(Also known as Audrey’s Makeover over on DA, but that seems a bit misleading.)
“It’s been a long week, Tiffany.” I sigh. “Customers keep getting more demanding every day. They expect me to know intuitively what they want- I’m not a mind-reader. I’m not looking into a crystal ball. I’m listening to what they say. Then they decide they hate what they wanted, and tell my manager that I butchered their hair.”
“Aw, Kyanna, I’m sorry things have been going like that. If you’d like, I could ask some of my friends to consider coming to you if you’d like? I think your work looks wonderful.”
I let out a held breath, and tell her, “Oh my goodness, if you would, that’d be so nice- I ap-” my phone is vibrating.
I take it out, and check my texts. My heart sinks when I see the word “Bitch” and a broken heart icon displayed across my screen, over a long message laced with profanity. I hate her so much. Why did I give her my number? I don’t want her as a repeat client. I want her to leave me alone. I put my phone back in my pocket, and put my head on the table. Tiffany pats it gently, and I ask her, “Is it wrong to hate someone?”
“No,” she tells me, “You just have to be careful with it. Don’t let too many people into your life that you can’t stand, and make sure you try to understand why they’re so difficult for you. Some people are terrible, but some just need a little bit of love before they’ll show you that they’re actually wonderful.”
I check my phone again, while Tiffany gently runs her fingers through my hair. Sure, she’s profane, and yells a lot, but at least Audrey never reports me. She’s not gonna lose me my job. Even after I punched her that one time, she just left in a huff. Maybe she’s not as bad as I think. She’s pretty cute underneath the destroyed hair, too.
Tiffany’s hand keeps my blood pressure from spiking while I read Audrey’s text.
“Hey bitch, I need you to give me my normal trim, today or tomorrow. I’m going on a date with this rich girl on Sunday, and I need to look fuckable. If you fuck my hair up, I will fuck you up.
I groan, and Tiffany lifts her hand, and looks at me, concerned, with her big blue eyes. I put her hand back on my head, and tell her, “Audrey”.
She nods, and continues petting me.
I start a text back- “Come in any time early tomorrow. I’ll probably need a full hour to make sure I get it exactly right for a perfectionistic puta like you.”
But then I think for a moment.
I delete what I’d written, and instead I write, “I’m working the graveyard shift tomorrow. Come in after five, when it looks closed down. Act like a puta, like you normally do, and see what happens.”
I let my finger hover over send, and then I press it.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t actually do anything to her. I’d lose my job.
“Hey Tiffany?” I ask.
“Can you watch Philip tomorrow night? I just found out I’m working late.”
“Yeah! Do you mind if I do some homework too? I want to get a jump on next week’s topic.”
“Don’t worry about it. Thanks for not minding the short notice.”
She leans her head down to me, and whispers into my ear, “I’m up for whatever you want, whenever you want it.”
She licks my ear, and I jump up in my seat, flustered. She chuckles at me, and starts, “Sorry. You just looked really stressed-”
“No it’s okay, please feel free to do that whenever you want.”
She smiles at me, and says, “Maybe I’ll just stay over tomorrow night. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind~”
I stand up, more flustered than before, saying quickly, “Yeah well you can honestly do whatever you like because I know you’ve got school work so I know you’re pretty busy but you’re always welcome to stay with me because you’re such a big help and you’re pretty great so uh thanks!”
I turn my back to her. I think she has a few strands of my hair in her hands, because I can feel them falling against my back as I walk away.
The next day, my shift at work is as stressful as it’s been. Picky, demanding clients who think that I can sense their preferences, who think I’m a piece of trash, who think my work isn’t good enough- I even hear a few racist slurs from an older woman. Of course, she talks to my manager as if she’s a sweet old lady. Maldita bruja.
By the time the shop closes, I can feel my blood pulsing. This is not a good time to meet Audrey. I need to get out here before she shows up, I-
“Audrey. It always feel like needles are in my ears when I have to talk to you.”
