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Her name was Rebecca, and she was my infatuation in high school. The year her family moved to my town I was finishing eighth grade, but even then I knew that I wanted to be with her. When I first saw her I saw a naturally beautiful blond, which was a rare thing for me in itself (I always had a thing for brunettes). Even without makeup she was a knockout, with deep blue eyes, a perfect body (I later found out she had played soccer for 3 years), and an amazing smile. Her only weakness had been her golden blond hair, which she wore in a short pixie style usually with pins. Even though the style looked great on her, I had always been a fan of long hair, and I always wondered what she would look like with it long and beautiful.

She moved in about 2 weeks before eighth grade ended, so I didn’t get a chance to really talk to her. My first day of high school however, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw her walk into one of my classes, and almost died on the spot when she sat in front of me. We got to talking and I found out that she was really sweet, and we became good friends almost immediately, despite the fact that I found out she had just started seeing someone. Even more infuriating was the fact that her hair looked longer, and although I thought it was wishful thinking at first, upon closer examination I could definitely see that it now reached down to her chin.

I never asked her about it, but through the whole year I watched excitedly as her hair grew longer and longer, looking great even in that awkward growing out phase. As our freshman year came to a close and summer was about to start it had grown quite a bit, and now reached down to her shoulders. The last day of school I even got a chance to braid it, having two sisters had taught me quite a bit about styling hair, and the lovely Rebecca let me put my talents to the test.

Another summer went by, and my first day back had me seeing my queen sit in front of me in not just one, but TWO classes. Even more impressive was how fast her hair was growing, over the summer it had grown to just above her shoulder blades, and it didn’t stop there. As she gave me more and more freedom to play with her hair during class, it grew and grew, and as it grew it seemed to grow more and more beautiful with every inch it creeped down her back. As another year of high school rolled by Rebecca stayed with her boyfriend, but we remained good friends throughout. I dated other girls as well, but knew that I would have to leave them in a second if Rebecca ever broke up with Bryan, I know I’m a dick, but infatuation is what it is. When summer finally came her hair had grown to the middle of her back, and was quite an impressive mane of hair by even a shampoo model’s standards.

Junior year started, and once again I had the pleasure of having Rebecca sit in front of me in math. While her hair had indeed grown out even more over the summer it seemed to somehow grow more beautiful. While its golden blond shine had always been impressive, it seemed to glow and shimmer with even more brilliance as she sat in front of me. The first time I got to sink my fingers into it to braid it, I could feel that I was right, it somehow felt softer and silkier than I remembered, and on those rare occasions when she would curl it for a special day it bounced so naturally and beautifully that I was torn between whether I liked it more this way or straight. As the year went by and things grew rocky between Becky and her boy, I fell more and more for her every day. When summer rolled around her hair had grown along with my fondness, and now reached to the bottom of her butt, which was a little bit longer than I liked, but still looked amazing for its’ length. When she wore it down it covered her entire back, and shined like a thick golden blanket made of the softest silk.

Summer went by, and my senior year started, and sure enough Rebecca sat in front of me for my final English class. Her hair had grown several more inches over the summer, and by the time winter break rolled around it reached down to her thighs, rippling like a waterfall of golden silk and still looking amazing. This time however, we hung out over winter break, and to my surprise, I was the first person she turned to when she finally broke it off with her boyfriend. She was really crying hard that night, but I was smiling inside as I hugged her and ran my fingers through her ultra-silky locks. She told me about how she needed time after such a hard break up, especially since she found out he had been cheating on her for the last four months.

We hung out a lot during that break, whether it be snowboarding together, (well, me mostly watching her show me up as her mammoth twin braids swirled around her), or curled up on the couch and watching a movie on the big screen. Then winter break ended, and school started up again.

That’s when things took a turn for the worse.

It all started two days after school began again. I had just said goodbye to Rebecca and watched her walk over to her friend Jenny. I watched Jenny as she started to stroke Becky’s hair from crown to end as she laughed, and even though I thought it was kind of weird I didn’t worry about it. But the next day treated me with a surprise as Becky walked through the door. As she turned and sat down in front of me it looked like her hair was a bit shorter than I remembered. I looked down and while it still hung down to her thighs it looked a good three or four inches shorter.

