What had started out as a reasonably pleasant evening with some friends of Dave’s had taken a turn that I’d never have expected in a million years. He’d tried to explain to me that he felt that he’d had to go along with it, otherwise he’d never be able to face those people again. Where was the problem in that? I’d known him for three years and I’d never met them before that night, so how important could they be? He’d explained that he’d always struggled to keep up with them at university, they’d always got a slightly higher grades and had got girls that were always a notch above what he could get (thanks for sharing that, Dave. I’ll deal with that one later). That night had been about finally being allowed to grace the “top table” and he couldn’t lose face.
My first problem with all of that was that university was over ten years ago for both of us. Who cared about people at university unless you’d moved through post-university life with them? None of these people qualified for that. They were successful, professional people, but they weren’t in our world and what they thought or did had no bearing on us. I don’t know if Dave thought that they might help his career in some way, but he was doing alright for himself. Middle manager, car, bonuses, all that sort of stuff. He could hold his head up in the supermarket.
The memory of the latter part of the evening careered back.
We’d finished eating. Those that were drinking were still working on that. I wasn’t one of them. They were getting raucous. There were only four couples, but the noise was rising. I was trying to be polite, chatting with one of the other girls, one that was more amenable than the other two. The lads were talking football, comparing team performances over the years in the way that is of such vital importance to almost anyone with a dick. A disagreement became an argument. Dave was at the centre. The atmosphere changed. I wanted to go home. Raised voices were laughed off as banter. One of the guys broached the subject again. Why did he do that? I suggested to Dave that we should go. He said we’d just be a couple of minutes. Google was called upon to referee the dispute. Dave was wrong.
I could see the mixture of emotions wash across him, watched his shoulders sink. He’d made an idiot of himself in front of all the people that he’d sought to impress. Being wrong was one thing, being so determined that you were right was another. I felt for him. I suggested that it really was time for us to go.
‘I don’t think so, Davey-boy’ the host said in response to my suggestion. ‘I think we need to enjoy this moment a little before we let you go home.’
‘I think you’ve laughed enough’ I said.
‘We just need Davey to pay a little forfeit and then he can go. Just so he remembers what a tit he made of himself when he sobers up’ he said. I hadn’t liked the host when he was sober and I certainly didn’t like him now.
‘Forfeit! Forfeit!’ one of the others started, in the hope of gathering support. He wasn’t very successful. I looked at one of the other girls and rolled my eyes.
She shrugged her shoulders.
‘Make it quick, whatever it is’ I urged.
‘Now then ladies and gentlemen’ the host said ‘What do you consider to be an appropriate forfeit for being 100% wrong, but insisting you’re 100% correct?’
‘What is this, back at boarding school?’ I asked. I didn’t seem to have much support either.
Dave flashed me a look that said “shut up!”.
I sat back, taking the last sip of coke from my glass. It was at times like this that I really wished that I wasn’t the designated driver.
‘Suggestions?’ the host urged again.
‘Run round the garden bollock naked’ someone suggested.
‘Nah, he won’t remember that in the morning’ one of the others countered.
‘He will when he sees the video’ one of the wives offered with a leer.
‘Shave his eyebrows off’ one of the others suggested. I looked at her. How would she feel if it was her husband or boyfriend.
‘Shave his fucking head’ came the suggestion. From the other wife / girlfriend. Bitch!
‘Yeah!’ the cry went up.
‘Shave! Shave! Shave!’ the chant began.
I looked at each of them in turn, finding it hard to conceal my disgust that they could treat someone like that.
‘What do you think, Davey boy? Appropriate punishment for making a dick of yourself?’ the host asked.
‘How about I send each of you a nice bottle of Scotch?’ Dave suggested. Expensive, but reasonable as far as gestures went, I thought.
‘You’d only stick it on your expenses’ one of the guys said, to an undercurrent of chuckles.
‘Looks like they won’t be satisfied with anything less than the hair’ the host said. I could see Dave trying to shake off the beer and wine that he’d put away during the evening. He looked at me.
‘We’d best be going’ I said, reaching across to him.
‘I don’t think you want to do that, do you Dave?’ the number two guy asked.
‘What is this, some sort of frat thing?’ I asked.
‘Ooh look whose being watching too many American movies’ one of the girls said. I tried to fire a withering look in her direction, but I’m not sure whether she was in a state for it to register.
‘Make her shave him’ she retorted.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Make her do it’ the woman repeated. I was so far past the courtesy of remembering their names.
‘The prize for the best idea of the night goes to Susie’ the host said, raising his glass. I stared at her, wishing her to spontaneously combust.
I looked at Dave. ‘Come on’ I urged.
‘It’s alright love, I’m okay’ he said.
‘You’re not okay, you’re drunk’ I said.
‘I’m not, I’m fine, honest.’
I shook my head.
‘You’ll look good, Kojak. You’ll be sexy’ the target of my hatred said with a giggle.
‘It’ll only take a minute. Then you can take the lovely Mrs Dave home’ the host said. I looked at him. I looked at Dave, static.
‘Really?’ I asked. He nodded. ‘And you think that I’m going to do it?’
He looked at me with an attempt at his puppy-dog expression. I couldn’t believe that he was almost pleading with me to do what they wanted. Why did it mean so much to him to keep in with these people? They’d never done him any favours and probably never would. He leaned across to whisper in my ear, trying to steady himself with a hand on my knee.
‘Please. Just do it’ he whispered.
I leant away from him.
‘Get the clippers Rob’ the host’s wife said.
That surprised me. His hair was reasonably long, but then I realised that they’d got a couple of kids, so that’s why they’d have clippers. I watched him get up. I could see the other guests look from him to us. Another guest stood up and lifted a dining chair out into the middle of the room.
‘Not on the carpet’ the host’s wife said sharply.
