HaircuttingStories.com

 "Well, that was a setup."

We were sitting at a corner table in a bar. David had just maneuvered me into agreeing to cut off my long, thick, beautiful hair and have my head shaved completely bald.

I looked accusingly at David. He returned my look with an expression of exaggerated innocence: "I have no idea what you mean."

"Pffft! Of course you do, while I was in the bathroom, you primed them with the idea that I'd been mean to Kristin and that me shaving my head was some sort of reasonable payback for that."

"Does that mean you're mad at me?"

"Mad, hell, I'm grateful. You know perfectly well I wanted to cut my hair off short but Kim'd have a fit if I walked in with a crew-cut. This way, she not only can't give me shit about it, but if the higher-ups have a problem, she'll have to defend me.

"I would have been just as happy to have skipped the actually shaving part," I continued thoughtfully.

"I've never done the bald thing, but I doubt it's a good look for me. But, what the hell, in a couple of weeks it'll be a quarter of an inch, that's long enough to look cute on me. And, it definitely will win me all sorts of 'good person' points that I did this incredibly brave thing to help a colleague."

I gave a saintly smile and then followed it with a raspberry at the thought that some people would think this was brave.

"Ok, so you're not mad at me. So why are you calling this a setup?"

"Because that's what it was. I'm not saying you didn't do me a favor, 'cause you did. I'm just wondering what's in it for you."

"Not necessarily anything. I saw the opening and figured I'd take it. Of course, I can see how this could be an advantage to me, but only if you're interested in what I'm thinking of."

And what are you thinking?"

"Well, how are you planning on doing this? Going home tonight, hacking it off with scissors or clippers, and then going to town with a Gillette Venus?"

"Hmmm. I haven't really given this much thought - I haven't had time to give it much thought.

"Working backwards, I think I really think I need to have it completely shaved by the time work starts on Monday.

"But, I'd really like the people at work to see me with it ultra-short before it's shaved. So, maybe I'll get it cut down to a tight crew-cut over the weekend. Then I'll make some excuse to stop by the office early on Monday - I left my phone there, or I wanted to check email or something - and then I'll go back out and go to that barber down the street. They advertise that they do old-fashioned blade shaves.

"That should be a fun experience, and after I get back to work from that, there won't be anyone who will be able to quibble that I didn't really get it shaved. With it that freshly done, someone would have to look at my eyebrows to guess my hair color."

"So, how are you planning to get from almost 3 feet of hair to a crew-cut by Monday morning?"

I made a face. "Well, that's what I don't know yet. See, the thing is, I love having my hair short, I think it's flattering on me, it's low maintenance and it makes people think I'm really edgy and cool. But, the reason I let it grow out so long is that I also really love the process of having it all cut off.

"The last time I went from long to really short, I had a boyfriend who was really into it. He just sat me down in a chair and started cutting and cutting. . . .

"Cutting it myself just isn't fun in the same way. If I went to a stylist, they might take it up in a couple of stages, but they're really focused on getting you in and out, not spending hours experimenting with different cuts.

"And, the thing is, if I had more lead time, there are men, and some women, who are really into cutting women's hair, kind of a sexual kink, you know? With a little more time, I could probably find one of them to do what I want. But, even if I could find someone who was available this weekend and that's a pretty big if, I'd want to have more time to check them out a little, make sure they wouldn't try to do anything more than just cut my hair."

"Ok, so what I'm hearing you say, is that you want to find someone to cut your hair so you have a crew-cut by Monday morning. You want the cut to go in slow stages so you can savor the experience, and you don't want to have to worry that the person cutting your hair is going to expect to have sex with you, or anything like that, right?"

"Yeah."

"You know my friend, Christian?"

I did; he was one of the group that I thought of as David's gay mafia. They were very socially connected, could be very catty, but they'd always been nice to me - or at least nice to my face, which was all I really cared about.

"The merchant banker?"

"That's him. Would you be willing to let him cut your hair? I'm not sure he's available, but if he is, would he be okay?"

"He'd be great. But, what, you think he has secret fantasies about being a hair stylist? 'Cause I thought you guys objected to that stereotype."

"It's complicated. Do you want me to call him and ask?"

"Sure."

David pulled out his cell and dialed a number. Knowing the busy social lives among David's chums, I didn't expect he'd get hold of Christian on a Friday night, but I guess the social swing hadn't really started yet, because it couldn't have been more than 2 or 3 rings before David started talking. After a few minutes of chit-chat, I heard David say: "You know Sarah, the woman I work with?"

"Yes, exactly, the one with the hair. Except by Monday morning she wants to be the one without the hair. She wants a tight crew-cut by Monday morning, but she wants to have the cut done in a bunch of stages, so she can enjoy the experience. Interested?"

"I'm taking it that's a yes." He laughed, it was pretty obvious that Christian had jumped at the chance.

"Well, Saturday works better for me, but I'll ask her what works for her."

I gave up the pretense that I wasn't listening in on his conversation and said, "I can do anytime Saturday, or Sunday, but I'd rather do it Saturday, if possible."

"Great, Saturday it is, then. I think it'd make sense to do it at Sarah's place, her front room has a wall of windows and if she opens up the shutters, the light will be fantastic. And, she's got a huge mirror on the opposite wall, so she can watch. The only thing is, I'm not sure if she has any chairs that are the right height.

"You actually have a portable barber's chair? That's amazing. And kinda scary.

"Ok, so Saturday morning, Sarah's place, not too early, you'll bring all your stuff." He looked interrogatively at me, and I nodded agreement.

"Roger? I don't know. I'll ask."

Turning to me, he said: "Christian thought it would be fun to do a complete makeover. He wanted to know if his friend Roger could come over and do your makeup to complement your different styles. I've met Roger, he's a nice guy."

"Sure, that sounds like fun. I love being fussed with."

David finished the conversation by giving much better directions to my condo than I ever could have.

"So, that's your haircut taken care of, or at least mostly. What are you planning for the rest of the weekend?"

"I dunno. I'll probably be out and about. When it's new, I like to watch people's reactions to my short hair."

"Excellent. I have some ideas for opportunities to show off. I know there's a brunch on Sunday that I'd love to have you come to, and there are some friends I'd like you to meet on Saturday, but they may already have plans. Can you leave your Saturday evening open, in case I can arrange it?"

"Well, since you've gone to all this trouble to help me do what I wanted to do, sure."

"Ok, see you tomorrow morning."

As we got ready to leave, I became conscious of my hair combs digging into my scalp. Knowing that I would only have it for a very short time, I pulled the combs out of my hair, and shook my head to let it all cascade down my back.

Because I normally wore it up, I'd forgotten how much attention I got, from men, and women too, as I let it swing loose. On the long trolley ride, I deliberately stood, so that my hair swayed with the movement of the car. I watched one man in particular out of the corner of my eye. I could tell he was trying not to stare, but he wasn't succeeding very well.

Sometimes his hand would lift, almost involuntarily, as if he wanted to reach out and stroke my hair, but he always controlled himself in time. Finally, my stop came. As I walked past him to the exit, I leaned in towards him and murmured, "tomorrow morning I'm having it all cut off."

I carefully didn't look back at him, but I did wonder whether he went home and cried, or, as I was about to do, he settled himself in to fantasize about the clippers clear cutting a path through that virgin forest.

Saturday morning came far earlier than I'd expected.

I had planned to just stay in Friday night, maybe tidy up my place a bit, get an early night. But, as I stripped off my work clothes, and felt my hair brush against my bare back, I realized that would be a waste of an opportunity. So, I changed into clothes that were just as uncomfortable as my work clothes, but a great deal sexier and went out to cruise the pickup bars. I never stayed any one place too long: I was trolling but I didn't want to actually catch anything.I certainly got plenty of nibbles.

When I finally got into bed it was a lot closer to Saturday morning than Friday night.

So, when the phone rang at 9 that morning, it was a surprise and an awakening. The surprise was that David was awake and capable of operating at phone before noon on a Saturday morning.

When I mentioned that, he agreed somewhat bitterly: "consider yourself lucky Christian didn't have your phone number.

"He called me an hour ago and asked if I thought you'd be ready yet. I told him no and that if I called and suggested that we be at your place by 8:30 you'd probably tell me to go to hell."

I agreed that that had been a likely scenario, and we settled on them getting here by 10:00.

David, who does think of everything, offered to pick up a carafe of coffee and a bag of beignets. He knew from past experience that I don't even own a coffee maker and am not really set up for entertaining guests.

I toyed with the idea of going back to sleep for just a few more minutes, but decided that I should get started with my morning. Fortunately, my cleaning service comes in on Fridays, so the place looked pretty good. When I'd come in from the bars, I'd decided to wash my hair, mostly to get rid of the smell of smoke, but also so that it would be clean and dry for my hair appointment.

I wasn't sure if Christian would want to start with it wet or dry, but it was a lot easier to make it wet than dry it, so I decided to have it dry when they arrived. Having slept with it wet, it was pretty much of a mess, but I was experienced in brushing out the snarls, and I knew the weight would pull the kinks out before too long.