I didn’t think anything of it at the time, after all, she had been getting trims as she started growing it out, but just nothing quite this drastic. I had thought that Rebecca’s hair, while always the object of my greatest envy, could always do with being a little bit shorter, and this was just what I was hoping for. Even though I had loved her gorgeous hippy hair swirling around her thighs, the length I had thought it looked best at was the middle of her butt, maybe her waist, but I would settle for it a little longer than my optimum desired length.

But luckily (or so I thought), it didn’t quite end there. A couple weeks later she walked through the door, and as she sat down in front of me it looked like she had gotten trimmed again. At first I thought it was just me still getting used to it a few inches shorter, but later that night as we watched a movie at my house I noticed that my first instinct was right. We were lying on my bed, and she was munching on some popcorn as she laid on her stomach, her perfect butt still covered by her perfect shining mane like a golden blanket, but I noticed that it had definitely lost more length. Mere weeks ago it had almost reached her knee, but it now hung a few inches past her hips. I decided to ask for the hell of it.

“So.” I said, trying to sound casual, “you get a haircut or something?”

“Two.” she replied instantly, not missing a beat between her popcorn. “Jenny did it for me, came out pretty well, I think.”

“Oh, yeah, it does, may I ask why?”

“Well, Bryan always wanted me to grow out my hair long while we were together, I thought I should cut it back a bit until I find something I like, you know, to get over him.”

“Ah, OK.” So that was why she had been growing her hair out all those years, and I couldn’t complain, it did look good a bit shorter. “It really looks good, you going to keep it at that length?” I inquired.

“Yeah, I think I’ll try this for a while.” Without invitation I slid next to her and began playing with her hair, watching a small smile spread on her face as I helped myself to my (and her) favorite indulgence.

“A while” ended up being another two weeks, when she walked through the door with her hair missing several more inches of its length. It now fell to my favorite length at the middle of her butt, and I paid her endless compliments on how great it looked. She smiled and laughed as I lavished on them, and I told her that she should keep it at that length. She said she planned to. for a while.

Sure enough, two weeks later she walked in with her
hair in a strange style. Instead of tying her ponytail at the base of her head like most girls would, she had decided to tie her hair with a pink satin ribbon near the bottom, with a little tuft about an inch or two sprouting from the bottom of the ribbon. Despite this adorable new style, I noticed that her hair fell to just above her butt, and I didn’t compliment her in fear that it may encourage her to continue chopping it off. Sadly, that didn’t do the trick, and a couple weeks later I noticed her sporting her beautiful long locks completely straight and hanging to the small of her back.

I couldn’t believe it, I had watched her hair grow out for almost four years with a longing desire to make her my own, and now when I was so close to reaching my dream her amazing hair was disappearing before my very eyes! Right now it still fell to a length I found close to perfect for her, but how much longer would she keep it at that length? Even worse, when would she consider it short enough? The middle of her back? Her shoulder blades? Her chin? All the way? I had to talk to her myself.

We were watching TV on the couch, I was ecstatic because she had just snuggled up next to me and I was snaking my hand around her shoulders. I touched her silky locks and began to run my fingers through them, taking in how healthy and soft they were, then decided I had to ask.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were cutting that hair! You’ve lost a lot in the last few months.” She turned and flashed me a smile, I continued, “How much more are you going to cut by the way?”

Her smile disappeared as she turned to me. “Why do you ask? Does it bug you that it’s getting shorter?”

“No, of course not,” I lied, unsuccessfully as I saw her raise an eyebrow, “well, maybe a little.”

“Well I’m sorry, but I’m not changing my mind.” Something dangerous flashed in her eyes, but I persisted.

“I’m just curious how short you want to go, that’s all.” She continued to stare at me with her eyebrows raised. “Three more inches?” she kept staring, “six?” she finally dropped her eyes to a lock of her hair, then picked it up and began to chew on it nervously, and that’s when it hit me. “Oh my God, you’re going all the way aren’t you?”

“I don’t know Sean!” she replied angrily, “I just don’t know, alright? I’m going to do it until I feel comfortable, with or without your support!” I could tell I was going to lose her if I didn’t pull out the big guns and tell her the truth.

“Rebecca, it’s not like that, I could care less if you had hair to your ankles or you were completely bald! I really don’t care because.” I hesitated, then decided to go for it, “because I love you!”

