Exes

PART ONE — The Beginning

(I’m uploading this again because something weird happened with the upload last time? Long time no write. I hope you all have been well and enjoy this story. Tuck in because it’s a bit of a long one.)

 

Theo didn’t recognize her at first, not with all that hair. It was the hair he’d seen first, actually. Hair was always the first thing he noticed on a woman. Whether it was a short cut that showed off the elegant curve of her neck, or long and swinging—so long he could imagine what it would look like to pile up on his floor, or pulled into a ponytail and chopped off. Ideally he wanted to be the one to take her from long to short, like he’d been able to do with only one person before.

Marianne. He’d met her in college. She’d actually sat right in front of him in class, her brown waves falling to her mid-back. Something about her brought out something primal in him and really activated his fetish. She got to class early and Theo would intentionally find the seat right behind her so he could look at her hair. Usually, he was most drawn to hair that was either super long or super short, so he was surprised by how much her hair caught his eye. It was extremely thick, for one. And healthy all the way to the ends that danced against the outline of her bra strap. Plus everything she’d said in class was interesting, and she was extremely cute with a curvy body and bright blue eyes.

His arousal had him doing things he’d be embarrassed if anyone ever knew about, like how one day he went to class with a pair of haircutting shears in his jean’s pocket, just so he could feel the cold metal weight of them in his hand as he looked at her hair and imagined bringing her back to his place and slowly chopping it all off, the steel slicing through her thick brunette locks like a knife through butter. At that time, he never thought he’d ever be able to actually do it in real life. He was too much of a gentleman. He figured such thoughts were only ever going to be played out in the quiet fantasies of his head.

Her hair was so close when she was sitting in front of him in class that he could have just reached out and touched it, and it tempted him deeply day after day, just trying to pay attention to the professor’s lecture when he’d see her tuck her hair behind her ears and think about what it would be like if he cut that hair so short she couldn’t tuck it behind her ears anymore. One day she flipped her hair back as she often did, but this time she leaned back far enough that the ends landed right on his desk. It took everything in him not to take her silky hair between his fingers.

It took nearly the entire semester for him to drum up the courage to talk to her. The professor announced that they would all need a partner for the final project, so he seized the opportunity and tapped on her shoulder.

She turned around, fixing those eyes on him.

“Would you like to work with me?” Theo asked her and outstretched his hand. “I’m Theo, by the way.”

She captured his handshake and replied, “I know your name—you’ve been sitting behind me all semester. And sure, I’ll work with you. I like what you have to say in class. I’m Marianne.”

That was a generous compliment as he’d barely spoken in class. He was a hard worker, even through his distraction, and had a good understanding of the content. She on the other hand, had a real talent for the subject and a sort of effortless charm and natural intelligence that made all of her contributions to class feel substantial. She was clearly the professor’s favorite, too. “I know,” Theo responded.

Their relationship grew organically. Meetings at the library or coffee shops at first, with natural banter that started friendly but developed an increasingly flirty undertone. One night she invited him over to her dorm because her roommate was gone—the roommate was often gone, he would learn later—and kissed him. The kiss turned into the hottest sex either had had up until that point in their young lives—while it was fairly vanilla compared to what they’d eventually get into, their chemistry was natural and intense.

In his memories, it was mostly a blur, but his college experience was divided by their meeting—the times before her, which had been fine, and the times after he met her. In hindsight, those times with her were mostly a blur, filled with color and passion and laughter and late nights and ideas and deep connection.

A few memories stuck out vividly.

____

The time he got out of the shower and she was sitting on her XL Twin bed, with his laptop on her thighs. She looked up from the screen and met his eyes as his stomach dropped to the floor…he knew he’d left some tabs open like the hair fetish subreddit on his browser and he felt the brief shard of hope he had that she might not have seen it shatter as she asked him, “So a hair fetish, huh?”