Having taken care of my morning chores, I grabbed a yogurt and a coke from the fridge and went into my bedroom to pick out an outfit. The jeans were an easy choice - this was going to be low-key. My choice of a shirt was more difficult. Finally, I decided on a white, boat-necked short sleeve shirt. It was nicer than just a t-shirt, but it wouldn't mar the line from my shoulders up my neck, to my head. And, for as long as I had it, the white would make a vivid background for the reddish chestnut of my hair.

At first I grabbed a comfortable sports bra - normal Saturday wear for me. But, as I settled my breasts into it, I noticed that it gave me a uni-boob look. I might be getting a boy's haircut, but I had no intention of looking like a boy. So I wrestled my way out of it and changed into a front-hook racer-back bra that was still comfortable and accentuated my assets nicely.

As I pulled on my shirt, I heard the sound of a car pulling into the hidden little parking space next to my building. Looking at my clock, I saw it was only 9:45. Damn! Most people didn't even notice that space, but every once in a while a more enterprising, or desperate, tourist decided to chance it.

I looked out my window to see whether the driver was still there, and, if so, whether I could convince them that parking there would get them towed. However, when I saw the car, I realized that Christian had arrived. I'd never seen his car before, but if you'd given me pictures of 4 cars and said, pick the one that belongs to the super-rich, merchant banker, that's the one I'd have picked.

I gave a brief sigh of annoyance, didn't these people know that 10 o'clock meant no earlier than 10:15? Clearly not, because I saw Christian get out of the car and start carrying a bundle in the direction of my door.

I slipped on a pair of moccasins that live by the door and started down the stairs. Christian was just coming to the door, as I opened it.

"Hey," I said cheerfully. What the hell, I was up and dressed already, no sense quibbling over a few minutes.

"Hey," he responded. "I'm sorry, I know I'm early, but I ended up packing way too much stuff, so I figured I'd use up the time moving it out of the car."

"Great, here, give me that, and come on up."

He followed me up a flight of steps and into my apartment. "Wow, this is perfect. No worries about the hair getting everywhere with these hardwood floors, the mirror is just right, you'll be able to watch the whole thing, and the light will be fantastic with the shutters open."

"Yeah, I'm going to need a little help with that last. They do open, but you know how it is, mostly I leave them closed and sometimes they need a bit of persuading."

"Right, well we'll leave that to David."

"Yeah, that is what I usually do. So, is that it, or do you have more stuff?"

"Lot's more, I'll start bringing it in."

I went down to help, and we came around the corner, I noticed someone sitting in the car.

"That Roger?"

"He thinks it's unconscionably rude for us to be here before 11:00. And even then he thinks we'd need to arrive bearing mimosas."

I laughed. Christian went up to Roger's side of the car and obviously reassured him that I wouldn't bite. He got out of the car and came towards me. "Please accept my apologies, I assure you that, left to my own devices I would never have inflicted myself on you at such an ungodly hour."

I laughed again, and took his hand in mine. "On the contrary, by dragging yourselves out of bed so early, you saved me the agonies of anticipation. I'm psyched about doing this, but actually waiting to get started. . . "

"Oh, I know exactly what you mean."

I turned to look in the back seat of the car. If this was all Christian's gear for today, I had to agree that he might have over-packed a bit.

"Oh my God, Christian, her hair!"

"What, is there a bug in it?" I tried to turn to look over my own shoulder, with predictable success.

"No, it's so long! and so thick. Christian said you had long hair, but I thought he meant it was a little past your shoulders. Oh, the possibilities. We are going to have fun, today."

"It doesn't bother you that it'll all be cut off?"

"No. As a thing, it's beautiful. The color, the wave, the shine. Wonderful. But, it doesn't do anything for you. It draws attention away from your face and instead of accentuating your body, it somehow makes you look not as slender as you are.

"No, I think you're making a wonderful choice. When Christian told me that he was doing a cut for a woman who wanted a crew-cut I thought that was a bad idea. That can be a very unforgiving style. But, with your face and your body, I think it'll look fabulous."

"You're not saying that just 'cause Christian got up at o'dark-thirty because he wanted to cut it so badly?"

"Well, that too."

We both snickered and turned to help Christian carry their gear up to my apartment.

When we finally had everything upstairs and Christian and Roger had started setting up, I said, "I'm delighted that David was able to get you to do this for me, but I have to admit that I'm kind of surprised that you're into this."

Christian looked up at me: "yeah, as a kid I was always kind of fascinated with women's hair salons, the transformation to bring out a woman's beauty, maybe that she didn't even know she had. That was what I wanted to be as a kid, a stylist. Not surprisingly, my parents weren't cool with that."

I didn't know Christian's parents, but I had no doubt he was from old money and so, no, it wasn't surprising at all.

"They were right of course and I'm very happy with the career I ended up in. But, I always kept the interest. After I graduated from college, we had a deal that I would take a year off and do whatever I wanted.

"I traveled a lot, tried my hand at a bunch of different things. By then I was out to them, so they didn't inquire too closely. But, the one thing I never told them was that one of the things I did was take a course at a cosmetology school. I graduated, never got a license of course. I thought that might be embarrassing if anyone ever did a background check on me.

"In some ways that course convinced me that the last thing I wanted to do was spend my life giving women boring, unsuitable cuts because they thought it would make them look like the current hot movie star.

"So, I just buried my scissors in the closet with the detritus of all the other hobbies I tried and lost interest in.

"But, then one day Roger and I were talking about the fact that so many women want to look good, but end up selecting a style because an actress they admire has it, or it's the hot look, or something, even if it is a look that's entirely wrong for them.

"Anyway, that made me realize that part of the reason so many women are walking around with these godawful haircuts, is because they don't know all the alternatives that are available to them.

"So, Roger and I decided to create a website to open women's minds to all the beautiful possibilities that are open to them. We're going to have sections showing different cuts, why they work some women, and not on others. And lots of different cuts, not just what's trendy this year, but whatever is flattering. We're not going to use stock photos, we want all the pictures to be of our own work. So far, we don't have a ton of stuff in our portfolio, but it's growing."

"I imagine it's not so easy lining up women for the illustrations of the 'don'ts' section. I take it that's where I come in?" I smiled to make it clear that I was ok with that.

"Well, yes, there are a bunch of cuts, starting with what you have, that would be perfect to illustrate what not to do for a woman like you. But there are also a lot of cuts that you would be the perfect person to show how flattering the cut is. What I'm really excited about is the opportunity to have a whole series of cuts on the same woman, to demonstrate how much of a difference the right cut can have."

At this point, just as Christian and Roger had finished setting up their stuff, David arrived with the coffee and beignets as promised.

Now that I had something to offer my guests, I retrieved my coke from the bedroom and put the abandoned yogurt back in the fridge. We put David to work opening the shutters and a few minutes and a fair number of curse words later, we were ready to begin.

"Is what I'm wearing ok? Or would you like me to change into something else?"

"That's perfect. What I want to do is have Roger put on just a very simple makeup, that we'll use as a standard so that you have the same makeup for all the reference pictures.

"We were going to have him change the makeup for some of the cuts, to demonstrate how to accentuate the look for that cut, but truthfully I think it'll take to long. And if you want to enjoy the haircut as kind of a follicular massage you probably aren't going to want to be wiping off one warpaint and having another applied all the time."

I do like having someone do my makeup for me but it really isn't all that relaxing.

"Is there anything you particularly do or don't want me to do?"

"No,. . . well, actually this might seem kind of weird. . . "

"Weirder than the rest of this, you mean?"

"Yeah, good point. Well, the thing is, I kind of really like the feeling as the scissors snip through the hair, so if you're using your fingers or a comb to measure the hair length can you cut on the side closer to me rather than on the far side of your fingers, so I feel the cut?" I picked up a lock of hair between my fingers and mimed what I meant.

"It does feel good, doesn't it?" His smile was uncomfortably knowing. "Sure, I'll do it like that. It's a habit to do it the other way, so if I forget, remind me."

In a few minutes Roger had deftly applied a light makeup. It was a perfect example of "me, only better."

Then it was Christian's turn.

"First, I'm going to give this a good brushing, and we'll take some pictures of you with long, unshaped hair."

As always, having someone else brush my hair put me nearly into a coma of pleasure and I felt almost annoyed when Christian asked me to get up and pose for the pictures. But, remembering that these would be the last pictures of me with long hair for a very long time, I put on a pleasant expression for the camera.

I sat back down and Christian caped me. He combed my hair down around me, and fluffed my part in various directions.

"Ok, there really aren't any flattering cuts for you with hair much longer than your shoulders, and we've already got the pics showing why long hair is not flattering to you. So, we'll move on to just about shoulder length. You're going to be losing most of the length you have in this cut, so if you want me to put it in a braid to save it let me know."

I mentally debated for a minute, but what I really wanted was the sensual feel of the cut, and, for that, cutting it off lock by lock would be more of a thrill than sawing through a rope of a a braid.

"No, I want to get rid of it, not save it."

"Ok, because you've got so much hair, I'm going to section it and pin the top hair up out of the way. Then I'll cut the bottom hair to the approximate length I want. I'll let down the top hair and again just make a rough cut for length. Then we'll see how it hangs with all that weight off, and we'll see where we go from there.

"Roger'll be taking pictures throughout the cut, to show the stages.

"Ready?"

I had a sudden mad impulse to shriek "no" and tear off the cape. But I knew I was already committed.

I gave him a tight smile and a clipped, "yup."

