Home » Language » English » P.J. Shearer’s Secret Revealed

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Author’s note: This story contains sexual content, female head and body depilation, and some mild defeminization. If you can’t handle any of these, just click the "Back" button, and get on with your life. Special thanks to Almost Bald of the now defunct Hair Enthusiast Hotline Chat Room for helping me out with this story.

It can be pretty delicate admitting to your lover that you have a hair fetish, especially when one of them involves shaving hers off, and particularly when she doesn’t frequent "the scene" or have any of her own. That’s how it was with me and Chrissy, a gal I once dated. We had been a couple for nine months, and as far as I knew, it was a serious relationship.

Many who know me, or claim to, say that I’m supposedly an expert on women, someone who doesn’t let a woman walk all over him. Shows you how much they know. Sure, I know a lot more than the average guy about how to satisfy a woman (and of course, how to get one to satisfy me), and I’m usually careful about who I date on a long-term basis, but I can be suckered in by a beautiful woman just like the next guy. Particularly a woman like Chrissy.

I met her at a club one Friday night, while I was celebrating a big sale I made. I saw her at the bar when I ordered an anejo (to those not in the know, this stuff’s to tequila what cognac is to brandy. It’s aged for at least a year), straight. She was curious about what I ordered, so she came over to me. Our eyes met, and I told her what I ordered. We exchanged names, and I asked her what she was drinking. Chrissy said it was a Fuzzy Navel, and it should have tipped me off to potential troubles ahead. You see, the kind of women I date long-term usually drink serious cocktails and mixed drinks, or quality liquor straight or on the rocks, just like me, but I was too busy looking at Chrissy to notice that.

A little later, when I asked her what she did for a living, Chrissy said, "Hmmmmm, this and that," another ignored tip-off. I figured she was a model, and she definitely could have been one, with her 5’9" frame and long legs. She obviously had the oval-cut face, high cheekbones, full pouty lips, perfectly shaped nose and perfectly placed eyes (light blue in color) that any modeling agency searches for, but because of her curvaceous 37D-23-35 form, however, she would have been more of a figure model than a runway or fashion mag mannequin. Of course, the one big feature of Chrissy’s that made her stand out from the crowd exquisitely framed all the above-mentioned features – a full, shiny, rich light blonde mane – all one-length, center parted without bangs, flowing in slight waves down to her waist.

It’s strange that I didn’t see her in any ads before (and I’d certainly would have remembered seeing her), because she was a natural for shampoo or other hair care product ads. If her pale golden blondness wasn’t natural, it must have been a spectacular dye job, with the stylist doing her eyebrows for good measure. Chrissy was dressed in a see-through top that covered a bra that showed just enough of her nipples, a skirt short enough to see the crotch of her sheer pantyhose when she sat down, and 4" heeled pumps, all in black.

We talked a bit, danced, drank some more, and decided to go to her place for a nightcap. After a few more drinks, she was ready for some real action, so we stripped down to nothing at all. She was amused to see that I shave everything but my head and eyebrows, and I saw that the only hairs growing below her neck was a thin line down the middle of her sex. Needless to say, we fucked with almost total abandon. I screwed Chrissy every single place and way I could think of, except anal, which I told you in "From Mistress To Missy" that I just don’t do.

After our last orgasm of the night, I went to the kitchen for something to eat (hey, you know anything else non-smokers do after sex?). Afterwards, I decided to look around (she was out like a light after all those drinks and all that sex). I was still a little curious about what Chrissy did for a living. She wasn’t a hooker, but she had only a few articles of clothing that could cover her with any sort of modesty, and she had plenty of condoms in her medicine cabinet. A quick check of her video library showed that she was a big fan of Julia Roberts, with not one, but two copies of "Pretty Woman," the modern gold-diggers’ bible, one still shrink-wrapped in case the other one wears out. This was a clear sign that she was a gold-digger if there ever was one, but I was too horny to pay attention. She took great care of her hair, as anyone could have seen by looking at her, and as I could also tell from the many shampoo and conditioner bottles in her bathroom. Some people stock up on survival gear, some on their favorite foods; Chrissy stocked up on Pantene.

