine to James Bond as he checks in to the Istanbul Hilton for the umpteenth time, but not to a modest businessman like myself. So I opened the envelope with some curiosity. Written hastily on a scrap of hotel stationery was the message: Can I speak to you about something when you check in? Alison. And a mobile number. The very slight feeling of burgeoning excitement Id had all evening grew. Alison was a much-liked colleague, married with children and the mother-figure of the department we worked in. I was slightly puzzled, slightly alarmed and had a pre-sentiment of excitement and intrigue. What on earth could the message be about? Finishing the check in with the pretty Portugese receptionist and wishing her a goodnight I took my key card from the counter, stooped to zip up my bag and heard a commotion behind me, and Alisons sibilant voice, rising to a piping crescendo in a wailing plea.

But I have to; Id feel awful not to support Gisela.

No, you dont have to at all, rejoindered another of my colleagues, Im certainly not; its all getting too damn silly for words.
Hi you lot, I said as I turned and strolled over to join the group. Alison was with two of my other colleagues Shannon and Jane and in the middle of some sort of intense discussion. They turned and greeted me animatedly, asking in unison how I was and if Id had a good flight.

Whats going on anyway? I said, I interrupted something..? you all seem very agitated about something or other?

It's this damn company slurred Shannon, in her growling American drawl. It takes the biscuit. Have you not heard?! All the women are supposed to get themselves short haircuts tonight for the gala dinner to support Gisela, for chrissakes. You heard about her, right? Can you believe it! Shannon was almost laughing with the force of her incredulity.
What? I said in astonishment. Youre joking. No, she said, not joking honey. Those two idiots in HR are behind it..

The two idiots, as Shannon bluntly referred to them, were our pretty but gormless HR Director, Pamela, and her smarter but much more junior sidekick, Flavia.

Were not being forced to have our hair cut, it's voluntary, corrected Alison, but everyone is starting to do it, to show support for Gisela. Alison looked red-faced and somewhat distressed. It moved me to see her scared like that.
I see. I heard Gisela had breast cancer, I said, rather lamely, feeling that I should indicate in my remark both that this was a bit of a womans thing and that I felt slightly out of place.
Which is terrible for her of course, but I dont want all my hair cut off! And then again I feel guilty at not supporting her and now I feel in a terrible spot because the hotel salon is completely booked up and.gabbled Alison in a pleading spoiled little girl voice.
Look dont feel under any pressure, said Jane, calmly
Its al right for you, said Alison, ruefully but kindly, youve had yours cut
Yes, but its symbolic, said Jane brightly, I didnt have much cut off, and certainly didnt feel under any pressure to get myself scalped. She smiled winningly. I noticed that Jane had her shoulder length bob layered, cut close to her neck and revealing very pretty ears. She looked great in the cut. If she wasnt a nicer person and they didnt know her better the other women might have thought her attitude smug.

Look, Ive got to go; Im meeting Bob, put in Jane, and moved off waving a hand in valediction.
Me too, said Shannon. Bar later?
Yeah, sounds good I said. All seemed to agree by their nods and grunts.
7.30? said Alison. By the pool?
Shannon waddled off.
Not getting a haircut then Shannon? I shouted after her as she walked away, and received a two-fingered salute in reply.

Alison and were now alone in the foyer, her grey-blue mooncalf eyes looking at me forlornly.
Whats this note about then? I said, slightly sternly, but with a faint smile.
Alison flushed and smiled back. About all this Gisela business she said, with a nervous laugh. Seems ridiculous, I agree, I offered. But whats it to do with me? And then she looked directly at me and smiled.
How are your haircutting skills, Andrew?
I tried to look suitably puzzled, although by now the penny had well and truly dropped and I was getting very excited indeed. I mustnt betray it though, I said to myself. I looked at her, a pretty woman of 40-ish with reddish blonde hair in a slightly unfashionable shoulder length bob. An English rose, and quite a pink one. A year or so ago Alison had started growing out her layers and having occasional trims. It was a long-running saga in the office. I always wondered why women who were growing their hair kept having their hair trimmed at the usual intervals. I supposed as long as you had less trimmed off than grew in a couple of months then progress was made, inexorably, towards the longer style you were seeking. There was even a hint of an angle in her bob-type hairstyle, with the back shingle-cut shorter, stacked is I think the hairdressing term for it. Id always thought how much better shed look if she was just than tiny little bit more adventurous, perhaps having a fringe cut into the front, having the angle pronounced more and maybe going for a more barbered look at the nape. Something slightly more daring in fact. But the end result had been this very safe long bob with a centre part. To be cruel, you could say that like many middle aged women Alison carried a bit too much weight, particularly around the face, and the safe bob didnt do anything to adjust your initial perception of her as a rather frumpy, posh, very English lady. After just long enough a pause I spoke, quietly and levelly.

