The Ultimate Gift

I… LOVE… my hair.

I know that may sound conceited and self-absorbed, but with the amount of love, care, and money I had poured into this mane of mine, I think it’s OK to love it and brag about it as much as I do.

It’s gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. No other word will do really. Sleek, shiny, and inhumanly soft, my hair spills down my back in the most wonderful, shimmery fall of shining golden-brown silk, usually curled sporadically to add extra volume. It normally fell about an inch past the top of my firm butt, or the middle of my butt on those rare occasions I ever wore it straight, and I would receive countless compliments on it daily no matter how great or awful I thought it looked that day. Its wonderful, reassuring weight always acts as a security blanket for me, making me feel beautiful on even my ugliest days, and even giving me something to play with and run my fingers through when I’m sitting anywhere bored.

My hair was unbelievably healthy, not a sign of split ends or damage, and a wonderful, natural caramel color that seemed to shine so naturally and beautifully that many women I knew would spend hundreds upon hundreds of dollars trying to match it. My hair was so healthy in fact, that despite its immense length and weight, I never really noticed that many strands stuck in my brush after even the longest brushing sessions.

That was why one day, I was actually able to notice several more strands than normal in my brush after running it through my hair for nearly 10 minutes, It wasn’t a lot more by any means, just a dozen or so strands total woven through the teeth of my brush, but it was definitely more than the 5 or so I normally found in my brush after even the longest brushing sessions… and I smiled.

“Sasha honey?!?” my husband Derek called as I heard him walk through the front door from work, “you home babe?”

“Just upstairs love,” I said as I quickly pulled the hair from my brush and began to once again run it through my flowing, soft waves, “just getting ready for tonight.”

I kept brushing as I heard Derek climb the stairs and walk into our bathroom where I waited for him. He walked up behind me, reaching his arms around my waist as he kissed the side of my head through my thick, soft locks.

“Man, your hair looks great today babe,” Derek said as he buried his face deep into my golden mane, he loved the sensation of my silky hair rubbing against his face, as well as enjoying the smell, “you look great in general!”

“I don’t know how,” I chuckled, looking down at my ensemble of silver leggings and a red tank-top, but I had to admit that at 27 years old, I definitely had it, “I’m just wearing my normal everyday stuff for our date.”

“And you look great in it!” Derek said as he pulled his tie off and walked into the closet, “just let me change and we will head out for date night.”

“Okay my love,” I said as he shut the door behind him, and I looked down at my brush.

Once again, several strands were stuck in the teeth, only about a half dozen, but that was how many I normally found after thirty minutes, not thirty seconds. I pulled the hairs out and looked at them with a smile.

My plan was working…and soon… I was going to be bald.

I guess I should start at the beginning.

I wasn’t lying earlier when I said that I love my hair. And when I say love, I mean LOVE! I had loved it ever since I had decided to start growing it out when I graduated college at 22. At the time my hair had been to my shoulders in a straight cut that resembled a bob, and I had never had it longer than my bra strap in my life, so I was interested to see if I wanted to keep growing it out after it grew past my shoulders.

As it turned out, not only did I want to keep going, but I was ECSTATIC about it. I watched with pure joy as it grew in thicker and healthier than I remembered my hair ever being, and seemed to be that way as it crept further and further down my back. I watched with pure joy as it went further and further past my shoulder blades, then my bra strap, and by the time I met my future husband at 24 it had grown all the way down to below my breasts.

The decision to grow out my hair was reinforced as being the correct one when Derek told me that he loved my long hair, and actually wanted to see it longer. So as we grew closer, my hair grew longer, and by the time we got married at 26 my hair had grown nearly to the small of my back, my love for my hair now matched by my love of adding gentle waves to the long silky lengths to give them that little extra body and volume that was the cherry on top of these lovely lengths. By the time Derek and I celebrated our 1-year anniversary I had been wearing my hair at my preferred length of the top of my butt, right where it met the small of my back for a couple of months, having finally become the gorgeous, shining golden treasure of a mane that I had strived for it to become for years.

But as time passed and my hair became more and more beautiful, I began to notice a strange thought growing in my head, like some sort of mind virus. As much as I was over the moon with my new hair and its flawless condition, I found myself wondering more and what I would look like with NO hair. It was the strangest thing, and as I watched my hair grow inch by beautiful inch, I often found myself pulling my hair tight against my head to simulate what I would look like if one day, I decided to take a set of clippers and shave off every last strand of my glorious, silky hair.