When we woke up the next morning, we had breakfast at a nearby diner, exchanged phone numbers, and thanked each other for the night. I promised I’d call her, and on Sunday night, I did. I’ll usually call when I say I’ll call, but in Chrissy’s case, I made sure.

The next nine months were like a modern day version of "My Fair Lady" (or, yeah, "Pretty Woman"). I took her to my kind of hangouts, a far cry from the dives she took me to a few times. I jazzed up her wardrobe, buying her clothes that still showed off her figure, but more tastefully, with some glamorous dresses and lingerie for our nights out. I got her to tone down her make-up a little, to get rid of her "slutty" look. Even her hair got a slight makeover. Chrissy still only had half-inch trims to take care of any split ends, but she occasionally wore it in updos for the more dressy affairs. The new and improved Chrissy looked like someone took Portia de Rossi’s head and legs and seamlessly merged them with Jane Krakowski’s figure (Nell and Elaine, respectively, along with Ling, were the only reasons why I put up with watching "Ally McBeal" with Chrissy. And like a schmuck, I paid for it all; the dresses, the visits to the salon, the lingerie, the nights out, the whole bit.

While we’re talking about money, I was still wondering how Chrissy made her living. She wasn’t a stripper, but I could tell when it came to undressing for bed after our nights out, she slinked out of her new threads like a pro. I checked out the net, and of all the amateur modeling and porno sites with the name "Chrissy" or a description of her figure, none of them had my girl in them. I searched the long hair fetish sites, and she was only in one site – the Lady Godiva’s Hair Salon site (her favorite beauty parlor in town). The site featured a before and after series of one of her updos, with more shots of Chrissy in the most elegant dress my money could buy. The photos were taken just a few months after we first met, so that ruled out modeling or porno. But while the curiosity towards her livelihood was going on, a bigger question stirred in my head.

From that first night with Chrissy, I was torn between running my fingers through her hair, and running my clippers through it. The following months didn’t make things easier. I was at all of her trims at Lady Godiva’s, wishing that she’d get more than just a half-inch trimmed. Month after month, I watched her tresses inch further and further downward, reaching her derriere. Conflicting dreams began to battle it out in my cranium; Chrissy teasing me with her hair during her pre-bed strip-a-thons, and stripping her bare, including her hair; seeing her dressed and tressed to the nines, and working her way down to zero on both counts; Chrissy stroking my dick and balls with the ends of her mane, and me caressing her newly-bald head while she has a mouthful of my cock; using her hair as reins when I fuck her pussy doggy-style, and massaging her shorn scalp while my dick slides up and down her ample cleavage.

I knew that she knew about my thing with long hair, and I knew that sooner or later, she’d get some clues about my headshaving fetish. I wondered if I’d lose her if I said anything about it to her, and I’d also worry about not saying anything, and having her find out about it by accident. When she told me about her "Customer Of The Month" honors at Lady Godiva’s, she showed me the site, and their "Nightmare" page, full of short-haired, buzzed and shaved women. She answered my secret questions by laughing at the page, saying, "The things some bitches do to get some attention. It’s a good thing I’m too beautiful to resort to THOSE tactics, don’t you agree, darling?" All I could say was, "Yes, Princess (my pet name for her; originally it meant the fairy-tale kind, but during the last few months, it took on its modern meaning)." After that conversation, I was extra-careful in hiding my copies of "The Razor’s Edge" and "Captain Stanley’s Yankee Clipper," as well as my headshaving videos and shorn ponytails.

