HairApparent
A sequel to Prim & Proper IV – The Foxy Lady Reasserts Control written for standalone enjoyment without having necessarily read the original story. Fiona & Ellie have been separated for over a month, following a disagreement when The Foxy Lady had, once again, become too forceful with her demands. Fiona decides enough is enough …
It had been over a month since Ellie and I had the argument on the steps of the railway station. Initially, I had believed that shouting, stamping my foot, and behaving like a recalcitrant child were justifiable under the circumstances. But, as the days passed, I realised that it had not been the most appropriate way to forge a stronger relationship with Ellie, whatever the provocation. I had had far too much time to reflect, as my Foxy Lady had not contacted me, and she had not replied to any of my messages.
It had been seven years since, as a naïve student, I first set eyes on Miss Ellie Fox, the art and design lecturer. There had been a mutual spark of attraction, I was sure, despite her being more than ten years older. But she had been so pushy with her suggestions regarding my appearance that I had grown disproportionately irritated. I had cut my bobbed hair even shorter when she had encouraged me to grow it. And I had worn even duller clothes when she urged me to become more casual and stylish. Eventually, she had backed off completely for my whole time at college. Although I was disappointed, I was just making my own way in the world at the time, so I acknowledged it was for the best.
During the five years after leaving college, my career had blossomed. Furthermore, my hair had grown remarkably long, even longer than Ellie’s had been. Ironically, we had met each other again in Prim & Proper. It was the town’s local hairdressing salon, run by the reliable Mrs Jacobs, where I had been going for years. In the intervening period, Ellie had cut off her long locks into an almost military-like crop, and, despite its brevity, it suited her. Away from the constraints of college and with the passage of time not dimming my attraction, my feelings for her had immediately resurfaced.
Allowing my suppressed passion to override reason, I had endured Ellie giving directions to Mrs Jacobs regarding my hair. I had assumed she would prefer me to wear it long, given her preference while I was at college. But I left my long locks on the salon floor, and a severe bowlcut adorned my head when I departed Prim & Proper with Ellie.
I had been livid, but I kept my irritation in check, giving our mutual attraction the opportunity to develop into a relationship. And, for a brief period, it had. However, missing my long hair, I had eventually made an appointment to have extensions fitted. Ellie had seemed less annoyed than I would have expected, and she had even agreed to accompany me to the salon in the city, which was going to fit them. Unfortunately, it was a pretence, and she tricked me into entering a men’s barbershop that she knew, where the barber had shaved me completely bald. She had said it was the best way to prevent me from having any extensions fitted!
It was surprising how easily, once under her spell, I had allowed her to manipulate me. But, despite even that provocation, the attraction had remained strong. After teaching me a lesson, I had assumed she would be content with me growing my hair out into a short style, as hers still was. But as my fuzz had begun to grow out, she had shocked me. She had insisted on taking me back to the barber for what she had intended to be a regular act of shaving. That is when I had my meltdown on the steps of the railway station, and, after that, we had gone our separate ways.
Put simply, I had not wanted Ellie to dictate my appearance for what I had hoped would be the rest of our lives together. But, despite feeling a righteous justification in my stance, I had still not wanted to jeopardise that future. But I, undeniably and comprehensively, had done just that. And I had regretted my decision every hour of every day for the following eight weeks.
= = =
‘Well, Fiona,’ Mrs Jacobs, my regular stylist for countless years, huffed, ‘I can’t perform miracles!’
After almost two months of growing out the hair on my shaved head, I had an unflattering one inch of growth. It stuck out all over, straight from the scalp, giving my head the appearance of a startled hedgehog. It was still too short to consider having extensions fitted, but I wanted it to look more stylish as it grew out. I had contemplated shaving it again, as even that was far better than the prickly look. But that would have felt like I was simply capitulating to Ellie’s demands.
‘Yes, I know, Mrs Jacobs,’ I concurred, ‘but there must be something you can do?’
‘I cannot imagine why you had it all shaved off by that nasty barber in the city, dear. After all, I had given you a cute little bowlcut under your friend Ellie’s direction. And that was despite all that effort we invested in helping you to grow it so long and lovely,’ she lamented. ‘It was such a shame to cut it off.’
Although she was right, it was not what I needed to hear at that moment. I wanted to hear that she could make what remained look a bit more presentable. ‘Yes, Mrs Jacobs, I know, and I really am sorry,’ I apologised, hanging my head and hoping to get a little sympathy.