Of course, nothing ever came of it, and I knew nothing ever would. I loved my hair far too much, and I knew Derek did as well. As fascinated as I was with the idea of shaving my head, I just plain could never bring myself to do it unless someone… or something… made the decision for me. So as I decided to keep it just below the top of my butt, I had resigned myself to the fact that this crazy fantasy of mine would be just that… a fantasy.

Or so I thought… until one day, everything changed.

It began nearly a year ago, as I was finishing getting my long, gorgeous hair ready for work. My hair had grown thicker, healthier, and softer over the years thanks to all the money I lavished on it, and it was more gorgeous than any hair of anyone I knew. So as I fluffed it up and looked it over, I smiled and nodded as I took a moment to admire just how great it looked. Derek and I were heading out this weekend and staying at an awesome hotel, and I wondered to myself if they had ever sent me a confirmation email. I went to the office and opened my laptop to check my email… no confirmation.

“Shit…” I said quietly, then remembered that they had probably sent it to Derek since he had made the reservation, so I opened his email and… “what… the fuck?”

In the top of his email was a letter from someone called “Photoshopped_Dreams” with the heading “Your Project is Complete!”, and when I had clicked on it out of curiosity I found myself looking at pictures of… myself! There were several photos of me that I remember Derek snapping with his phone: me doing my hair, walking down the street, smiling at him from the passenger seat of the car. But there was one major difference in these photos.

My hair was gone.

Each picture had been photoshopped to remove my hair. He had sent this person several pictures of me and had commissioned someone to alter them so I had no hair in them for some reason.

You know the reason, I heard a voice in my head pipe up, he WANTS to see you bald. He’s probably been fantasizing about it for YEARS. So… what are you going to do about it?

A small devious smile tugged at my lips as I reached up and began to play with a long lock of my hair. Derek loved my hair, there was no doubt about it. Between the way he played with it endlessly and the way he took advantage of it in the bedroom, it was clear that he was nearly obsessed with it. But apparently, this obsession had a flip-side, as my husband secretly wondered and fantasized about what I would look like with no hair… something I had thought about endlessly as well.

This changed EVERYTHING.

It looked like against all odds, my dreams and fantasies of one day being bald could very well come to light… if I played my cards right.

My plan began a month after discovering that email. I wanted to begin my plan that day, but I knew if I had begun the process then, he may have been alerted to the timing and not gone through with it. So I had researched going bald online, ways to do it, ways to simulate it, and above all else, ways to make it happen naturally.

During these weeks, I was struck with a sudden realization that I was now playing with my hair a LOT. I normally made a habit out of twirling my hair around my finger when nervous, or fluffing up my hair playfully when I was waiting, but since I had set my plan into motion, I realized that these instances were the exception rather than the rule. My hands were now CONSTANTLY in my hair, fluffing it, smoothing it, stroking it, every moment felt like my fingers were dug deep into my silken treasure of golden hair, and I had to make a conscious effort to keep my hands away from my beloved mane. It made sense really, I now knew that my days with my hair, which I still loved in spite of what I was about to put it through, were severely numbered, and with my time to enjoy and love it rapidly coming to an end, I needed to make sure I did at full potential.

During my research, I found a depilatory that you could mix in with your shampoos and conditioners in order to cause someone to lose their hair. It was a fascinating product, guaranteeing complete baldness after just one treatment, with concurrent treatments speeding up the process. Which means if you used it just one time, you would use your hair slowly over a almost a year, but if you kept applying it to your head, the process would speed up and could take as little as a month to happen.

And so I had contacted the company, and asked them to anonymously send my husband an email with a special offer and information on the product. Two days after they did, I checked my husband’s email again, and was delighted to see that in the sea of unopened letters, right there in the middle was the email, clearly opened. He had read the email and the information about the product, and now knew where to order it.

The trap was set, and phase 1 was complete.

My next phase began a week later as Derek and I stood next to each other, getting ready in the bathroom mirror. As he brushed his teeth, I took a deep breath and got ready to put on a performance.

“Fuck!” I shouted as I pulled an overly long-setting curler from my hair, causing a very curly sheaf of hair to bounce down to my butt and settle among other, much less curly waves, “dammit! I swear, sometimes I fucking HATE my hair!”

“Really?” Derek asked with genuine concern, and a hint of something else that I would have completely missed if I didn’t know about his secret, “it still looks really good to me.”

“Maybe to you, but it’s been so damn uncooperative lately that it takes FOREVER,” I said, really pouring hatred towards my hair into my voice that I in no way actually felt, a strange, alien feeling that I was betraying my hair growing in my heart, “it’s such a pain sometimes. Sometimes I’ve even… nevermind.”

“No, what babe?” Derek asked, sensing an opportunity, “what were you going to say?”