That last month was when all the clues came together. She was dropping hints like, "Man, my car’s acting up again. I hope you do real well on your next sales trip, so I can buy a better one," and "I can’t wait to celebrate your latest big sale! I just saw the best new dress to wear when we hit this exclusive new club EVERYONE’S been talking about! And afterwards, there’s just no telling what I might do (wink)……"Every time a deal fell through, and I had to treat Chrissy to a less expensive date, it took a little more persuading, both of the verbal and the liquid kind, to get her in the mood. I finally realized what her true occupation was: Girlfriend. Even when I remembered the clues, I was still stunned. In these liberated times, I thought, the classic gold-digger was a thing of the past. Another remembrance of the clues convinced me that I was wrong.

To make matters worse, it seemed like Chrissy and I were growing apart. Sex with her was like just going through the motions. She even faked a few orgasms, something she never did before. Instead of calling me every night during my sales trips, she just called once per trip. She even started to talk about moving to L.A., and she even went there once when I was at another sales trip. She said she went to some exclusive clubs and spas, but her credit card bills (which I was paying for, natch) didn’t show that she went to any. But they did show that she went to Los Angeles, though. And when I took her along on my sales trips, or when we saw my friends at work, they were joking that she was flirting with them. Somehow during that last month, it almost stopped being a joke.

The straw that broke the back of this beast of burden was a certain video. The latest Julia Roberts movie came out on video the weekend before our nine month anniversary (Can anyone tell me why people call a stickgirl like Julia sexy?), and I finally found a copy to rent the following Monday. We watched it that night, right after "Ally McBeal." The morning after, a hung-over Chrissy gave it back to me so I could return it, or so we both thought, and kissed me on the lips. On Wednesday, I got a call from Kevin, the manager of my neighborhood video store. Kevin said that the Julia Roberts movie was due yesterday, and that I’d get charged late fees today. When I told him that I returned it around noon yesterday, he replied, "Uh, P.J., you returned THE BOX, but the video you sent in wasn’t what you rented. You’d better see me after work, man."

When I walked in, Kevin said, "Hey, P.J., you’d better check out the video you returned in my office." He led me to his office, closed the door, and turned on the TV/VCR combo. "THIS is the tape you sent in yesterday," Kevin said as he slid the cassette in the VCR. The scene was Chrissy’s bedroom, probably when I was at a sales call two weeks prior. She walks in with someone else, a guy who’s somewhat shorter than me. Chrissy had her best suit on, and the guy wore a silk shirt, jeans and sneakers. The camera turned to her as she started to strip her way out of the suit. When she took the last stitch off, the camera followed her to her bed, where the guy joined her, also naked, both ready for action.

Kevin said, "Man, Tony Romeo’s at it again."

I replied, "Tony Romeo?"

Kevin shot back, "Man, a guy like you, P.J., and you don’t know about Tony Romeo? He’s the latest and hottest amateur porno guy in town! Just about anyone he fucks has got a shot at the big time, and from the looks of her, she’s going to make the big bucks!"

It wasn’t the sight of Tony Romeo screwing Chrissy that got to me, or how he stuffed his prick (which was barely the size of mine, by the way) into every hole of hers it could fit in. What really ticked me off was HER performance. Chrissy wasn’t just fucking him the way she did me on our first night, she was also milking the performance for all it was worth. The icing on the poisoned cake was the stuff she was saying during the sex; "Oh, my old boyfriend? (ME? OLD boyfriend?) He treated me with kid gloves. He bought me a lot of stuff, but when it came to fucking, he wouldn’t get REALLY kinky with me. I need a man who’ll treat like the slut that I am!" Whatever feelings I had for her died when I heard those words.

Kevin saw my reactions, and asked, "What’s a matter? Hey, wait a minute, isn’t that your girlfriend, Chrissy? DAMN, that’s cold. What can I say, man, the damage is done. I hope you don’t do anything rash. The bitch ain’t worth going to prison, man." I agreed. He ejected the tape out of the VCR and said, "You better keep this. Just return the Julia Roberts movie to me, OK? I’ll call off the hounds if I get it by Monday, but you’ll still have to pay late charges, though." I asked Kevin if he could make a copy of the tape, and he said he could do it by tomorrow. We agreed on the price, and I was off.