You want me I said, with all the incredulity I could muster, and with an ironic smile, on my face to do what Alison?!
I want you to cut my hair now, Andrew. Before the gala dinner.
Yes! she laughed, in response to the what the****? look Id put on my face. And after a pause and with some insistence, she pleaded with me. Please?! Im serious!
You really mean that? How on earth could I? Come on
Theres no one else to do it she wailed, and I need it done. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease!!!
It seems like theres some sort of mass hysteria going on here, Alison. Are you sure its really necessary to have a short haircut for this evening? Arent things getting out of hand a little? Alison looked at me coyly and, very excitingly, I wondered if her enthusiasm was an unconscious betrayal of some vague erotic impulse to have me barber her, rather than a desire to socially conform. After a long enough pause I said:
Anyway, supposing I agreed. How short would I have to cut it?
She flushed to the roots and ran her hand protectively up into her thick red mop of hair.
I hope not too short? I smiled.
Oh gosh I dont know about that, she offered rather lamely. I dont know how short, she said, tears welling in her eyes. I saw Sheila in the distance before and shes had her head shaved - completely bald! Im not having that she said hotly.
I wasnt for a minute suggesting it, I quipped. I havent agreed to cut it yet
Alison flushed again. Perhaps just a crop like Janes? Im worried about having it all cut short. Im not as slim as Jane, or as pretty.
Look Alison, I said, putting a hand on her shoulder, sensing her distress and feeling at once protective and predatory, Ill give you a haircut, a trim, what ever you want, providing it goes no further than you and I that I cut it for you. I dont really want a reputation as the office coiffeur. We both smiled at that. Come to my room in half an hour, its 237. Ill see what I can do. And what am I going to use to cut your hair with Alison, a pair of nail scissors?
Ive got a kit! said Alison brightly, as though it was the solution to all of the worlds problems, not just that of her haircut.
A kit? Really? I rejoindered sarcastically and brightly.
Yes, they were giving them out at the hair and beauty presentation, and I um borrowed one. Ill bring it dont worry.
OK I said, smiling in a whatever-next sort of way, see you in a little while Alison

The next half hour was easily long enough for me to contemplate fully what Id agreed to. Those thirty minutes were a complete heaven-sent opportunity for lingering anticipation of erotic enjoyment. Anticipation had always been a big part of sexual pleasure for me. I had long since fully realised my secret hair fetishism, and in particular the strong desire to put it in to practical effect. Cutting the hair of a lovely ordinary very middle class jolly hockey sticks English woman, and cutting it very short, was to me more perversely erotic than cutting the crowning glory of a younger perhaps more glamorous woman a fantasy Id often had, but was probably never ever going to actually happen. The element of everyday ordinariness and the tenuous and ever-shrinking connection with mundane reality sharpened the erotic power of the situation. I was jelly legged and dry-throated with unreleased sexual tension by the time I heard the soft knock on my door

Alison was standing there looking flushed and very pink around the gills. I smiled warmly and let her in, getting a waft of her perfume, body heat and feminine bulk as she brushed past me. Shed changed and was wearing tight white jeans and a pale green tee shirt. She turned and looked at me pleadingly and raised a hand to her hair, laughing nervously

I dont know if I can do this, she said, and moved towards me. I stepped forward and hugged her, feeling her warmth and softness and her perfumed thick hair on my face.
Well you dont have to then I said, lets just forget it.
We hadnt disentangled from the embrace and were both clearly enjoying the contact, I pulled my head back from her face and looked at her in the eye, then very deliberately at her hair, as if assessing it. Alison stared back. I lifted my left hand and touched her hair at the back stroking it down and once my hand had passed the lower hairline at her neck, pulling it in under her stack of hair and pushing up wards, feeling her neck and scalp and the heat under her dense fragrant mop of hair. Then I did the same with my right hand so that both were up under the soft, warm mass.
Youve certainly plenty of it, I said, and after a pause hair I mean. My voice was thick with desire and I looked unwaveringly into her eyes as I said this.