I paused, not just for dramatic effect, but because I wasn’t sure that I actually wanted to say what I was about to say. Despite my theatrics, and my attempt to make my hair look horrible… my gorgeous locks were cooperating like always, and still looked absolutely perfect despite my efforts to do the opposite. I really did love my hair… and I knew if I went on, I’d be taking the next step towards something I couldn’t take back. But in the end, my strange new obsession and my love for my husband won out, so I continued.

“It’s crazy, but…” I leaned forward into the mirror to give a speech I had rehearsed for a hundred times now, “sometimes… sometimes I think about how much easier life would be if I just… didn’t have any hair.”

There was a moment of silence between us as I could actually sense the wheels turning in Derek’s head, and I had to repress a smile.

“You mean like… a short haircut?” he asked.

“I mean like a NO haircut,” I replied, lifting up my hair with both hands and tying it into a loose ponytail with a satin ribbon, the wonderful waves gathered together and shimmering so beautifully that it looked like the hair of a cheerleader, “life would be so much easier if I just didn’t have any hair at all. It’s a problem you just can’t understand.”

“So… have you ever thought about shaving your head?” Derek asked, again doing a masterful job of hiding his true feelings.

“Yeah, but… I’d never do it,” I said, a much more honest answer than even I intended, “I don’t hate my hair THAT much, I just wish somedays that my hair would fall out on its own so I don’t need to worry about it anymore.”

I heard Derek hiss next to me, and I turned to see that the goofball had plucked out an eyelash and was now rubbing his sore eyelid.

“What are you doing you numbskull?” I asked as I shook my head with a smile, making my thick, wavy ponytail swish softly around my head, “you know they say those don’t grow back.”

But he just smiled as he held up the eyelash in front of me on his fingertip.

“Go ahead,” he said simply.

“Go ahead and what?” I asked, seeing where this was going.

“If you’re serious, wish it right now,” he said with a chuckle, and I had to admire his spirit, “this is your chance.”

“Well, I think it’s supposed to be your eyelash and not the eyelash of someone else,” I said with a laugh, “but… OK, I wish for all my long, beautiful hair to fall out, and to one day be completely bald in the near future.”

I blew on his fingertip, and the eyelash flew off of it, floating through the air for a moment before vanishing from my sight.

“It’s done, your hair is now doomed, and soon you will be bald, so I guess I better enjoy this for as long as I can,” Derek said as he lifted my ponytail and brought it to his face to kiss it, “but if it makes you feel better, I think you’d look good bald, despite how much I love your hair.”

“Thanks babe,” I said as he walked past me to head out for work, and a slow, predatory smile spread over my face.

The trap had been sprung, and he had taken the bait, phase 2 was complete.

I started to follow Derek out of the bathroom, still wearing that same triumphant smile, but my reflection caught my eyes. I walked back into the bathroom and tugged the satin ribbon from my ponytail, letting my long hair loose once again and looking perfect, and that was when my breath caught in my throat.

What had I just done? My hair was the most beautiful thing in the world, and if Derek walked down the path I had just sent him down (which he would DEFINITELY do if I knew him half as well as I thought I did), then I had just begun the slow, painful destruction of my most prized possession. This was definitely the low-point of the whole affair, and if I had needed to decide right then and there if I wanted to do it or not, I probably would have said no, and elected to keep my long, beautiful hair forever.

But then I calmed myself down, realizing that I was still nowhere near the point of no return. As of now there was still time to change my mind if I wanted, as it would take days for the stuff to arrive in the mail, and by then, maybe I would be back to feeling the way I did before. If I didn’t… well… maybe I could just throw out the stuff out and let him think it didn’t work, it only had a 95% effectiveness rating after all.

I smiled again, but this time the predatory features of it were completely absent, and there was a hint of sadness to it. I think this was the moment I finally said goodbye to my hair, and I’ll always remember how beautiful it was that day… despite my best efforts to make it look the opposite.

Two days later, I saw a charge for 59 dollars from the company that I had requested the email to Derek from, which meant he had squeezed the trigger on my plan without even knowing it was mine, phase 3 complete. The suspense as I waited for the stuff (which I called the “formula”) was intense, and I thought these were my final days with my hair.

But then something happened that I didn’t expect. Derek never put the formula in any of my shampoo or conditioner bottles. I found where he hid the formula very quickly after it arrived at the house, but everyday I would check and see if he had used it… and every day I was baffled to discover that he hadn’t. A week passed… then a month… then two… and the whole time, the bottle never moved, and I couldn’t figure out if it was because he still felt guilty about going through with this, or if he loved my hair more than I originally thought.