Later that night, at Chrissy’s, she was a bit more charming and agreeable than normal. Whether it was because of our upcoming anniversary, or the fact that I might have known about the video, I didn’t know. Probably not on the second count, since she dropped some hints about her anniversary gift – it seemed like the gifts got more expensive every month. I couldn’t have imagined how much her wedding gifts would cost me. I acted as if nothing happened, even though my love for Chrissy was history. I told her that I was saving my sex drive for Friday night when she was reaching for the zipper at the back of her top. She said, "How thoughtful of you! Don’t worry, though. It’s going to be worth it (Man, was she ever right!)!" When she went to bed, I found the Julia Roberts tape, and I went back to my place.

How could I act so calmly and sweet to a woman who took my love, passion and emotions, and stomped on them like she was making wine in her stilettos? I’m glad you asked. First, a good salesman can sell ANYTHING. Although many folks will tell you that salesmen lie for a living, my conversation with Chrissy would be the only time I’d agree with them. Second, she made it a lot easier for me to reveal my shaving fetish to her. And last, but definitely not least, it was better to lull her into a false sense of security than to confront her with the video. All the better to set her up for what happened Friday night.

You see, when I saw Chrissy and Tony fucking at the video store, many thoughts and emotions ran through my mind. When I came back to my place, I was weighing four options; I could just pretend nothing happened. I could break up with Chrissy, and let her find another wallet with a dick. I could bitchslap her silly and go to jail. Or, I could teach her a lesson. I chose #4, of course. There was no way I’d stay with Chrissy. When I’m in a serious relationship, I only make love to her. On my sales calls when I’m in that relationship, for instance, I don’t notify my lady friends in the city I’m going to that I’ll be in town, of if they find me, I’ll tell them I’m currently seeing someone. I expect the same devotion from the woman I’m devoted to. There was also no way that I’d let her charm her way into some other guy’s heart, wallet and pants, either. Chrissy certainly needed to be taught a lesson, but not in the usual pimpslapping and fisticuffs. Kevin was right when he said she wasn’t worth going to prison for. The lesson I was going to teach her was that there are better ways to make a living than off looks and sex alone – and that she’d have to find another way come Saturday afternoon. By the time I went to bed Wednesday night, my plan was forming. I heard from the end of the video that Tony was coming back to Chrissy’s Saturday night, with a full crew to capture all the close-up work for the finished video. I decided to give her a surprise anniversary gift on Friday night.

Like any big sales campaign, battle or similar event, my revenge on Chrissy required research and planning to be successful. From my memories of her, looking at her childhood photos, and from chatting with the few friends she had, a few facts were revealed. Chrissy, it seemed, never had a pair of clippers touch her head in her whole life. Her mom kept her hair reasonably long throughout her childhood, only giving it half-inch trims for split ends, or the occasional trim of a few inches. There was no history of head lice. Since she was an only child, she didn’t see any brothers getting clipper cuts, either. Chrissy kept her hair long throughout her schooldays, and in her teens, when most girls get a rebellious streak, and quite a few get their hair cut drastically short, she rebelled by wearing "slutty" club gear, like what she wore the night she met me. And Lady Godiva’s, Chrissy’s regular salon, practically eliminates hair clippers from their arsenal of hair styling equipment, since they specialize in long hair. From personal observation, I could tell that Chrissy’s IQ seemed to drop ten points with every drink she consumed, a fact that I appreciated during our cheaper dates. She also was impressed with "exclusive" places and things. From these bits of info, the plan was taking shape.

