A Fundraiser Gone Wrong

This is my first standalone story, loosely inspired by someone I discovered on Instagram one day. If you enjoy this story, make sure and check out my other works. I currently have three series going, my The Start of Something New series, the Austin’s Razor series, and The Barbershop Assistant series. My next post will most likely be the next installment in the Barbershop Assistant series!

How It’s Going

I have a bald wife. She wasn’t always bald. She doesn’t want to be bald. But she is bald and will be for quite some time. Every day she shaves away the previous day’s growth. Each day is begun with renewing her smooth shaved scalp.

Bald is not my preferred look for her. I regularly find myself missing her long brown hair. She’ll never know that though. Mostly because I know she misses having hair. I catch her looking longingly at the long locks of other women, the same way I find myself doing the same.

She isn’t sick, she doesn’t have a disorder or disease. Shaving her head is not a process she enjoys, in fact it is likely her least favorite chore and it is one that I often find myself doing for her. But every morning after we shower and before we get dressed for the day, her head gets covered with shaving cream and shaved smooth with a razor. Some days I catch her with tears in her eyes as she get shaved yet again. We count down the days until she can have hair again but it feels so far away.

My bald wife is bald because she wanted to do something good. She wanted to raise money for children with cancer. At least she could consider herself successful at that. It was her success that cost her so much. The small fundraiser that had gone viral would cost her most of her youthful years of hair. When it would finally be time to grow it back, her dark hair would instead grow in gray.

How It Started

Back in November of last year, my wife got the bright idea that she would participate in a popular head shaving fundraiser. She had always wanted to shave her head and had pretty constantly talked to me about it. I was supportive, of course. As long as I had known her, which had been ten years, she has always kept her brown hair long and straight. She was ready for a big change and felt that the pressure of a fundraiser would force her to make that change.

She registered for the fundraiser and then immediately began making posts on social media. Carefully crafting a scale with some fairly ambitious goals she made her posts.

“$1000 for a bob, $1500 for a pixie cut, $2000 for a buzzcut, $2500 for a zero buzz, $3000 for a razor shave, and for every $100 over the final goal, I will razor shave my head daily for a week!”

With the posts came hair cutting tease phots where she held scissors to her long hair, held clippers up to her hairline, all while making nervous expressions. She told me she set the bars relatively high with the hopes of leaving the experience with some hair. But she was fully committed to doing whatever the met goals required, even if it meant going bald and staying bald.

The posts were met with lots of encouraging responses and comments and with some scattered donations. Friends and family committed politely small amounts, raising the total here and there during the coming weeks. The fundraiser was in March and by the start of January, my wife, Jenn, was up to around $800. If the trend continued she would likely at the worst end up with a pixie cut but the majority of people we expected to donate had already done so. A sharp, clean and refreshing chin length bob was likely in her future.

As expected, by February, her tally was up to a whopping $1200. My brother who constantly teased and treated my wife like a little sister had thrown in $300 which of course terrified her. And her fear, of course, only made him laugh. He had known that the money would only be enough to scare her but not make her bald so he enjoyed her nervousness.

March came swiftly and she had actually made her way up to $1400 thanks to the occasional posts she made. With one week to go, she made a final post to Instagram with scissors and clippers in hand.

“If you want to see these clippers used on my hair, get in and donate! We are $100 shy of a pixie cut and only $600 away from a #buzzcut!”

She used the buzzcut hashtag as well as tags for headshave, razor shave, bald, bald girl, mostly to tease what would likely never happen to her. The post was made right before she and I went to bed after our weekly date night. Her hair was curled and honestly looked beautiful in the post.

We went to bed that night as we always did. The babysitter was paid, our two children already asleep. Sex, which always followed our date nights, was great but standard. We both played on our phones in bed before turning out the lights to hopefully sleep in a little more in the morning. It would be unlikely as our three year old son seemed to wake up at the crack of dawn, even if our five year old daughter enjoyed sleeping in as much as any sane person would.

”Jack, oh my god, wake up!” I heard Jenn say as she urgently shook my arm.

I snapped awake and leapt to my feet, afraid something was wrong with one of the kids or that a dozen burglars had come crashing in through the windows. Instead of the imaginary threats, though, I was instead greeted by my stunned wife who stared at her phone. Her mouth hung slack jawed and I watched her hand that didn’t hold the phone creep up and hold her long hair which had been tied up into a messy high bun.

”What is it? You scared me half to death,” I said with a laugh.

”Jack, I went viral. My god, the fundraiser went viral,” she said, holding her phone out to me.

Her phone showed the current total for the fundraiser. $55,000 and it was still climbing. The max goal of $3,000 had been overshot by $52,000. My hand covered my mouth. She had promised to razor shave her head daily for a week for every hundred dollars over the goal.

