Final exams

After his last exam for the semester and an uphill bike ride on a sweltering day, Matt was eager to get inside his apartment and crash. Only three flights of stairs remained between him and sweet relief. He was tempted to leave his bike outside but decided his last bit of his energy was worth it to take it upstairs. He regretted that decision when his rear tire got stuck on the railing before the last landing. In the struggle his hair fell in his eyes. His obscured vision left him startled to find someone suddenly just a few feet below him. The figure reached for the tire and released it, sending him stumbling backwards, sprawling out on the steps above. “Shit sorry!” his neighbor Lea exclaimed before scrambling to help him. Matt took a moment to collect his wits, only to immediately lose them again when her hand met his.

Back on his feet at last, he responded, “No problem, I’m good!” with a flick of his unruly hair. Lea laughed and continued apologizing as the pair lifted the bike onto the landing and walked the short distance to their adjacent apartments.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, eyeing him with concern. Matt’s exhaustion and embarrassment were at odds with his impulse to prolong the interaction with Lea, someone he had admired all semester but hardly spoken to.

He promised, “Yeah I’m okay. It’s just really hot,” immediately regretting the obvious statement.

Lea returned a polite smile and, “Oh true. I bet all that hair doesn’t help.” Matt reflexively ran a self-conscious hand through his heavy brown shoulder length locks, swollen with humidity, on the verge of engulfing his head.

He laughed and added, “Oh yeah, I really need a haircut.”

“Really? Don’t you like it?” she reacted to the offhand comment with surprising sincerity.

He considered the unexpected inquiry and answered, “It’s fine I guess. I always go to the same guy back home but I’ve been too busy to find someone new around here.” He didn’t mention that he was used to his mom making his appointments and that he let his hair grow instead of taking it upon himself since moving out.

“Oh, that makes sense. Did you know I cut hair?” she asked.

“No, that’s cool,” he said.

“Well I used to before going back to school, but I could still help with that,” she offered, gesturing at his head. Butterflies erupted in Matt’s stomach. If taking her hand on the stairs was disorienting, how would he manage her touching him for the duration of a haircut? Truthfully, Matt was not interested in a haircut but did not want the conversation to end. It was nice to look in her deep brown eyes for once instead of sneaking glances in passing.

“Wow, thanks, but I’m fine really. I’ll figure it out,” he vowed.

“Well… I could use your help with something,” she confessed.

“What’s that?” he wondered.

“I couldn’t help but smell what you were smoking the other day and hoped you could hook me up,” she coyly implored.

Matt perked up, relieved to be talking about something other than his appearance, and answered, “Oh definitely! But I’d rather not talk about it out here,” glancing around for anyone who might overhear.

“Of course! Come inside,” she offered, fumbling for her keys. As he followed her inside, he considered that upon waking up that morning, he could have never imagined seeing the inside of his beautiful neighbor’s apartment. He silently thanked God for inventing weed. While the floorplan and dated fixtures were identical to his own, the decor was moody and feminine in a way he found irresistibly exotic. The kitchen glowed golden in the later afternoon sun as he rifled through his backpack and complimented her home. He produced a joint and handed it to her.

“This is all I have until the end of the week but you can have it,” he offered.

“That’s so generous. What do I owe you?” she asked as she retrieved a lighter, incense, and an ashtray from a drawer.

“Nothing. We’re good, really,” he protested.

“No, seriously. I can’t tell you how much I needed this,” she said, savoring a long drag and approaching to pass him the joint. “How about that haircut?” she offered, closing the gap between them to tousle his floppy mop.

“Deal,” he coughed impulsively, as a wave of pleasant chills radiated down his spine from where she made contact. The pheromones, weed, and the incense swirling together made his head spin and heart race. In that moment, he would have agreed to anything. He gestured to return the joint to her but she passed him an ashtray and a glass of water.

“No, that’s enough for me. I wouldn’t want to get too high and cut your ear off,” she refused.

“Wait, are we doing that now?” he wondered nervously between coughs as she disappeared into another room.

“Are you free now?” she asked casually while appearing to search for something.

“Well… yes but I’m pretty sweaty,” he admitted between gulps of water. She considered this as she set a box down on the kitchen table.