He braced for her to call him a freak, to tell him to leave. To tell everyone they knew the secret he’d never told anyone before—his private kink. But he noticed her tone wasn’t judgmental…it was curious.

“Sorry to use your laptop without asking,” she continued when he said nothing. “But I wanted to look something up real quick while you were showering and your laptop was right there so I figured I’d use it. And I saw what you were looking at. Can you—“

Theo interrupted, hoping to steer the conversation to safer waters. He wasn’t prepared to share this secret with her yet, or honestly ever. “It’s OK, no worries—“

She continued, “Can you tell me about it?”

He shifted his weight between his feet. “Um.”

She got up, grabbed his hand, and brought him back to the bed to sit alongside her. “Don’t be nervous. I’m genuinely curious. I promise never to tell anyone.”

“What is it you want to know?”

“Anything. Everything. Whatever you want to tell me. What is it exactly about hair that gets you going?”

“A lot of things,” he admitted. “I love long hair on women—looking at it, touching it, playing with it. That’s a part of it. But I also love short hair on women, like a bob or an undercut or even a buzzcut. And I most deeply like watching a girl go from having that long flowing hair to a much shorter haircut. I really like watching the transformation of that. I love the idea of cutting a girl’s hair myself…just taking scissors to a long ponytail and then maybe using clippers to shear some, or maybe all of what remained of her hair…or maybe marching her to a barber shop to tell the barber what haircut she wanted and she’d be helpless to watch as her long hair fell to her shoulders and to the ground…”

Throughout his admission, Marianne had remained quiet, but had an intense look in her gaze as his eyes lifted to meet hers. “Thank you for telling me. That sounds,” she considered her words carefully, “hot, frankly.”

“Are you being for real?” He asked her, feeling a deep wave of emotional exposure. He’d never told anyone any of that before.

“Can I tell you my biggest kink?”

“Of course.”

“I am submissive,” she said, rosiness rising to her cheeks. “I want a man to tell me what to do. Not all the time, but definitely in the bedroom. And I love the idea of this man telling me what to wear, or how to do my hair. Maybe what tattoos and piercings I should get. It turns me on to think of someone taking over my appearance completely. The idea of you being in charge of my hair, totally, well…That turns me on a lot, actually. Maybe you’d tell me to grow it long. Maybe you’d call me into the bathroom with scissors already laid out on the sink and tell me it was time to cut it short…I’m into that.”

He smiled, feeling a boldness rise inside him. “Prove it.”

A corner of her lip quirked up. “How so?”

“You let me cut you bangs tonight. Bangs of my choosing. Wear your commitment to this dynamic on the front of your forehead for everyone to see.”

“I’ve never had bangs, not in my entire life,” she whispered.

“Tonight you will. You have such a beautiful face, I want to see more of it. This can stop at any time from now until my scissors are in your hair.” There was lightness in his tone, excitement, awe of her, calm yet firm dominance. “But you have to tell me you don’t want this. You don’t want me taking total control of your hair.”

She was silent, and just looked at him with desire in her eyes.

“Good,” he said and then walked across the room to gather a comb and his shears from inside his desk, remembering how he’d looked at this very hair in class and felt them in his pocket. Now he was going to be able to actually cut that hair that he fantasized about so much. Just bangs tonight. He wanted to pace out her transformation over steps. Ease her into it. Really savor it.

He took his time combing her hair out until it fanned out like silky fabric against her back. He pulled her shirt off, exposing her bare breasts. Her hair fell just past her nipples. Then he skillfully parted a thick section of hair and combed it so it fell in front of her face, its opacity completely obscuring her view.

“Those look like pretty thick bangs, baby,” she said with a quiver in her voice. “How short are you going to take them?”

“Short,” was all he said as he slide his cold metal shears high on her forehead, and clamped his hand down. Long brunette tendrils of hair slide down her face, down her breasts, and onto the floor, coiling at their feet as he continued to slice in a precision-straight line.