She reacted like I had just slapped her, her head flew backwards and her eyes grew wide in surprise. She stared at me like that for several seconds, and I was terrified that she was going to walk out after all, but then her features softened and she smiled, her eyes looked bright with what could have been tears. “Oh Sean.” was all she said.

“I mean it Becky, I have from the moment I saw you in going into freshman year. You are an amazing woman, with or without hair, I really mean it. I just asked because, well, I’ve grown kind of fond of it over the years, it’s one of the things I think of when I hear you on the phone, or all those times I played with it in class. I just don’t want to lose any part of the person I love.”

She grabbed my hand and I saw a tear leak down her perfect small nose. “Sean,” she was close to crying, not a good sign, “I’ve always known there was something about you, and over the last couple years, it’s been getting stronger. I don’t know if its’ love, I doubt it,” my heart sank, “but it might be the start of it. Please understand that I have to do this for me, and I really don’t know how short I’m going, but if something happens between us when this is all over and you want me to grow it back, I will, for you.”

“Rebecca,” I started, and she kissed me. I shut my eyes and took in the sweet smell of her perfume, reaching up and running my fingers through those amazing locks, absolutely amazed that small threads of fiber could feel so alive and soft, and it was the greatest kiss of my life.

A week later and her hair only reached a few inches past her shoulder blades, but I could care less. I had won my dream girl, and while our relationship started out slower than slow (nothing more than holding hands and a kiss on the cheek after classes), I knew it would all be better in time. Three days later I was at my desk at home doing math when she walked into my room. I turned around and wondered how a guy like me could be so lucky, she was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt but was still the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

“Hey,” I said, “what’s up?”

“I need you to meet me at my house in thirty minutes, OK?” she seemed terrified and enthralled at the same time, like she had just come back from skydiving.

“Yeah, sure, what’s up?”

“Just meet me there.” and with that she turned and swiftly walked out the door. But before she left I saw something I don’t think she intended for me to see, her hair was definitely shorter.

Thirty minutes later and I was at her house, I walked in and she was in her bedroom, and there she sat holding a lock of her hair in her hands and stifling a sob. She turned to me and I could see she was crying. She jumped up and hugged me.

“Thank you Sean.” She said, crying harder.

“No problem, what’s wrong?” I was really worried, but she let go of me and spun around, standing in front of me to show me the damage that had been down. Her hair now reached to just below her shoulder blades, the ends uneven and severed badly and I was about to ask her what happened when I remembered the lock in her hand, she had cut it herself. “But why?” I asked.

“Because it’s not working Sean,” she replied, she sounded on the verge of tears, but I heard something in her voice that sounded suspiciously like excitement, “I keep cutting it and cutting it but it’s useless because I know that to get over this mental block. I have to go all the way.”

“Then go all the way Becky!” I couldn’t believe I had just said those words, “Just get it over with quickly!”

“It’s not that simple Sean,” I could hear frustration in her voice, but I knew that absolutely none of it was directed at me, “I know this is my decision, but there’s one problem I can’t get over, I love my hair! I love the way it looks, the way it swings when I walk, the way I can chew on it when I’m stuck in a test, the way it feels on my back when I wear a tank top. I love the way it falls into my eyes when I laugh, I love the tugs on my scalp when you braid it for me, I love the warm soft feel of it pressed against my back when I go to sleep, I love the sounds of the brush gliding through it, I love the color, I love the texture, I love. my. hair, and I don’t think I can cut it. Jenny did it for a while, but for this last one, for the big finale, I need someone I can trust, and there’s only one person that I really do.” She looked up into my eyes. She didn’t say “I love you”, but in some ways what she just said was even better.

I stood there for a second, my blank face making her smile, when finally I came to life. There was only one thing I could say. “What do you want me to do?”

She smiled even broader, but the tears came out of her eyes faster. Fear? Happiness? Both? It was hard to say, but without another word she opened what looked like a shoebox and pulled out a pair of clippers. “Finish it.” She said, handing me the clippers.

I took them from her as she sat down on the bed, and as I flicked them on I felt a brief urge to tell her that this was stupid, that it wasn’t too late to go to a salon and even out the ends, that she didn’t have to do this, but I knew it would have been the wrong thing to do. I saw her close her eyes in the mirror, but open them almost immediately, as if she wanted to see the end for her hair herself.