Still though, I really enjoyed those times. After Derek lost the nerve to dose my shampoo with the formula, my love for my hair had flooded into me full-bore after being given another chance with it. Every day was a wonderful day of having hair that I shouldn’t have, knowing that I had come very close to losing it all. Every brush stroke was a gift, every shimmer a blessing, and every time Derek would play with it was a sensation I fully embraced and loved. Derek also seemed to grow suddenly attached to my hair, spending exorbitant amounts of time petting it, stroking it, or with his hands just deeply dug into it. I loved the feeling of each of these, and my loud moans as he played with my hair seemed to make him want to do it more and more.

One night after dinner, five months after Derek had given up on going through with my plan, he suddenly and unexpectedly grabbed my hand, causing me to drop my dish, and spirited me wordlessly away to the bedroom for some of the most amazing sex we had ever enjoyed. He seemed especially aroused by my hair that night, and pulled every trick in the book to enjoy it during that night of passion.

Afterwards, as we lay there naked and sweating after the sex, I had to know what had triggered something so incredible to awaken in him.

“WOW!” I said between gasps, “where did THAT come from?”

“Just you babe,” he told me as he rolled onto his side and kissed me, “just wanted to enjoy every square inch of your body, from top to bottom.”

“Including my hair apparently,” I said as I reached up and lazily attempted to fluff it up with one hand, which was pointless since the sex had already voluminized it far better than I could.

“ESPECIALLY your hair,” he said with a smile, “it looked so god damn good today, I just had to appreciate it.”

“Well I’m glad you did,” I said as I leaned over and began to run the tips of one of my silky locks over his bare chest, “because I very much appreciated all that appreciating.”

He laughed and we sat there silently for a moment, but then a thought popped into my head, one that terrified me and excited me beyond belief. Something about the way he had said he wanted to “appreciate” my hair… and I felt my heart stop as I felt my long lock slip from my fingers.

But I hid my reaction as we chatted a bit more. I only half-heard his responses as my mind was completely elsewhere, and finally as he drifted off to sleep, I fought the urge to get out of bed until I was sure he was truly out. Finally, after 10 minutes, I slipped out of bed and wrapped a robe around me, then made my way to the bathroom. I was so focused that I didn’t even chuckle as I caught sight of the enormous mane of fluffed up, voluminous silk my hair had become thanks to the sex. I made my way to the closet, then went to the dresser and pulled it forward to look for what was hidden back there… and I let out a shocked whimper.

The formula bottle was gone! Which meant Derek had taken it and used it, but when? My hair was still thick and gorgeous, and I hadn’t noticed any falling out.

I let out a loud, involuntary whimper at the realization that this morning my bottle of conditioner had smelled a little different than it normally did, I just thought I had been losing my mind. Now I realized where that scent had come from, Derek had dumped the formula into the bottle sometime last night… and I had used it. Out of curiosity I made my way to the shower and popped open my bottle to smell it to confirm my paranoia. It still smelled sweetly of strawberry and lilac, but there was something else in there too… another pleasant smell that reminded me almost of honey.

The formula was in my conditioner… Derek knew that today had been my deep-conditioning day, and I had this stuff on my head for almost 15 minutes this morning. Derek had finally squeezed the trigger on phase 4, and without even knowing it, I had just passed the point of no return. I was going to lose all my beautiful hair, it was already as good as gone… and there was nothing I could do to stop it, despite my belief that I would always be in control of whether or not I went through with it. In the blink of an eye, I had just transformed my remarkable mane from the best thing about me, into Schrodinger’s Hair; it was simultaneously soft, bouncy, gorgeous, and shiny, softer than silk and healthier than any hair I had ever seen, the absolute epitome of beautiful hair.

And at the same time… I was already as good as bald, all this hair, despite its luster and gorgeous condition, would be gone soon, and I would be forced to watch it slowly slipped through my fingers and vanished into history, like the eyelash that had started this entire ordeal.

I closed my eyes and sat down, then placed my face in my hands at this exciting and devastating new development, my long, silky hair spilling around my arms as I fought back sobs. I felt conflicted to say the least, on one hand, this was what I had wanted for over a year, but on the other, I was now terrified at the prospect of losing all this wonderful, soft, golden hair, my pride and joy. Without moving my head, I reached up with my hands and sunk them deep into my precious locks, squeezing them tightly and feeling the way they slid effortlessly through my fingers like liquid silk.