The sound was so close to her ears, she squirmed at each ssshick of the scissors, goosebumps erupting along her skin and her nipples hardening as each lock of hair slid down her. “Oh my god,” she repeated, unable to fully process what was happening. What would she look like? How would she explain this sudden change in her appearance to her friends? Her family? Usually a decision as big as getting bangs was decided by a committee of friends and months of pondering. But most of all her body was tense with desire at being so sternly handled by her lover.

Finally, after shaping and texturizing her new bangs for what felt like an eternity, he put his scissors down.

“How do I look?” she asked him, her nervousness palpable.

He looked down at her, in total disbelief and so turned on by what just happened. So proud of how good he’d done at his first time of cutting real hair, after only watching videos for his whole life. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

He led her into the bathroom so she could study her new reflection. “Oh my god, you cut them so short,” she said as she patted down her newly shortened locks. They were nice and short straight across bangs that weren’t quite baby bangs, but not a lot longer than that. She looked genuinely incredible, but very different. Her soft appearance took on a newer edge. “The contrast between how short the bangs are and how long my hair has gotten is so extreme.”

Wrapping his arms around her from behind so they could both look in the mirror at her transformation together, he whispered in her ear “Don’t worry, it won’t be long for much longer.”

She shivered at the playful threat.

“Marianne.”

“Yes, Theo?”

“I’m going to be the one to cut your hair from here on out, okay? I don’t want you going to someone else, unless I bring you somewhere else myself. I’m in control of this,” he grabbed a fistful of her hair and she moaned. “Alright?”

“Yes, Theo.”

“Yes, what?”

“You’ll be the only person to cut my hair. From here on out.”

The sex that had that night was the most connected and intense sex they’d ever had.

____

Her hair became a bit of a game between them after that. Every night he’d have her sit on a stool in front of him so he could comb her hair out. Most nights that was all he’d do. Brushing, playing. Maybe braid it, pile it in top of her head in a bun. Wrap her strands around his cock. A few times he’d comb her hair perfectly straight and trim off the last inch or so. Every time he’d bring out the scissors, her heart would race. Would today be the day that he took her short? She’d never really had short hair in her life and the thought scared her, but also aroused her. What would she look like? How would it feel?

One night, he came over to her dorm and had a particularly devilish look on his face.

“What?” she asked him, smiling. “You look like you have something up your sleeve.”

He just pulled her chair out to the center of her dorm room. “Julie’s gone, right? For the night?”

Her roommate. “Yeah, she’s back home with her boyfriend again for the whole weekend.”

“Good,” he nodded and then moved to deadbolt the door to ensure that none of her friends from her floor wandered in. “Take off all your clothes and then sit down.”

She loved his tone and followed his command, though her heart was beating frantically in her chest.

“I bought a few things for us,” he said as he unzipped his backpack. He first pulled out rope, and tied her hands behind her back. He then knelt down and secured each of her legs to the chair so that her legs were wide open and her pussy was on full display. He trailed his fingertips up her calves and along her thighs until he lightly brushed against her clit. She was already so worked up that the touch alone caused her to jump slightly and let out a low moan. He indulged her by licking her clit and fingering her pussy until she came. He knew her well enough to know that she had many more orgasms in her when she was this worked up, but he knew he wouldn’t be giving them to her until later.

Her eyes were heavy and hazy, but she snapped back to the moment when she saw what he pulled out of his bag next. A heavy duty pair of clippers.

“Whoa,” she said, straining against her restraints. “What is that for? You’re not going to shave my head, are you?”

“I’ve thought about it. A lot.” He ran his hand along her hair as it fell across her chest and she shivered. “Just plunge my clippers in, right here,” he pressed his fingers into the front of her hair, right against her scalp along her middle part. “Take all of it. But no, tonight I’m just taking some of it. About half.”

“Half??”