‘Where is that Ellie woman anyway?’ she questioned. ‘She hasn’t been in to see me for her regular trim for a while.’
I did not want her to ask me about her either! ‘Well… er… I am not sure… er… actually…’
‘Oh!’ Mrs Jacobs exclaimed knowingly, suddenly appreciating that my relationship with Ellie was not going so well. After a pause to gather her thoughts, she forced a smile. ‘Well, let’s see what we can do with that brush of yours.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Jacobs,’ I sighed, relaxing a little as she covered me with a cape and prepared her equipment.
‘Until the top has grown longer, it limits what we can do to give you a more stylish look… like a chic pixie style, for example. So, I will leave the length on top but take the back and sides shorter to give it more shape. More definition.’
‘Fine,’ I said, although I had a disturbing premonition of what it would look like.
Mrs Jacobs set to work with her hairclippers and peeled off the growth from the sides of my head, revealing my ears once more. She eased my head down and did the same along my neck, shaving the hairline for a neat finish. With a comb and the hairclippers, she blended the longer hair on top into the bare sides. Then she levelled off the roundness through the crown, leaving every hair that she had spared standing erect.
‘There we are, dear,’ Mrs Jacobs declared, whisking away the cape. ‘A neat flattop, just like I do for your friend.’
Yes, that was exactly what I had imagined she would do! While trying to push thoughts of Ellie from my mind, every time I now looked in the mirror, I would see her stark hairstyle reflected. That said, Mrs Jacobs had done an excellent job with the little hair that she had to work with. Hardly stylish and feminine, but infinitely better than looking like a hedgehog.
‘It’s wonderful, Mrs Jacobs,’ I gushed. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘My pleasure, dear,’ she simpered. ‘On each future visit, it will have grown out a little more, but we’ll keep it looking presentable as we work towards more length.’
Her assertion was music to my ears.
‘And will you be seeing Ellie soon, my dear?’ she asked as I was about to leave, raising a questioning eyebrow.
I stiffened, unsure what to say, my slightly improved mood quickly evaporating. I forced a sickly smile, giving her a noncommittal nod, before swiftly leaving the premises.
‘Well, when you do, then please give her my best wishes,’ she called out after me.
= = =
On my walk home, I wondered if I ever would see my foxy lady again. She had ignored my phone calls and failed to respond to any of my messages since that argument two months earlier. In the time we were together, I had never visited her home outside of town. As she had a car and I did not, then it made sense for us to spend time together at my place. She had never even given me her address, and, in retrospect, I wondered if that was by omission or by design.
As I entered my apartment, I experienced a flash of anticipation when I saw one of her jackets dangling from a hook by the door. Sadly, reality struck when I recalled it had hung there, untouched, for the past two months. At that moment I resolved to pack away all traces of Ellie Fox that remained scattered around my apartment and start rebuilding my life.
A pile of books and magazines by the bed included a design journal that she subscribed to, still inside its mailing envelope. It had not been unusual for her to catch up on her reading when staying at my place. The significant aspect of my find was that her address appeared on the unopened envelope. Rose Cottage conjured up a classic vision of the countryside, located as it was in a quaint village just outside town.
I took a deep breath and murmured nervously to myself. ‘Yes, Mrs Jacobs, I will be seeing my friend soon, and I will pass on your good wishes.’
= = =
As soon as I stepped in the taxi that afternoon, I wondered if I was doing the right thing. More than once, I opened my mouth, ready to tell the driver to turn around, but I remained resolute in my quest.
As I was getting myself ready, I wanted to wear an outfit that conformed to the style I had developed over the years before encountering Ellie once more. I wished to reassert my independence, away from her influence, and demonstrate we could be equals in any future relationship.
However, the severity of my freshly cut flattop hair was a jarring contrast to my casual miniskirts and colourful tops. They just did not work together. Having tried a variety of combinations, I finally settled on a classic navy-blue suit, comprising a remarkably short pencil skirt, paired with a tailored blazer, nipped in at the waist. It represented the style that Ellie had adopted, both for her professional life and in her spare time. It was a look completely different from her floaty bohemian creations when I first saw her lecturing at art college.
