HaircuttingStories.com

Return to the year 1980 ... in Orange County, California ... as a spontaneous movement called "punk" reshapes the youth culture ...

" ... I heard somebody say 'Burn, Baby, Burn' ... Disco Inferno ... Burn, Baby skreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek ... well, that is enough of that shit, motherfuckers! Welcome to the all new KFUK, your source for punk in this fucking shithole we call L.A. ... disco is fucking dead ... the fucking corpse is starting to fucking stink, man! We are taking over this ...".

Angry ... betrayed .. confused ... the petulant blonde clicked the radio off. The youth culture was changing rapidly around Sandy Dawson and she did not like it. This "punk" or "new wave" or whatever they called the crap was EVERYWHERE! Now KDNC "Dance 98.6" was changing formats from disco to this new garbage. The Starwood Club - where she and Tony ahd won the Hustle contest - was playing this crap now! And these fucking people were starting to pop up everywhere - the mall, the boardwalk, she'd even seen a few on the lawn at Orange County Community College with their dirty clothes and fucked up hair. Why was this happening?!!

Throughout high school and three years of communtiy college, Sandy Dawson had been at the cutting edge. Head cheerleader, prom queen, dated the captain of the football team. Part of her suprmacy was attributable to her stunning good looks - golden tanned flawless skin, tight feline body with pert full breasts, mounds of lush honey colored hair. Part had been attributable to her unerring fashion sense ... and her Daddy's bank account! She made an indelible impression every time she climbed from her hot red Camaro sporting some new revealign outfit. Hours spent at the studio ensured that she was untouchable on the dance floor - her repertory was endless ... the Latin Hustle, the New York Hustle, the L.A. Hustle ... she was in every sense a disco diva ... and now at the ripe old age of twenty-two, she felt like a dinosaur!

She and her rapidly shrinking circle of friends raged against the loss of their social status. Some of these new freaks had had the affrontery to mock Sandy's clothes at the mall ... at the mall! The malls, the beach, the clubs ... these were her turf ... or they used to be!

"Hey, 'Disco Chick' ... change with the times or get left behind!" chuckled one amiable stoner as she'd passed him. "Fuck you!" she'd spat back, "Get a job, asshole!". Inexplicably and annoyingly, she could not get his words out of her head - even hours later. A chord had been struck. She despised these new people, their music, their clothes ... but she could not conceive of a world where Sandy Dawson was considered passe. Maybe she'd have to ...

No! She immediately put the very thought of it out of her head! This garbage was a fad! Disco would be back on top in no time! Weren't the Bee-Gee's getting ready to release a new album?

Six months later ...

Dateless! Again! Five weekends in a row! This just could not be happening! It ... it was impossible - Sandy Dawson an outsider? "B-but I was the prettiest ... most desired ... best dancer ...", she pouted to her reflection in the mirror. Unwelcome and unexpected, the words of the anonymous stoner came back to her ... "Change with the times or get ...".

The blonde tossed her head petulantly - she was just too damn hot to be ignored!

Later that evening ...

Sandy Dawson considered the crowd uncomfortably. Maybe coming back to the Starwood had been a bad idea? She searched in vain for a dance beat in the loud raucous music. She wrinkled her nose in undisguised disgust at the sweating thrashing mosh pit. This was dancing?

The gorgeous blonde stood out like a sore thumb. Accustomed only to compliments and covetous looks form the men and jealous glares from the women, tonight she was greeted by equal measures of stony silence and snide mockery ... "disco bitch", "valley girl", "Orange County c*nt" were just a few of the muttered insults. Resplendent in a silver tube top with spaghetti straps, white mini skirt and silver pumps, the blonde appeared like a bright diamond against the background of black and drab browns and greens favored by 99% of the mob.

Suddenly, her eyes focused on a face - familiar yet not familiar. Eric ... she'd gone to high school with her ... he was one of the geeks ...but ... but look at him now. His well muscled torso was bare ... as was his head. He was shaved bald! He returned her recognition and favored her with a half smile-half smirk. Sidling carefully around the edge of the mosh, Sandy made her way over. She smiled ... and he said ... something? The music was deafening! She inclined her head so he could speak into her ear.