Christian gave me an understanding smile in return and began sectioning my hair. There was so much of it that getting the top section secured out of the way on the top of my head was a bit of a challenge, but eventually, and with the help of a large number of clips he accomplished it.

He went around to my back and combed a strand out and held it were he was going to make the cut. I couldn't see how long the strand was, exactly, but I could see that the remainder of it trailed away out of sight. I was probably going to lose almost 2 feet of length in this cut alone. Well, I'd asked for it.

Snip. I tried not to jump, but now, for real I knew this was happening. Snip, snip, he was moving faster now. As he'd said, he wasn't going for precision at this stage, we was just hacking off the excess.

After a few more snips, I felt my apprehension replaced by the familiar pleasure as the progress of the scissors vibrated against the roots of my hair. It felt so good, I wondered why anyone would grow out their hair except to have something to cut once again.

Soon, he came around to my left side, and for the first time I could see the length he was cutting. Snip, the severed lock slithered down the cape to the floor. The remainder no longer covered my breasts. Instead, it nestled just perhaps an inch past my collar bone. For a moment I had a hint of panic, as I thought, he's cutting it too short!

I reminded myself that most people wouldn't consider shoulder length short. And from there to, well, nearly bald probably gave him enough length to work with. Even so, I needed to take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart.

Christian must have seen some hint on my face, as he asked, "you doing ok?"

'Yeah, I'm just surprised it's so short."

Don't worry, we've got plenty to cut before I even pull out the clippers.

Good. I settled back in the chair to enjoy the experience as he moved to the other side. Snip, the last lock joined it's companions on the floor. Already, my head felt lighter. As I gently shook my head to watch the hair swing over my shoulders, Christian removed one of the clips. As the mass of hair swung down over my shoulder covering the shortened section, I was already surprised at how long it was. Now, having briefly seen myself with shoulder length hair, I couldn't imagine what I had been doing, letting it grow so long.

And now I was impatient for Christian to chop this covering to something more reasonable, something more 21st century.

With the release of the remaining clips, Christian began doing exactly that.

"I'm going to cut this a little longer, for now. That'll give us more options with what to do at this length."

And, now ridiculously, I was impatient for him to cut more of it, not stop at the shoulder, but move directly to chin level, or even shorter. I reminded myself to be patient, to enjoy the process. And, soon, once again I was caught up in the simple pleasure of feeling the interaction of the hair and the scissors.

All too soon, Christian had finished the first pass and he stepped back to let Roger get some shots of this stage of the cut.

While Roger composed his pictures, Christian looked down at the floor. "Do you have a broom somewhere around here? I don't want to slip on all this mess."

I looked down at the floor and was startled at how much hair was lying there. Last night it had been a temptation for a stranger to reach out and stroke it. And now it was just this mess on the floor. I suppressed some melancholy Latin tags and merely said, "yeah, there's one in the cabinet in the kitchen. I'll go get it."

"You stay. David, could you go get it?"

David good-naturedly went into the kitchen and, working around Roger, swept the first wave of my hair into a pile out of the way. When Roger had taken his last shot, I reached to the side and had a few sips of my coke.

Christian came back up behind me. He had me swing my head a few times, and then started brushing my hair. It had been a long time since having my hair brushed had felt so good, with the shorter length and the lighter weight the brush just slipped through my hair.

"Ok, I think at this length we're going to go for a shoulder length straight bob. It's totally classic, but it'll make a wonderful contrast with the first pictures. It'll really show how having too much hair was overpowering, while even a very conservative cut can be much more flattering."

He handed me a towel. I'm going to spray your hair wet for this cut. Cover your face, so I don't smear your makeup.

As he drenched my hair, I almost piped up to tell him he might not want to get it too wet as my hair takes forever to dry. But, then I remembered that from now on it wouldn't take nearly so long as it had.

Finally, he had me lower the towel and he began combing my hair straight, sectioning it so some hung in front of my shoulders while the rest dripped down the cape at my back. Again, he pinned the top section up, much less of an engineering challenge this time, and combed out the bottom section again.

"I'm going to cut the bottom layer about an inch shorter than the top. That'll create a little natural curl at the ends. The longer sections will just kiss your shoulders."

Snip, snip, snip at the back. This cut was slower and obviously more precise, comb, measure, snip, lather, rinse, repeat.

Ummm, it was lulling me into a zen state, I momentarily startled as I felt the slap of wet hair against my face and realized Christian had again released the combs to begin trimming the top section. Once again he started cutting, and once again I felt myself relaxing into the experience.

Finally, he was satisfied with the cut, "give it a shake."

I gently swung my head from side to side.

"More, really make it swing."

I looked up at him reproachfully, "dude, you're harshing my mellow."

But I woke myself up a little and gave a more vigorous swing.

"Nice." Roger took a couple more shots while Christian reached over for the blow dryer.

"You know, hypnotists should set up shop in hair salons, I'd be totally receptive to hypnotic suggestions at this point."

"Give Me Your Credit Cards," David intoned in his lowest register.

Ok, maybe not that suggestionable, but still.

Christian switched on the blow dryer and started drying my hair.

"For this one, I'm not going to dry it straight, I'm going to let it keep its natural curl."

It still took awhile, but before too long my hair was dry. Christian went around gently bending the bottom into a soft curl under. Roger took a few more pictures with me still in the chair and then removed the cape and had me come stand where we had taken the first pictures that morning, to show how the cut changed how I looked standing up. I turned and went to stand in front of the mirror.

A big change, a big improvement.

We agreed to take a five minute break, so I could run to the bathroom and Christian could have some coffee and rest his fingers.

When I came back into the front room, I interrupted a discussion on whether to have the remaining beignets (now cold) or not. To my surprise, it was about 12:30 and people were starting to think about lunch. Christian finally settled the discussion by putting the bag of beignets in the fridge and saying that we'd all go out to lunch together, after the next cut.

I sat back down in the chair and settled the cape around me. Christian walked around me, pushing my hair up on my head at various angles. I would have found this puzzling, but by this point if he'd said he was going to dye my hair green and shave out shamrock patterns, I would have just smiled happily.

Again with the spray, again with the sections. Comb, measure, snip; reduce, reuse recycle. Maybe, I was getting little punchy. It seemed sooner this time when Christian picked up the blow dryer and maybe a slightly shorter time before my hair was dry and he was turning up the ends. It was the same cut, just shorter, about mid-neck this time.

For some reason, I wasn't so crazy about this one and as I stood up for the next set of pictures I liked it even less. I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong with it, it was just, i don't know, too poufy somehow. Even to my untrained eye, this was obviously one of the "don't" styles.

While I was perfectly happy to let Christian use me as an example of what not to do, I kind of wished that I could be going out to show off a beautiful, creative style, not epitomizing a fashion faux pas.

I was determined to be a good sport about it, but I guess Christian recognized my dilemma. Waving me back into the chair, he said "and this will demonstrate that pretty much any cut can be salvaged with the right presentation."

Snagging a few clear elastic bands from a bag on his work table, he started picking up a few strands on the top of my head. Ignoring the moans from David and Roger who insisted that they were weak from hunger, he twisted the strands, not into french braids, but rather some sort of elaborate lattice work, like lace made out of my own hair. In a very few minutes he was done and where I'd looked kind of frumpy before, now I was very stylish indeed.

David was not impressed, but Roger managed to shake off the pangs of hunger for long enough to take some after/after pictures. After that, we all went down to a sidewalk cafe, to rest and refuel and watch the tourists, some of whom were watching us. I liked to think that we were adding some local color to their visit.

During lunch David asked if I was still interested in going out for dinner. When I said I was, he gave me a little background about the couple we'd be going out with, and David, Christian and Roger did a little strategic planning on my look for the evening. David took off to do some errands, but promised he'd be back to pick me up in time for dinner.

Back in my apartment, Christian removed the elastic bands and tousled my hair back into its somewhat unflattering shape.

"Hmmm."

"Run out of ideas?"

"No, just the opposite. If I could make your hair grow like the Barbie with the knob on her back I've got a hundred styles I'd try on you, but each cut constrains where I can go with the next.

"There's one style I'd love to try on you, but to make it work I'll have to uber-curl your hair, and I'm not sure that's your idea of a fun time."

"Well, curling's fine - having the curlers wound still counts as having someone play with my hair. But, if you were thinking of doing a perm, won't that screw up my style for this evening? Not to mention really limiting your other options."

I didn't want to say it, but I really hate perms and I think the super curly ones usually look awful. But, Christian was giving up his whole Saturday to play with my hair, so the least I could do was be a good sport.

"Oh, no, I'm not talking perm. Well, actually, the effects are like a perm, but temporary. There's a styling product that gives a pretty good equivalent of a perm, but it just washes right out and your hair goes back to its natural texture.

"You might need to take a shower to wash it all out, though."

"Oh, well that's not a problem as long as Roger doesn't mind re-doing my makeup."

"Not a problem. I know Christian's been dying to try this look, but no takers."

Hmmm. That didn't really bode well. But, I reminded myself, even if it was godawful, and even if it didn't wash out as well as he'd said, it'd all be on the floor by Monday morning.

"Sure, make me a curly-girl."

"Ok, first I'm going to get the length about right, then I'll curl it. The solution will work better if your hair's dry, so I won't wet it to cut it.