”Jack, oh god, I’m going to be bald forever,” she said as tears sprung into her eyes.

She collapsed into me and I held her as she cried. Her bun was conspicuously in my face as if it were trying to remind me of the reason for her tears as if I could so easily forget. I rubbed the back of her head with my hand as I did the mental math. Ten years. Ten years of daily shaves. My beautiful long-haired brunette wife would be completely bald for the next decade. And the time only grew as the number on her phone kept climbing.

The Payoff

My brave Jenn stuck to what she had promised. It became apparent, once the shock was over, that several different accounts dedicated to women with shaved heads and buzzed hair had found her last post through the hashtags she had used. The posts had exploded in likes and comments and with the added attention to the fundraiser, her number grew.

Finally we put an end to things at $60,289. Jenn had cleaned her face, put on makeup and styled her hair to thank all of her donors and new followers. In the post she further affirmed that she would be committed to her promise. She would shave her head daily for the next 573 weeks as she agreed to round up for one final weeks. In total she would be bald for the next eleven years. At 29, she would be 40 before she had hair again.

Each day of the last week she seemed to be in mourning. I found her looking at herself in the mirror, feeling her hair and how it felt against her skin. She would close her eyes when the wind blew through it. I did my best to enjoy it as well. She had my support and I knew she would be beautiful with or without hair but I had always loved her long brown locks.

The day finally arrived. As the biggest raiser of funds, the charity put on a special event just for her. The room was packed and I sat up at the front. Jenn took the stage and sat in the seat as the hair stylist who she had chosen specifically for the event prepped her supplies. There were multiple cameramen who recorded the event which was being live-streamed in an attempt to raise even more money. Jenn had agreed to tack on another week for each $1000 raised during the live-stream.

A black cape was draped across her body. Her hair was sectioned out and tied into at least a dozen small pigtails all over her head. Jenn, who had promised to me that she wouldn’t cry, seemed to be doing everything she could to fight back her tears.

With great fanfare, the master of ceremonies walked out and interviewed Jenn briefly. I wished he would hurry so that the live-stream would be over sooner and hopefully less money would be raised but he had other plans. He actually encouraged further donation, “to keep this lovely lady bald for even longer.”

I saw that Jenn winced when he said that but she looked as brave as she could and even forced a smile onto her face. “You’d like to see that, wouldn’t you?” she asked with a surprising amount of confidence to the mustachioed man who held the microphone.

With a bellowing laugh, he nodded to the stylist who stepped behind my wife and with a grand voice said, “If the lovely lady is ready, let’s begin!”

My wife only nodded in response. She tried to fake excitement and enthusiasm and to anybody that hadn’t known her since she was nineteen, she seemed that way. I knew she was sad and terrified but I was proud of her for being so brave. For sticking to her word.

The stylist took a sharp pair of scissors and began snipping away hair. She started at the nape in an attempt to not overly shock my wife who couldn’t even see herself as she looked out over the crowd of well wishers who cheered her on.

One by one, the pigtails were cut away and set on a nearby table. Bit by bit, Jenn’s pride and joy were snipped away, not to return for at least eleven years. The short hair left behind would one day seem long and luxurious after years with a smooth head.

The long brown hair which had never been touched by the harsh chemicals of dye or bleach was being piled up, one section at a time. Some child would be proud of the wig she got, that was for sure. Jenn’s hair was healthy, thick, and strong. But it stood no match for the stylist’s sharp scissors.

Long, perfect strawberry blonde hair hung from the stylist’s head, almost as if she was trying to taunt my beautiful Jenn for what she was losing. The sides were cut short and then finally, the top was rendered to hair that was shorter than an inch. If my sides hadn’t been buzzed close, her hair would be shorter than my brown hair.

Nervously I rubbed my bearded chin as the stylist took the clippers and made some minor preparations. I could see Jenn shifting nervously in her seat as the ridiculous MC spoke up again.

”And now it’s time for the beautiful Jenn to be shaved bald!”

Without hesitation or mercy, the stylist with the beautiful hair began to take away the last of my wife’s hair. She plunged the clippers straight down the middle of her hairline and pulled them back toward herself, sending the short dark hair tumbling down onto my once long haired wife’s shoulders.

To Jenn’s credit, she didn’t cry as her head was being shaved. I saw her eyes begin to well up with tears but she forced them down and instead cheered with the already cheering crowd. She was so selfless in this moment and I was so proud of her for it.