"Yeah, I remember you from school ... I always wanted to fuck you brains out ...".

Sandy recoiled slightly and shot him a venemous look. "In you dreams, you fucking freak!" she sneered and turned on her heel to leave. The young man's lean muscular arm snaked out to grab .. her shoulder? No ... her ... her top!

Shriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikkkkkkk ...

The blonde was spun a quarter turn like some silver top as her garment split and peeled from her body. Shocked, she found herself facing a leering Eric clad only in her lacy bra - he'd torn the top from her body! Grinning madly, he exulted, "You fucking cock tease!". Other punks chimed in, ranting about "fucking rich stuck up O.C. bitches coming down here slumming ...".

Raising her hands defensively, Sandy Dawson tried to sound confident and in control ... "Now you ... you keep away from me, you understand?". As she spoke, she began to backpedal slowly ... straight into the mosh!

Clad only in her bra and skirt, luscious blonde Sandy Dawson stumbled into a mob of writhing howling moshers!!! Some distinctly feminine shrieks could be heard over the combined din of the band and mob. A lacy white thong was tossed through the air. Slowly ... spontaneously ... the dancers began to drift outward ... leaving an open space in the center of the mosh ... a space which was unoccupied ... save for one!

Sobbing ... shattered ... Sandy Dawson trembled on unsteady legs; she was wearing silver high heeled pumps ... and nothing else!!! The cocky petulant disco diva had been STRIPPED - stripped bare naked! Shrieking with equal parts frustration and fear, humiliation and rage, she leaned her trunk foward and tried desperately to cover both her breasts and her vagina with her hands (to attempt to also cover her tight shapely bottom was out of the question!).

The band continued to rage as a barrage of taunts and insults engulfed the naked blonde. Slyly, a short thin girl in tattered black garb with a magenta streak through her hair stole up behind the shattered blonde. Delivering a short clapping slap to Sandy's invitingly displayed ass, the punk taunted her, "Dance, Bitch! You were bullshitting before about showing us some REAL dancing, well go ahead ... DANCE!". The punks took up the word as a chant. Soon the house lights had found the degrading spectacle and added to the blonde's humiliation by spotlighting her. Circled around her, dozens of punks clapped and chanted, "... DANCE ... DANCE ... DANCE ...".

"You ... you mother-fuckers!" Sandy half-shrieked half-sobbed, "L-Look what you've (sob) done to me! Quit fucking looking (whimper) at me ... help ... help ... won't somebody fucking help me?!!"

Some sort of disturbance was an hourly event at the Stardust, so it took some minutes before the club manager investigated te source of this particular disturbance, during which time Sandy Dawson did little more than shriek in glorious bare assed frustration! Eventually, the manager felt obliged to at least look in on this raucous ring of punks ... and was horrified. Shit like this could get him shut down ... or jailed! He cut the band's mikes and amps; the crowd became angry, bordering on the riotous. He pleaded, threatened nad cajoled for the return of the girl's clothes .. and was booed and jeered. Beside himself with worry (for his own well-being and his club!), he was only to happy to grasp when a couple of female punks "volunteered" to help. Elbowing their way through the ring, they wrapped the naked blonde in a filthy blanket. "This way, girlie ...", they whispered soothingly to a distraught Sandy Dawson, "We'll take care of you!".

The shattered blonde was escorted to a side room, enduring further catcalls as she made her way through the jeering mob. Once in the room, a door shut and the noise of the mob and the band (as it ripped into its next number) subsided. The door was thick steel and the walls were liberally draped with blankets and matresses to muffle outside sound. Some of the punks use it as a makeshift sound studio ... among other things. Indeed, in addition to some ancient recording equipment, the room was cluttered with curious odds and ends ... perhaps most curiously, a battered old salon chair!

The door slammed and everything ... changed. The punk girls, once comforting and solicitous were confrontational and contemptuous toward Sandy. "Fucking little 'valley girl' princess ... comes down here to shake her little titties in people's faces and then gets all upset when people decide to get a real look!", the speaker was a slightly stocky young woman with a pink Mowhawk haircut and heavily pierced ears - the others called her "Cill" (short for "Millicent", a name she cordially despised).