“Yes, my love,” he brushed her hair tenderly, feeling the full weight of all of it in his hands. He then meticulously parted out a generous section of her thick hair, all the way around her head, from above her ears to trail along her occipital bone, and he secured the top part of her hair in a clip high on her head. Her short little bangs looked so cute and cut a few wayward hairs to sharpen them up. He positioned her full length mirror in front of them so she could see herself and flicked up the clippers. They whirred to life and she jumped again against her restraints. “Do you trust me?”

She had fear in her eyes, but she nodded, and he pushed her chin firmly into her chest. She felt the hum of the clippers enter into her hair at her nape and carve a path up to the parted line he’d drawn. The unfamiliar sensation of air on her scalp was scary, but exhilarating. He look the first long tendril of her hair and dropped it down the front of her body to land on her thighs. He continued, taking his time removing row after row of her beautiful, long dark locks and then letting them fall to collect on her naked body. She couldn’t see what he was up to and how short he was really going until he guided her head back up so he could run the clippers above her ears, rendering her little curly sideburns to nothing. After what felt like forever as he cleaned up her undercut, he finally flipped off the machine. She longed to touch her freshly short nape, but her arms were still tied. He took his time teasing her by rubbing his hands along her freshly buzzed hair as she was still covered in the massacre of her severed locks. His touches felt peculiar, but arousing in a way she couldn’t describe.

Finally, he untied her hands so she could feel it. He guided her palms to feel the buzzcut, so foreign and sensitive. With the short bangs and now this high undercut, she could barely recognize herself. She was becoming more and more to his liking, and that thought aroused her deeply.

“I used a 2 guard this time,” he said, and then untied her topknot to let the rest of her hair fall around her. “And look, you still have long hair,” he said. “For now.”

She turned her head from side to side and felt how good her long locks felt sliding against her fresh undercut. She could see glimpses of the new cut with each turn of her head. What were her parents going to say when they saw her next, she wondered? And how long would she even still have the long hair to hide this new secret haircut?

_____

He kept her in that style, the long hair with the short bangs and undercut, for a couple months. Every week or two he’d tell her to sit so he could freshen up her cut and each encounter was heavy with anticipation for when he would take her further.

Around this time, he started to take their fetish out into the world as well. They’d be walking somewhere, or at a restaurant, or at a party with friends, and he’d trail a hand up her neck to rest on her nape. It was an unspoken reminder for her about his control of her hair, and how it became that way. A secret fetish that had always been private for him was now a shared fascination with her.

He took her to get a tattoo of his choosing—he started on the smaller side, with a well-executed butterfly and florals on her upper thigh. He told her it was to symbolize how she was changing and blossoming into the goddess he knew she was under his guidance, which turned her on a lot. A permanent mark to symbolize their connection and this period of growth and rebirth.

Right after her tattoo appointment, he marched her down the street to a barber shop that catered pretty much exclusively to men. “What are we doing here?” she whispered as they stood outside the spinning red, white, and blue pole.

“Freshening up that undercut, baby,” he said to her as he held her by the hand and took her inside the shop. She was wearing a particularly short skirt per his request in order to show off the fact that she had a fresh tattoo, still covered in plastic, and when the older man barber guided her into his big chair, she tugged at the hem of it because of how exposed she felt in the shop full of men who all seemed to be looking at her.

Luckily, he covered her in a thick vinyl cape. “What are we doing today, Miss?”

“Uhh,” she said, frantically making eyes with Theo.

Theo interjected. “She needs that undercut of hers freshened up,” he explained to the barber from his vantage point of the seat in front of her chair. “Shaved smooth, with a straight razor. She wants the whole hot towel experience.”

“Ok, sir. Anything of the length off for your lady today?”

He hesitated for a moment, considering. “No, not today.”

The barber looked disappointed as he ran his hands along her shiny brunette locks. “Suit yourself. Would you like me to keep the undercut as it is currently parted, or would you like to bring it up a little higher?”