‘Kitchen’ someone else ventured. People were standing up, preparing to move to where the action was going to be. That gave me a chance to have a word with Dave.
‘Don’t let them do this to you. You don’t need friends like this. Let’s go.’
‘It’s only a bit of fun’ he said, reaching for his glass again.
‘Wait till you’re sober, then see whether it’s fun, but don’t get bullied into this’ I hissed at him.
‘Why are we waiting? Why aaare we waaiting?’ the drunken chorus started.
I grabbed Dave by the arm.
‘Get in the car now!’ I said in a half-whisper.
He looked at me, suddenly seeming to realise that I was serious. Nothing else in the room mattered.
‘You know what guys. It’s past my bedtime’ he said.
‘You can’t leave now’ one of the guys said.
I held on to Dave’s arm. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening. We must do it again sometime’ I said to no-one in particular, wondering just how sarcastic that actually sounded to everyone else.
‘Dave, come on mate…’ someone said.
It didn’t matter anymore. They were speaking to my back, and more importantly, to Dave’s.
We got in the car and I roared the engine, dramatically and quite unintentionally.
‘Christ Mandy’ Dave said. I ignored him, found a forward gear and drove.
We’d exchanged a few words in the car, but silence had descended and followed us into the house. I headed for a shower and bed, leaving Dave to do whatever he wanted to do. Despite my agitated state, I had no trouble getting to sleep.
I awoke with a feeling of being watched. I blinked myself into consciousness and realised that I was indeed being observed. Dave was there, so was a tray with breakfast and a single flower that he’d stolen from the vase in our dining room. There were the puppy-dog eyes back again. This wasn’t something that he’d done since our first night together. Then I think it was gratitude, now there was no doubt what it was.
‘Sorry about last night’ he said.
‘Do you realise just how many times you’re going to have to say that today?’ I asked, trying to get fully awake.
‘I know. It got a bit out of hand.’
‘Well, it won’t be happening again, not with me there anyway. You see them again if you want, but you’ll be on your own.’
He was pouring coffee.
‘That’s very sweet, but can you give me a minute first?’ I asked.
I headed for the bathroom and the shower. I knew that he’d gone to the trouble of making breakfast, but I needed to wake up and felt the need to rid myself symbolically of anything to do with last night. When I came out of the shower, a towel wrapped around me, there he was, still sitting where I’d left him. I looked at him in his shorts and tee-shirt, fresh from his own shower. He must have used the one in the utility room so as not to wake me. His hair was still damp, but it was still attached. I’d wrapped a towel turban-style around my own shoulder-length blonde hair.
‘Now I’ll have that coffee’ I said, finishing drying myself.
‘I really am so sorry’ he said.
‘Dave! Enough!’ I snapped. ‘You made an idiot of yourself in front of some of the most unpleasant people I’ve met, but it’s over. Stop being sorry and forget about it.’
‘Sorry’ he said. I was about to snap at him again when I saw the trace of a smile form on his face. I sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up my cup. I took a tentative sip, cautious in case it was too hot, but I needn’t have worried. It had obviously been there a while. I picked one of the strawberries out of the yoghurt that he’d put on the tray and bit into it, savouring it. I was distracted from my savouring by a hand sliding onto my knee and attempting to ease my thighs apart.
‘You really think that’s going to happen after last night?’ I asked. I picked another berry, he dipped his head. The first kiss just above my knee was just the thing to weaken any resolve that I had. This wasn’t something that Dave did very often. It was a treat saved for birthdays and Christmas, that sort of thing. Today was neither. I was glad that I wasn’t actually holding any crockery and that it was all still on a tray on the bedside table. That gave me the freedom to lean back on my elbows so that I could look down on what Dave was up to. At that point, he was up to the top of my thigh. The part where it wasn’t really thigh anymore, but something much more interesting. He was nibbling my tender bits the way that I’d just nibbled that strawberry. There’s no way that you can stay mad at someone when they’re doing that, so the only thing that I could do was to lie right back and open myself up to whatever he wanted to do. At that moment, it seemed to be an attempt on the world record for inserting your tongue farther into a woman’s body that it was ever designed for.
I grabbed handfuls of his hair to pull him in closer to me, suddenly realising that if the previous night had gone differently, I wouldn’t have been able to do that.
‘Aren’t you glad I dragged you away from that place last night?’ I asked rather breathlessly, forgetting the practicalities of holding a conversation with someone who’s in the process of eating you out. I’d come back to that question later. I abandoned myself to what was happening, deciding that all was good in my world.
An hour or so later, still glowing from sex and another shower, I ruffled Dave’s hair as I walked past the breakfast bar, enjoying its feel. He looked at me, halting me in my tracks. I looked at him, wondering how to interpret his glance.
‘Maybe I should have done what they wanted’ I teased.
‘Cut your hair off. Maybe you wouldn’t look like the cat who got the cream then’ I remarked.
‘At least then I might have been able to see them again.’
‘So why can’t you?’
‘It’s a bit lame isn’t it, getting dragged away by your girlfriend. I should’ve taken it like a man’ he said, with a half smile.
‘You just took me like a man, so let that be enough’ I commented.
He aimed a slap at my backside, which I dodged with a swerve worthy of a pole-dancer, not that I knew how a pole-dancer swerves, of course.
‘Didn’t it turn you on just a little?’ he asked.
‘What? Being with them? Passion killer if ever there was one. What horrible people!’
‘I mean, didn’t it turn you on that they were trying to get you to do something that you didn’t want to do?’
‘Who says I didn’t want to do it? Maybe I just didn’t want to give them the satisfaction’ I replied, and flounced off towards the sink with his half-empty cup in my hand. I didn’t continue the conversation, but he had set me thinking. There actually was something there that had piqued my interest.