Thursday morning, the preparation began. I arranged to have my phone number and locks changed. I didn’t tell Chrissy I was going on vacation next week. At lunchtime, I returned the Julia Roberts movie, and picked up the two Chrissy and Tony Romeo tapes from Kevin’s video store. I started to plant hard luck stories about me and her among my co-workers during the afternoon coffee break. After work, I bought her the most beautiful strapless evening gown with a thigh-high slit on the right side and matching elbow-length gloves, to maintain the illusion of my continued affection for her. My phone number and locks were changed by Friday afternoon. I had the dress delivered to Chrissy later. I checked out the old "bag of tricks." The big pair of clippers were OK (I use them to keep my back and sides trimmed), and the little clippers only needed a little oiling. I had recently heard of a new depilatory called Folicure, so I searched my contacts and bought two bottles. I tried some on my chest and back. Unlike most depilatories, Folicure didn’t sting, burn or stink; it felt cool and tingly when it went to work. The lather was more like shaving cream than other hair removal creams and lotions, and it stayed on for the full 15 minutes, so I wouldn’t have to wrap her head in plastic wrap. And the bottle said it was safe on any area, worked on any area, and that any area treated with Folicure was guaranteed to be hair-free for at least six months or your money back. Perfect for Chrissy’s anniversary gift.

The plan kicked off when I picked up Chrissy at her place. She looked as lovely as she’d ever get in the gown I bought her. Her hair was in the same center-parted one-length style she wore nine months ago, but now it went past her posterior, halfway to her knees. We started with cocktails, followed by a light (but not light on the wallet) dinner with the best wines. Then it was off to the dance floor, and some more mixed drinks for her. Since I was driving her home in my BMW convertible, I could be excused from drinking more than two drinks. However, I led her to believe that I was keeping up with her through controlled consumption, a little trick I learned during my first few years of sales trips to clients. Friday night, at least when we were out on the town, was her night. The choice of the table at the restaurant, the way we danced at the club, and everything else was all just to showcase her. I didn’t know if she suspected anything when she noticed that I didn’t go out of my way to discourage any male flirting towards her, but it was the only clue I gave out that tonight would be different. In fact, Chrissy was making things all too easy when she toasted me at dinner. She said that tonight, she was a changed woman, and that I was the one who made it possible. She didn’t know the changes weren’t over yet…………….

A few hours after we started dancing, the drinks and her self-enchantment took control of Chrissy, who wanted me to take her home, where she had a special gift for me. On the drive to her place, I mentioned that I had something special for her, too. When we pulled up in the parking lot, I told her that I had to get something out of the car, and she could go upstairs to freshen up and get her special gift ready for me. When she was ready, I told her to just flicker the lights on and off. While she freshened up, I made sure that my "special gift" was ready; the bag of tricks, with both bottles of Folicure, a copy of Chrissy and Tony Romeo’s sex video, my break-up letter, latex gloves and a fresh indelible ink marker. About 10 minutes later, she flickered the lights on and off.

I got my bag and went in. It seemed that she changed out of the gown, and put on the outfit she wore when we first met. The only thing that changed, it appeared, was her hair length. "Remember the last time I wore this, P.J.? It was the night you opened my eyes and introduced me to the finer things in life. Tonight, I’m going to show you my appreciation the best way I know how," she said as she unzipped her microskirt.

She could tell I was ravishing her the way I did for the first few months, and then some. What she didn’t know was that only the first half of my fantasies were coming true when she teased my crotch with her hair. She allowed me to use her locks as reins when I fucked her pussy doggy-style. The other half was coming up, but first, to get her prepared.

In between orgasms, I mixed up a few drinks, "mocktails" for me, doubles for her. Soon, Chrissy was in the state I was aiming for: Semi-conscious, and easily suggestible. The real fun was just beginning. I picked up my bag and said to her, "Well, Princess, I’ve got one more gift for you."

She raised a booze-dulled eye and said, "Whu-whutizzit, sugar?"

"I’ll show you in the bathroom, Princess." I took her and the bag to the bathroom, where I laid towels in front of the bathtub/shower combo. "I’ve just heard of this totally new and exclusive beauty treatment, one that’ll take care of any hair problem you have! It’s so exclusive, the spas that do this keep any mention of this out of the fashion mags, but I’ve learned the secret through some well-placed contacts of mine."