He combed my hair out radially from the crown of my head and started by creating an outline about 3" from my hairline all around my head. As I watched him work, I saw what looked like an over-grown chili-bowl style developing. Not flattering.

Christian must have caught my sort of wry look in the mirror. "Don't worry, it's not gonna be that bad."

That wasn't as reassuring as he may have hoped. How bad was it going to be?

Once he'd created the borders, he started snipping off the length, so each lock was maybe 3" long. Ok, now it looked like a chili-bowl as cut by a flowbee. Fortunately my sense of humor had reasserted itself, so I watched with amusement.

Finally, Christian seemed satisfied with the length. He dragged over another trolley, picked up a spray bottle of liquid and handed me a towel.

"Here, cover your face while I saturate your hair."

Spritz, spritz. It smelled like the sort of hairspray old ladies use to keep their helmet hair in place.

I reminded myself that the smell would wash out too, and concentrated on keeping my face covered.

"Ok, and now the fun part."

I took the towel down from my face and reached to hang it on the side of the trolley. The curling rods in the top section? I have fatter skewers in my kitchen. Ok, that's an exaggeration, but they were pretty small. Clearly we weren't just talking a little wave here.

I settled myself back in the chair and let Christian begin my poodleification.

Despite the smell, I soon started to enjoy the experience. Now that Christian was involved in essentially a pretty mindless, repetitive task, Roger moved up and started gossiping with him. Most of the people they were talking about I didn't know, but the casual chit-chat was entertaining. And probably slanderous in parts.

Soon enough, Christian was done. From the way he was rotating his wrists I could tell it was none too soon for him. He fitted a plastic cap over it all and said: "do you need to go to the bathroom or anything before we put you under the dryer?"

"You brought in a hairdryer?"

"Well, really it's a bonnet attachment for my blow-dryer, but it works the same."

"Yeah, I might as well."

Seeing myself up close in the bathroom mirror, I looked like an extra in a really low budget sci-fi movie from the '60s.

When I came out, I grabbed a couple of catalogs to flip through while I was getting set.

Christian set the temperature of the dryer for as high as I'd tolerate without complaining. I expected to be bored, watching the men chat while I was excluded by the noise around my head, but, actually, the heat and the whir of the dryer reminded me of going to the hairdresser with my mother.

I'd always felt so grown up, sitting under the big dryers, waiting for my new 'do to be ready.

Then I thought of the hairstyle I'd be wearing to dinner: this ain't your momma's hair salon!

After checking my doneness a few times, Christian pronounced me ready.

He started uncoiling my hair from the back, so naturally I couldn't see what it looked like. When he finally came around to do the sides, I gasped in shock. My sister's labradoodle didn't have such tight curls. Eeek!

As he released the hair on the top of my head, I had to keep reminding myself that it would be gone very shortly. The silhouette looked like a white girl afro, but I could see that each section retained its individual curl instead of all frizzing together

.

Christian didn't seem dismayed by the look. He started tidying it, using the back of a rat-tail comb to neaten up some places, combing some locks and snipping them shorter. I thought the hair would be stiff from all the product, but whatever he'd used was flexible, because as the scissors released the hair each lock boinged back into place.

The hair that had started out about 3" long, now created a soft helmet maybe an inch from my head.

I hated it. It looked like a weird cross between an old lady's hair, and little kid hair. And I felt that anger that I'd felt as a little kid when my mother had made me get haircut I hated. Once again, I was that surly little kid.

I tried to be gracious and failed miserably. "God, Christian, could you make me any uglier?"

"You don't like it?"

"Hideous never having been one of my favorite looks, no."

"Ok, I get that you don't like it. I won't put anything on the website that you don't agree to, but will you let Roger take some pictures of it, just for my records, before you wash it out?"

Somewhat grudgingly, I got up and walked to my posing station.

"Psychologically, it's interesting that you hate it. Do you know why it bugs you so much?"

"Because it's butt-ugly?"

"It really isn't. In fact, it looks really cute on you. And, at the risk of doing some pop-psychology I think that's what you hate about it.

"You're used to looking sophisticated, grown-up, even edgy at times, and beautiful. And I think it bugs the shit out of you that this haircut makes you look not beautiful, but cute, like you should be wearing a smocked dress, tights and mary janes. I think you see it as diminishing you."

"Or a polyester house dress, with a blue rinse," I put in sourly, "my great-grandmother had her hair done like this."

I still thought it was just a really ugly haircut, but I managed to drop the scowl long enough to let Roger get some good shots.

"Here, sit back down, I just want to comb it out before you wash it off."

I did. Christian didn't bother to put the cape on, he just started combing through the curls. Instead of preserving the curl structure, he combed them so they all blended together. Now I really did have a white girl 'fro. Not something I would have chosen, but sort of amusing looking.

Roger took a couple of casual shots of me in the chair before Christian sent me off to shower.

As I waited for the water to heat up I ran my fingers through my curls as I looked in the mirror. Ok, the tight sausage curls had been nasty and the 'fro made me look like I'd escaped from planet '70s, but I could see how a short and curly look might be flattering to me.

Still, it was a relief to step into the shower and wash it all out.

Wrapped in one towel, I used a second towel to rub my hair dry-ish. Looking into the mirror, it looked like all the styling solution had washed out. I had an all-over shag of around 3" but at least it was a fairly straight shag.

I shook my head, making the hair fly and I was struck by the transformation. I'd gone to bed with wet hair that had cascaded down my back, now there was only a trickle down my neck at the back.

Even though I'd watched the whole process, felt the whole process, somehow, it hit me, now.

I'd cut all my hair off.

A hundred years, hell sixty years ago a woman who cut all her long, beautiful hair off this short, for no compelling reason, just because she wanted to, would almost certainly have been considered crazy.

I finished toweling off and got dressed. I still had some hair left.

Roger came over and started reapplying my makeup as Christian came over and tousled my hair experimentally.

"So, it washed out, ok?"

"Yeah, no problem, I did need to shampoo twice to get rid of the smell, but I have a kind of oversensitive nose."

"Ready for the next step?"

"Sure, what is the next step?"

"Good question."

Cape, comb in different directions, push my hair around. "Hmm. That would totally work for your hair."

He didn't tell me what he planned, so this was obviously going to be a surprise.

My hair was still pretty damp so he didn't spritz my hair before sectioning and pinning the top layer up. He seemed to be back in the hacking off length mode as he attacked the hair on the back of my head. I couldn't see what he was doing, but it seemed like we were moving into the official short hair range. But, I didn't feel apprehensive about this style, so I just sat back and enjoyed the ride.

Suddenly he stopped snipping, and instead I felt the cold metal of the scissors angled right along my hair line at the nape of my neck. Snip, the scissors slid, down, down, over and then back up the other side. He tousled my hair, snipped a few more pieces and then moved over to the side. There wasn't much hair hanging down in front of my ears, most of it was clipped up on my head, but, what there was of it got chopped off right in line with the top of my ear.

Starting at the back of my head, he started cutting diagonally up the side of my face about two inches from the hairline. As he got to the bangs, he cut into the sides of the bangs so they blended into the line he'd been cutting. This looked like the beginnings of a tight bowl cut, but I was enjoying the sensations too much to care.

My surmise that this was going to be a bowl cut was disproved when he came around and started cutting the hair at the back of my head along the line below which he had previously cut away the under hair. I think that between the late night, and then the nervous excitement of the day I started running out of steam. I just relaxed and let him do what he wanted with me.

When I drifted back to the land of those interested in what is happening to their hair, he'd blow dried the volume back into my hair, and I had a perfect Hamill cut.

I had a bit of a 'hello, the 1970s called and they want their style back' moment. But, it actually looked nice on me. And, if I were looking for a easy care, short, but not too short, style that used the characteristics of my hair as advantages, that was the style.

I was definitely feeling the need for a break and I'm sure from the way Christian was rotating his wrists that he needed one as well. I stood in the now familiar pose to let Roger take the photos. We talked about going out for a stroll around the Quarter, but Christian said he wanted to do that after he did the last cut, so he could see what reactions I got.

So, we sent Roger out for some snacks while Christian and I relaxed on deck chairs on my balcony. When Roger got back, we all sat out there watching the tourists and eating chips.

Finally, Christian suggested we get back to work.

I caped up.

And, in what was now a very familiar routine, Christian poked and prodded at my hair.

"I want to make sure I leave enough hair, so the last cut will work. Actually, the second to last cut, really. You said that when you go in to work, you're going to want to have an ultra-short cut, but not shaved, yet.

"How long were you thinking for that cut? So I know how much to leave you."

"A half inch to a quarter inch."

"Really? Damn, that is short."

"Yeah, it works on me though, it's just long enough to create a frame for my face, while not sticking out from my head much."

"Well, then that solves the problem of leaving enough for what you want. I definitely wouldn't go under a half inch."

I saw Roger making some sort of signal. I didn't understand it, but it looked like Christian did, because he said, "In fact, I'll be leaving it longer than that.

He combed it and then started snipping at the length remaining at the top of my head. Not straight cuts, but like he was removing the volume while still leaving some length. Now the hair was flying everywhere.

One clump landed by my hand, as I picked it up I was surprised by how long it was. I didn't feel like I had that much hair left. Then I looked at it more analytically and realized it was only about an inch. Relative to how much hair I had left it seemed long.