As the days went by, the memory of that evening receded, leaving behind the impression of something to be pursued. It wasn’t fully formed, lurking just under the surface, but it was there. Dave was progressively forgiven, allowed into my good books again, particularly given his new-found interest in foreplay. It wasn’t unusual for him now just to pleasure me with his tongue and expect nothing in return. Whereas before, he wasn’t interested unless he could get off. Now he was content to focus on me, even if we didn’t have the time or the opportunity for a full-blown screw. I liked the new Dave.
I was wandering round the shops one morning when my attention was grabbed by one of the display stands. Not something that would normally have caused me to look twice, but on this occasion, I did. I stood and looked and before I knew it, I was paying for my new purchase. That put my mind into overdrive and led me to another shop and one of the more interesting shopping experiences that I could remember. It was a couple of hours before I was lugging several carrier bags towards the car and wondering how I could get them into the house if Dave was there. Thankfully he wasn’t, so I could unload the car and scurry up to stash everything in the back of the closet in the spare room. He never went in there, so I knew that I was safe.
For the next few days, I mulled over what to do. I’d been thinking of a surprise for Dave’s birthday, but that was a couple of months away and I didn’t think that I could keep a secret that long. There was always the possibility that Dave would find his present by chance, however remote the possibility. I decided that I would just do it when the time felt right.
I watched Dave over dinner, thinking that he still had a twinkle in his eye, had that glint of mischief that had first attracted him to me.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Nothing’ I replied.
‘I thought I’d got some spinach in my teeth’ he said.
‘No. I was just thinking’ I replied..
‘Oh dear, nothing good ever comes from that. Don’t worry your pretty little head about whatever it is. You know that it’s my job to do the thinking, you just do the stuff you’re meant to do, my pretty’ he said, his smile broadening across his face.
‘Did you hear that?’ I asked, cocking my head to one side.
‘Hear what?’ he asked.
‘It sounded like my thighs clamping shut’ I replied, with an equally big grin.
‘Don’t be like that’ he said.
‘Too late’ I replied, getting up from the table. I ruffled his hair as I walked past. I knew that his mind would be going into overdrive, wondering if I was serious or not. To be honest, after the shifts that he’d put in between my legs over the past week, he could probably use a rest!
I waited for Dave to go to work the following day and then got ready to go into town. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, but I knew that my objective was to get myself waxed. Not something I did very often, in fact it was a rare treat for Dave and one that I wanted to give him again. He had probably grown too used to me with a landing strip, so it was time just to go bare again. That hadn’t happened since our holiday last year, so it should be something of a novelty for him. It was something that I absolutely hated while it was being done, but absolutely loved once I was off the treatment table. If only there was an efficient way to get the finished effect without having to have another woman fiddling about down there!
All the while I was being tortured, I just kept telling myself that it was Friday and Dave would be home early. It would be a nice end to the week for him. I thought about anything and everything that I could to take my mind of what was being done to me, but eventually I was slipping back into my knickers and respectability again.
It was early afternoon before I knew it. I showered and got changed, choosing a simple button-through summer dress, just to be comfortable. I’d only just finished getting the room the way that I wanted when I heard Dave’s car pull onto the drive. I probably shouldn’t have dawdled in town quite so much, but at least I was looking calm by the time the front door opened.
I heard a sigh, heard keys clatter on the hall table, heard the jangle of coins go into the pot. You could have a checklist of the things that Dave did when he walked in from work. I knew that the pause would be to let him take off his tie and slip off his shoes before he came into the kitchen to raid the fridge for a beer. It was Friday, so he’d have his favourite brew, rather than one of his weekday beers. He knew how to spoil himself.
As he came into the kitchen, he looked at the glass of ready-poured beer on the counter. That wasn’t something that he normally got. He looked at the chair in the middle of the kitchen and then he looked at me, sitting on one of the breakfast bar stools. I slid off the stool and picked his beer up to hand it to him. He looked at the large bath towel in my other hand.
‘Good afternoon Sir, if you’d just like to take a seat’ I said.
He stared at me, trying to work out what was going on.
‘Take a seat, please. You’ve timed it well, no need to wait’ I urged as he took the glass from me.
He took the glass, looking at the unfamiliar set up and then looking at me as if I’d gone mad. He took a sip of beer.
‘Let’s get you covered up’ I said, holding the towel up.
He looked at me again, unsure.
‘That you finished work for the day, Sir?’ I asked. I could almost see cogs whirring, pieces being assembled, pennies dropping.
‘Yes, thanks’ he said, starting to let himself enter into the spirit of things.
‘You’re my last of the day too, then I’ll be able to kick back and relax’ I said.
‘That’ll be nice’ he said tentatively. I draped the towel round him. I’d toyed with the idea of buying a proper cape, like they use in the hairdresser’s but I couldn’t think where to get one from. I decided that a big towel would do just as well. I saw him look towards his beer and reached it to him. He probably needed a drink to combat the shock of coming home to what he must have thought was a mad woman.
‘So, what are we doing today?’ I asked, relieving him of the glass once again. I put it on the breakfast bar, out of harm’s way.
‘Er, I’m not sure’ he replied. I bet he wasn’t!
I ran my hand through his hair, slowly, hopefully allowing both of us to enjoy how it felt.
‘It’s quite long, isn’t it’ I said.
‘I suppose’ he said.
‘What do you normally have?’ I asked.
‘Just a tidy up usually’ he replied. I wondered if he was this chatty when he went to a proper salon. Maybe men didn’t talk about such stuff. Maybe they just talked about football and let whatever happen that was going to happen.
‘How about we do something different today?’ I suggested.
I looked at him intently.
‘I think you could have it shorter. It’ll suit you like that’ I replied.
It was his turn to look at me.
