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I woke up a little hung over from the party last night. Turning 30 isn't so bad, I thought as I looked in the mirror and stared at myself wearing nothing but a cami and panties. I still looked pretty good. Most 20 year olds would probably kill for my body. Living close to the beach I have plenty of opportunity to exercise, but I guess I scored with the genetic lottery, too. My dad is black and my mom white, so my skin is dark, almost like a perpetual tan. I've got all my favorite features of both parents, and by some fluke of nature I got my mom's eyes. They're a pale green like jade. In fact, they named me Jade when I was born. I've had a successful modeling career over the years, probably because of my exotic look, but I think my hair had a lot to do with it, too. My hair is curly. Really curly. Not kinky, like African hair, but much more curly than Caucasian hair. I pretty much just let it grow since high school. Now it reaches my waist. I've never straightened it but, if I did, I'm sure it would reach my knees. I love my hair. It's beautiful. But on this day I found myself wanting a change.

I dressed in a sports bra and a pair of shorts, tied my hair back and went out for a run. I always drew glances as I went, but today I barely noticed. I couldn't stop thinking about my hair. It is really high maintenance. It gets tangled all the time, but I can't really comb it alot, otherwise it gets frizzy. I can't wash it everyday. I'm afraid to go swimming because it gets tangled and I have to wash the salt water out of it. Why am I so negative today? 

After several hours of feeling this way I knew I had to do something. I called up Jim, a photographer friend of mine, and asked him if he'd be interested in shooting me for some personal photos. He said he'd be glad to and came over that afternoon. 

I slipped on a sweet little sundress and a pair of wedge heels and together we drove out to a secluded beach north of Malibu. 

"What's the occasion?" he asked. 

"Honestly, I'm thinking about cutting my hair," I said. "I wanted some before and after shots."

"Wow," he said. "That's big news. What are you going to do?"

"I don't really know," I replied. "I just want a change."

We had a great time shooting. I always felt relaxed around him and he got some great poses, many that really showed off my hair. At last we parted ways and I called my salon to make an appointment. They were able to squeeze me in that evening. 

I arrived wearing a black silk dress and was ushered in to meet with my stylist. Steph was her name. I didn't come in very often but I guess my hair left an impression. She greeted me warmly and we sat down and talked. I unloaded to her about my latest feelings about my hair and she asked me repeatedly, "Are you sure?"

I assured her that I was sure and definitely wanted a change, but had no idea what I had in mind. 

"Do you trust me?" she asked. 

"Yes," I replied. "I do. I want you to cut my hair. I am completely in your hands."

"What I have in mind is pretty different from what you have now," she said. 

"That's exactly what I'm looking for," I responded. 

"Come with me." And she led me to her stall and threw a cape over my shoulders. 

"You're completely sure?" she asked again.

"Yes," I said, "I trust you completely."

And with that she turned to her table and picked up a huge pair of electric clippers. She slipped a guard on and flicked the switch. I was initially startled, but then reminded myself that I was ready for anything. 

"Last chance to change your mind," she said. 

"My mind is made up," I countered. 

The she put the clippers against my forehead and pushed them slowly back. I could feel the tingly vibration and rather enjoyed the sensation. There was the occasional pull as the clippers fought my thick hair. 

They stopped as they reached the crown and returned for another pass. The same process was repeated several times and along both sides. Then she told me to lean forward and I felt the clippers move up the nape of my neck to join the previously mowed areas. She repeated this again and again until she had finished. My eyes were closed the whole time, not because I was frightened but because I was enjoying it so much. I felt her run them over my head tidying up the uneven sections. She switched them off and grabbed another pair, a smaller one which she used to shape the sideburns and the nape. Finally she was finished.

I opened my eyes not completely sure if any of this was real. What I saw staring back at me was a beautifully shaped head with perfectly positioned ears and a long slender neck. My hair was no longer than a quarter of an inch long. My eyes shone like I had never seen before. I smile cracked my lips and soon widened to show teeth. I looked great even without my hair. I reached up to feel it. It was like soft velvet. It was too short to curl and I liked that.

"I love it!" I exclaimed.

"Do you want this?" she motioned at the mountain of curly hair at my feet.

"No," I said. "It's your trophy."

I paid and left with a bounce in my step. It felt so liberating to be rid of that hair. I found I still drew glances from guys on the street, but now they were looking at me, not just my hair.

The next day I was asked out by a guy I'd seen a hundred times at the gym, but had never talked to. He was really hot too. He said he thought before that I seemed like I was on a different level, but the haircut assured him that I was down to earth. I think he just had a thing for short hair, but he never owned up to it.

I almost forgot about the after photos I wanted to do. Jim was excited to see me with my new look and his jaw hit the floor when he actually saw it. He was nothing but complimentary. We shot many more great photos and he insisted on taking no payment for the shoot, saying that it was all his pleasure. 

Time went on and I never got around to maintaining my new do. It started to grow and curl. After about 6 months it was starting to look like an afro. A rather unflattering one. So I decided to make an appointment to go short again.

Steph agreed that I had let it go too long. She sat me down in her chair and caped me, but before starting she leaned over and said, "I think we should try something a little different this time."

"Okay," I said. "You did a great job last time. I'm all yours."

With that she picked up the clippers and removed the guard and proceded to run them all over my scalp. I missed the feeling of those clippers. Again I had my eyes closed for the whole thing just enjoying the sensation. I had forgotten that she had taken off the guard. After the buzzing stopped I felt and hot towel on my head. I opened my eyes and saw her remove the towel and massage foam all over my head. She took out a razor and slowly, carefully scraped it across the scalp removing the shaving foam and all the hair hidden under it. After a few minutes I was bald.

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