I was torn on whether or not I was upset that I hadn’t known what I had done, that Derek had fooled me after nearly a year of me fooling him, and had removed the final choice I would make in the fate of my hair. I had always pictured that day of decision… I had pictured me standing in the shower, holding the cursed bottle of hair-destroying formula, and debating my final choice. In my visions, my hair had always been dry and beautiful, my waves looking more brilliantly soft and effortlessly beautiful than ever as they spilled around my naked body, as I debated whether or not to spare my treasured locks.

But instead, I had just doused that glorious hair in a chemical that was destined to have them fall out and vanish, and I hadn’t even known it. I decided that maybe it was for the better that I hadn’t known, lest I chicken out at the last second, but as I continued to lovingly stroke my glorious, doomed hair, one thin was for certain.

The next couple months were going to be very interesting.

For several days I decided to condition my hair everyday, thinking that if the die had been cast, I might as well speed up the process as much as possible. But over those days, I became increasingly confused as nothing happened, and I began to wonder if I was part of the 5% that wasn’t affected by this formula. But five days after accidentally sentencing my hair to death was the day from the beginning of this story, the day I had first noticed more strands than normal in my brush as Derek and I got ready for our date night.

It was two days after that night, and I had been carefully monitoring my hair loss. The effects were beginning to speed up, but it was still far from worrisome, and my hair was showing absolutely no signs of thinning, nor did it feel any different than normal when I would play with it (which was significantly more frequent as of late). Derek and I were enjoying lunch together, and he was beginning to notice something was off about me.

“Hey babe, you OK?” he asked as I stared off in the distance, wondering if I should buy a wig now or wait until I got closer to baldness, “you’ve barely touched your salad.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said with an absent smile as I looked back down to my plate, “I was just… thinking.”

“About what honey?” he said as he took a bite of his food.

For a second I just debated telling him that I knew, telling him about my long plan to help me go bald, and telling him about my own fascination and obsession with the thought to immediately assuage any guilt he might feel. We were already far past the point-of-no-return, and there was no saving my hair, it was already as good as gone, but I resisted. I had to remind myself that this was as much his fantasy as it was mine, and I should let him enjoy it from beginning to end like I was trying to do. Still though, there was nothing wrong with piquing his interest in the process as long as I didn’t give anything away.

“It’s just… were you being honest when you said you would think I would look hot bald?” I asked, reaching up and twirling a long lock of golden-caramel silk around my finger, part of me secretly fearful (or excited) that it would fall out while still wrapped around my finger, “or were you just playing?”

I saw a hint of surprise cross his face, just enough to denote that he knew what this was about… without really KNOWING what this was about.

“Of course babe,” he said, reaching out and running his own fingers through the full-length of my thick hair, just like the night I had used the formula on my hair, Derek had spent the last week pouring incredible amounts of affection and doting into my hair, and I loved it “you’re the love of my life and I will always find you beautiful, but if you were bald… I think you’d look really hot and exotic.”

A brief pause as I took his hand in my own and gently pulled it from my hair so I could kiss it, making an effort to ignore the fact that I had caught glimpse of a couple of my long hairs woven through his fingers. After a moment I saw an eyebrow arch and he cleared his throat, he just couldn’t help himself.

“Can I ask why you’re so curious?” he said, and I had to repress a smile at how he played it coy, “did… something happen?”

I intentionally let a look of worry cross my face, but just for a moment to let him know that something WAS in fact happening to my hair. Then I smiled and dropped his hand to pick up my fork, ready to dig back into my salad.

“Nah, it’s nothing,” I replied, “let’s just enjoy our lunch.”

We did just that, but as we ate I dropped my napkin on purpose and bent under the table to pick it up, glimpsing at his pants as I did so. I chuckled when I saw that he was hard as a rock at the idea of our talk, and I was quite relieved that he would be enjoying the process of me going bald as much as I was.

Which was a good thing. The effects of the formula WERE beginning to speed up, and while it was still not even close to showing, a 20-minute brushing session now yielded about 30 or so strands woven into the teeth of the brush, nearly three times as much as it had just a couple days ago when the hair loss had finally and slowly begun. It was still a lot less than most people (as most people tended to lose several hundred strands throughout the day), but it was definitely enough to know that my “Baldening” (as I had begun to call the entire affair) had begun in earnest, and my time left with my hair was coming to an end.

My wonderful hair put up one hell of a fight, even as the effects of the formula began to speed up its inevitable destruction. My hair began to fall out faster and faster, strands in the brush increased from 30 to 50, then 100, then so many that I didn’t even bother to count. Despite it all however, my hair never lost any of its beautiful luster, volume, or softness, still looking as pristine and perfect as ever for almost 3 weeks after I first slathered the formula onto it. But as hard as my hair fought to stay on my head, the odds were stacked against it, and it wasn’t long before my gorgeous mane began to lose the fight.