Theo made eye contact with Marianne in the mirror, considered. “Yeah, bring it up a bit. Maybe an inch or so more all around.”

Her eyes went wide as the barber went to work, parting out more hair and buzzing it off expertly. Theo watched as more of her strands hit the floor, this time sliding off her cape to coil by the barber’s feet. He then took a hot towel and laid it against her nape, which was an amazingly foreign sensation. He then took his brush and generously applied shaving cream to her scalp and meticulously scraped off every last bit of hair from her undercut until it gleamed.

Just as the barber was applying oil to her smooth undercut, a boy from their class walked into the shop. Her cheeks reddened being seen in this masculine space by someone she knew. “Marianne??” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh,” she pointed to her nape. “Just getting my undercut shaped up.”

“What a shame,” the boy said as he sat down. “I’ll never understand why girls do that to themselves. You had such lovely hair.”

“Well, my boyfriend likes it,”  Marianne said defiantly even though she felt some shame about not being as societally acceptable anymore, and pointed to Theo.

“She’s hot as fuck,” Theo said. “Watch your mouth.”

When they paid and walked out of the shop, Marianne went to take her topknot down to hide, and Theo stopped her. “No,” he said. “I want you to keep your hair up. I want everyone we see to see your bare nape. I want you to feel the wind on it.”

So despite her reservations, she walked out of there with her head high, not making eye contact with the boy who’d made such a shitty comment.

_____

His memory flashed to a few days later, as he was doing his nightly ritual of combing her hair, when he said, “You know, now that your undercut is so much higher, I think it’s time to take your actual hair short.”

“How short are you thinking?”  she grasped at the ends of her hair protectively. The mass of it felt so much less substantial in her hands than it did before her transformation started.

“Just a bob. That’s as short as I want to go with you for a while. A bob with this high undercut and your short little bangs? So hot. Such a transformation from the girl with the long pretty hair in front of me in class.”

“Did you ogle my hair when we were in class?”

“You have no idea.”

“Ok, if you say it’s time to cut it…” she said as he was already standing up to gather his shears. Her hair was already perfectly combed out and splayed against her shoulders. She loved her long hair, but she was putty in his hands.

He told her to sit up straight and he positioned the first cut higher than she’d initially hoped…right at her jawbone, above her chin. “Oh baby, that’s short…” she said.

“Yeah,” he said as clamped his hand down on his scissors and she heard the slice of cold metal through hair ring through her ears. He continued to cut tendril after tendril in a perfectly straight line around her head. “I want it short enough to show off some of the undercut in the back. I want there to be no hiding from it.” The snips felt so close to her ears as she suppressed shivers feeling her long hair slide down her shaved nape to pile up all around her—on the floor, on her lap, on the tops of her bare feet.

When he was done, he brought her to the bathroom mirror again to reveal her new style—with her short dark bob and undercut she looked completely edgy and different. Her hair hung below her ears to swing at her jaw.  “Touch it,” he said. “Feel how short it is. Play with it.”

She gripped it with her hands and swung it back and forth. It was so unusual to not be able to pull her hair back —it was too short to pull back into a proper ponytail of any sort. It was shocking. She knew she would feel so on display everywhere she went for the next several weeks—explaining to everyone who asked that she just decided to chop her hair off because she wanted a change. Summer was coming up, she’d tell them. Doesn’t everyone cut their hair off at some point in college? She’d say.

But she’d know the truth. Her hair was merely a product of her boyfriend’s commands. The thought made a lightning bolt of desire shoot through her. As she looked in the mirror, he placed her hands to grip the sides of the sink, and spread her legs apart. “Hold on,” he said, and slipped into her from behind. She was so wet that his big cock slid into without any resistance. “Tell me thank you,” he said as he began a steady thrust into her and she moaned, deep and low. “Tell me thank you for your haircut.”

Her voice was wobbly, but she managed, “Thank you. Thank you for my haircut.”

“Sir,” he clarified, picking up his pace.