“The feeling’s mutual. I can’t believe you’re making me come here almost after dark- there are dangerous people out here. I’m in danger of being assaulted, or sold some subpar cocaine! You know I can’t turn down a good deal.”
“You know, I have to be out and about, too. And I can’t afford to get assaulted.”
“You’re saying that I like a give a fuck about you. Nobody gives a fuck about you, obviously. If they did, you wouldn’t be a single mother.”
I punch her in the face. She hits the ground, and doesn’t get up. I stand over her, watching her start to bleed from her nose. Somebody needs to teach her a serious lesson.
I drag her by the leg to a closet near my work station, and lock it from the outside.
Fifteen minutes later, I come back with a cable of rope from the hardware supply store next door. She’s apparently gotten better in the closet, because she’s screaming and trying to beat down the door. I unlock her, and grab her by the wrist when she tries to run. I grab her other wrist, put them both behind her back, and grab her mouth with my other hand.
“Stop that.” I whisper firmly as she tries to bite me, and wriggle free, “I’m not going to hurt you. That was a mistake.”
She stops trying to bite me, but won’t stop trying to wriggle away. I take my hand off her mouth, take some of the rope and tie her wrists behind her back.
She yells at me, “What the actual FUCK are you doing to me, you fucking bitch?! Y-you, you can’t do this!”
“I’m preparing you for the best, most honest haircut you’ve ever gotten, bitch. You’re going to absolutely love it.”
I drag her to my chair, and throw her into it. I think I hear her.. Moan…
She continues, “I’m warning you, this isn’t- this isn’t something you want to do…”
I throw the rope around her waist and tie her to the chair. She’s not going to bolt in the middle of this, especially now that I can hear her panting.
“What, are you a big bondage fan or something? Does this feel good? Have you been dreaming about it?”
I pull her shirt up and whip her stomach with the end of the rope, hard enough to leave a red mark. She yelps, and I smile at her.
“Well, we learn something new every day, don’t we, you fucking bitch? Well if you like it rough, you’re going to love every second of what I’m going to do to you!”
I pump her chair up, and lean in close to her. I ask her, “You know something? All this red mess? This smokey, strawlike shit? I’ve never liked it. Every time I work on you, I’m always thinking to myself that you need to start from square one. Or better yet, square zero. It’s the only way you’ll ever have decent hair, because this is ruined. I’m going to help you out.”
I leave her side, and go to my table. I snap a black cape out, and throw it over her, letting it wash and settle a bit before snapping it too tight against her neck. I pull her hair out of it, and flinch. I always hated working with this hair. It reminds me of my ex- his smoking habit. I return to my styling table.
As I plug my clippers in, she asks, “Wait, what are you planning on doing?! I need my hair!”
I flip the clippers on, and saunter toward her. “That’s not true..” I meander. “Bald girls are getting more and more popular by the day. You have really pretty red eyes. You have a cute, slappable face. That hair is only holding you back.”
I put my knee into her cape above her crotch, and put the buzzing clippers on her forehead. Her eyes are full of fear, but I plunge the clippers into her bangs anyway, and let them shave a bare strip down her head. Red hairs fall down both sides of her face, and as I position the clippers for a pass to the left, I ask, “Do you feel how brittle that is? The ends of your hair are practically sharp.”
I let the clippers move over another patch of her hair, and let the crackling sound of dry hair getting clipped wash over me. I push another pass down, and watch the long hairs falling down her shoulder, into the red pile on her lap. I grab her chin as I shave up the side of her head, and I can feel her heavy breathing get even heavier as the clippers pass by her ear.
I shave the side of her head several times to give her as much time relishing it as possible, even when hair stops falling down into the pile.
Eventually, I take my knee off of her, and spin her chair around. I put my palm against the back of her head, and shove her chin into her chest. I’ve been dreaming of getting rid of this shit since Audrey has been coming to me- when I align the clippers under her hair and push them up, I think about the fact that I’ll never have to feel the bitch’s red straw on my hands again.