“Any last requests?” I asked, looking down at her hair. Over the
last few months she had lost more than half of her long hair, and the ends were still horribly ragged from her last attempt to cut it, but it was still by far the most beautiful head of hair I had ever seen despite the damages. I felt a great wave of sadness at what I was about to do, like I was committing a crime against humanity as I brought the clippers to her forehead and ran my hands through that amazing mane one last time.

“Just still love me when this is over.” And then it began. As I pulled the clippers into the front of her lush hairline I had a hundred memories of her and her hair flash through my head. The hours of staring at it, the countless times I had braided it, watching it sway as she walked in front of me, the times I would run a brush through it and not hit a single tangle, the way she sometimes laughed when she accidentally tucked it into her pants, the cute way she would chew on it in class, the way it tickled my face when she would tackle me in surprise while we were screwing around, and the twin braids when we were snowboarding, the way the moved with a life of their own. And then I snapped back into the present as I felt the clippers plunge deep into her lush mane.

I heard her gasp as the first locks were peeled away, falling with their enormous weight straight to the ground to join the locks she had cut earlier. Another pass, another sheaf of hair hit the ground, piling up rapidly. I was amazed that if hair reaching below the shoulder blades could make a mound this high, how huge would that mound have been if she had shaved her head while it was still thigh length? She was starting to cry again, so I kissed the bald strip on her head and whispered “you look beautiful” into her ear. She laughed and the tears seemed to thin, it had obviously helped.

Her head was beginning to become exposed as her hair rapidly vanished, and I felt like an idiot thinking that she might not look as beautiful as she did without her hair. As her head began to emerge from her thick blanket of hair I could see she was going to look just as beautiful without it, different yes, but just as beautiful. The hair continued to rain down, rippling like golden blond silk on the descent. Only a tiny portion was left over her ear, and with one last flick of the wrist, it fell to the floor to join the rest of her shed locks.

She looked down at the hair lying on the floor for quite a long time, then looked up at me and simply asked “Well?”

I stood there transfixed, her bare head was gorgeously flawless, just like the rest of her, and I answered honestly “I like it.”

That night happened almost four years ago, and we’ve been together since, both about to graduate from college. I don’t know much about girl’s hair, but what I do know is that hers grew extremely fast. By the time graduation had rolled around in high school her hair had already reached her collar, and just three years later it reached down to her hips just as I had always dreamed. She’s kept it at that length ever since, and it looked just as thick and beautiful as I remembered it, even more if that’s possible.

We shared a lot of classes together, but the days of sitting behind her were over, we sat next to each other and were inseparable. I know I couldn’t do her hair in class anymore, but who cared since that was my secret indulgence at home. Later that night we were laying on the bed together, her long golden ponytail draped over my chest, and I was playing with it as she talked about her newest crappy essay. She sat up suddenly and her hair got snagged as she did so, she yelped with pain and grabbed at her hair.

“Ack! Stupid hair.” she said angrily, running her fingers through the gorgeous tresses. She saw me laughing and put on mock anger, but I could see a smile just underneath. “Keep laughing pal,” she said, grabbing her massive mound of hair and rubbing them in my face, “I swear I’m going to shave it off again if you keep pushing me.”

“Yeah yeah,” I replied instantly, taking in the wonderful feel of that living silk against my face, the way the strands tickled my nose, “hey can you put it in that style I really like?” I asked.

“Maybe, if you’re nice to me.” She walked out of the room and came back in about a minute later with her hair in that style I remember seeing all those years ago, a ponytail tied at the bottom of the hair with a ribbon. I don’t know what it was about this style, something about having it in a ponytail, but still seeing it loose and flowing down her back drove me absolutely wild. She spun to show me her hair, then jumped back onto the bed, my hands finding her warm soft locks almost immediately.

“There, happy?” She asked.

“Very.” I replied, smelling the sweet smell of her strawberry shampoo.

“I hope so,” she said, then once again brought it up, “I figured I may as well let you enjoy it while I still have it.” The voice was playful, but there was something else there as well.

“Whatever, you don’t have the guts.” I dared her.

She gave me one of those looks and shut her eyes. She still jokes a lot about shaving her head again, but she’s doing it more and more lately. Even worse, every time she does it sounds less and less like a joke and more and more like a promise. I cherish every second I get to play with her hair, especially when I think that it might be on borrowed time, but remembering that night in her room made me realize that I would love every second with her even if she picked those clippers up again.

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