Maybe Ive some hair to spare then, she said, laughing nervously. She looked down shyly. She had thrown the kit on the bed. I picked it up and unzipped it and took out the box of tricks.
Gosh! Clippers! she said, and comically, OO-ERR!! And after that jest a strange look of steely determination came over her. She pulled a chair over, sat on it, and said simply:
Come on, Andrew. Do it.
So I did. The chair faced the mirror and I stood behind looking at Alisons reflection in it.
I put my hand on her shoulders. I suggested she went to wash her hair and she obliged. I went to the balcony, opened the doors and breathed in the heady warm evening air in attempt to gather my thoughts. Returning indoors I heard her call and found her kneeling over the side of the bath, head a mass of white foam, trying to operate the shower hose. I helped rinse her clean of suds, pushing my hands through the squeaky hair, now darkened to chestnut brown by the water. I wrapped a big white bath towel round her shoulders and another round her head, and helped pull her upright. Her face and forehead looked big naked and pink under the turban towel.

I helped her to her seat. She sat there very still, wearing the towel, looking like a pink maharaja. I unwound it and towelled her head vigorously for a few seconds, then threw the towel n the bed. I took up the comb and began to comb out the dampened hair from the ends upwards, slowly so as not to pull it.

I think we should give you a crop, I said as I combed, with a deliberating look straight into her anxious eyes. Youve been growing out your layers into a one-length bob, and in one way its a shame, but I think if we reintroduce them at the back and sides we can leave something of this one-length look at the top.
She smiled and said, My! I thought you knew nothing about hair!
I continued my discourse on her style solution:
You want a cut that is different and is in the spirit of this evenings event, but youre worried about having too radical a cut, so dont worry Alison I wont completely shave you
Oh, thanks for that, she said.
But I think a good short crop at the back and sides would look quite radical for you and also suit you well. It would be a sort of Eton Crop, like Radclyffe Hall, but not quite so severe - with a more feminine touch. I laughed.

Alison looked solemn and pink faced and just murmured sceptically. Hmmm. She smiled weakly.

The combing lasted about five minutes, far too long really, but I wanted to get Alison used to me touching her. I combed her quite roughly, frequently pushing her head forward to better get at the back. Then I mussed it and combed it with my finger ends, pushing the floppy hair this way and that. Then resuming the combing I took up a can of revitalising mousse, squirted a nugget into my left palm and the room was filled with its sexy, soapy perfume. I spread the mousse over both palms and fingers then worked it in, right from the roots to the tips, repeating the process at least three times. At the end of this she looked red faced and pretty in the mirror.
Lets start, I said.
She smiled at me uncertainly from the mirror. I picked up several clips from the bag and with the comb sectioned the back in a very straight line half an inch above the tops of the ears. From top of ear to temple at each side I combed a straight horizontal line and pinned the hair forward and down away from the back section. Gently the hair was combed vertically down in each side section then I scraped together the top section and with one huge butterfly clip (and not that neatly!) captured the whole top growth and pulled it up high and clear. The thick damp hair at the back was wavy and I combed it straight down over and over again. Already the hair was a bit dry and I sprayed the top to rewet it and combed forward a front section down over her forehead and over her eyes. I picked up the black masculine-looking clippers, which were thick, smooth and quite heavy, and plugged them in. The switch was on the side and I pushed it forward experimentally. A higher pitched whine than expected started up. Alison reacted immediately. AAAAGh, she sang out, laughing nervously and ducking her head forward. NOOOOO!