It began with a feeling. One day, after spending almost 10 minutes brushing my hair and then constantly cleaning the brush, I fashioned my hair as I normally did. But when I stood up, I couldn’t help but notice that my hair felt… lighter. I leaned in to look at the mirror, but my hair looked just as thick, soft, and shiny as ever, despite the fact that I knew inside that my hair had begun to vanish in earnest. But as much as I was excited to see a bald head emerge from my sea of silky, shining, caramel-colored locks, I couldn’t help the feelings of sadness that grew inside me as I watched my beloved hair slowly begin to fade away.

The next day the first visible sign of my hair’s demise began to manifest when I noticed that the normal, massive volume of my waves was visibly deflated… but just barely. My hair looked just as beautiful as ever, but to my trained eye, I could see that my hair looked flatter than normal, no matter how much fluffing I did to it (and all the hair on the floor that came as a result of the process). 2 days later my hair looked even flatter, and I noticed with slowly growing horror that my scalp was slowly becoming visible through my widening part… something I never expected to see from my gorgeous hair. It was heartbreaking to see, especially considering that things were only going to get worse, and I began to find myself wondering if it had been a good idea to consciously destroy such a beautiful part of myself.

Around the three week mark the strands of hair in the brush quickly became clumps, then mounds, and I would need to clean out my brush after just a handful of strokes. There was hair everywhere, on my pillow, the shower, my bathroom counter, EVERYWHERE. I would only make a minimal effort to clean up my hair where it laid, as I wanted Derek to see the fruits of his labor and really let him enjoy the process like I was.

It was around the one month mark that Derek finally brought up what was happening to my hair. Or rather… he fished around the fact of what was happening to my hair. We were eating breakfast and talking about our schedules for the day when Derek stood up to put his plate in the sink. He made a point to take the long way around me so he could walk behind me, then casually dropped a question.

“Hey babe?” he said as I could feel him look at the back of my head, and I had to repress a smile, “did you know you’ve got the beginnings of a bald spot on the back of your head?”

“Really?” I asked as I reached up and felt the back of my head, knowing full well that the hair back there was incredibly thin and my scalp was showing through it more and more every day, “is it that obvious?”

In reality it was becoming VERY obvious, and I had a feeling I would have a full-blown male-pattern bald spot back there within the next couple days. My hair was tied back into a ponytail today, and my days of wearing it down were now a thing of the past since this was the only style I had left that somewhat hid the growing devastation that the formula was inflicting on my formerly massive head of hair. But between my slowly receding hairline, my rapidly widening part, and my increasingly visible scalp, I knew it was a tactic that would only buy me a few days at the most to hide the obvious. At the rate the hair loss was accelerating, I doubted I would have any hair left on my head within two weeks.

“Looks like it babe,” he said, reaching down and rubbing the front of my hairline, “you really haven’t noticed it?”

“No, I have,” I sighed, playing it like I wasn’t expecting this, but I was cool with it, “I’ve been losing a lot of hair lately my love, I just thought it was stress from work.”

“Oh babe,” Derek said, sitting back down next to me and placing his hand over mine, “I’m sorry to see you going through this. Maybe this is just a one-time thing? Maybe it won’t be permanent.”

There was a look on his face that looked like something resembling regret, something I definitely didn’t want him to feel, so I smiled bravely at him and chuckled.

“Honestly babe, it was wonderful having hair as beautiful as mine, but nothing lasts forever,” I said, squeezing his hand, “I mean, I DID literally wish for this after all, and I hope you were serious about thinking I would look sexy bald.”

“I 100 percent was,” he said without a moment of hesitation as he bent down and kissed my hand, then reached up and tucked a long, loose strand of hair behind my ear, doing an excellent job of hiding the strands that fell out with the motion as he dropped his hand, “how long do you think you have?”

I sighed again dramatically as I turned to look at myself in the mirror, taking in the sight of my dying mane. At this point I looked like someone about 3 weeks into chemo, my hair having visibly thinned out, but not to the point where anyone who didn’t see what it looked like before would think that it was anything but a very unfortunate hairline. Within a few days even that would change, and a few days after that… well… it wouldn’t be a problem for anyone anymore, and Derek and I would finally be able to enjoy our mutual fantasy.

“I’m losing more and more hair every day,” I said honestly, “at this rate it won’t last more than a few days, but it’s definitely not going to be around much longer. If I were you, I’d enjoy it while you still can.”

“I can do that,” Derek said as he kissed my hand again, “and I can also enjoy you without it.”

