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Ever since I was a young child I hated getting my thick, blonde curly hair cut. It would get very tangled and almost impossible to brush, so my mom decided I should have it cut short. There was nothing more humiliating to me than sitting in the chair under that cape. What really nailed it for me though, was when a woman thought I was a little boy because of short hair. There really was nothing more embarrassing for an 8 year old girl.

Yet something would always excite me when my mom told me it was time for a haircut. I’d always thought the feeling was fear, but I understand now that it was something else. I managed to avoid getting haircuts through high school, occasionally hacking an inch off the ends with scissors and calling it a trim.

One night though, after getting ‘drunk’ off sneaking one beer with a friend, I had her shave my nape. I justified it by saying it would take away some of the thickness from the back. We pinned the hair up on top of my head, and she held a mirror for me to see where she should do it. Indicated just a little below the top of my ears and she started in, cutting off the six inches or so of hair as far down as she could. She then smeared my nape with shaving cream, and began shaving with a disposable razor. It wasn’t the most efficient way, but it did the job. I would maintain it in much the same way, being careful only to expose it when my mom wouldn’t see it.

I was able to pull this off the whole time I lived at home, the occasional ends whacking and nape shaving. When I finally moved away I decided it was time for a change. I hadn’t been at a salon for many years, and when I finally decided to go, I got this feeling of anticipation I couldn’t believe. I decided to look for inspiration for a new haircut on the internet.

There wasn’t much I found I liked for thick curly hair like mine. By now it was well past my shoulders, a good foot long at least. I would wear it twisted back in a bun just to keep it out of the way. I though about a short haircut and found sites with women getting very short haircuts using clippers. As I viewed these pictures, I found myself getting physically excited. I’ve never had that kind of reaction to any kind of visual stimulation and was almost scared from the experience. After researching it a bit more, I realized that my reaction wasn’t an unusual one, and others shared this feeling. Once I was secure in that understanding, I had my boyfriend take me to the salon. I warned him that I wanted to get a very short hair cut, and he begged me not to have it cut too short.

We went to a walk-in salon, and I waited eagerly for the next stylist to call my name. I couldn’t look at the other customers in the chairs for fear of getting too excited. I’m sure I jumped when the stylist finally called me. I slowly walked over to the chair with her and she asked me to sit down. “What are you thinking about today, Helen?” she asked me. “well, I’d like to go shorter, maybe shoulder length.” I replied. She then asked if I wanted it at the shoulders, or above, and I answered “Just above.” She lifted the hair in the back and noticed my shaved nape. “Did you want to keep this short?” I said yes. “It keeps it from being too thick,” I told her. She agreed that was a good thing, since I had such thick hair! She put a white tissue strip around my neck after pinning all the hair up on my head, then put the black cape around my neck. I felt a twinge underneath it. I couldn’t believe how excited I was! Next she wet my hair by squirting water on it. She struggled a bit as she pulled the comb through. “Wow, this really is thick,” she muttered. Finally after what seemed like an eternity of having my hair tugged at, she twisted it into thick locks and clipped them up on my head. She took the scissors out and ruthlessly cut six inches from the back section. I knew there was no turning back at that point, and felt my panties get moist! The “shink” sound of the blade chopping my hair, then the hair falling to the floor, or sliding down the cape and resting in my lap, it was almost too much. After that first section was brought to my neck, she’d undo another section and hack away, and I slowly saw myself transformed. The stylist made polite conversation and I tried to pay attention, but I was too distracted by what was happening in the mirror, and the feeling under the cape.

“would you like me to use the clippers to buzz your neck?” the stylist asked me. My attention was brought back down to earth with that question. I remembered the feeling I got from seeing the women’s pictures having their haircut like that. I secretly wished that she would use the clippers all over my head, but I wasn’t feeling that brave. “y-yeah,” I stammered. “what size guard do you normally use?” she asked and I had no idea what to answer. I didn’t want to reveal that I had never used clippers on it so I told her whatever she thought. She snapped the black plastic piece over the shiny metal blade on the clippers. “We’ll use a #3,” she said. She turned the clippers on and they roared to life with a loud snap that took me by surprise. “It’s very uneven back here, I’m gonna have to take it a little higher to even this out.” She told me. “Uh, okay” I squeaked. The long hair was clipped on top of my hair and my biggest regret was that I couldn’t see what she was doing to the back. I felt the vibrating metal blade against my neck and was hardly able to contain my excitement. I wanted to thrust my fingers in my pants, but soon found I didn’t even need that extra physical stimulation. I noticed the short hairs fluttering through the air. She stopped and turned the clippers off and offered a mirror to show the back to me. “Um, maybe it could be shorter back there?” I asked. “Okay, I can use the #2.” She snapped a different guard on the clippers and they roared back to life, and I got to enjoy the sensation all over again. There was nothing to compare to the feeling of the vibrating clippers against my scalp.

Sadly, it ended all too soon, and she undid the clips holding my hair up. It fell down, just above my shoulders, all one length. “what do you think?” she asked. I told her I still wasn’t satisfied with the way it just lay there in one mass surrounding my face. “Maybe we could cut some layers in with a razor,” she recommended, and I agreed. She got out a razor that had teeth on it and sawed away at my hair, cutting angular chunks out. When she was done, I told her it looked good, but secretly I longed for the courage to take it shorter.

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