‘Look Mandy…’ he started
‘Mandy? Sorry, my name’s Davina’ I replied, coming out with the first stripper-name that came into my head. I put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Is Mandy your wife?’ I asked.
Make or break time for my little game.
‘Yes’ he replied slowly.
‘How about we have a little fun, send her a new man to play with?’ I said, ruffling his hair again.
‘Maybe’ he said uncertainly.
‘Do you think she’d like you with shorter hair?’
‘Maybe’ he replied again. I hoped that he’d find a different response soon.
‘How short do you think she’d like you to have it?’
‘I don’t know’ he replied.
‘Do you want me to choose what I think she’d like?’ I asked.
‘If you want’ he replied. This wasn’t going quite as I expected.
‘Maybe it would be better if we did what you think she’d like. What do you think that would be?’
‘I think she’d want me to have it shorter than this’ he replied. At last, something for me to work with.
‘Why do you say that?’
He thought for a moment.
‘We were at a friend’s house a few weeks ago’ he began. ‘I lost a bet and they wanted her to cut my hair as a sort of forfeit.’
‘Why didn’t she?’
‘She didn’t like the people, so we left.’
‘Hadn’t she said anything before about you cutting your hair differently?’
‘No. After that though, I got the feeling that she wanted to do it, but when it was just us?’
‘Do you think it would turn her on if you went home with short hair?’
‘Maybe’ he replied.
‘Do you think it would make her wet?’ I asked.
‘That’s not really something I should be talking to you about’ he said. I smiled. Now he was getting into the swing of things.
‘Sorry, you’re right. That’s something between you and her. Let’s concentrate on your hair, shall we?’
‘Okay’ he said. I rewarded him with a bit more of his beer before setting the glass to one side again.
‘Well, we’d better get a move on. I need to get home to my man’ I said. I picked up the clippers that had been the start of this little role play. I must’ve walked past similar displays in the past, but that day they just caught my eye and triggered something. Since then they’d been hidden in my closet, but now they’d seen the light of day, sitting there with their companion guards all lined up at Dave’s side. I’d never used them before, but how hard could it be? I wondered how well they’d cut when his hair was as long as it was. Should I cut it shorter with scissors first?
‘Moment of truth. What do you think your wife would like?’ I asked. My fingers were resting on the table, poised to select a guard.
‘I don’t know. It’s hard’ he said. I wasn’t sure if that was deliberate or he really was finding it difficult.
‘It’s only going to get harder’ I said, very deliberately.
‘I don’t know what to ask for. I’ve not done this before.’
‘Close your eyes and pick one of these then, I’m sure she’ll love it, whatever it is.’
He reached across and picked the longest guard.
‘I think you can do better than that’ I said. He looked at me.
‘This one?’ he asked, pointing to the next in the sequence.
‘If you think that’s what she’d like’ I said, picking it up.
I fiddled with it, trying to get it attached to the machine properly and then flicked the switch. It made me jump slightly when I heard it come to life. I couldn’t imagine what Dave thought. I approached him, arm extended.
‘Wait. You’re really going to do it? he said, all pretence put to one side for a moment.
‘It’s what you came for, isn’t it? You wanted a haircut.’
This was the point where it could all fall apart. I turned the clippers off.
‘Maybe I should talk to her first’ he said. Good, he was still playing along.
‘It won’t be a surprise for her then, will it?’ I leant in close to him. ‘Ladies like surprises, just as much as you.’
‘Are you going to surprise her?’
‘Okay’ he replied.
‘Good boy. Maybe I can find a little surprise for you, since you’re my last customer of the day’ I said.
I left that thought with him for a moment or two and then put the clippers down. I watched him looking at me and then put my fingers around the top button on the front of my dress.
‘It’s been a long day. You don’t mind if I relax a little, do you?’ I asked.
‘No, whatever’ he replied, curious as to what I’d do.
I undid the rest of the buttons and let the dress fall open at the front. He could see now that it had been hiding a powder blue basque with matching tiny knickers. I’d started out with stockings on too, but thought that they’d give the game away too soon. I could always go and put them on if he wanted. I smiled as he looked me up and down.
‘That’s a bit better’ I said, reaching for the clippers again. ‘Now, where were we?’ I turned the clippers on.
‘We were trying to decide what I want to do’ he said, playing his part magnificently.
I moved to stand behind him, shimmying to avoid his chance of a quick feel as I went past. ‘Naughty, naughty!’ I chided.
I played a hand over his forehead and drew it back, easing the hair off his face as I went. I followed quickly with my other hand, the one holding the clippers.
It wasn’t a game now, there was hair coming towards me and it wasn’t attached to Dave any more. I looked at the path of longish bristles that now stood across the top of his head. Had he realised that I had actually just cut his hair? I said nothing and made a second pass, widening the bristle-strip.
‘I thought we were still discussing my options’ he said, a little tension evident in his voice.
‘We were, but now you haven’t got quite as many’ I advised, sweeping more of his hair away.
‘Shit!’ he said.
‘There’s no need for language like that’ I chided.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to, it’s just a shock, you know.’
‘But you wanted your hair cut, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, I suppose so, it’s just I hadn’t made my mind up yet on what to do.’
‘Well, it’s still pretty long’ I observed, marvelling at the damage that I was doing up the back of his head. From the booklet that came with the clippers, I knew that this was a number four. They’d provided a longer guard, for the non-committed, but I suspect that you could do it that length with scissors. Well, you could if you knew what you were doing, which I didn’t.
‘You look better already’ I commented, trying to give him some reassurance.
‘Your wife’ll love it’
‘She’d be crazy not to prefer you without all that hair’ I said. I wasn’t actually sure, but maybe it was time for a change. He’d always had his hair in the same sort of style for as long as I’d known him, so maybe it was time for something different. I’d run the clippers over his whole head by now, so everything was a uniform length. I turned the clippers off and reached for the shaving mirror that I’d brought down from the bathroom so that he could look at himself.