When he had significantly removed the volume from the top, he moved down to blend it in with the back and sides, which were already pretty short. As he worked, I could see he was creating a very sporty pixie cut. If I didn't have my sights on a lot less, it'd be a cut I'd be happy with, very short, totally wash and go, and yet also a style that wouldn't necessarily call my sexual orientation into question.

As he worked, I noticed he was having some problems with hairs that already were trying to stand straight up.

Finally, he had the cut the way he wanted it. It was hard to tell, because it was deliberately cut piecy, but it looked like the lengths ranged from almost 3" down to 2"ish, with the back and sides maybe 2", cut flush with my hairline around ears and down the back. He used the clippers to tidy up my neck, "this'll need to be shaved, but I'll do that when I do the last cut today.

"You're right, your hair really does want to stand straight up. Normally, I'd use a dab of product to weigh those rebellious pieces down. But I don't want anything gunking up your hair for the next cut. So I think what I'll do is just get it a little wetter. Not so wet that it looks slicked down, but the color'll look a little darker in the pictures."

He tousled my hair to give it that just rolled out of bed look, and then sprayed some water on his fingers which he used to damp down the weebles.

I was definitely pleased with this look and this time Roger had to ask me to not smile quite so broadly.

I knew the last cut would be kind of finicking, so I called a brief recess so I could visit the bathroom and help myself to another soda. Both Christian and Roger had adapted to my somewhat casual hospitality and they were rummaging in my fridge for beers.

In the bathroom, I once again took the opportunity to admire myself without an audience. I ruffled my locks with my fingers. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed having short hair. I felt like the long hair had been a phase I'd been going through and this was the real me.

It felt nice.

The next cut wouldn't be so much the real me, but it would be something fun to play with.

As I walked out the door, I noticed that my ruffling had undone all Christian's work to get my hair to lie down neatly. Oh well, that would make the rest of his job easier.

Christian swirled the cape around me for the last time. This time, he tucked some pieces of paper down the back of the neck before fastening it.

"Ready for the clippers?"

"I can't wait. This is the best part."

Despite that, there was a bit of a delay in order to blow dry my hair. Christian tousled it as it dried to make sure that all the pieces were going in the direction they naturally grew in. When it was completely dry, it looked a bit peculiar. Most of the longer sections were lying more or less parallel to my scalp, but almost all of the short ones were standing straight up.

"Ok, for some reason this wasn't one of the cuts we covered in cosmetology school. But I've read up on the procedure, so I think I can do a pretty good job."

Fine with me.

"I'm going to start with the top and get that right and then blend in the back and sides. I'm going to start by leaving as much length as I can on top and then shortening it up once I've cleared all this away."

I was starting to get excited. I just gave a quick nod.

Christian used the comb to lift up the longer pieces, and then used the scissors to trim them so that they were just a little bit longer than the pieces that were standing up. As he worked, he made an effort to flip the cut pieces off to the side so they didn't get embedded in the remaining hair.

Lift, snip, flick, tousle to get all the hair to blend together, repeat.

Soon, all the hair on the top of my head was standing up straight, uneven, but straight, well, except for the hairs where my head started sloping down towards the sides, they were sticking out sideways.

Christian picked up a large, flat comb in one hand and the clippers in the other. There didn't seem to be a guard on the clippers, but it didn't matter, Christian would be using the comb to set the length.

Starting from the back, Christian combed the hair straight up until the comb was almost above the level of the shortest hairs and then ran the clippers over the top of the comb.

I suppressed a shiver. The clippers always had that effect on me, but I didn't want to mess up Christian's accuracy.

Comb, hold steady, mow. Christian worked from back to front and then from side to side to blend the lengths in evenly.

In a surprisingly short period of time, I had a professional looking flattop.

Once he had the top to his satisfaction, he stepped back to assess his work. The back and sides weren't done yet, but that would be pretty straightforward.

"Can I touch it?"

"Of course."

I'd had my hair that short or even shorter before, but never a flattop. It looked so masculine somehow I expected it would feel rough. But, in fact it felt velvety. As my hand caressed my head, my hair caressed back.

I looked, fascinated, at myself in the mirror. When David had asked me to stop at a flattop tonight, I'd been dubious. I'm not an androgynous woman and I thought a flattop would just look incongruous on me. But, instead, the very severity of my haircut made my femininity more apparent.

For the first time since Christian and Roger had shown up at my apartment, I was conscious of the fact that haircutting and short hair were very powerful sexual stimulants for me. However, I firmly controlled that train of thought. Getting turned on wasn't going to do me any good, notwithstanding the good-looking guys in my apartment.

Down girl.

I forced myself to study my reflection dispassionately. "It's great, but do you think it's a little too long on top? Is it starting to cross over into mohawk territory?"

Christian laughed. "Well, no, I wouldn't say it was exactly a mohawk, but you're right, it should be a little shorter."

He moved back to my side and once again picked up the clippers and the comb. Having achieved a good result once, he was more confident this time and it didn't take very long before I had the same, nice level surface, but about a half an inch shorter.

He paused briefly to run his hand over it. In that moment I really wished he was straight, but once again I controlled my libido as he started assessing the back and sides.

He slipped a guard on the clippers and started mowing away the back hair. He left about an inch, but because it lay smooth against my scalp, it didn't seem too long. As he worked up towards the crown, I couldn't see exactly how he managed it, but somehow he finessed the clippers so there was a smooth transition leading up the to landing strip. He trimmed the hairline at the back of my neck again with the clippers and then used a razor to clean away the stubble.

I was torn between wanting to stay in the chair forever, admiring myself and wanting to drag Roger out of his chair to start taking my picture. Christian helped me make my decision when he said, "six-thirty already? We'd better get a move on if we're going to take a stroll around the quarter before dinner."

That's right, I could go out and show myself off now.

I held still for the pictures and even wiped the silly grin off my face when Roger pointed out that it didn't really go with 'daring' and 'edgy'.

We strolled down the street in the evening sun. I pretended obliviousness as I got satisfactory reactions from the tourists. Clearly some of them didn't know what to make of me, or of my escorts for that matter.

A lot of the looks I got were frankly shocked, but I intercepted looks from several men (and a couple of women) that made me think they were imaging having my shorn head in their bed.

Oh well. I'm daring, but not stupid, so I let go of the idea of making that a reality.

When I felt I'd paraded enough, I thought of something I needed to do. "Do you guys mind stopping in a CVS? I want to pick up a clipper set for tomorrow, so I can buzz the rest of this off."

Christian and Roger exchanged a cryptic look.

It seemed like a simple enough thing, it's not like there weren't plenty of them around. I didn't think Christian would be offended that I was going to destroy his handiwork, 'cause 1. we'd talked about the fact that I'd wanted to go in to work with an all-over buzz and 2. come Monday morning it was going to be as gone as a sandcastle on the beach at high tide, anyway.

However, Roger explained: "well, we just thought it'd be nice to have Christian do the last cut for you, you know, round out the series.

"David said you might be coming to the brunch tomorrow. You could go to that with the flattop, then afterwards Christian could just give you a quick buzz when the party breaks up."

"Sure, that works for me. I mean, eventually I'll have to pick up a clipper set, for maintenance trims, but I can wait and pick up a nice one later rather than a cheap drugstore jobbie."

Christian put in, "I'm surprised you don't have a clipper set of your own if you used to keep it really short."

"Boyfriend did the cuts for me, so he had the gear.

"God, I remember times, I'd be starting to get shaggy and he'd make me beg him, 'oh, please honey, cut my hair, it's getting so long! Please, I'll be really nice to you if you'll just buzz me short."

I laughed at the memories. "I didn't have any problem, after the first couple of days, walking around with all my hair cut off. But he knew I'd never have the nerve to go into a hair salon, much less a barbershop to get buzzed. So he'd tease me and say he wouldn't cut my hair anymore and I'd have to let it grow out. But, of course, eventually he'd cut it again."

"It's funny how growing up changes you. Now I can't imagine that I ever would have felt shy about going into a hair salon and telling them what I wanted, but back then. . . "

We all smiled at the things that seemed so simple now, that were so unimaginable then.

"So, what happened to him?" Roger prompted.

"I broke up with him. Once he'd turned me on to haircutting, the haircuts and then the sex were amazing. But, over time I realized that he was really kind of an asshole. One day I just looked at him, realized 'I don't need this' and walked.

"I heard from mutual friends that he'd been so sure I'd come back to him, but I never looked back. Then I got the job here, and well, here I am."

"And you're not seeing anyone here?"

"Nah, but I'm okay with that. I like being in a relationship, but I'm okay being on my own, too. Which," I added thoughtfully as I stroked the top of my head, "is probably just as well, 'cause I don't think the nice lady with the tarot cards is going to be seeing anything tall, dark and handsome in my future anytime soon."

"I think you look much hotter this way."

"Yeah, but, Roger, you're gay."

"Oh, right, so I am."

We walked companionably back to my apartment.

Roger went through my closet (keeping his reflections on my said lack of fashion sense, mostly, to himself) until he found an outfit he liked. I'd expected him to select a little black dress or one of the outfits I had that had a bit of a military cut to them. Instead he picked out a very form fitting knit dress. The dark green was a perfect foil to the bright chestnut of my hair and my autumn coloring.