Cruelly the stylist shaved Jenn’s crown first and made her look more like a balding old man than the beautiful twenty-nine year old mother of my children. Our kids were with my parents and I already dreaded their reaction to seeing her bald when we picked them up later. Her parents were sitting next to me in the audience, clearly as nervous as I was. We all knew she would be beautiful but we also knew how she felt about being bald for more than a decade.

The MC rubbed my wife’s stubbly crown which only had a shadow of dark hair remaining. Even the stubble would feel long in the coming years as she underwent daily shaves. The stylist then placed her hand on the shaved section of my wife’s head and began shaving up her nape.

A smile was still plastered to Jenn’s face but in her eyes I could see the sadness. If it weren’t for the permanence of the situation, she would probably be enjoying this. She loves to be the life of the party, loves the attention and ultimately loves to help others. Over $60,000 had been raised before today and there was sure to be even more money going to cancer research on her behalf. But that money came at the cost of what I’m sure she saw as her beauty.

Her nape was shaved as quickly as her crown was and the stylist soon began to buzz away the hair on her left side. She started in the front and shaved up through the sideburn which to me seemed to give a more clear picture of what my wife would look like for the next eleven, or possibly more, years.

I was in no way surprised to find that she looked beautiful. Her neck and ears looked so delicate and feminine without hair covering them. The features of her face and her big green eyes all seemed to stand out even more, highlighting the best parts of her. Her head even seemed to be perfectly round and without blemish. She had been nervous that some unknown lump or mole would be uncovered but thankfully that had not been the case. I could tell as the right side was now being shaved that she would be beautiful.

It was, of course, unlikely that she would see it that way. That evening I had planned a perfect, elegant dinner date. She had picked out a beautiful dress, some new jewelry complete with dangly earrings, and had splurged on the expensive makeup. Everything to make her feel as beautiful and feminine as possible. We had reservations at the most expensive restaurant in town, a gift from the charity. Hopefully the date would help her to see that she was beautiful.

Soon, the last of the short hair had been buzzed away. The stylist began to massage shaving cream onto her already bald head to take away the last traces of hair. My wife seemed to actually enjoy the application as she closed her eyes and smiled a real smile, probably for the first time since she discovered she would spend over a decade without hair. I’d make sure that she got to enjoy her daily shaves as much as possible.

The stylist took a safety razor and before she began shaving, the MC announced, “And now the bald beauty gets a polished shine!”

Scraping back in small strokes, the stylist shaved again right down the middle. The pale skin did shine, likely because of the moisture left behind by the shaving cream. It was completely without trace of hair. Just pale and kind of gray skin was left.

I allowed myself to forget about the gravity of what was happening as she went. Instead I focused on her technique. I had watched several videos and was doing my best to learn how to properly shave her head so I could help her with this new burden. Small strokes, frequent dips into a bowl of water, with the grain first, then against.

Soon my wife’s crown was shining in the lights of the venue. Cheers popped up now and then as my wife thanked her donors into the microphone that was held in front of her mouth by the increasingly annoying MC. She enthusiastically thanked her new fans, calling them her bald girl family, and thanked them for finally pushing her into a new style.

The MC took the mic as Jenn’s chin was pushed down so her nape could be shaved.

“I just received word, Jenn here has raised another $50,000, almost doubling the funds she has already raised! That, my friends, is another fifty weeks as a baldie for her! Can we match what she has already raised? Her shave is almost complete, and with that the window for giving!”

Suppressing an audible groan, I locked eyes with Jenn. Her eyes looked desperately sad as she realized her generosity had earned her another year of punishment. The stylist lifted her chin and began shaving the sides, carefully folding her perfect little ears down to shave around them.

The shave finished, just as the number reached $70,000. She would be bald for over twelve years. Our kids would be in high school by the time she had hair again. No one would make her but Jenn wasn’t the type to back out, especially after raising $130,000 for a cancer research.

My brave, bald headed wife stood and cheered as the cape was removed from her body. The hair that had been stuck in her lap cascaded down. Her head had been oiled by the stylist to moisturize it after the shaving and it shined in the light like a beacon.

The Aftershock

The rest of the event had been a blur. People touching her head, congratulating her. Sponsors approaching her to try to have her use their razors, their shaving cream, their lotions. The numbers that got thrown at her were astounding and it seemed as though we would be living well for the next twelve years if she accepted those offers.

By the time we finally made it out of the event venue and into our car, we pulled out immediately. Once on the freeway and headed to my parents’ house, Jenn finally broke down. She sobbed as she felt her smooth head.

”I’m hideous. I’m bald. I must look like a man. Please don’t leave me because I look like a man,” she begged, looking at me through distraught, tear filled eyes.