‘What do you think? Much better, isn’t it?’ I asked as he focussed on the mirror. He reached a hand from under the towel and ran it over his head. Tiny bits of hair jumped into the air. I had a crafty stroke too.
‘Think she’d like it if we went a bit shorter?’ I asked, moving to where he could see me properly.
‘I don’t know’ he replied, looking at me, although I wasn’t sure whether it was the girlfriend or the fantasy stylist, dressed like a hooker, that he was seeing just at that moment. I changed the guard on the clippers.
‘Don’t you think she’d like you with it shorter?’ I suggested again.
‘She might, but I don’t know.’
‘How about we do this one, see what you think?’
‘What number’s that?’ he asked.
‘A three, one shorter than that’ I replied.
He held the mirror up again and looked at himself, before looking at me. I cupped my left boob, trailing my fingers across the satin slowly. I held the clippers up.
‘Okay’ he said.
I was behind him again, repeating what I’d just done. The effect was less dramatic this time because much of his hair was already on the floor around him. It was shorter, but not by a lot. I finished and we danced the same dance. Questions, uncertainty, acceptance. I liked the way that he looked. He was fresher, younger, more adventurous. Looked less like an office-wonk than he did, much as I loved the office-wonk.
‘So, ready to try another one?’ I asked, waving the clippers at him.
‘I’m not sure. I don’t know whether my wife would want me to.’
‘I thought that we were going to surprise her’ I objected.
‘I know, but I think I should call her, see what she thinks.’
I wasn’t expecting that.
‘Does she ask you what you’d like her to do with her hair?’ I asked.
‘Do you tell her what you’d like her to do?’
‘No’ he replied.
‘Maybe you should.’ I left that comment hanging in the air.
‘I think I should ring her’ he said, talk to her first.’
I pondered. Lack of confidence in his own decisions? Genuinely unsure about whether I’d like him to go shorter. Unsure about the whole role-playing thing? I didn’t know what he was thinking. He was, though, suggesting the obvious way for me to find out.
‘Maybe you should’ I replied. His phone was on the kitchen table because he’d been checking his messages when he came in to the kitchen.
‘I’ll give you some privacy’ I said. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
I walked out of the kitchen, trying to remember where I’d left my own phone. The ringing sound coming from the lounge told me where it was.
‘Hi Dave, where are you?’ I asked as I picked it up. I wasn’t sure how much like my normal self I was sounding, but it didn’t really matter anyway.
‘I’m just getting my hair cut’ he said.
‘Just trying to put the time in while you wait?’ I asked.
‘No, no’ he stammered. ‘I’m in the chair’ he said.
‘So you won’t be long then’ I asked.
‘I’ve had something a bit different done’ he said.
‘Oh? Such as?’
‘The girl’s cut it shorter.’
‘Girl? I thought you went to a guy?’
‘I do. I haven’t got time to explain. She’s cut it quite a bit shorter than usual, I wondered what you think?’
‘What I think about you going shorter? It’s your hair’ I said, trying to sound disinterested. It was weird, because I could actually hear him through the wall, although I wouldn’t have been able to make out what he was saying without the phone.
‘So you don’t mind if it’s short?’
‘You said it was shorter. Now you’re saying it’s short. How short is it?’
‘She’s cut it with clippers. It’s a number three, if you know what that is.’
‘Not really. Sounds short though.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘I’ll get used to it, I think.’
‘So will I probably’ I replied. ‘Why are you ringing me if you’ve already done it though?’
‘She thinks I should go shorter.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t know. That’s why I was ringing you, to see what you thought.’
‘I can’t really venture an opinion without seeing it. Describe it to me.’
‘Well, it’s sort of all bristly.’
‘Different’ I replied.
‘Do you like it like that?’
‘I won’t need to carry a comb for a while, I know that’ he replied.
‘Probably not. Anyway, what are you going to do?’
‘I was hoping you’d give me a clue.’
‘I can’t really, without seeing you. You could always leave it as it is and come home. That way, I’d be able to see what it looks like.’
‘That’s probably best’ he replied. I sensed a touch of relief in his voice.
‘Or you could always just leave it up to her’ I ventured.
‘But I don’t know what she’d do.’
‘Well, she’s either going to stop where you are now, or she isn’t, don’t you think?’ I replied.
‘Would you mind if it was shorter.’
‘I really don’t know Dave’ I replied, trying to sound slightly exasperated. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say. Just be guided by her, how does that sound?’ I suggested.
‘Look I’ve got to go. I’ll see you soon. Love you’ I said, hanging up on him.
I waited a couple of seconds. Taking a deep breath to compose myself, hoping that he’d think over what we’d just said. I took another deep breath and tried to become Davina again. I took a step towards the door and then stopped. I thought that maybe he deserved a little reward. I stepped out of my tiny knickers, running my fingertips over my waxy-smooth mound. That should do it. I headed for the kitchen.
His face was a picture when I walked through the door and he realised that I was wearing less than when I left and had less of a bush than when he’d last seen me.
No more landing strip, just Mandy-mound, or Davina-mound as it was just then. Hairless mound and lips that had no need to speak in order to convey my excitement at what was happening.
‘What did she say?’ I asked, breezing towards him.
‘She said that I should trust your professional judgement’ he replied, his eyes on my lower belly.
‘Anything wrong?’ I asked.
‘No, not at all’ he replied.
‘So are you going to trust my judgement?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, I think so’ he replied.
I slipped the guard off the clippers and picked another up off the breakfast bar.
‘What number’s that?’ he asked.
I held it up to him as I approached. ‘This? Number two’ I replied, taking the final steps to stand behind him. ‘Head down for me’ I said.