I tried it on for his approval. He generally thought it was good, but he said I needed more, . . . and then he held his hands up in front of his own chest, miming boobage. I skinned out of my dress (no sense in being modest with someone who simply isn't interested) and switched to a bra with maximum maximizing.

He picked out some understated jewelry for me and then had me sit down to do my makeup. I'd expected him to go for something bold here, but, as he worked he explained that the goal was to make me look that looking fabulous was just totally natural for me.

When he was done, someone who was looking for it would know that I was wearing makeup but I didn't in the least look made up.

I went out to the front room and modeled for Christian, he gave his unqualified approval. It was too late for natural light pictures, but he had Roger do the best he could with all the lights in my front room and the flash to capture the look in action.

It was already a half hour after David was supposed to pick me up, so he'd probably show in another 15 minutes or so. I offered to help Roger and Christian move their stuff back to the car, but they didn't want me to do anything that would mess up my look. I perched on the couch I never used and sat demurely while the men worked.

David showed up just as they were packing the last odds and ends in the car. He was nicely dressed, but a little more restrained than was usual for him. Clearly I was the one who was supposed to draw attention.

I kissed both Roger and Christian and promised to give them a report on the reactions I got in the morning, and went down to David's car.

In the car, David and I talked about the couple we'd be meeting. Both in their mid-twenties, Tom was an up and coming young lawyer at a prestigious firm. Marilyn was an old friend of David's since grade school. She had an art degree and had a glamor job at a very sophisticated art gallery.

When David introduced them I could understand how Marilyn had ended up with a glamor job - I had no doubts that her academic credentials were top notch and she completely deserved the job, but, well, being drop dead gorgeous probably hadn't hurt either. Golden tan, even white teeth, bright blue eyes.

And her hair?

Shoulder length wavy blond bob. It looked great on her, but, at the same time it stamped her upper middle class status as plain as could be.

Tom was a perfect foil with his dark hair and blue eyes set off against his pale skin. A lovely couple and obviously very much in love with each other.

But not so wrapped up in each other that his eyes, didn't lock on to my shorn head. In a very interested way. David hadn't mentioned that about Tom, I wondered if he knew.

I morphed my own smile of recognition into a pleasant social smile and we all sat down.

The introductions and dinner conversation were exactly what you'd expect. It was only after dinner when Tom, Marilyn, and David were drinking sambuccas, and I was nursing my wine from dinner (I don't have much tolerance for alcohol so I make each drink last) that Marilyn finally got up her nerve to ask.

"Sarah, I have to ask I love your haircut, it looks great on you. But, how did you ever get the nerve do it?

I shrugged. "I originally went short a long time ago. My boyfriend liked short hair, and I wanted to try it. I was nervous, but then I realized that what was holding me back was just that I was afraid of what people would think.

I didn't want to think of myself as someone who didn't do something I wanted to do just because I was afraid, so I told my boyfriend that he could cut it as short as he liked. "

I laughed, "and did he ever.

"I liked it, so now sometimes I grow it long and then I get it chopped off again.

"But," I added fairly, "I know there are people who have work reasons why they simply can't do what they want with their appearance, and obviously it's different for them."

I saw David smirk slightly into his sambucca.

"But isn't it a turn off for guys?"

"Some guys, yeah. But there are also guys who really like it. Anyway, am I even interested in a guy who wouldn't be interested in me just because I have short hair? I like the guys who look at me and think I must be pretty cool."

"So, what does it feel like?"

For answer I picked up her hand and brushed it over the top of my hair. She'd had enough to drink that instead of pulling back she continued to pet my head even after I let go of her head.

"Oh, Tom, you have to feel this. It looks like it would be rough, but it's so soft, like velvet."

I bent my head to let Tom take the feel he'd been dying for all night.

"But don't people stare?"

"Some people do. But, I like the way I look. I just remind myself that I look good and I just stare back at them. As long as you don't act embarrassed, people just think you're amazingly cool."

"Isn't it weird? I mean a regular hairdresser couldn't do that, do you have to go to a barber?"

"Actually, you know David's friend, Christian?"

They nodded.

"I was looking for a different look, so he did this cut for me. He's really good. But, yeah, if he hadn't been an option I probably would have gone to a barber."

Marilyn looked very thoughtful. Tom looked like he wanted to pursue the matter, but I caught his eye and managed to convey, 'wait'. He obviously got the message because he turned the topic to something else and before too long our party was breaking up.

David had dropped me off back at my apartment, if not before midnight at least before I turned into a pumpkin. The combination of a late night on Friday, and then all the excitement of Saturday conspired to have me dropping off to sleep nearly as soon as my flat-topped head

hit the pillow.

Sunday morning was a different story. I woke up having the most erotic dream about my former boyfriend. I didn't miss him at all, but right now oh how I missed his body parts. I laughed myself awake, imagining myself going into a store and ordering, '2 tongues and 1 medium and 1 large dick, hold the attitude.'

Sadly, they don't sell them like that.

I stroked my own pussy. It was starting to turn into a long-haired cat. After one foray into shaving, I'd given it up - too itchy. But I'd kept everything neatly trimmed while I was dating and for a long time after that, 'cause if you're going to have guests the least you can do is keep everything neat.

Well, when I picked up the clippers to start maintaining my crew-cut, I'd get a model that could do double duty for some bush clearing.

My casual rubbing of my sex, together with the thought of a trimmer, slicing away all the excess hair, leaving everything exposed, ready for a new lover's hand, his tongue, the thrust of his penis, was starting to get me really excited. My hand moved faster and my breath quickened. . . .

and then I heard the sounds of someone spewing everything he'd drunk the night before in the alley under my window.

Sometimes I hate living in the French Quarter.

I tried to recapture the mood, I knew I'd feel sexually frustrated all day if I didn't bring myself to orgasm, but no joy.

Oh well, I turned over and fell back asleep.

When I woke up again, the sun was shining brightly into my room. I checked the clock: 10:30. I had a comfortable amount of time to wash and dress before going to the brunch party with David's friends.

I took a quick shower and rubbed my hair dry. Just naturally my hair fell almost into perfect order, but I wanted to show off Christian's skill as much as possible, so after I slipped into a pair of elegant slacks and a silk button down shirt, I went back into the bathroom and gelled everything into strict order. Normally, I would set off a short haircut with long earrings, but today I complemented my look with a pair of gold earrings in the form of french knots - they looked like the decorative end of a pair of cuff-links.

A pair of loafers completed my look and I was out the door.

I walked the couple of blocks to the restaurant - well known for its Sunday Jazz brunches, but I hadn't previously known that there was a regular private party that met there once a month.

I gave my name and was escorted to a large back room. Christian and Roger were already there. They came over and Christian got me a Mimosa and started introducing me to people. Some of them I knew as friends of David's, others were strangers to me. I was somewhat relieved to see that while the majority were gays, with some lesbians, there were a number of straights as well. So, I wasn't the only one.

I was very warmly welcomed and quite a number of people were very complimentary about my look. Christian told the story about our adventures yesterday and what I was planning.

A number of people seemed disappointed that by the beginning of my workday on Monday, David's lovely creation would be erased, but a surprising number, both men and a few women, seemed fascinated by the idea.

Christian and Roger went out with me to fill our plates at the buffet and then we settled down at a table, with a friend of theirs, a beautiful woman named Laura. David had just rolled in, he looked with disgust at our plates and set about treating his hangover with a bloody mary.

"So, has Tom called you?" David asked Christian.

"Yes, last night. But you'll never guess who called me this morning. . ." Christian teased.

"Oh, please it's too early in the morning for games."

"Marilyn"

. . . . . . . .

"And what did the lovely Marilyn have to say?"

"She asked me if I could come over today and give her a flattop before she loses her nerve."

"You're joking me."

"No, she loved Sarah's elegant look, but she says the longer she thinks about it the more nervous she gets."

I smiled at that; I knew how she felt.

David ordered another round of drinks for the table. Two was about my limit, but I'd be okay as long as I just nursed this one.

"So, . . . ." David prompted.

"So, I just stopped in here to get some sustenance for my poor starving Roger and to tip my hat to you, oh Master, before heading out to relieve a suffering woman of her anxiety. And most of her hair."

David looked at Roger's plate. "Roger's done, you can go now."

Roger protested, but it wasn't too long before David had shooed them on their way.

I wondered what, besides the desire to do a favor for a friend, had been behind that. Someday I'd have to pump Christian for the back story.

That reminded me. "Oh, Crap!"

Laura smiled over at me. "What?"

"Well, it's nothing, exactly, it's just that I wanted to get my hair buzzed shorter so that I'd have an all over crew-cut for tomorrow morning. Christian was going to do it for me after brunch, but now he's gone.

"Oh, well, I guess I'll just have to stop in a CVS and pick up a clipper set to buzz it off myself."

"I think it looks nice on you, do you really want to buzz it off?"

"Yeah, I think it looks nice, too. But it kind of makes me look like a lesbian."

"And you don't like lesbians?"

"Sure, I like lesbians fine. I'm just not into it. I mean, the thing with the tongue . . .?"

I made a face and then blushed. If she was here, she probably had some friends who were lesbians. Hmm, maybe that third Mimosa had been a mistake, but the bacon was so salty.