I looked at her cowed face in the mirror, which had assumed an expression of comic terror combined with pleading resignation. I smiled. Not ready yet, I said gently. Relax. I switched off the clippers and in the unnerving silence searched in the bag for a no.4 comb attachment and fitted it. There was a knack to it and it took a while for my nervous fingers to snap it into place. While I did it I told Alison that she must keep still, not be nervous, and most of all not move her head while I was cutting her hair. She kept a fixed smile on her face and bit her lip, just nodding very slightly in answer to my advice.
Im really scared, said Alison. Seriously Andrew. Are you going to cut my hair very short?
Yes, I said, very short, as agreed. A good short crop, my lovely, I repeated

I flicked the clippers on. Alison was looking straight into the mirror; impassive, erect in her chair like the head girl at prize giving. Her normally rosy face was very white. The smile had gone.
I put my hand on top of her head and inclined it gently forward. Then I thrust the clippers up in to the back section of her hair, sweeping up from the hairline to the top edge of the section. Some hair fell away thought not as much as I expected. As I approached the top of the pass I lifted the clippers away. After a few passes I started to feel confident with the rhythm and use of the implement, keeping it straight and level to the surface of the head. There was a fair pile of gingery blonde fluff and stubble now on the rough towel, added to by each stroke. I worked across the neck and back of the head. At the sides I angled the clippers in towards the centre line so as to clean up the edges, and to crosscut by turning the clippers at forty-five degrees and making overlapping parallel passes. The effect was of a neat short haircut, beautifully layered, graded and tapered, but not as short as I had in mind. The clippers really were wonderful. I was so engrossed I had almost forgotten Alison and when I glanced at her I noticed she had her eyes shut and that tears had been streaming down her cheeks unnoticed. The insistent buzzing stopped abruptly as I switched the clippers off. I felt appalled.

Dont cry I said in the eerie silence, and offered her a tissue. Im sorry she said. A hand appeared from under the towel and she took the tissue and wiped away her tears.
Better, I said? Keep your eyes shut if youre scared. Just think of nice things and trust me.
OK she said, with a weak smile
It was a smile that was gone the instant I snapped the clippers back on again. I had forgotten to change the attachment, switched them off again and fitted a no. 3 guard. Alison glanced up when the motor stopped and I saw her lovely eyelashes flicker with apprehension as the buzzing sound restarted. I pushed her head gently down and repeated the cross-sweeping strokes but about an inch short of the height I had clipped to before. This repeated with a no. 2 guard, this time only clippering the final inch above the hairline. At last the No. 1 guard was used on the hairline, again lifting the stroke so it blended in with the slightly longer hair higher up. I ruffled the shorn hair roughly with the heel of my hand, pushing her head forward as I did so. The shaved area felt stubbly but soft, and I brushed the clippings away with my fingers quite vigorously.
Youre making me look like a boy she said solemnly, looking up at me extremely reproachfully from under her brow.
Nonsense I replied, its a boys haircut, sure, but you dont look like a boy, youre much too girly and pretty. Youll look like a lovely mature woman with a sexy short boys hairstyle, thats all. Relax. And please dont forget you asked me to cut your hair off so you could show support for Gisela at tonights gala. I said it gently and we exchanged a glance which was intimate and rather nice.

I finished by fading the edges at the bottom edge of the hairline to no.1, then using the reversed unguarded clippers to neatly shave a very slightly curved line into the sides of the inverted triangle that was now her brutally shorn nape. I left the bottom edge, the truncated apex of the triangle, natural. Alison had thick hair that grew quite far down her neck, and the clipped velvety vee-shape was perfection. At least to me it was.