The process continued to speed up, and when I lifted my head the next morning as my alarm went off I left about a quarter of my remaining hair on my pillow. It looked like my projection of having maybe a week left with it was WAY off, I’d be lucky if I woke up tomorrow with anything still attached to my head.

I tried my best to do some sort of combover or style that mitigated the damage, but decided what was the point? My hair had thinned to the point where my scalp was highly visible through my hair, and any attempt at hiding it or styling it just caused more and more to fall out with every movement.

I tied it into a ponytail the best I could, doing so carefully because even doing something so simple made several more clumps come out. At work everyone had come to the conclusion that I was sick, so they left me alone and didn’t comment on the ravaged remains of what had once been hands down the best head of hair in the office. Occasionally I would reach up and gently stroke my ponytail, a ponytail which had once been as thick as a baseball bat, but was now as thin as a green bean. After a while I forced myself to stop because even this simple motion was beginning to shift my ponytail as more and more hair came out with each stroke. By the time I left work and headed home, I could see that just a few hours had played a devastating role on what was left on my hair, and even my significantly thinner mane was in even worse shape.

When I got home Derek was waiting for me, and without saying a word he walked up to me and took my face in my hands, then leaned forward to whisper you are as beautiful as the day I met you, into my ear before kissing me. We kissed again harder, then made our way to the bedroom, shedding our clothes as we did. We fell into bed in nothing but our underwear, and Derek reached up grab my ponytail, but I quickly reached up and snatched his hand, shaking my head as I did so.

“Trust me,” he whispered, and I let go of his hand as he reached up and gently, but also firmly, wrapped my ponytail around his hand and gently began to tug. ‘

I closed my eyes as I felt a strange, small, popping sensation completely blossom over my head as Derek pulled the ponytail and every last strand of hair still holding onto my head for dear life popped free. It was the strangest sensation, one that made me with I still had my full head of hair just to see what it felt like for every strand to do that. It was over in seconds, and before I knew it, Derek was holding up the remains of an incredibly thin but incredibly long ponytail.

“Holy shit,” I said as I looked at the ponytail, then rubbed my head, overwhelmed by the bizarre but sensual sensation of it on my fingers, “how… how does it look?”

“Honestly?” he said, then smiled, “it looks absolutely beautiful.”

“I want to see,” I said, and began to get up, but he pushed me back down.

“Not so fast,” he said, then kissed me and began remove the last of my clothes to go with the last of my hair, “I want to enjoy it first.”

The sex was wonderful, some of the best we have had since the night Derek first secretly dosed me, back when I still had all my thick, beautiful hair still on my head. It was ironic, the best two nights of sex in my life so far had been the day I had begun the process of losing all that gorgeous hair, and the day the last of it disappeared.

After we were done I looked in a mirror, and was shocked to see the woman staring back at me was a complete stranger. It was amazing that even the thin layer of hair that I had been holding onto could change my appearance so much, yet here I was, looking like a completely different person.

I… was conflicted about the look. On one hand it wasn’t nearly as shocking or horrible as I was afraid it would be, and in some ways, I actually liked the way it looked. It was alien and strange, but sensual and exotic at the same time. I enjoyed rubbing my head while it was smooth, and the feeling of it in the shower made me instantly understand why so many men chose to shave theirs.

But on the other hand, not even an hour passed before I began to miss my long, silky, beautiful hair, and all the wonderful sensations it brought with it when I would twirl it around my finger, feel it dance around my body and down my back, or really do anything with it. It had been over a month since I had felt it in its full glory, and after a short time I realized that I wanted to grow it back immediately… and be re-united with my gorgeous hair once again. I knew it would be a long, arduous process, but I also knew it would totally be worth it.

Derek tried to sit me down the next day and come clean about what he had done, but as he started explaining I simply smiled and stopped him, then laid out how all of this had been my plan, and it had gone off perfectly. He was shocked… but his shock gave way to being relieved of any guilt he felt over doing this, even though I had more or less told him to do it. So I told him I was planning on growing my hair back once the effects of the formula wore off (which should be about 4 weeks after complete hair loss), and for the next few days, we enjoyed my bald head to the fullest.

5 YEARS LATER

“Ugh… my head,” I said quietly as I walked through the front door, “anyone home? If so I’m gonna kill you and take a nap!”

But only a silent house greeted me. I had taken the day off work early because of a splitting headache, and I was very much looking forward to a cup of tea and a nap to hopefully make myself feel better. I made my way into our master bedroom, smiling as I briefly paused to check myself out in our full-size mirror.