In our fleeting time together, Ellie had persuaded me to dress more formally. She had often quipped that the suit I had found myself wearing was my interview outfit. I smiled at the memory of her words but realised, after two months apart, that my forthcoming meeting would be an interview of sorts. So much for demonstrating my independence, I mused. However, my bold scarlet silk shirt primly buttoned to the neck demonstrated my minor rebellion, avoiding Ellie’s favoured pastel blouses with a bow.
Given the time it had taken to select an outfit, it was fortunate that I had not needed to spend time on my hair. That morning, Mrs Jacobs had ensured every strand stood to attention, brush-like, on my crown. With the back and sides faded down to the bare skin, my hair evoked a stark military precision. I hoped my refreshed appearance would meet with Ellie’s approval.
‘Rose Cottage, love,’ the taxi driver called out as he drew up by a gate. An opening that was set into a rambling hedge dotted with bright blooms.
I paid him, stepped out, and took a deep breath as I watched him depart. I was on my own.
= = =
I buttoned up my navy-blue blazer, adjusted the hem of my skirt, and fastened the top button of my red silk shirt. I passed my palm over the stiff bristles of my flattop, and every strand obediently stood erect once my hand had passed. The back and sides of my head were smooth and bare. I was as ready as I was ever going to be.
I opened the gate and followed the curving path, bordered by rose bushes, to the front of the house. Before I knocked, I heard the murmur of voices, punctuated by laughter, coming from the garden. At least Ellie was at home, but I was disappointed that she had company. Rather than waiting at the front door, I elected to follow the gravel path around the side of the house.
As I turned the corner, my gaze took in a large expanse of lawn, dotted with well-tended trees and shrubs. Shaded by a large parasol was a rustic table surrounded by matching chairs. It was from there that the chatter arose. A woman with her back to me, partially obscured, relaxed in one of the chairs, laughing at something that someone was saying across from her. I could see from the long curls hanging down the back of the chair that it was not Ellie that was visible. She had to be the person hidden from my view on the other side of the table. However, I grew increasingly concerned about the identity of the stranger before me.
I slowly moved forward. The heated conversation became louder and more frenzied, but strangely no one else came into view around the table. I paused, trying to get a sense of the discussion that was amusing the mystery woman as well as gaining a better view of her.
Then it suddenly hit me. Hit me hard. I marched forward, recognising the bizarre words. And then I joined in. ‘The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, Sydney Opera House perhaps, herds of wildebeest sweeping majestically…’
‘Don’t be silly,’ the mystery woman chuckled, turning around to face me. ‘I expect to be able to see the sea.’
Although confused by Ellie revealing herself as the mystery woman, I replied on cue. ‘You can see the sea; it’s there between the land and the sky…’
= = =
Unable to continue with the accurate rendition, I joined in with Ellie’s laughter instead. We stared at each other, unsure what to do next, although the laptop on the table, still playing the old TV comedy programme, had unexpectedly helped to break the ice.
The show was from way before either of us was born. But the boxset had become our guilty pleasure after we had spent a memorable minibreak together at a hotel by the sea. Subsequently, we had often traded lines from it during our time together. The holiday was a very enjoyable few days spent at an old-fashioned hotel run by a peculiar couple who resembled the pair from the comedy programme, both in manner and appearance. But now Ellie was watching our programme, but without me, and I was unsure if that was something good or bad.
‘I had expected you to visit well before now, Fi-fi,’ she complained, most unreasonably. But I chose not to remind her that she had avoided all forms of communication and never given me her address.
‘Well, we can sort of sit down around a table and discuss it, you know, kind of chew it over…’ I ventured with a coy smile, quoting another line from the same TV programme.
Ellie chuckled, gesturing for me to sit at the table. She fetched a glass, filled it with white wine from an ice bucket by the table, and handed it to me. ‘I like your hair, Fi-fi,’ Ellie said. ‘It’s rather like mine used to be.’
‘I imagine it’s exactly the same as yours used to be, as Mrs Jacobs trimmed it for me this morning,’ I remarked, sipping my wine. ‘It’s all she could do after someone forced me to have it all shaved off a couple of months ago,’ I added pointedly, and Ellie, as the protagonist, had the good grace to dip her head and blush slightly.
‘And what’s with your wild long hair, Ellie, and the floral dress?’ I remarked, noting that she looked as she had when I had first seen her lecturing at art college seven years earlier.
‘I have sold my shares in the computer games business. The commercial world was not really me, but it has given me a nice boost to my bank account. And I am now lecturing full-time again at the college,’ she announced.