I placed the clippers at the nape of his neck, just at his hairline. I took a breath and clenched my left fist so that the teeth of the guard pressed against my skin. I moved my right hand upwards, stroking the back of his head with the clippers. I wondered whether it would hurt using them like this, without a guard.
Could I cut him? I hadn’t so far, so I carried on going. I wondered when he’d realise that I hadn’t actually attached the guard to the clippers. I was slightly shocked to see the expanse of bare skin on the back of his head. I hadn’t really known that they’d be this efficient.
It wasn’t too late for me to stop, although it would need someone fairly skilful to rescue what I’d just done. My mind flicked back to that fateful evening with his friends. Would they have intended me to go this short or when they talked about using clippers on him, would they have let him get away with a buzzcut of some sort? I decided to try to distract him for a moment.
‘So you’ve never told your wife what you’d like her to do with her hair?’ I asked.
‘How does she wear it? Is it long?’
‘Sort of shoulder length.’
‘You’ve never suggested that she colours it?’
‘Would it be exciting if she did something different with it? It’d be like fucking another woman?’ I asked, pausing for a moment so that I didn’t give the game away about his own hair.
‘I like her the way she is.’ he said diplomatically.
‘But don’t you think she might like you to tell her that it would excite you if she did something different?’
I wondered where this was coming from, but when I thought about it, standing in the kitchen with no knickers on while shaving my boyfriend’s head probably would kick down a few barriers that were there during the normal day.
‘I’m not sure’ he said, pondering what I’d suggested.
‘Believe me, tell her, you’d be surprised what a woman would do for you’ I said, finally running the clippers across the top of his head.
I’m not sure how much of what I’d just said he would retain. His eyes were on the clump of hair that had just dropped into his lap. He was probably able to calculate that he’d not had much to start with and that was an awful lot that had just tumbled.
I carried on. He sat silently. I wondered if he hated me. He had the merest trace of stubble, but nothing worth talking about. I went over and over his head, eventually turning the clippers off. I wasn’t sure whether to catch his eye or not. I put the clippers down and eased the towel from his shoulders.
‘I haven’t really got time to wash it for you. I need to run for my bus’ I said, trying not to get hair everywhere.
‘Oh’ he said, wondering what was going to happen now.
‘You look great. I’m sure your wife’ll love it. Do let me know next time, won’t you?’ I said, picking up my dress and hurrying for the door. He was left sitting there while I went upstairs. I freed myself from the basque and put a different dress, leaving the evidence of ‘Davina’ draped over a chair.
I went downstairs and into the lounge, taking a seat just before I heard Dave moving about in the kitchen. I sat down and picked up a magazine, pretending to be reading when the door opened.
‘Hi Dave, I didn’t hear you come in’ I said without looking up. I crossed my legs and adjusted my position to look at him. He was trying to work out whether I was
‘Davina’ or Mandy.
‘Hi’ he said.
I looked round to face him. ‘Christ, what did she do to you?’ I asked, trying to sound surprised.
He was trying to work out if he was ‘role play Dave’ or ‘real Dave’.
‘You said to leave it up to her’ he said. ‘Role play Dave’.
‘I know, it’s just a surprise that you let her do that. I bet she’s some dolly-bird who you’d let do anything she wanted to you. You men are all the same’ I said, standing up.
‘She was. A dolly-bird. A real looker’ he replied.
‘I bet you hoped that she’d let you fuck her, didn’t you?’
‘No, because I wanted to come home and fuck you’ he said. Correct answer!
‘And you think I want to fuck a bald guy?’
‘I don’t know, but it’s about what I want, not what you want and I want to fuck you, so stand up’ he said.
I stood up, wondering where he’d got the acting talent from all of a sudden.
‘Turn round and lift your dress up’ he said.
‘It’s got buttons on the front, I can take it off’ I said.
‘Turn round and lift it up’ he said more forcefully than he normally managed. I did, determined to enjoy him as long as this lasted. I felt a hand on my shoulders, pushing me forward. I braced myself on the arm of the chair and smiled as he slid effortlessly into me. We’d just had half-an hour of the most intense foreplay, whether he knew it or not and here he was benefitting. He slammed into me with the force that I probably deserved. I abandoned myself to the pounding, knowing that it probably wouldn’t last long.
A couple of minutes later, the storm had passed. Dave left the room without a word and by the sound of it, he headed into the downstairs shower. I went upstairs to the main bathroom and luxuriated in the shower myself. It was as much as I could do to leave my smooth pussy alone. It was wonderful to feel it like that and I decided that I was going to have to endure the beauty salon more often because this was too good to miss. My mind raced with the highlights of my little tableau with Dave. Clippering him at that party would probably have got him at or close to the point that I’d just got him to, but the journey wouldn’t have been memorable. Actually, it would’ve been tainted. This was just between us and I really hoped that Dave enjoyed it too. Certainly the way that he’d taken me without ceremony suggested that he was fired up in a different way than usual.
I washed my hair, enjoying the feel of the soapy tresses sliding through my fingers. I thought about what I’d said to him, all of it spontaneous and welling up from I don’t know where. Maybe I should do something with it. After all, it had been several months since I’d had it chopped from bra strap to shoulder length.
Dave hadn’t passed comment and it had only really been noteworthy for me in the reduced time that it took to get ready.
I dried myself off and put some jeans and a shirt on. Knickers, but no bra. I wanted to be relaxed and comfortable. It wasn’t unknown for me to go braless, particularly around the house. That was the beauty of having received just the right portion when the boobs were dished out. Not too small, not too big. Enough to fit in most men’s grasp, but not so much that I had to worry about getting too saggy in years to come.
I went downstairs to look for Dave, but there was no sign of him. There was no sign either of my pretend barbershop. It was all cleared up and looking like a kitchen again. There was a note on the breakfast bar telling me that he’d popped out to get some Chinese food for dinner. I’d forgotten all about eating!