Undeterred, she assured, “That’s okay. I’ll wash it first. That’s what we do in real salons.”

“Seriously?” he questioned, feeling surreal in the golden haze.

“Is that weird?” she worried, locking wide innocent eyes with him, her freckles appearing to dance across her cheeks for an instant.

Eager not to disappoint, he relented, “No, no. As long as you don’t mind.” He took another toke and descended further into the dreamlike moment.

Minutes later, with her supplies assembled and a towel around him, the pair awkwardly struggled to find a comfortable position around the kitchen sink. “Don’t worry, this shirt is already soaked,” he assured, hunched over the sink. He settled in and acclimated to the other human in his personal space. His head hummed with sensation as warm waves of water saturated his hair. Her deft fingers worked in shampoo that smelled like she did. Light-headed from bending over, he succumbed to sensory overload. His ability to make small talk was severely impaired. As she prodded him about classes and exams, his replies became shorter. He worried about seeming nervous but hoped and suspected it might come off as charming. After a quiet moment she turned back toward the topic of his thick head of hair.

“Does your girlfriend like long hair?” she inquired nonchalantly.

“I don’t-” he stammered, interrupted by the sudden implication of the question. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he completed with a smile. “What about you?” he returned.

She chuckled and answered, “No girlfriend… or boyfriend, if that’s what you meant.”

“No, I meant do you like long hair?” he clarified as he ascended to his full impressive height and stretched his stiff back. Through wet tendrils, he noticed her eye him up and down, taking a little extra time where his shirt rode up.

“Not usually honestly… no offense” she admitted, suddenly the more hesitant of the two.

“None taken. To each their own,” he retorted, drying his head with the towel.

She lead him over the tiles to a chair at the other end of the kitchen. Once he was seated and draped in a towel, she methodically detangled his hair and raked it back over his scalp with a comb. At last, she asked how he wanted his hair cut. Matt was unprepared for the inevitable question. He awoke from his hormonal daze to seriously consider the practical matter. The obvious answer was the same haircut he had his whole life, up until the last several months of neglecting it. He produced his phone and found a photo of his usual look. He wished he wasn’t make such a goofy face but it was the best view of the helmet of hair that encircled his head, upturned at the ends around his ears and eyebrows. Lea took his phone and studied the picture with obvious disapproval.

With forced nonchalance he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just a little… young,” she confessed.

“Oof,” he groaned playfully.

“I’m sorry, it’s fine really. I guess I forgot that I’m older than you,” she attempted to assuage.

He bristled with offense and rebutted, “What? Barely!”

“I worked a few years before school. I’m 24,” she explained.

“I’m 20. That’s nothing,” he argued.

“Fine, well what I meant to say was… now that I can actually see your face, it would be a waste to hide it,” she deflected, disarming him.

“What did you have in mind?”

Through nervous laughter she remarked, “I’d traumatize you if I answered honestly but I could meet you in the middle.”

“I think I can handle it. It’s just hair,” he insisted defensively, regardless of if he meant it. He shoved the thought of a drastic change out of his mind. He feared that he would back out if he let himself imagine it. There was no way he’d allow hair ruin a rare moment with a girl acting interested in him. Lea straightened and smiled at his sudden bravado. She pulled his hair out of his face and held it there with a fist on the back of his head which she cocked up to meet her gaze.

She studied him from just an arm’s length away and began to elaborate, “Well your hair is so thick and that of course I’d leave a little action on top… but for the sides-“

Preempting the knot growing in his stomach, he cut her off, “Don’t tell me. Just do it.”

“You’re high!” she interjected with laughter.

“What? No!” he denied reflexively. “Well… only a little,” he chuckled.

She suggested, “Maybe this isn’t the time for major decisions. I’m sorry for-“

“Don’t be sorry,” he interrupted with unintentional intensity. He calmly asserted, “I mean it. High or not, you can do anything you want to me,” sounding more sultry than he meant to. Choosing to commit, he strained to sustain eye contact and stifle chagrined laughter. A thick silence grew between them. Her eyes widened and cheeks flushed. She readjusted and tightened her grip on the back of his head. His muscles went slack in response to the pain. Although he managed not to moan, there was no mistaking that he was totally hers. The initial concern on Lea’s face was replaced with a mischievous smile.