That was a surprising revelation, and, momentarily, I was unsure what to say. ‘Oh,’ was the best I could manage.
‘Yes, so I took a leaf out of your book and booked in for hair extensions and bought some nice dresses so that I looked like a proper art lecturer,’ she giggled, standing up to give a twirl in her pretty dress and flick out her remarkably long hair.
‘If you remember, Miss Ellie Fox, I did not receive my extensions, as someone, not a million miles away, steered me away from going to my appointment,’ I snapped. ‘And more than that, she took me to a barbershop and had my cute little bowlcut all shaved off by a strange little plump chap … and then she wanted me to keep it shaved.’
‘Well, you looked so pretty when it was freshly shaved. Stunning in fact,’ she said, attempting to hide her deepening blush behind her wine glass.
It was true; it had suited me. I had even considered keeping it shaved. But I would have wanted it to be my choice. Seven years earlier, when I was a student, Ellie had encouraged me to grow out my bobbed hair, and I had rebelled by cutting it shorter. After we had separated recently after she had urged me to stay bald, I was determined to grow it out again to demonstrate my independence.
The lengthening silence began to feel awkward. I wanted us to keep talking, unconcerned about what we talked about, but just keeping communication lines open. ‘Well, with Mrs Jacobs’ help, I’m growing my hair out again, even though she said it would take a while.’
‘Well, being honest, I am not sure the army flattop suits you, Fi-fi. You are too feminine… and that, well, it is all hard angles and sharpness. But growing it out, you are going to have to persevere with all manner of unflattering styles before it has grown long again,’ she gabbled. ‘Whereas the smoothness of your head, your lovely ears …’ she added in a more measured tone, ‘well, it is just so you.’
I was unsure whether I should allow her flattery to delight me or let her suggestion that I should bend to her whims irritate me. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, the atmosphere grew decidedly frosty.
= = =
I knew it was Ellie’s entitlement to have an opinion concerning my hair. She may even have been correct. But it was not just about hair. My hair! Or was it? I opened my mouth to express my views but, instead, took another sip of wine before any words came out. I needed to take more time to carefully consider my response.
Remembering our two months apart, with no contact between us. Recalling what I had wished for during that time. Considering the concessions I was willing to make and those that Ellie should be prepared to make.
‘When we first got together, Ellie, you told me the story of when you first went to the city and had all your hair shaved off,’ I began, and she nodded, a hint of suspicion in her eyes. I ignored it. ‘And you said you bought haircutting equipment to keep it shaved yourself.’
‘Yes, I did for a while,’ she confirmed. ‘It made sense at the time.’
I nodded in agreement. ‘Do you still have the kit, Ellie?’ I asked pointedly.
She frowned. ‘Yes, I do, but—’
‘If we are to stay together,’ I said boldly, ‘then you are going to have to fetch it for me.’
‘What?’ she squealed, fingering her new and expensive hair extensions, a look of horror on her face. ‘But –’
‘Fetch it now, Ellie,’ I insisted, recalling my belief about compromise.
She hauled her long and abundant hair over one shoulder, examining it closely, sadness apparent in her eyes. Without another word, she slowly trudged into her home, while I waited in anticipation.
= = =
‘Where do you want me, Fi-fi?’ Ellie asked grudgingly, having placed an aluminium case on the table before me. Neatly laid out, it contained large and small hairclippers with a selection of guards, a foil shaver, two pairs of scissors, and other miscellaneous equipment. I picked up the largest of the hairclippers and flicked the switch. They hummed. ‘Cordless, and all still fully charged,’ she added.
With no direction from me, Ellie pulled out a chair from under the table. She sat herself down, pouting as she lovingly ran her fingers through her extensions.
I was extremely surprised but incredibly pleased that Ellie was willing to sacrifice her hair to keep us together. Even more delighted that, for once, she was prepared to accept my guidance, rather than her urging me to do something. It gave me more confidence about our future than I had had for a considerable time.
I shrugged off the blazer of my suit. But I did not stop there. I unzipped my skirt, letting it fall to my ankles, before stepping away from it. I swiftly unfastened the buttons on my scarlet satin shirt and tossed it to one side. Then I stood confidently in my red silk underwear, looking down at a moribund Ellie. An Ellie who was bowing to my wishes.
‘Very nice, Fi-fi,’ she said with feeling when, idly stroking her long hair, she looked up and surveyed my confident form.