A few minutes later, I heard him come in through the front door. I’d set the table and was ready with more beer for him and wine for me. I steeled myself for a reaction, possibly negative, but there was nothing. He just came in, put the bag down and started to dish up.
We chatted. There was no mention of anything that had happened since he got home, no reference to him having no hair, Davina, nothing. I looked at him, trying to get used to him without his hair, just the dark sheen of stubble. He wasn’t Dave anymore. He hadn’t been since that fateful night. He’d lost some of his inhibitions after that, had been hornier. I liked what he was becoming and even liked him without his hair, which I hadn’t been entirely sure about.
The weekend went without a single reference to his hair. I really didn’t know how to play it, particularly when he decided to inspect what the beautician had done for me. I clamped my hands round his head to pull him into me the way that I normally did, it was just that now, my hands felt raspy skin rather than his soft hair. That alone helped me along the road to cumming.
It was the Wednesday morning before there was any reference to what had happened. He hadn’t even told me what sort of reaction he’d got at work and I was determined not to ask him. I went down to breakfast after Dave had left for work. It was one of the perks of being self-employed rather than a wage slave like him. The hours were more flexible, but then so was the income. Anyway, I went down to the kitchen to make some coffee and there on the breakfast bar was an envelope with my name on it. It wasn’t like Dave to leave me love letters, so I knew that something was afoot. I opened it and peered inside. There was a business card and a piece of paper. I shook both out onto the breakfast bar. The business card was for a hair salon in town. The piece of paper said simply. “9 a.m. Red or black”. That was it. I stared at it, only brought out of my consternation by the sound of the kettle boiling. I looked at the clock. 7:45.
I took my coffee and sat down, both mysterious items in front of me. Red or black. Did he mean that he wanted me to dye my hair or was it a gambling reference? As far as I knew, he had no interest in gambling, so I ruled that out. Then I ruled it back in. Gambling? Was he expecting me to gamble that I’d interpreted his cryptic message correctly? What if I got my hair dyed and that wasn’t what he meant at all? What else could he mean? I knew that I’d made an off the cuff remark about dyeing my hair during our little role play, so it must relate to that. In a way, I was disappointed if that was the case. It might have been a bit more exciting if there were signs that he’d put some thought into what he wanted me to do. It was a little surprising that there was no mention of cutting it, just the probable change of colour. Did that mean that I’d accidentally hit on the haircut that he just happened to like? Was that why he’d said nothing over the course of the last three years?
I reached for my phone. Would he want me to ring him? He’d rung me during my charade with his hair cut. He’d consulted me. The fact that I’d offered him no guidance was beside the point. I pushed the phone away. I’d play his game or at least what I thought was his game. He’d never said anything about wanting me to change my hair colour. It was dark blonde and had always been dark blonde. He’d never given me the impression that he favoured one hair colour over another.
Whenever he’d ventured to voice an opinion on another woman, it had always been traditional. It was always shaped by the woman’s boobs or backside. Hair colour never came in to it. He wasn’t one to discriminate on the basis of colour; to him, a nice par of tits was just a nice pair of tits.
He hadn’t left me much time. If I was going to go through with it, I needed to get showered and out of the house by 8:30. Was I going to go through with it? Could I actually contemplate myself with either red or black hair? Not black, definitely not. So red then? Could I? I wanted to talk to him, wanted to understand how much it meant to him. Was it that he wanted to see me with red hair or was it just a test to see if I would do it or not? Then I thought back to when we had our little phone call while ‘Davina’ was cutting his hair. I basically told him to just let it happen. Is that what I should do?
I hurried upstairs and got ready, taking more time than I should looking at myself in the mirror. I looked at my hair, despite what I’d thought it was nothing special. Maybe I should take the opportunity to brighten myself up, just for the hell of it. But red? That was something that I’d never imagined and I wasn’t sure where Dave had got the notion from. Before I knew it, I was in the car and turning into the car park in town. I looked at my watch. I’d only got a couple of minutes, but fortunately I knew where the salon was. I’d never been there, but I’d walked past it enough times.
I opened the door and took the few steps to reception.
‘Hi. I’m Mandy Austin. I’ve got an appointment to get my hair coloured’ I said, looking around me.
The receptionist did what receptionists do and in a minute or so, I was face to face with the woman that I was going to trust my hair to. I liked her, she was probably in her early forties, friendly, glamorous. She ushered me in to the salon, pointing to her styling station.
‘It’s nice to actually meet you. Your man told me a lot about you.’
‘He did?’ I said, surprised.
‘Oh yes. I’m just pleased that I can help you out.’
‘I can’t wait to hear what he said to you’ I commented as she held a gown open for me. I struggled to grasp the idea of him talking to a hairdresser on his own behalf, let alone mine.
‘The thing that he said more than once was to make sure that you were open to whatever we were going to do.’
‘I’m intrigued. He gave me a choice of red or black and I just can’t imagine myself with black hair, so I suppose it’s got to be red.’
‘You’ll look fabulous. Bright pill-box red. You’ll be stunning.’
‘So he just wants me to colour it, not cut it?’
‘I did ask, but he said that you never change the length. Never have as long as he’s known you, so he decided that was a “no no”. Just didn’t think you’d be up for it.’ He’d obviously not registered the cut I had two or three months ago. I’d thought that it was reasonably drastic, but it appeared to have bypassed him.
Maybe he’d just been nervous when she’d questioned him about something so far out of his comfort zone. I decided to play along so as not to ruin Dave’s credibility with her.
‘Interesting. That makes me sound so boring. I just have it like this because I always go to the same guy and he just does what he does. Never asks if I want anything different. Neither does Dave. He’s never said that he’d like me to do something different. So, I blame men for me not doing anything, how about that?’