Alison looked very relieved when the clipper shaving of her nape was finished. Her face was very flushed and pink from being bent forward for so long. The next phase was even more dramatic however. I re-wetted the left side and combed it straight. I then casually lifted a section of the side towards the back with the upside down comb and lopped it off with the scissors at top of ear height. The six-inch length fell like a damp dark snake on to her shoulder and slid down the front of the cape into her lap. I glanced at Alison, who had seen the unceremonious cropping of her tress and had gone pale as a ghost. When I looked again her eyes were screwed shut. With repetitive flowing use of the comb and scissors in perfect harmony I lopped off the rest of the side, working slowly towards the front. On the ends of the shorn side section I used the thinning shears about an inch up from the cut end, to reduce the bulk, and also cut some vertical sections at 45 degrees to her head. Some of these I randomly notch-cut. Around the ears I carefully cut arcs with the scissor points, leaving a long sideburn in front of the ears, but close cropping the hair above and behind the ears. The ears were on the large side for a woman but nicely shaped and lay close to the head.
Alison had been silently sobbing, shoulders gently shaking, for a full two minutes by this point, but I had to be callous if the haircut was to be concluded and I carried on, silently ignoring her. The fringe was lopped at eyebrow height in a slightly curving line that dipped down at the temples. I then made sure the right-hand side was completed in the same way. There was now a tangled mop of her shorn-off hair in her lap and on the floor, some dried to red-blonde fluff and stubble, some in wet, snaking, darker tresses. I picked up the thinning shears again and chopped at the hair at the junction of the longer top and the shaved back, to blend the lengths in, and generally cut off about another inch at the top, towards the back to give a smoother flow from back to front.
Nearly finished, my love, I said softly.
Good! she said hotly. Im surprised Ive any hair left! You absolute beast Andrew..
I looked at her quizzically as if offended by her last remark and she rewarded me with a reluctant half-smile. Her haircut was obviously not a joking matter, even though she had seemed quite cheerful about it before the scissors and clippers actually stared their work on her mane.
Lets clean you up, I said.
I loosened the towel, depositing a fluffy ball of her clippings on to the floor and, using a big make-up brush as a neck-brush, flicked the clippings from her neck and shoulders, and behind her ears. I especially enjoyed brushing short lengths of stubble from her forehead, nose and eyelashes with a deft flick. She was reasonably clean after about a minutes work, though a persistent speckling of blonde stubble that had dried fast on her neck and shoulders had to be removed with a gentle scrubbing from a rough, slightly damp flannel.

Finally I worked some mousse into my palm and rubbed it into her hair, particularly the roots of her crown. I made care to rub the mousse in to the ends of the hair. I then put the dryer on full blast and gave her a quick dry from the roots outwards, massaging and combing the hair with my fingers, and blowing away the rest of the clippings with the fierce blast from the nozzle. Then, as a last stage, I dipped my fingers in a jar of firm-hold wet-look gel and mussed some of it into the front forelock, separating the strands, and working a little of the gel into the roots to give a slightly spiky, choppy look. I twisted the strands of her sideburns together with a dab of gel to make a pointed and dark curl that ended in the slight dimples at her cheeks. My work was complete. The final touch gave her an elfin look despite the matronly solidity of her neck and shoulders.

Its so short, she said softly. Youve given me a haircut all right, Andrew. Youve cropped me.
She was inspecting it closely, watching herself in the mirror, dipping her head, turning it, feeling the shaved back with her fingers.
I watched her, a frumpy middle-aged woman now transformed, exploring and judging her radical new look, her features sharpened and made anew by her cropping. Her large grey-blue eyes looked larger and sexier, her cow-like blonde eyelashes more alluring. Her delicately formed but substantial ears, framed by a neat arc of short hair, made her look boyish, the clippered short back and sides almost manly but not quite, her femininity rescued by her beautiful full lips and shapely chin, the sinuous long side locks, and the fullness at her crown. Her occipital ridge and the subtle changes in slope of the sinuous curve that led up from her shoulder, to her neck and up over the back of her head was beautifully laid bare by her shearing. I felt in awe of my creation and the powerful erotic spell it had cast on me. When she finally stood, turned and held out her arms, the plump red-faced wretch that had sat and sobbed as her crowning glory was ruthlessly shorn had undergone a metamorphosis. The haircut had taken ten years off her, reinvigorated her sexual appeal. She looked very intensely into my eyes.
Thank you, she said.
I reached out and touched her soft bristly nape and pulled her face and lips onto mine, at once penetrating her lips forcefully with my tongue. We remained locked, stock-still but for the movements of our heads, French kissing like teenagers for a full five minutes. When we disengaged my head span so much that I stumbled.

Youd better go, my love, I said, breathlessly. Its 7.20.

I didnt see Alison again until much later that evening - apart from a few stolen glances. After a quick shower I was down at the pool at 7.30 for a quick gin and tonic, but she didnt show. Shannon, Jane and the lady responsible for the whole event, Gisela, were quite worried and texted her, with the reply that she was running late.

I wonder if she managed to get a haircut? laughed Shannon at one point, apropos of nothing but mischief. Shannons hair was uncut, as expected, and frankly an unruly mess. If anyone needed a cut it was her, I thought.