I met her eyes and reached out my hand to hold her bald head in my hand for the first time. It felt cold, sticky, and so completely smooth. I did everything in my power to not recoil at the touch, knowing everything I did now would determine how the next twelve years would go for her. Gently rubbing with my thumb, I reassured her.

”Jenn, you look beautiful. Yes it’s different but it’s great. It really suits you. I actually think it’s kind of sexy,” I said, telling her the truth while ignoring the shock I felt.

”Do-do you mean it?” she asked, sniffling through her tears.

”I do, sweetheart. I really do. Have you even seen yourself yet?” I asked, realized it was unlikely that she had.

She bowed her bald head, “No, I’m a little scared to look. Can we wait until we get home?”

“Of course we can. But I promise you look amazing. You can’t tell me that it doesn’t feel great! And don’t worry, I’ll let you shave mine too so we can match,” I said with a wink.

A small giggle escaped from her lips, “Thanks, babe. But I don’t want you bald for long, I like your hair. It’ll make me feel better to see you with it.”

”Sure thing, mama,” I said, calling her the nickname I had called her ever since the birth of our first child.

The kids were shockingly unbothered by Jenn’s new appearance. They both wanted to feel it, laughed a little but then just accepted it as the new reality. My parents were supportive as well and congratulated her on her success in fundraising.

”At least it looks really good on you!” my mom has said with a rub of my wife’s bald head.

When we arrived home, her little sister was there waiting. She was going to watch the kids while we went on our luxurious, celebratory date. They hugged and both cried a little but overall her sister, Becca, was supportive.

”Maybe one of these days, I’ll shave mine too so we can match!” she said with a wink.

Jenn was still not ready to see herself especially because her face was red and puffy from the tears she had shed. Becca offered to help her get dressed and get her makeup on so that when she finally saw herself, she would look as good as possible.

The girls emerged and my jaw dropped. Jenn really did look stunning. Exotic and beautiful, my bald bride did a turn for me. I wore the suit from our wedding with no tie and honestly looked pretty good but Jenn blew me out of the water.

”Good lord, you are sexy mama! I mean wow! We should have shaved your head years ago!” I exclaimed, winking as I made my last statement.

Jenn laughed, “Ok, if you guys think I look so good, maybe I’m ready to look.”

Closing her eyes, Jenn put her hand in mine as I led her to the large mirror in our bathroom. Becca held her other hand while the kids played in the playroom. She opened her eyes and stared at her reflection blankly.

”What do you think, sis?” Becca said, tucking her mid-neck length bleached blonde hair behind her ear.

”Well I-,” Jenn began before hesitating.

She reached a hand up and felt her head which had been newly oiled by Becca. Turning her head side to side, she examined herself more thoroughly.

”I guess I kind of like it. You’re right, I don’t look like a man. Maybe a little bit of a freak, but not a man,” she said, nodding curtly at herself in the mirror.

”So you think you’ll be ok?” I asked nervously.

”No, of course not. I’m going to be bald for the next twelve years. But I can live with it,” she said, dejectedly.

Becca and I wrapped Jenn in a group hug. I reached my hand up and affectionately rubbed her head. It was getting easier to see and touch now, I was finally getting used to it.

Our date went well, the charity had reserved the best table for us and everybody in the restaurant knew we were coming. Jenn’s success had made her almost a local celebrity and we were actually greeted with polite applause from both the restaurant staff and the patrons. With a little wine and some good conversation, I actually got her laughing and behaving as if she was ok with her bald head. She did look radiant, candlelight reflecting off of her bald head.

The next morning, she did just as she promised and shaved her head in the mirror. We spoke with sponsors, made social media posts, shaved my head too, everything required for our new life.

Life As We Know It

Now, two years later, Jenn is still bald. We’re getting ready for a maternity photo shoot. Jenn always looks so beautiful when she’s pregnant but this time it was different. Her bald head would be forever immortalized in the pictures on our wall. In the decades to come, after the next ten where she’ll be bald, she’ll be able to hold her hair and look back on the time she was bald.

Our new baby wouldn’t know her mother with hair until she is ten years old. Becca did shave her head in support of her sister, this time being much more careful about her promises of shaving. She and I both have hair now, hers worn in a long pixie as she grows it back out, me returning to my normal short on the sides, longer and combed over on top style.

Jenn and I walked out the door, her bald head now tanned and conditioned to being shaved daily. It was a warm May afternoon and I could already see the sweat glistening on her naked scalp. I kissed her as the kids climbed into the car, excited to take pictures with their baby sister in mommy’s tummy.

Another ten years and then she’ll get to have hair again. Ten years and then the horrible fundraiser gone wrong can just be a sad memory that will be forever remembered in pictures. But for now, as I drive to meet the photographer, my wife is bald.