Chrissy just smiled and said, "Cool!"

"But first, let’s take off all that make-up. It’s not like you need it, anyway." I got out the camcorder and placed it in the doorway. After a few minutes cleaning up her face and nails, I was ready to begin. I led her to the edge of the bathtub. "Now the most important thing to remember is not to touch your hair during the treatment. The treatment relies on delicate chemicals to work, and they can be affected by the emollients on the female hand. Even I have to wear latex gloves while doing this." I offered her another drink.

Now for the fun part. I got out the big clippers. "We’ll start by brushing your hair with this exclusive new electric hairbrush. It also massages your scalp, too. This is the part that everyone who has it likes the best. You’ll really love the feeling." Hey, like I said before, the only time Chrissy encountered clippers was probably when she walked by them on the store shelves. I put on the latex gloves, but didn’t put a guard on the clippers. I wanted her to feel every vibration, every sensation. I plugged them in when she finished her drink. POP! HHHHHHHhhhhhhhhMMMMMMMmmmmmmmm……….the clippers first touched her nape right below the soon to be ex-hairline. I was smoothing out her locks with my other hand, not only to maximize the sensation, but to catch the shorn tresses as they got buzzed off. HHHHHHhhhhhhhMMMMMMmmmmmmm……………. I started to go up from the nape to the occipital bone, where her head met her neck. I held her locks up with my other hand. I could see goose bumps form on her skin, her nipples stiffening.

"You’re right about the feeling, P.J.. It feels like thousands of little fingers running through my hair," Chrissy said as the big Andis clippers sheared her back hairs off. What was left in its path wasn’t even hundreds of an inch long. When the other hand caught the freshly cut locks, I put them in the dry tub, so she couldn’t see. HHHHHHHhhhhhhhhMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmm………….. I kept buzzing her nape until there wasn’t anything to buzz.

I started around her ears next, being careful not to nick them. HHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmm………… I could see her legs pressing together, her lush honey blonde bush in between. I could detect some wetness there… Chrissy had the clipper craving, and didn’t even know it! Well, I was happy to oblige with trimming the rest. After around the ears, there was just the crown and top hairs. I decided to get cute, and do one side at a time. HHHHHHHhhhhhhhhMMMMMMmmmmmmmm……….. First I buzzed the crown hairs on the left, then the top left hairs. In two passes on top, Chrissy was quite a sight, with a severely scalped left side, and a right side full of lush, luxurious mid-back length tresses (But not for long!) The shorn strands in the tub kept getting thicker; they were as close to full-length as possible, too; quite a prize for my collection.

HHHHHHhhhhhhMMMMMMMmmmmmmm………… my clippers went to work again, buzzing off the right crown and top hairs. Chrissy had her eyes closed the whole time, oblivious to everything but her state of ecstasy. She said, "Man, it must be working. My head feels so cool, like I can’t even feel my hair." In a few minutes, her head was bare, nothing but stubble where long, shiny locks grew just a half-hour earlier. Chrissy still had her eyes shut, stroking her pussy; the perfect time to gather up all the buzzed off hairs and get my smaller cordless clippers ready. I found one of her scrunchies, and tied it all into one extremely long ponytail. Then I turned on the little clippers. If she liked the sensation on her head, I knew a place where she’d really love it!

"Oh, Princess, the treatment’s not over yet. There’s also a smaller electric hairbrush, made to reach your OTHER hairs."

"Well, bring it here, P.J.!"

"Now spread your legs open real wide, Princess."

Pop! hhhhhhhhmmmmmm……. the little clippers made short work of Chrissy’s short and curlies, not that she had much of them when I first met her, either. She (or rather, I) spent a wad of cash on her bikini lines, waxing, the works. It only took a few minutes for her pussy to match her head. Just for fun, I buzzed off her eyebrows as well.