It had been over 5 years since the Baldening, and I had to admit that at 32, I still had it. I was a little bit softer in the waist than I had been then, especially since I was now mother to a 4 year old and a 2 year old (who were currently at their grandparent’s), but I still looked as good now as I did then. Even dressed modestly, I looked great in a black, low-cut t-shirt and a pair of form-fitting, dark blue jeans. The biggest difference between then and now however, was my hair.

I had spent the last five years growing back my hair to its former splendor, and after spending so much time, effort, and money on the task, I had finally restored my hair to its full glory. It was even MORE beautiful than it had been back then, and I meant that in every single way. It was healthier, shinier, and softer thanks to the heavy attention I had paid to it, and it was longer as well. It was now 44 inches long instead of the 40 it used to be, and where before it had fallen to the top of my butt when I lightly curled it (which I did almost all the time), it now fell nearly to the bottom of it. And on the odd days when I wore it straight, it fell beautifully to the top of my thighs. I was still safe from gray hairs, and as a result, my hair still retained the same beautiful caramel-gold color it had possessed before it had all fallen out.

Needless to say, I… LOVED… my hair… again, and so did Derek. He always told me how gorgeous it was, played with it non-stop, and always had his hands buried in it during sex, which had never been better in our entire marriage. He still joked about me being bald again some day, and I always joked about taking him up on the offer, he would retort that I shouldn’t tempt him, because he might take me up on the offer, and I would usually taunt him to do it, but it never went beyond jokes.

With a toss of my hair, I made my way into the closet and pulled out a silk slip to fall asleep in, but it fell behind the dresser.

“Dammit,” I whispered as I pulled the dresser forward to get to it and looked behind there… but then I felt my heart skip a beat at what I saw. Hidden behind the dresser, stuck in the back treads to keep it hidden, was a very familiar blue bottle. The formula.

“No…” I whispered as I reached back and grabbed it, then let out a sigh of relief when I felt it was still full, the seal still intact. I picked up the bottle and looked at it, thinking it was the remnants of the old bottle, but this one was still sealed, and didn’t have any dust on it like anything from 5 years ago would have. Which meant…

My eyes grew wide and my mouth dropped when I realized what this meant… Derek had bought this recently… and was planning to use it on me again.

I stormed out of the closet and picked up my phone to call him, still holding the bottle in my hand. I had NOT grown my hair out this long and worked to make it this beautiful just to lose it again, but as I was about to hit “Call”, my fingers froze, and I slowly lowered the phone.

I had so many questions, when was he planning on using this? How would he do so? Did I… did I actually MISS having a bald head? Just like last time, I could NEVER destroy my own beloved hair, but if my husband took the choice out of my hands again…

I couldn’t believe I was thinking these things, and as I did, my hair glistened and shined in the lights, looking seductive, soft, silky, gorgeous, and I could almost hear it pleading for its life.

Don’t do it! My beautiful hair seemed to say to me telepathically, You worked so hard to get me to look like this, don’t you want to keep me forever?

I did… and yet… a part of me, a strange savage part of me, wondered what Derek’s plans were. I was interested in seeing how this played out, after all, there was a good chance he just had it at the ready in case I decided I ever wanted to go through with it again. Maybe he would ask if I wanted to, and I would say no of course, but on the other hand… if he wanted to go all the way with this and trick me once again…

I slowly lowered the phone and walked back into the closet, placing the bottle back precisely where I found it, and placing the fate of my hair out of my hands.

“I’ll just a wait a little bit…” I said as I grabbed my slip and slid into it for bed, pausing briefly in front of the mirror to fluff up my hair and begin to work it into a ponytail to sleep in, but then I stopped. The fate of my hair had just become very uncertain, so I might as well leave it down and enjoy it every second I possibly could. I walked out of the bedroom and to the bed, and as I crawled under the sheets, my hair spreading out over the bed like a blanket of pure, rich, shining silk, I found myself filled with that same familiar love and admiration for my gorgeous hair that I had felt the last time I had set similar events in motion.

The same familiar love and admiration I had felt when I knew my hair would soon be gone.

You’re playing a VERY dangerous game with your hair, my internal voice seemed to tell me, and if you aren’t careful, you’re going to lose it all again, every last strand. Can you bear to go through that again?

“Oh relax,” I found myself saying out loud to that voice as I pulled some of my hair over my shoulder and began to lovingly stroke it, “I won’t let it come to that… I won’t…”

I shut my eyes and smiled as I wondered what would happen next, and as I felt asleep with my hair caressing my skin like the lightest, softest silk, my last thoughts were wondering just how much longer I really had to enjoy my beautiful new hair.

THE END

 

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