I reciprocated by running my palm over the erect bristles on my crown, feeling the comfort of them bouncing straight back up. Enjoying the sensation of my fingertips passing over the bare skin on the back and sides of my skull. I saw her shiver, an excitement in her eyes, one that faded a little when I picked up the hairclippers once again.
‘You will be needing these,’ I said, placing the device in her hands and sitting in the chair where I had rested earlier, wearing just my bra and panties, and quickly draining my wine glass.
= = =
Ellie looked very confused. ‘But I… that is, I thought…’ she babbled hesitantly, pointing at herself.
‘Ellie!’ I commanded. ‘Fi-fi wants her head shaved again, so will you please get up off your lovely bottom and demonstrate how you use those things… by using them on me!’
Ellie finally understood. Once I had thought about everything before reaching the cottage, I had come to the decision that she should shave me bald. However, knowing she would have been willing to bend to my will was an even greater comfort.
The foxy lady shrugged off the two thin shoulder straps holding up her sundress, allowing it to fall to the ground. Her black underwear made a lovely contrast to my own.
Ellie approached me, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. My heart hammered, a frantic drum against my ribs, as she cupped the back of my head. She then placed the cold blade of the hairclippers against the hairline on my forehead before easing slowly backwards.
= = =
‘How ridiculous that you should allow your hair to grow so long,’ Ellie goaded, her eyes twinkling with amusement, as she flicked the short bristles of my flattop.
‘Sorry, Miss Fox,’ I murmured, injecting a false mournfulness into my tone, enjoying the feeling of playing along with our shared game.
‘It must be cut,’ she declared, completing the first pass over my crown, causing me to squeal with delight. ‘Cut, clippered, and shaved,’ she elaborated, an undisguised enthusiasm colouring her tone.
‘Thank you, Miss Fox,’ I purred. I felt my body react to her words, her actions, and her touch. A powerful surge of adrenaline shot through me, hot and electric, a rush that was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. My entire body shuddered, experiencing an almost unbearable thrill.
Ellie began a second pass over the top of my head with the clippers. ‘This is well overdue, Missy,’ she reprimanded me, her voice a low, taunting murmur. ‘It was far, far too long.’
‘I know,’ I whined solemnly. ‘It won’t happen again, Miss Fox.’
‘You can be sure of that,’ she insisted, removing stray snippets of my hair that had clung to the bare skin of my cleavage, brushing against my erect nipple as she did so. ‘Oh my,’ she tittered, sensing how turned on I was, clearly enjoying my reaction to her touch.
My breath hitched, coming in shallow gasps, my entire being a taut wire of tension and an increasingly urgent, desperate pleasure.
‘Now, Fi-fi, we will really get to work on that bristly head of yours,’ she pressed, using the foil shaver to attack the fine pelt that covered my head. Once satisfied with its even finish, she took an aerosol can from the case and spread a layer of cold foam over my whole head. Using a stiff brush, she diligently lathered the exposed skin on my neck and around my ears. The contrast of the cool lather with the heat of my flushed skin was exquisite. ‘We will soon have you slick … smooth … shining.’
Then, Ellie, with surgical precision, scraped the steel of a razor against my skin. The gentle swoosh of the blade gliding over the lather removed all final traces of stubble. It was an intensely intimate sensation; she had shaved my entire head down to the bone, smooth and bare.
Ellie gently wiped my scalp with a soft cloth. I imagined her polishing my skin to a gleaming shine. She then took my hand and urged me to stand. I did so, feeling the warmth of the sun on my nearly naked body in Ellie’s delightful country garden. We stared longingly into each other’s eyes, and then, without inhibition, we pressed our bodies against each other, kissing hungrily but tenderly.
After a couple of minutes, we came up for air, our faces slightly apart, our breathing fast and shallow. My fingers had found themselves entangled in Ellie’s long locks while hers were lovingly exploring my smooth dome. ‘I had really thought that you had wanted to cut off all my hair, Fi-fi,’ she murmured. ‘These extensions cost a fortune, you know, but I would have done it… for you…’
‘I know,’ I said, placing a finger lightly against her lips. ‘And, in due course, Miss Fox … at the appropriate juncture … in the fullness of time … I may choose to shave you bald,’ I asserted.
‘Thank you, Fi-fi,’ she murmured with a coy smile. ‘I will look forward to that day.’