"Oh, of course. I understand." She rubbed her hand lightly over my head. Ohh, that felt so nice.

"Is it hard to do a crew-cut?"

"No, you just set the clippers for one length and then pass 'em back and forth until it's all even."

"Well, I have a clipper set at home. I could give you a trim if you wanted."

"Would you mind? I'm not sure how hard it is to do the back of my head. I always had my boyfriend do it before."

She smiled more broadly. "I'd love to. Do you want to go now? The party's mostly breaking up."

Yes, the thought of getting my buzz finished was something I really wanted to do. The only thing that would be better would be if she were a guy. But, clearly I wasn't destined to get any on this cut.

She walked me outside. I wasn't exactly drunk, but I was definitely feeling no pain.

Laura hailed a cab and in a few minutes she was letting me into her apartment. Wow, were all of David's friends rich?

"I think we should do this in the bathroom."

Made sense, I wouldn't want to get chestnut hairs all over her beautiful rugs.

She led me into a bathroom that was bigger than my bedroom with the coolest sunken bathtub. Laura reached up to stroke my hair.

"Hmm, I don't want to run the clippers through with this gel, might end up not getting an even trim."

She looked thoughtfully around the bathroom. "I think the easiest way to do this, if you don't mind, is to have you lie on the floor, and then I can use the shower attachment to wash your hair over the tub."

I smiled at her. Lying down seemed like a really good idea. Laura put a towel and then a bath pillow down so I could lie with my head supported over the edge of the tub.

I was walking over when she said, "I wouldn't want to get your clothes wet, maybe you should take off your shirt and your slacks. Just leave on your bra and your panties."

Oh, right, good idea. I stripped off somewhat unsteadily and walked back over to the towel.

Laura nodded to me, "that's better, isn't it? Maybe I should take my clothes off too, wouldn't want to end up getting sprayed if I dropped the hose," she laughed.

Laura took a little longer getting her clothes off. What a nice body she had. She came over and helped me lie down the way she wanted me. She leaned over me to grab the shower attachment and turn on the water. Her breast was right over my face. I'd never noticed how nice breasts looked, before.

She knelt on my side, playing the shower massager over my head. Ummm. Now she was working her fingers through my hair, getting it completely wet. And the shampoo, I felt her fingernails lightly scratching my scalp. Oh, heaven.

"Bother!"

I looked up with somewhat bleary concern.

"Sorry, it's just a little awkward, shampooing the other side of your head. Here, move your arms up so they're out to your sides."

Anything, happy to oblige.

She lifted her leg over me so that she ended up straddling my chest. Her foot brushed over my crotch as she adjusted herself.

Her lovely breasts hung over me almost escaping the confines of her pushup bra. I had to restrain the impulse to reach up and stroke them. Naughty Sarah! No groping the nice lady.

She resumed my shampoo. I closed my eyes. Obviously I'd had too much to drink, because those breasts so close to my mouth were a temptation like low hanging fruit. I concentrated on the water spraying away the shampoo.

"Comfy?"

Oh, wonderful."

"Good, you look so relaxed with your eyes closed like that. Just wait a second, and I'll get a towel and start drying you off."

" 'Kay."

I heard her move away and come back. She knelt by my side and put one hand lightly on my ribs. The other she brushed down lower. "It looks like your head isn't the only thing that needs a trim."

She brushed her hand over my panties and then my bush and I realized that my panties must have gotten disarranged when she climbed over me.

"Would you like me to give you trim while we wait for your hair to dry? It wouldn't take a minute, I just turn the clipper blade around."

Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that. Normally, I . . . it's just that I haven't been seeing anyone, and. . ."

She gave a throaty laugh, as she ran her hands lightly through the exposed hairs. "Oh, hey, I know exactly how it is, no trouble at all."

"Well, if you're sure."

"Just lift your hips a little, let me slide your panties off."

I did. I kept my eyes closed. As long as I didn't look at her, this wouldn't be embarrassing, just two girls doing a little personal grooming.

She slid my legs apart, and knelt between them. She ran her fingers through my pubic hair, and separated my lips. I heard the hum of the clippers and then felt them vibrating at the top of my mound. She took her time, with my eyes closed I couldn't tell how close she was cutting it, but I felt her pushing clouds of hair off to the side. Stroke, stroke, and then her hand.

She moved the clippers lower. Oh, God, I wished I'd gotten off this morning. I was getting so aroused. I hoped she wouldn't notice. The clippers were moving lower, now they were practically down to the opening of my vagina. The push of the clippers was starting to feel like the stroke of a lover.

"I'm going to take the guard off and shave you a little closer around the lips."

I nodded eagerly. Ahhhh. The buzz of the clippers felt like it was reverberating in my spine.

And then she turned the clippers off.

Oh! I wanted to tell her to keep going, shave it all off, just don't stop. But, how could I explain to her what I was feeling, how turned on I was?

"Well, let's see how dry your hair is."

Instead of moving and coming up along my side, she simply came up my body, so her body was over mine. I felt her hands caressing my hair, my boyishly short hair.

Something inside me just let go. I put my hands up to her head, to her hair and pulled her into my kiss. As I'd been wanting to do, I used my hands to reach into her bra and pull her perfect breasts free. She reached down and unsnapped my bra at the hook between my breasts and I followed her lead and reached behind her to undo hers.

I laughed.

"Yes, my sweet?"

"Women know how to undo a bra."

"Women know how to do lot's of things."

Proving that to be the case, we continued to explore each other's upper body, until something puzzling penetrated my alcohol fueled lust:

If one of her hands was playing with my nipple and the other was clutching the top of my flattop, what was nuzzling at my vulva?

I reached down. What I felt made no sense, so I opened my eyes and craned my head to the side. She obligingly tilted her hips so that I could see the dildo jutting out from her. I ran my hand down it and back to where it disappeared into her moist pink flesh.

"There's more than just the thing with the tongues," she explained. "Are you ready?"

For an answer, I urgently moved my hips trying to bring the tip back towards my own entrance. Laura laughed and turned her hips back to face me. She positioned the head at my vulva, but it was my frenzied hip thrust that brought it inside me.

I thrust wildly, I wanted to make it feel as good for her as it did for me, but I didn't know how. Apparently, I didn't need to worry, maybe she was as turned on as I was, because in a few strokes I felt her shuddering against me and then in turn I felt my own body turn inside out in the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced.

Laura rested her body lightly on mine. As we caught our breath I felt my vagina, nursing on the still hard dildo as the aftershocks ran through my body.

I guess Laura could feel the pulsing through the dildo, because she said to me, "you want to go again?"

"Yes, but not now. I'm too aroused, it'd just be painful."

She nodded and leaned down to kiss me again. Then she pulled out of me and stood up. I laced my hands behind my head and watched her walk to the sink, still wearing that amazing, ever-ready hard-on.

I felt almost disappointed as she pulled it out, and matter-of-factly began washing it at the sink. But as I looked at her lovely ass, I knew that I'd have future opportunities to grab those pretty cheeks and pull her deep into me.

In a few minutes she was done and walking back to me.

Suddenly I understood the smiles men had given as I walked naked back to bed. I knew I wasn't going to get laid again any time soon, but it was just nice to look.

Laura put out her hand and helped to haul me to my feet. She reached up and towel dried my hair.

She looked at me consideringly. "So, now you're a lesbian."

I nodded thoughtfully in turn. I wasn't so drunk anymore, but it sounded right. "It seems I am."

"But this is a boy lesbian haircut, all hard angles and military. I like girl lesbians, all round and cuddly.

"So, I guess I'm going to have to turn you into a girl lesbian.

"Kneel."

I did.

Laura, picked up the clippers and adjusted the blades so the wider blade was forward. She slipped on a guard.

"Are you ready to be a girl lesbian?"

"Laura, if it means I can get back between your legs, you can turn me into a poodle lesbian."

"That's the spirit."

She knelt in front of me and gently pushed the clippers back, away from my forehead, erasing the hard angles and exposing the natural roundness of my head. When she'd finished the top, she leaned in and kissed me.

I kissed her gently back and then said, "please Laura, please finish me."

She gave one quick peck on my lips and then moved around to the side and the back and the side again. I felt soft drifts of hair sliding down my skin.

When she was done, she got up and again helped me to my feet. She drew me over to a mirror. Smiled at my reflection, "now, that's what a girl lesbian should look like."

I reached up to her own shoulder length dark brown hair, and said, "not like this?"

She looked consideringly at her own reflection, and gently moved my hand away from her hair. "For me, this is good." I couldn't argue. She was beautiful exactly the way she was.

Then she turned and slapped me playfully on the butt. "You're covered with hair, let's get you cleaned up." She lead me down the stairs into the bath, and I had my first shower with another woman.

As we were toweling each other off, she looked at me and asked, "so, are you tired, do you need a nap?"

I wondered briefly if that was an indirect way of asking if I wanted to have sex again, but I decided that if that was what she wanted, she'd probably say, 'lie down, I want to fuck you.'

"No, at the moment I'm wide awake. Maybe later, I'll be ready to crash."

"Okay, then let's get dressed and scare the straights"

We got dressed, but instead of going right out, we went over to my place. I didn't have any makeup with me and Laura didn't have the right shades for me. When I was done putting on my makeup, and then adding a sealer on my lipstick so I wouldn't leave it all over my, . . . girlfriend's face, I came out to the living room.