"And now, Princess, for the piece de resistance! The final step is to apply this finishing rinse. The instructions say to keep it on for 15 minutes, then rinse to reveal the new you!" I got out the bottle of Folicure and applied the gel to her head, including her eyebrow area and pussy, then I lathered both her heads up. I told her to close her eyes, then I playfully spread some lather on her eyelashes (the instructions said it was safe). While she waited, I took the remains of her mane and put them in the bag. When the 15 minutes were up, the waterworks were turned on, rinsing off every last remaining hair on her body. The now TOTALLY bare babe was loving it so much, she bent down to suck my cock. My hands held her newly un-locked head, and started to caress it. I couldn’t believe how smooth it was. I toweled her off, and took her to bed again. The best thing about this was the fact that the same camcorder that recorded the fling with her and Tony Romeo was capturing almost all of this on tape!

An hour and a half ago, the first part of my fantasies came true. Now, the second half became reality. I knew that this would be the last time with Chrissy, so I went all out. I was lapping up her pussy juices now that her honeypot was clean enough to eat. I was caressing her head as my tongue was licking her nipples, then again, as I titty-fucked her. And as the fitting end to a great night of screwing, when I had my last orgasm in her pussy, I took the condom off (with the special brand I use, it doesn’t break, but it almost slides off when it’s full), and poured the contents on her head, using her bed sheet to spread the jism around. I brought one of my come-covered fingers to her lips, and she drunkenly, but obediently sucked it clean. Then she collapsed into bed, tired at last from all that happened.

Now that she was out of it (I knew she was a sound sleeper), it was time to put the finishing touches to the plan. First, I took her credit cards and sliced every one of them in two (I was paying them off anyway, and she was always testing the limits of them. Hey, better me than the store owners). Then I took every piece of jewelry I bought her, and put them in the bag. I saved the receipts on each piece, so I got a good price for them at the pawn shop. Then I got dressed and took every stitch of clothing I bought her, plus the few modest clothes of hers, and gathered them up. The night’s evening gown and gloves weren’t stained or had any odors, and I had the receipt, so I could return it, and I could just drop off the rest at the thrift store. I took the clothes to my car.

I came back to the bedroom and I saw Chrissy in bed, still asleep. Even hairless, my damsel in dis-tress was still beautiful – and that was the problem. When she woke up and recovered from the shock, she could just get a wig and false eyelashes, pencil in some eyebrows, and go back to her old tricks. I had to really teach her a lesson. Luckily, I remembered that I had an indelible ink marker in my bag, dark enough to show through any foundation no matter how heavily she would try to cover up.

I started around her nipples. I wrote in a ring around each areola, "SUCK ME! COST: A DRINK." I couldn’t leave her cleavage alone, either. On one breast along her cleavage, I wrote, "SLIDE YOU DICK IN HERE, BABY!" Along the other, I wrote, "COST: AN EXPENSIVE DINNER." One look at her pussy, and I knew what to write, so I wrote above it, "EAT ME! COST: NEW LINGERIE." Under that, I wrote, "FUCK ME! COST: NEW JEWELRY." When she turned over, her ass was begging to be tagged, so I wrote, "FUCK ME! COST: MAKE ME AN OFFER!", and an arrow pointing to her asshole on each butt cheek. On her inner thighs, below the hemlines of the skirts she had left in her closet, I scribbled, "COME AND GET IT!" and an arrow pointing upward to her pussy, on each thigh (Maybe I should have written it the other way around?).