For the dinner we sat with pre-arranged people, and for me that involved some rather forced conversation with a couple of strangers - slightly humourless colleagues from our science division. My first glance of Alison, from about ten yards away, across the dinner tables, caused a huge wave of desire and excitement to flow through me. Shed made up beautifully, with a dark pink lipstick and the pendulous crystal-drop earrings that swung to and fro tantalisingly as she moved her head drew attention to her neck and ears. Her rather plump form was encased in a low-waisted black flapper dress, cut wide at the neck. A double string of large pearls and long cigarette holder completed the look. I continued to gaze at her longingly across the tables. As she spoke to people they obviously remarked on her new hair, as she frequently patted it, and felt the back with her fingertips, laughing coquettishly. They say that women know when eyes are focussed on them, and mine were certainly burning into the back of her head, willing to her turn. For a brief second she did exactly that and looked right at me, as if she knew instinctively my exact position. A quick smile of acknowledgement, but a deliberate and focussed one, nearly made me faint. In it I recognised the promise of intimacy to come.

I retired to my bed quite early that night, never one to enjoy organised celebration very much, despite the rich parade of shorn female heads on display. There was indeed much for the closet fetishist to feast on. Seemingly innocent questions to seemingly innocent victims of ridiculous hubris. My secretary, Janice, for instance, had had her long brunette curls shaved off either side of an inch-wide central strip that seemed to be untouched. Isnt that long curly bit thats left annoying you?, I said at one point when I found myself chatting to her and a couple of her untonsured friends. Yes, she said, would you like to shave it for me Andrew?, and giggled. If you like, I laconically replied. If only she knew. Such were the conversations being had everywhere around the room. It wouldnt have surprised me if several people discovered new sides to themselves that evening. But eventually I tired of the whole thing and went back to my room.

The knock came about half an hour later. I got up dressed just in my boxer shorts and opened the door a shade.
Whereve you been you dirty stop out? I jested. Come in, Alison. She did just that with the same waft of perfume, soft bulk and feminine presence. She was a sight. Her face was flushed and her eyes were shining, partly no doubt through drink but partly also I hoped, through reciprocated sexual desire. We immediately embraced in a passionate, tongue-probing kiss that ended with us both collapsing on to the bed. My cock was tenting my boxer shorts like a circus big top. We lay there, arms around each other, me stroking her hair and neck very gently, whispering to each other.
You are so beautiful, Alison.
Oh, come on. Im forty-five and fat.
You are. You look stunning in this flapper rig out. Almost as if you knew youd get this haircut.
I did, she smiled.
Oh, I said. You had designs on me?
No, designs on this haircut.
I see.
I looked at her again, lovingly and kissed her full on the lips, her ruddy face between my cupped palms.
Had you ever had you hair cut this short before, Alison? I asked as I pulled away momentarily.
No, she said.
Well theres a first time for everything I suppose, I said.
Yes, she said, a first time.
At that she bowed her cutely shorn head to kissing my throat and moved slowly down past my nipples, which she probed with her thick tongue, to my belly, then my pubis. Occasionally the cold touch of a crystal earring contrasted with the hot fleshy kisses. It was an exquisite sensation. I stroked her stubbly nape and soft tousled poll as she worked down, her lovely head bobbing like a bird grazing a field. I couldnt believe what was happening, or what I hoped was happening. I was now speechless, my higher brain functions closed down for sex. I had never felt so aroused, my cock so rigid. Finally she took me in her generous mouth, and I looked down to see her lips stretched over my glans. She was only using her beautiful, beautiful head, not her hands. Lifting me on an upstroke and swallowing a good half of my shaft on the down, getting faster by the stroke. I writhed like a man in his death agony, moaning softly in complete and utter transport. When I came it felt like a twisted garden hose I had once seen, unwinding and suddenly spurting, as the water pressure is explosively released. I literally saw stars, and continued to spurt for several jerks. I looked down at my gorgeous fellatrix. She had not known what to do at my crisis point and had half averted her face as she felt the tremor of my orgasm, and had been caught across the cheek and one eyelash by a glistening skein of semen.
Oh my, she said, what a mess.
I reached across for a tissue and wiped her clean.
There, my love, I said softly.
Have you done that before? I asked.
No, she replied.
Not even with Michael?
Not even with him. Dont make me feel awful, she said. You must think Im a tart.
Of course I dont.
Youll think me a complete fool, I said. But I love you, Alison.
I do think you a fool, Andrew, but thats terribly nice of you to say
Im not just saying it, I replied.
Your turn now, I said.