Sandy Dawson was thunderstruck - again. The change in mood was inexplicable - she thought the punks were ... helping her? She simply stared, moving her gaze from face to face in wide eyed open mouthed shock.

"Well, Little Miss Orange County Princess" snarled a scrawny girl the others called "Trude" (instantly recognizable by her hair - a purple fade - and the electrical tape covering her nipples), "You wanna find out what 'punk' is? You wanna gawk at people like some fucking freak show? We are gonna SHOW you what 'punk' is, BITCH! Get her in the chair!".

The stunned blonde felt rough hands on her soft skin. She was manhandled over to the dilapidated slaon chair and forced down. Too overwhelmed to protest, she gaped in silence as duct taped circled her wrists, ankles, waist and neck - very effectively restraining her into the chair. When she finally found her voice, Sandy stammered meekly, "Wh-What ... what are you gonna do to me?".

"Oh ... nothin much!" chortled Cill, "Just fix your look! Help you to fit in ... make you look like you belong ...". Grinning slyly, the mohawked punk brandished a set of electric clippers in front of Sandy's pretty face; clicking them on with a theatrical flourish. The clippers hummed ominously.

Sandy Dawson's eyes widened in abject horror. Her jaw dropped. Her mouth and throat went deathly dry.

"Oh ... oh no ... n-n-not that ... y-y-you wouldn't ... y-y-you can't ... you're not gonna (ulp) ... CUT MY HAIR?!!"

"Oh, don't worry, 'Princess'!" chuckled Cill, positioning herself behind the helpless girl and pulling her long blonde hair back from her face, "Don't think of it as cutting ... think of it as styling! Just relax ... you're gonna just love the new look, Bimbo!". With that, the snickering punk applied the clippers to the blonde's scalpling, just above the ear, and began to slowly mow backward toward the nape of her neck, leaving a two inch wide swath of stubble in the wake. Noting the dark color of the stubble, Cill chuckled snidely and remarked, "I see you're a 'natural' blonde, eh, 'Princess'? Hey Trude ... does the rug match the curtains?".

"Dark and curly down here, Cill!" laughed Trude in response as she busied herself snipping the curly brown hair around Sandy's exposed pussy.

"Looks like this hairdo's gonna cost Clairol a lotta money!" chortled another female punk, "Must take a load of peroxide to maintain that mop!".

Her eyes teary, Sandy Dawson merely whispered in disbelief, "This ... this is a dream ... this can't really be h-happening to me ..."

"That's right, 'Princess'!" responded Cill as she mowed another furrow through Sandy's thick mane, "You keep telling yourself that! This is all just a bad dream! When you wake up, everything's gonna be just the way it was, 'Miss Prom Queen' ... the radio'll even be playing the fucking Bee-Gee's again ... ha ha ...". As she alterately taunted and soothed the shattered blonde, Cill continued to mow the clippers through her rapidly disappearing mane. At the same time, Trude had snipped away Sandy's dark genital hair.

"You need to relax, 'Princess' ..." cooed Cill as she massaged shaving cream into the once gorgeous blonde's stubbly scalp, "Relax and it will all be over ...". Oddly, Cill's word's did decrease her captive's agitation somewhat and Sandy's protests abated to the occasional sob. "Th-This ... this isn't (sob) right ..." she whimpered, "I ... I didn't do anything ..."

"Of course, you didn't ..." replied Cill as she stropped a straight razor to exquisite sharpness, "I mean, all you did was bring your cutsey little ass down to the Starwood to show off and try to pick up some dudes ... and then get all offended when somebody does notice you ... and wanted to find out what punk is all about ... well, we're just helping to show you ... give you the full experience, 'Princess'." As she spoke, Cill began removing the lather with short feathery strokes, leaving swaths of smooth bare totally hairless scalp - she was shaving Sandy Dawson slick bald!

"B-But I don't want (sob) the full experience." the formerly blonde beauty whined, "I-I-I just want to get out of here (whimper) ... I-I've (sob) I've had enough ... I only wanted to (sob) ... to dance ... I wasn't trying to (whimper) st-steal your guys, I ... oh ... oh goodness ... tee hee hee hee ... ha ha ha ha ha ... oh please ... hee hee ...".