“Thank you for my haircut sir,” she said breathlessly.

He grabbed what little remained her hair then as he fucked her harder, one hand rubbing her smooth undercut. He thought of how long her hair had been when he met her, and he thought of how short it was now. Because of him. He was grateful when she said, “Oh my God, I’m gonna cum…” because he was about to lose control himself. She exploded in a roaring orgasm right as he released, and he came inside her as she slumped over the cold ceramic of the sink, smiling.

In that moment, he realized he’d never been happier.

_________

Those moments were crisp as apples in his memory. The rest of it, hazy. He never did fully understand how it fell apart shortly thereafter. Her mom got sick and she had to drop out of school to move back home to take care of her. He tried to keep up with her, tried to keep the relationship going. But with a ton of small erosions, it fell apart, until one day he received the text on his phone from her. “Theo, I’m sorry. We need to break up.”

He begged her not to do it. The connection they had was rare, it wasn’t something that could be easily replaced. But she didn’t respond. His heart was broken.

___________

Time passed. He moved on, or told himself he did. He dated other people, hoping to reignite that same spark inside of him. But no other relationships ever really took off because none of them felt anything close to what he had with her. In his longest relationship of two years in his mid-twenties, he confided a little bit about his fetish and his girlfriend at the time looked at him like he was a freak. The mere mentioning of it put an irreversible wrench between the two. He didn’t mention it to anyone after that and over time, assumed he would never have a connection like that again. It was too risky. Too weird for someone else to hold. Back to being his private fascination.

It was 12 years before her saw her again, on the morning train into the city where he commuted for work. It was the hair he’d seen first, so long it made his dick respond immediately. Thick and beautiful. Dark and wavy and freakishly long, like he liked best. She was standing at the other end of the train car with her back to him and he could see her free, shiny hair fall past her curvy hips to her mid-thighs. It was longer than the sundress the woman was wearing and he was transfixed, doing his best not to be obvious about staring at her.

She turned around briefly to look behind her shoulder as if she could feel his eyes on her and he darted his gaze away instinctually before immediately snapping them back to the blue eyes that met his. So familiar. Couldn’t be.

She looked away again for a second before looking back to him as well. She was hanging on to the train’s handrail with one hand and nearly lost her footing when the train lurched forward again because she wasn’t paying attention. “Theo??” She mouthed to him across the car.

He nodded, slow and stunned, as she began to make her way through the throng of commuters to him. He felt like he was seeing a ghost.

“Marianne,” he said when she appeared in front of him.

“Hi,” she said, her face even more beautiful than he remembered. And that hair, oh my god. It spilled all over her. So much longer than it had ever been.

“Your hair,” he said in a low voice. He couldn’t help himself.

She shivered like old times, but tried to hide it. “Yes, it’s rather long these days isn’t it?”

“It’s lovely,” he said, but the word failed to capture the thrill of seeing it. Of seeing her. Of the visceral memories.

“I’d had a feeling you’d appreciate it, if I ever ran into you,” she said.

“What made you grow it so long? How long have you had it like this?”

She looked him dead in his eyes. “I promised someone a long time ago that they were the only person that could cut my hair, and I couldn’t bring myself to break that promise.”

His heart was racing. “Marianne, it’s been over a decade since I’ve last seen you.”

“I give myself trims sometimes. I want the ends to be full and healthy. But yeah, that’s how long I’ve been growing it out.”

He couldn’t help it, then—he was close enough to her that he reached his hand out and grabbed a tendril to spin between his fingers. So moved by her devotion, and so aroused.

“It’s gotten too long, Marianne. You know that.”

“I also knew you’d say that, if you ever saw it,” she said to him with a suddenly shy smile.

“Let me take you for coffee,” he said. “To catch up.”

She simply nodded, and that’s how it all began again.

 

 

(Let me know your thoughts about this story and if you’d like for me to write Marianne and Theo’s part two)