I removed her dress, and underwear, and kissed her in the same way, working down over her large soft breasts to her large triangle of ginger minge. It was a tangled scrawl of pubes, a little unkempt. She lay there, arms behind her head, showing off such a large acreage of smoothly shaven armpit and soft bare breast, that this tangled undergrowth looked a little out of place.
I think pussy needs a trim, dont you, I suggested.
Where do your tonsorial skills end? she said with a smile.
I got up and took the clippers that had laid bare her nape and laid bare her Venus mound in the same way, shaving it to stubble with the unguarded blade. The clippers pulled her pubes slightly and she winced and gave out little exclamations. I then lathered and double-shaved her with my disposable Bic razor, very carefully, removing the stubble and soap with a damp flannel. Her pink slit and crinkled inner labia were beautifully revealed, and I dipped my head to work on them with the tip of my tongue. She moaned and writhed like a butterfly pinned. When she was nearly for the taking I stopped, and straddled her with my rigid cock swinging, plunging it into her clean slack cunt, at the same time pushing her legs up so her knees were level with her ears. Reader, I fucked her. I fucked her so hard and with such force that we both came within thirty seconds. Such was the frantic frequency of my shafting, I must have been on my sixtieth stroke. I bucked and snorted like a spastic stallion as I spunked, and she cried out with me, riding the wave. Afterwards as we lay together she told me that I had given her not only her first experience of cunnilingus, but her first orgasm too.
So you and Michael never do this sort of thing?
He doesnt like it, she replied. Kissing me down there
And you never come with penetrative sex alone?
No. But I enjoy sex with Michael, she said. Its not all bad.
I embraced her again for her loyalty, and frankness, and just out of sheer desire for her, which was already building in me again.
Youre amazing, she said, feeling me harden.
Theres just one more thing Id like us to do, I whispered.
Anything, she said. Im yours tonight. Your plaything. She didnt smile, she was deadly serious.
We fell asleep for a while, but woke in the early hours to more kissing and tender touching.
Please Andrew, a condom for this.
Yes, I said.

I sheathed myself. She knelt on the bed, face down, bottom in the air. It was pale and wide, and when I parted her cheeks the pale pink circular sphincter winked at me from its sallow concavity. I offered my greased cock head to the hole and pushed. It needed force to part the opening. Alison was sobbing gently.
Dont hurt me, you beast.
I wont, I replied, though I was unsure whether I could keep that promise.
Drop you shoulders and head on to the bed I said, so your thighs are closer to your body; try to relax your stomach. I guided her down, then pushed again.

Ohhhh, she exclaimed as my cock slowly eased its way in to her tight hole. Oh my God! Ohhhhhhh! One I was fully in I slowly withdrew until my glans was nearly out then pushed in again. Ow youre hurting! she sobbed. I moderated my thrusting, reaming her orifice gently until my final explosive push caused her to cry out in pain.
After I withdrew we lay together again in he darkened room, her face wet against my chest as I stroked her soothingly. Sorry about that, I said, it was a first time for me. I hope it didnt hurt too much, I said. It did rather, she replied, but was nice as well in a strange way.
I love you, I said again.
I love you too, she said. And then she added: Ive had six firsts today against your one, though, Andrew. Its been a big day for me. Firstly, my first very crop haircut. Then the first time I give oral sex to a man. Then the first time my pubic hair is all shaved off. Then my first experience of receiving oral sex from a man. Then my first orgasm. Then my first buggering. Am I in your debt or are you in mine? she said archly.
Im very much in yours, I said. And I have something to confide. I hesitated before continuing, slightly nervous about whether I should reveal the truth.
I havent cut hair before, but Im very interested in it. Womens hairstyles, hair salons, hair cutting. Its a thing Ive always had. I suppose you could say I have a fetish for female hair. I feel its deeply unmanly and its a big secret. But dont misunderstand; I love you as much for what you are as for your golden hair, to misquote Yeats about Maud Gonne
I know Andrew, she quietly replied. Ive often caught you secretly looking at my hair and other womens. Thats why I chose you. Im a fetishist too. I guessed that you were.
I looked at her completely astonished at how much I loved her, embracing her and kissing her again.

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