Cill stopped shaving the blonde for a moment, a perplexed look furrowed her brow. The bimbo had been crying and now she was ... giggling? Suddenly, a smirk creased Cill's own face as she discovered the source of Sandy Dawson's odd amusement. Trude, having finished shaving the blonde's brunette bush, had scooped up a few locks of the lush blonde hair from her victim's head. Impishly, Trude had slipped off one of the disco diva's garish silver high heels, exposing her bare foot - a bare foot that the disco diva flexed in helpless protest as the devilish punk tickled her mercilessly with a lock of hair.

"Very cute, Trude ..." remarked Cill sarcastically, "Now leave her alone while I finish up. 'Miss Disco Queen' deserves a clean close shave, not a nicked up head."

In short order, Cill finished shaving Sandy. The punk was rather skilled with a razor, though to that point, she'd worked primarily doing the sides of fades and Mohawks - still, the skills were the same for a full head shave. There remained not even a vestige of Sandy Dawson's once lush head of hair; she was as bald an an egg! Squirting some baby oil into her hands, Cill proceeded to massage it into Sandy's naked scalp. The once gorgeous woman's bald head gleamed obscenely as Cill took a soft cloth and buffed it to a high gloss shine!

"So 'Blondie' ..." Cill chuckled, holding up a mirror, "How do you like your new 'do?".

"D-Dear God ... I'm ... I'm ... I'm bald!!! I'm completely bald! Look what you've done to me ... I'm ... I'm BALD!".

"Yes you are, 'Melon-Head', you're as bald as a fucking bowling ball! Bet all the fuckin' Tony Manero types won't be drooling over you now, eh, 'Disco Queen'? You look fuckin' hideous! Scrawler ... Clip ... she's all yours now!".

As Sandy's battered psyche wondered what "she's all yours" could mean, she watched with renewed horror as two new women stepped forward to replace Cill and Trude. One (Scrawler) was heavily tatooed. The other (Clip) bore an outrageous number of piercings.

Three hours later ...

The punk band thrashed and the mosh pit rocked when suddenly, unexpectedly, an alien sound filled the club ... the sickly sweet sound of the Bee-Gees "Saturday Night Fever". Someone had bypassed the sound system! The punks roared in outrage until Cill grabbed a stage mike and announced, "And now ... a special repeat performance ... straight from Studio 54 ... the disco diva herself ... Miss Sandy Dawson!"

From the wings with a shove, what HAD been Sandy Dawson was shoved into the spotlight; the woman bore scant resemblance to the blonde who'd stood naked and horrified before the crowd short hours earlier. Most glaringly, the stranger's head was as bad as an egg - her naked skull gleamed obscenely under the harsh light. Naked, the woman displayed multiple piercings - seemingly countless earrings, pierced nipples, labia and a bull ring pierced her septum. The letters "T" and "R" had been tatooed above her shaved pussy - the letters signified "The Rejected" - a loose band of local punks. Her labia were loose and floppy, permanently stretched and distended. Her nipples were similarly stretched and toneless ... as was her sphincter, a fact she demonstrated grotesquely by grunting and expelling a pool ball from her anus.

"Ha ha ... that plucked chicken just laid an egg!" guffawed an overweight woman with a crew cut.

Cill pointed toward a pile of rags and two badly scuffed silver pumps. "Get dressed, you fuckin' twat!" she ordered the bald woman, "You got a little show to do!"

Sheepishly, the bald woman dressed in the ragged remains of her expensive dress. Strategically placed rents in the fabric exposed most of one breast and large parts of her shapely rump. At a signal from Cill, the strains of another Bee-Gee's song came over the sound system - "More Than A Woman". The bald former beauty understood what was expected of her ... and the consequences of disobedience had been made clear as well! Swallowing hard, she began to sway her body in a pantomime of her disco dance moves; a pantomime made ridiculous by the fact that the once seductive dancer was clad in rags and was completely and utterly BALD! The women hooted derisively and the male punks increasingly would snake out an arm to grope a breast or buttock as the bald bimbo moved languidly docilely past them. Finally, one of the punks slung out his stiffened cock and forcing the bald woman to her knees, plunged past her painted lips and thrusting vigorously, dumped a steming load of nut cream down her gullet. The female punks merely snickered. Emboldened, another male pressed his meat between the hairless harlot's pouty lips, feeding her another load of slimy sperm. Then another punk stepped forward ... and another ... and another ...