Chrissy turned over again, her face still pretty. It was time for another makeover. I searched through her make-up case and found some lipstick and an eyebrow pencil. Where her eyebrows used to be, I wrote in a wicked parody of an arched eyebrow, "I’M A SLUT!" over her right eye, "FUCK ME NOW!" over her left with the eyebrow pencil. Then with the lipstick, I wrote, "INSERT COCK" over her upper lip, and "HERE!" under her lower lip, then an arrow pointing to her mouth and "COST: FREE!" on each cheek. On her still flat belly (thanks to the gym membership I bought her, which I don’t think that she’ll go to for quite a while), I wrote, "HEY TONY ROMEO! YOU WANT THIS BITCH? YOU CAN HAVE HER!" with the lipstick. I took the copy of the Chrissy and Tony video, an envelope, and my break-up letter, and put them on her dresser, right under her mirror. I took the cassette of her makeover out of the camcorder, packed everything else up, including the ultra-long ponytail. Then just to be on the safe side, I took every bra and modest pair of panties, to make sure she couldn’t cover up my handiwork. I carried it all to my car, locked the door, put the spare key I had to her place under the door, and took off.

I wish that I could have seen the look on her face when she woke up that Saturday morning, and saw her new look in the mirror. She probably dropped her jaw when she saw the tape and read my break-up note:

To Chrissy, my FORMER Princess,

I guess I should have told you about all my fetishes. You know about my long hair fetish. Now you know that another one of them is to shave a long-haired woman’s head. Oh, about shaving your eyebrows, eyelashes and pussy? I guess I got carried away.

I was thinking of telling you sooner or later. Then I saw you and Tony Romeo going at it. I understand now. You’re a slut. You go for the really kinky shit. So I decided to introduce you to my kink last night. After all, I wanted the last night I spent with you to be special. By the way, it’ll be at least six months before any hair grows on you again.

You said in the video that I treated you like kid gloves, that you wanted to be treated like the slut that you are. Well, you’ve got your wish. I took away every piece of jewelry and clothing I bought you. Now, everything you wear says to the world that you’re just who you say you are. I even wrote a price list on your body. By the way, the prices in black are written in indelible ink.

I could have put up with your mercenary attitude for a long time. After all, you were such a good lay. But you see, when I buy a gold-digger, I expect her to stay bought, like a mercenary or a crooked politician. In the video, you showed that you were worse than a whore; at least whores tell you up front what you’ll pay. You took my emotions, my love and my affection for you, and you just laughed at them behind my back. That, I can never forgive. So last night, I treated you like an escort out on the town, and like a whore in bed. I even paid you. Check the envelope. It should be enough.

Maybe, if I was still here, you’d tell me you were lying to him, that you really are a changed woman. Well, the $125 in the envelope should pay for a good wig and some decent clothes from a thrift store, so you can try to find a better way to make a living. Otherwise, you can use it for the wig and all the slutty outfits you can afford. Either way, it’s the last time I’m spending money on you. By the way, don’t bother with the credit cards I gave you. They’re cancelled.

Don’t try to come to my place. I changed the locks, and I won’t be there, anyway. Don’t come to my workplace. You won’t get in, and I’m on vacation. Don’t call me. I changed the phone number.

I hereby leave you to the life you said you wanted. You know the funny thing about this? I would have loved you, even if you were bald. Now you’ll find out if Tony Romeo or anyone else will.

Sincerely, P.J. Shearer

I dropped the clothes, except for last night’s gown, to the thrift shop. I returned the gown to the store. I got some decent tip money for my vacation at the pawn shop. Then,I went on vacation.

I just had to get away from it all for a couple of weeks. One of the gals I chat with on the Shaved Smooth Chat Room lived at my destination. When I met her at the bar we agreed on, she was drinking a Sidecar. It was a pretty good vacation. 😉

Whenever I think of Chrissy, I play my "double feature," the one with her and Tony Romeo first, then my makeover video. Sometimes, I even tease my cock with her old locks. Yeah, it’s hard to tell your lover about your headshaving fetish, but sometimes, at the right moment, showing her is a lot better than telling her. And letting her know about it can be pretty relieving.

Thanks for reading this work of fiction. Copyright 2000, ‘Da Marsh. Unauthorized publication will be punished!

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