"Ready."

"You know what, why don't you throw your clothes for tomorrow in a bag, that way you won't have to stop by here on your way to work."

"You planning on having me over for the night?"

"You have much to learn, yet, my young apprentice."

Hmm, way to put a spin on that movie.

I packed a change of clothes and underwear (I didn't figure I'd need night clothes) in an oversized handbag and walked out to enjoy the beautiful New Orleans afternoon.

We went everywhere. We had a tourist take Laura's camera and snap a picture of us kissing on the steps of the cathedral. We explored shops and Laura had me sit for a portrait by a sketch artist. We went into a voodoo shop and had our tarot cards read. Turns out I was going to have a wonderful adventure. I thought the tarot told the future, not the present, but I wasn't about to quibble and, everywhere, we kissed.

Part of it was showing off, and probably really childish, but the other part was that I was just so happy and Laura's lips felt so good under mine.

However, I toned it down when I looked up and saw a youngish man staring at us, spellbound. It wasn't like he was a voyeur or a prude, it was almost as if he thought he knew one of us. He did look kind of familiar, but not anyone I could place. Laura and I decided to be a little more discreet for the rest of the day.

We rode a ferry and looked at alligators from a safe distance and finally, ended up in a little, candle lit bistro. Where we smiled over our food and Laura made me blush with the open lust in her eyes.

Back to her apartment, and getting ready for bed. I hung up my clothes so they wouldn't be rumpled in the morning and climbed into Laura's big bed.

Now, I felt shy. Before, there'd been the alcohol and then the sense of showing off for the world, but now, I didn't really know what to do.

Laura smiled at me reassuringly. "We'll take it slow." She pulled some things out of her night table drawer and put them on the night table. Then she turned and pulled me in close to her. Her hands explored my body, from the half inch of hair that covered my little round head, to my equally round breasts, to my hips, and the swell of my ass.

Her hands lightly teased at my clippered pussy, but didn't linger. After a moment to feel what she was doing, I started my own exploration: the nape of her neck and her ears, to nibble gently at her lower lip and then her nipple. I whispered kisses down her belly, but she pulled me back up to her face.

"Not yet."

I'd never had sex like this. Always, before, the men I'd been with had treated foreplay like something they had to get through to get my engine warmed up. Now, for both of us, this was sex, no different than what would come later.

At some point, Laura started moving more her attention down, down between my breasts, then lingering her tongue in lazy sweeps down my belly and down. . .

Now I really didn't know what to do. Should I twist around so that I could concentrate on her lower half?

I guess Laura had been with inexperienced girls before, because she rested her chin on my belly and looked into my eyes. "Don't do anything, just relax and enjoy the experience."

With her mouth causing the skin on my stomach to flutter, she moved her body so that she was between my legs. She blew lightly on my pubic hair and then flicked her tongue imperatively at the wall at the top of my slit.

I caught my breath in a shuddering sigh, and opened my legs further, settling my hips so that I was completely exposed to her. She caught the fold of skin there gently between her teeth and softly scraped. Aaahhhh!

My hips bucked, of its own volition, my body opened itself to her, presenting her with my clitoris and my vulva. She ignored the invitation, running her tongue up and down and around my inner lips, and again, my body shook, begging her to take me, but still she teased me.

Finally, I couldn't take the sweet pleasure any more and I cried out, "please, Laura, please fuck me with your tongue!"

I could feel her smile as she moved down lower, pressing my clitoris between her lips and then finally, turning her attention to my vagina. I could feel my vulva was swollen as it had never been before. Laura's tongue, glided around my entrance. I wanted to wrap my legs around her, force her inside me, but her timing was exactly right and she started flicking her tongue into me.

I bucked and shuddered and tried to stay still, so she could continue forever until finally a massive orgasm spread over me and I was spent.

When I could remember how to breathe, I pulled Laura up to me and kissed her, my, sweet juices away.

At brunch, I'd expressed discomfort about having oral sex with a woman, but now I was eager to give Laura the same experience I had just received. I started to recreate what Laura had done, but she smiled at me and said, "tonight I'd like you do something different for me."

She pulled a vibrator off the bedside table. It had a dildo molded like a well grown penis, but growing out of the side were two bunny ears. While the dildo was inside her the ears would vibrate against her clitoris.

At first, I tried to pleasure her with the dildo in one hand while I teased her breasts with the other, but it was too awkward for that.

In her turn, Laura spread her legs for me to kneel between her. I turned the vibrator on the dildo to low and just teased it around her pussy. When I could see her vaginal muscles start to contract rhythmically, I eased just the tip of the vibrator into her vagina. I turned on the vibrator on the bunny ears and leaned them against her clit. Her hips jumped trying to pull the vibrator into her, satisfy her need.

But, two could play the teasing game. I followed her motion, and no matter how she turned or gyrated, I did not allow her the bury the vibrator in herself. Now it was her turn to beg, "fuck me Sarah, fuck me hard!"

And, with that I did. I plunged the vibrator deep into her vagina, held it there for a count and then pulled it back, almost out. She fought like a sport fish, until finally I was watching her panting on my deck.

I flicked the vibrator off, and gave her a moment to enjoy the simple pleasure of that hardness filling her quivering pussy, before I pulled out of her. I put the vibrator on her bedside table and knelt back between her legs. "No, Sarah, not any more, please, I'm done."

I ignored her protests as I put my head between her legs. I flicked my tongue deep into her pussy, helped myself to a deep kiss on her lips and then brought my body level with hers to cuddle until sleep took us both.

Morning came too soon. I would have liked to have fucked my beautiful lover, but we slept too late and neither of us wanted to be late this morning.

Dressed, and ready to go out the door, Laura put her hands up to my head, ruffling my hair. "All my pretty girl's hair, all going to be gone, for a bet."

I was going to tell her it wasn't a bet, but her caress was making it hard to think. But, I knew what I wanted.

"Laura, I know, I mean, I understand, that this isn't a relationship, but, just tonight, could I come back and be with you again?"

She leaned forward, and kissed me on the forehead. "Yes, come back, I can think of some fun things to do with a bald girl."

We hurried out to our respective jobs.

Or, at least that was what I thought.

But as the barber was settling me into his chair, I saw someone outside the window. Not looking in, no not watching the barber fasten the cape around my neck, no she was just interested in the shop window next door. In fact, she was so fascinated with that window, that she stayed there, until my head was smooth and shiny bald before deciding, I guess, that she didn't want to take that cruise after all.

The downside of a shaved head is that air-conditioning is freezing on it.

The upside, is it feels amazing, as you run your hand over it.

Unfortunately (well, mostly fortunately, but not today), the thing about hair is it grows back, and by the time I was ready to go home, instead of a perfectly smooth scalp I had a five o'clock stubble.

Hmm. That didn't really work with my plans.

Well, one way to fix that.

The barber, Beaudreaux, seemed surprised to see me as I came back into the shop. "Didn't I just see you this morning?"

I assumed that was a rhetorical question. "Yeah, um well, I was wondering if you had time to do another shave. It's getting kind of stubbly."

"Well, it will do that."

"Oh, I know. It's just that I was kind of hoping that tonight. . . it's just I've got a date. . ."

"And you were hoping to be all smooth and shiny for your girlfriend?"

I blushed and gave an embarrassed grin.

"Well, you know the drill, hang up your jacket and hop in the chair."

This time it was faster, with no hair to clip away, and Beaudreaux chatted with with as he shaved me smooth.

Finally, he paused to say, "you know, there's one thing I wonder. You know what they say about bald heads. Isn't your girlfriend going to feel weird having a big phallic symbol thrusting away between her legs?"

I laughed and said I'd ask.

As it turns out, she didn't seem to mind at all. This time, I insisted that it was my turn, and she seemed to like very much having my bald head working enthusiastically between her legs.

I found out another advantage of being bald. When my head ended up covered in juices, she was perfectly willing to lick me clean. Try that with a head of hair!

We woke up early and she shaved me for one last time, with a Gillette ladies razor in her bathtub. This time, I ate her while she sat on the edge of the bathtub, fondling the smooth dome of my head.

We cuddled for a while and I asked her a question that I'd been wondering about since Monday morning. When I heard her answer I decided at some future point I needed to have a chat with David.

Back at work, David commented privately to me that it seemed my hair didn't grow back very fast, but I doubted anyone else had noticed that the stubble I had had the night before seemed to have retracted back into my head.

Laura and I stayed friends and sometimes lovers. Fidelity just wasn't her thing and I was okay with that.

But, that's not the end.

One night, about a month later, I was riding the trolley home, not thinking much of anything, when a man sat next to me and said, "so you really did it."

I looked at him. Seeing him in this context reminded me that I'd seen him the night before I cut my long hair. And then the realization dawned that I'd also seen him the following Sunday when I'd been out with Laura.

"Yes, I definitely did."

He swallowed once or twice before saying, "it looked like your girlfriend was pretty happy about it."

I smiled, I remembered how happy we both had been. "Yeah, she liked it. But, she's not my girlfriend."

"Oh."

I wondered. "So, if it was your girlfriend, would you have been happy about it?"

He nodded.

. . . as the song goes, 'if you want anymore you can sing it yourself.'

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