"Haw Haw ... 'Baldy' is some 'sword swallower', eh?" chuckled Trude, pointing as the hairless woman meekly performed yet another blowjob.

"Probably had lots of practice before tonight, Trude!" replied the skinny magenta haired punk, "You diggin' that liquid protein diet, 'Melon-Head'? Maybe you heard it makes you hair nice and shiny - cept you ain't got any, ha ha!"

Hours later ...

The former Sandy Dawson staggered unsteadily into the harsh daylight - it was well past dawn as the punks drifted form the club. Her intestines gurgled. She stared down at the once flat stomach she was so proud of - self pride of any kind seemed a very remote thing. Her stomach was bulging; distended from the copious amounts of nut cream she'd ingested. The harsh sun reflected brightly off her freshly shaven head.

She searched in vain for the Camaro she'd been so proud of. Gone. Stolen. Despondent, she looked at her ravaged reflection in the mirror. How could she go home? How could she face the questions? Her family? Her friends?

"Hey, 'Cue-Ball' ... need a lift?"

It was Cill ... the woman who'd done this ... behind the wheel of a battered sedan ... already packed with five other punks. The bald woman who had been Sandy Dawson hesitated a second ... and then stepped out of the world she had known. Never again would she be Sandy Dawson, the golden maned disco diva. From now on ... she was 'Cue-Ball'.

'Cue-Ball' entered the ranks of "The Rejected" ... or rahter, the margins. She was tolerated rather tham embraced. Wary that her former beauty would make her a rival, the female punks employed a concoctin of powerful depillatories to ensure that 'Cue-Ball' would remain as bald as an egg for the rest of her life. To be a part of the community, 'Cue-Ball' was expected to earn her keep. A clumsy shoplifter at best, eventually she was able to barter her body for bread. What she lacked in looks, she made up for in ease of availability. After a few months, a cheap wig was procured and 'Cue-Ball' was encouraged to work 'the Strip' ... giving blow jobs to middle aged men for as little as five dollars ... and providing "The Rejected" with that rarest of commodities - cash.

Her disappearance had created a huge stir among her former friends ... but sadly, such events are not altogether uncommon and Sandy Dawson was all but forgotten.

Months later ...

Resplendent in halters and capri pants, the three gorgeous young women strode confidently through the mall, chattering incessantly. At once, they fell silent, save for some nervous whispering. Approaching from the opposite end of the mall was a group of menacing looking punks. The three young blonde beauties knew them by reputation - they called themselves "The Rejected" - and they were not to be trifled with. Moving to the side, they felt the hungry eyes of the male punks and the hate and disdain of the females. Among the punks, a single set of eyes flickered with somethign different - recognition!

"Heather ... Ashley ... Tina ..." the names of the three girls were repeated silently in the brain of the dull eyed woman's gleaming bald skull.

On of the frightened mall rats made eye contact - the experience was unnerving.

"Oh my GOD!" she gushed to her companions as the punks moved out fo earshot, "That ugly bald one - I SWEAR she looked JUST like Sandy Dawson! I wonder if those freaks could have like ... brainwashed her or something?".

"Heather? Helllooooooooooo ... Earth to Heather!", replied one of the other blondes, "That was totally NOT Sandy! That girl is a fucking FREAK! There is like ... no way Sandy would ever go for that! That ugly bitch looked like a fucking cue ball!"

True enough ... Sandy Dawson would never ... but then, Sandy Dawson no longer existed! Down the hall, a heavy set punk with a black mohawk opened the doorway to a stairway and entered the empty stairwell; having feasted his eyes on the gorgeous blondes, he was visibly erect throguh his fatigue pants. "Yo ... 'Cue-Ball' ... c'mere ... I need to talk to you ...".

Dutifully, the bald-headed woman entered the stairwell and without further prompting, got down on her knees and began to unfasten the burly punk's pants.

---

---

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

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