“Okay then, anything it is.”

He nearly fell over when she released her grip and vanished behind him. After she rifled through her supplies, he heard her footsteps and felt her body heat draw near. He considered the lack of a mirror and deemed it for the best. If he cared to, he could glance at their shadows on the wall of the sundrenched room. He decided against watching as she took the first section of hair between her fingers, maybe an inch off his scalp, and snapped the shears closed. The severed lock drifted down his cheek and didn’t even hit his shoulders before the next one joined it. He fell into a daze as she moved swiftly with purpose across his whole head. He found himself sitting straighter as his head got lighter. Her comb came free of his remaining hair with unsettling abruptness.

He didn’t think he cared about his hair at all until he saw it in a pile on his lap. Regret was irrelevant now. It reminded him of being at the top of a roller coaster, too late to go back, along for the ride. As if on cue with the roller coaster analogy, a blast of warm breeze from a hair dryer startled him. Lea chuckled at his jolt. The motion made his hair feel shorter than it had been since he was 10. His silhouette confirmed as much.

His flushed exposed ears welcomed the silence when the dryer ceased but quickly found a different mechanical hum in its place. She tipped his head with a firm hand, inviting the clippers in her other hand to plow into the side, leaving a cool tickle of air in their wake. She circled him working methodically to clear a band around the lower section of his head. Recalling his sweaty neck on the ride home, he started to regret not doing this sooner. He made an effort not to stare directly at her body as she worked, grateful for the lack of hair in his peripheral vision for once. She swiped the machine diligently and repeatedly, pausing occasionally to adjust the guard, and climbing higher with each adjustment. Once she was satisfied with the fade, a cool mist prickled his exposed scalp as she moistened the dense thicket remaining on top of his head. She used a comb and scissors to trim and blend with intense focus and precision.

“I’m almost done,” she said at last, tending to his sideburns with trimmers. She set them down and gently stroked his unburdened and super sensitive scalp with the tips of her fingernails. “How does that feel?”

“Incredible,” he mumbled blissfully.

She continued massaging and asked, “Does it… turn you on?” Floodgates of arousal gave way as she spoke the unspoken tension.

“Definitely,” he admitted.

“What about it? You like that I’m in charge?” she posited.

“Oh fuck yes,” he confessed.

“Good thing that I like it too. Shy boys are my favorite,” she revealed, digging her nails in a little deeper. He allowed himself to moan this time between small bursts of nervous laughter. She continued, “You wanted me to cut all that pretty hair off to make you perfect for me, didn’t you? You barely know me and you practically begged me to. Isn’t that right?”

“Fuck yes,” he repeated.

“Try ‘yes ma’am,’ next time,” she sweetly corrected.

“Yes ma’am,” he complied.

“Yes ma’am what?” she teased with a hand on each shoulder.

“Yes ma’am… I want to be perfect for you,” he said.

At last, she handed him a mirror. His reflection stunned him. Matt saw an unmistakably grown man despite how small he felt in Lea’s presence. He felt a twinge of sadness for the shaggy stoner kid but there was no denying that the vision in the mirror commanded more respect. He wanted to be that guy and marveled at the fact that he already was. She sauntered to face him and lifted his chin, delighting, “After wondering all semester how just how sexy you were under all that hair, I finally know. Do you like it?”

“Fuck yes ma’am,” he affirmed emphatically as she straddled him and sank into his lap.

Emerging from a deep kiss, she asked, “Did you really mean it when you said I could do anything to you?”

“Yes ma’am.” He cradled her ass in his hands. The intense moment was disrupted by an undignified sputter as Lea tried to clear hair from her mouth. The pair broke into laughter. She examined the clippings that were all over both of them.

“Take off your clothes and follow me to the shower.”

“Yes ma’am,” he answered with a big grin and another kiss.

About a half hour later from her bed, in an arresting instance of post-coital clarity, two thoughts leapt to the front of Matt’s mind: What the fuck had he done to his hair and where was his bike?