‘So, you are open to the idea of cutting it? That makes things more interesting’ the stylist said, ushering me to a chair.
I was actually quite irritated that Dave thought that I wasn’t open to suggestions. I’d have been more than happy for him to suggest that I do this or that. If anything, he was the one who’d been the stick in the mud when it came to hair. It was me who’d broken him out of that, once the seed had been planted by those who should remain nameless, of course.
‘I’m more than open to suggestions. I think I need to go for the shock factor now that he’s said that, don’t you?’
‘So short and red?’ the stylist checked.
‘How about we forget about what he said? Let’s start again, just the two of us, shall we?’ I suggested.
‘Fine by me.’
‘Okay. Let’s say that you can do anything you want. What would that be?’
‘By the sounds of it, it needs to be something funky. Short, choppy, multi-coloured? Perhaps not’ the stylist said, adding the final comment as she saw the expression on my face.
‘I’m not really into colouring. Too much maintenance.’
‘Okay, does short and choppy appeal?’
‘Sounds scruffy to me. I’d rather have something that’s easy to look after, something that looks good without me having to do anything.’
‘You’d need to go very short for that, really.’
‘That’s okay, whatever you want’ I agreed, surprising myself.
‘I mean really short’ the stylist emphasised.
‘Okay’ I agreed again.
‘Never more so. If I’d known that he wanted me to do something different, I’d have done it ages ago. All he had to do was ask.’
‘I’m surprised he didn’t. You have to be pretty adventurous to shave your head like he’s done. Did he ask you about doing it or did he just turn up one day?’ the stylist asked. ‘It looked like a recent thing, no tan, you know?’
‘Oh that! He went to get his hair cut like he always did and the stylist he went to suggested that he should go shorter. Turned out that she was a bit more daring than him, so he ended up going the whole hog’
‘What did you think about that?’
‘I like it. Made him more interesting to look at in a way.’
‘So you don’t mind the idea of a stylist just doing what she thinks? I take it, it was a female stylist?’
‘Yes. I mean, yes it was a female stylist and no I don’t mind the idea of a stylist doing what she thinks best. If there’s something that you’ve always wanted to do, now’s your chance.’
‘That’s the spirit’ the stylist said, a pair of scissors having appeared in her hand from somewhere.
A deft flick of the comb selected a tress from the top of my head and held it aloft for a moment, until the scissors moved in. There was a gap between the end of the tress that she was holding and what was still attached to me. There was a second cut and a third before I could compose a sentence.
‘I think he’s going to be in for a real surprise’ I said.
The stylist paused.
‘You did say…’
‘It’s fine. I don’t mean that’ I said, trying to reassure her that I wasn’t about to freak out. She looked relieved and put the scissors down.
‘Might as well do it properly then’ she replied, looking at me in the mirror.
‘Why not?’ I agreed as I saw her reach for the clippers. I was transported back to my little session as Davina, although sensing a different sort of sensation now that it was me who was at the business end of the machine. I was excited, turned on, but also nervous. This wasn’t something that could stay private, just for me and Dave. I wondered how short she was going to go. The blades touched my forehead. I had my answer. I had bristles.
The clippers moved with more confidence than when I wielded them, but the effect was the same. My hair was swept efficiently off my head, leaving a covering of hair, half an inch or so long all over my scalp.
The stylist paused and looked at me for a reaction.
‘That’s the hard part’ she said.
‘So what’s the easy part?’ I asked, looking at the reflection of a very different looking Mandy in the mirror. I was hoping that I’d done the right thing.
‘This’ she replied.
The clippers came back for another visit. There was no guard on them. The first strip was cut across the top of my head. I should probably have expected it, but didn’t and whilst it wasn’t unwelcome, it was still a shock. I took a deep breath.
‘It’ll all be over in a minute’ she said, as if to console someone that they no longer had any hair. Dave and I were now a matching pair. I watched her work in silence. The last little tufts of my hair tumbling away to nothing. The clippers went quiet and I just stared at myself, eventually nodding in appreciation.
‘Say hello to a stunning new you’ the stylist said.
‘Hello, new me’ I said with a smile.
I watched her get out a can of shaving foam and a cut-throat razor.
‘Are you still allowed to use those things?’
‘It’s for special occasions’ she replied with a knowing smile. The can made that noise that cans do and I watched her form a helmet of foam across my head. The razor approached. I closed my eyes. I’d expected that I would find the experience scratchy or uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. It was like being stroked, only with longer lasting consequences. I closed my eyes to savour it. I tracked the progress of the blade, sides and back, then the top. I felt it move to what had been my hairline and then down onto my forehead. She wasn’t leaving a trace. I felt it move slightly further down and then felt it tickle just above my eye. It took a moment to realise the implications.
‘That’s a bit naughty, isn’t it?’ I said.
‘Just tidying them up’ she said.
The blade went back again.
‘It looks better like this’ she said, confirming with another touch of the blade.
‘I was meaning to get them shaped again’ I said.
‘I’ve sorted them for you, so that’ll save you a job’ she replied.
‘I’ve never found them to be too much of a chore’ I said, slightly concerned at what she’d done exactly. Whatever it was, it hadn’t taken her long and she was back checking her handiwork for anything that she’d missed.
‘There’ she said, declaring an end to her task. She led me over to a basin and rinsed my head quickly and efficiently. It wasn’t as if there was much for her to do though. Her fingers felt amazing as they stroked their way across my scalp. I wondered whether Dave would be able to get anywhere near her deftness with his man-fingers. I sat up, allowing her to dab at my head with the towel. She took it away and stood back slightly so that she would have the privilege of being the first person to see me without hair.
‘Perfect’ she declared.
‘I doubt it, but thank you’ I replied, steeling myself for my own first glimpse of what she’d done to me. I stood up and let her take me by the hand to lea