I quickly shave another strip, and another, and another, keeping her head pressed down the entire time. She’s panting so hard that I’m worried I’m not giving her enough space to breathe. But I don’t care- it’s all coming off. I start shaving up the other side, and happily watch the pile of red at my feet get bigger. I watch it while buzzing up another strip- long red strands falling into the pile.
When there’s nothing left on the back of her head but stubble, I run my hand over it. I’m hoping for soft, smooth, and velvety, but it feels like sandpaper. She’s even ruined her stubble, apparently.
I turn her around the buzz the rest of her head, and I notice that she’s red in the face. I come in close to her, and ask, “Are you okay, Audrey?”
Through panting, she answers, “Yes, better than okay, please don’t stop, please.”
I smile impishly, and quickly shave the last few strips off the top of her head, and the few strands in front of her right ear. I buzz her right side as many times as her left, and flick the clippers off. There’s a massive ring of red hair around the chair. I pull her cape off, with the hair on it, and shake it off into the trash. I sweep the hair away from the chair, and leave it in a pile in the corner. Adios, la perversidad.
When I come back to Audrey, I smile at her. She’s so much cuter without a big red mess on top of her head. Red all over her face is quite enough. I tell her, “That’s a big improvement, but I’m not done with you yet. After dying your hair so many times, you’ve ruined it so badly that you’ve got to be shaved. There’s no other option. And while we’re at it-”
I reach under her dress, and grab her saturated panties. They come off easily, and I throw them against the wall with a thwap.
I run my fingers over her mound- it’s already shaved. I put two fingers inside her, and she moans, arcing her back toward me. I run my fingers down her vag, and pull them out wet. I put them up against her lips, and lick them. She shivers, and I put my finger in her mouth, and wipe them on her tongue, telling her, “You taste pretty good. You eat a lot of sweets, I can tell.”
I stand up, and come back to my table- I don’t have a lot of practice with the straight razor, but I want to make sure she’s smooth. I’ll be careful not to cut her.
I bring a bowl of cream to her, and whisper in her ear, “Stay very still.”
She flinches immediately when the cream touches her temple. I shrug it off, and rub it all over her head.
When she’s lathered, I take the razor, and pull her down by the ear so that I can start. I scratch the razor up the back of her head, periodically cleaning it on a towel, until her nape is clean. I run my fingers over it- soft, and smooth, exactly as I wanted. She shivers from the touch.
I continue pushing her stubble off up her head, until there’s nothing left but the front. I stroke her smooth skin several times over, and lean in to lick her nape. She practically jumps away from me- the rope securing her goes tight. I grab the front of her neck and pull her back, dragging my tongue to the back of her left ear. She can’t stop shivering as I pull my tongue back to her nape, and then to the back of her right ear.
I chuckle when I put my tongue back in my mouth and move to her front side.
I push her head to the side, grab her chin, and scrape the stubble from the right side of her head while she shivers uncontrollably.
I do the same for the left side.
I push her head down with a palm against the back of her head to shave the top, pushing her chin into her chest. Just a few more rounds of scraping, and she’s finally bald. I pull her head up by the chin to look at her. She’s cute, but I’m not totally satisfied, yet.
I put a few dollops of cream on each of her eyebrows, and whisk them away quickly.
Now she’s bald.
Now I’m happy.
I put the razor and used towel on my counter, and grab a fresh one from the stack. I wet it under warm water, and rub Audrey’s head down. She purrs as I run the soft, warm cloth up her nape, over the back of her ears, over the top of her head, over her forehead above her eyes, and over the space in front of her ears.
When I throw the towel to the side, I ask her, “Did you have fun, bitch?”
“Can we do this again?”
“You’ll need to come back to have this done, again and again, every week. Understand?”
I untie the ropes, and she cautiously steps down. Her wrists are bright red, and I realize too late that they were probably tied too harshly. She cautiously rubs her head, first with one hand, and then with two. I assume she’s enjoying it based on her expression.
I look back at her hair on the floor. I’ll probably burn that. I like her so much better this way.