Red Bob
Being a blonde haired lady was so much fun. My curls were now a canvas for me to express myself. The grade-one sides underneath made my hair look sharper than anything I had worn before.
With the blonde being light enough now, it also changed what I could do with it.
I realised that on Wednesday evening while standing in Boots after work.
I had gone in for some hair products, and I came out with shampoo, toothpaste and a small tube of temporary lilac colour.
The label on the temporary dye said it would wash out almost in one wash, which was enough encouragement to try it.
—-
Nick found me in the bathroom that night with an old towel around my shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“Experimenting.”
“With what?”
I held up the tube.
Nick read it.
“Lilac? But you’ve only just finished getting it blonde last week.”
“I’m not colouring it properly. It’s temporary. It washes out.”
Nick smiled.
“Ah ok?”
I squeezed some onto my fingers.
The colour looked much darker in my hand than I expected.
Nick leaned against the doorframe, watching me
I worked a small amount through the curls. The blonde took it almost immediately.
Not purple.
Soft lilac.
A pale smoky violet that sat over the creamy blonde without hiding it completely.
I looked at myself on my phone when I finished.
“Check me out.”
Nick came closer.
“It suits you.”
“I know.”
The close blonde sides stayed almost untouched. Most of the colour had settled into the curls on top, which made the contrast even stronger.
I liked it.
A lot.
—-
By Friday I had washed my hair to rinse out the lilac.
I could do something ridiculous for three days and then have my blonde back. The following week I tried a raspberry shade of red.
I sent Liz a photograph.
Her reply about how much she liked the colour came almost immediately.
This is what happens when you give people blonde hair. They become unsupervised.
I sent back:
You created the problem.
She replied with a laughing face.
I started keeping two little pots in the bathroom cupboard.
Lilac.
Peach.
Nothing permanent.
Nothing serious.
Just something I could use when I felt like looking different for a few days.
Nick liked that too.
He never knew which version he was coming home to.
——
We were on the sofa after dinner one Friday night, my legs tucked beneath me. Nick had been channel hopping and had settled on Oceans 11.
I had had my sides tidied up by Liz that morning so I was looking (and feeling) sharp.
Nick’s hand had been resting on my shoulder and then, without either of us acknowledging it, his fingers moved upwards and stroking just above my ear.
Then again.
Against the grain this time.
I smiled without looking at him.
“You’re doing it again.”
“I know.”
His palm flattened against the side of my head and moved slowly upwards.
I turned towards him.
“You do realise there’s other parts of my body you can do that to besides that bit of hair?”
He looked at me like he hadn’t expected me to say such a comment.
“Maybe later.” He smiled as he continued.
There was something about the way he touched the buzzed parts that I loved. He didn’t stroke them as though they were delicate. He rubbed his thumb over them, changed direction, explored the difference between the very short sides and the compact curls above.
It had become one of our things.
I watched him for a moment.
His own hair was exactly as it had been for years. Thick salt-and-pepper, darker underneath, silver through the front and temples, always pushed loosely back from his face.
I loved it.
That was the strange thing.
I had never particularly ever wanted him to change it.
His hand travelled over my side again.
“Do you know, I’m kind of bored with mine,” he said.
I thought he meant the television.
“With what?”
“My hair.”
That got my attention. Although I had just been thinking about his hair, I was taken aback to hear him say it.
“You’ve never mentioned anything about your hair before.”
“I’m bored with looking exactly the same having the same styled hair all the time.”
I reached up and pushed my fingers through the front of it.
“You good looking, looking exactly the same.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
I gave him a shove.
“You know what I mean.”
He smiled, but he was still touching my head.
Then he said it.
“I never expected you to change your long copper hair, but over this past year you’ve tried so many different looks. I’ve fancied every version of you.”
“And so you should.”
“I’m being serious. Every look you’ve had has excited me, and I’ve stayed in my lane the whole time. And for some time now, I’ve been thinking about what I’d like to do.”
“And what is it you want to do?” I gently probed, understanding my husband’s predicament.
“I think I’m going to shave it off.”
My stomach actually flipped. Not metaphorically. I just felt the little drop inside me.
I wasn’t expecting him to say that, as I stared at him.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I want to hear it again.”
Nick laughed.
“I think I want to buzz my hair off.”
I sat up properly.
“How short?”
“There she is.”
“What?”
“You. Getting yourself excited .”
I didn’t bother denying it.
“How short do you want try it , Nick?”
He ran his palm once more up the side of my head.
“Something like this.”
“This is very short.”
“I know.”
“Mine’s a one.”
“Maybe a two then.”
I stared at him.
“A Grade two?”
“About that.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yes. I’d be lying if I hadn’t given it some thought.”
“So why are you only telling me now?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t really expected to say anything but I suppose by subconsciously touching your hair triggered something this time.
I felt a grin spreading across my face and made no effort whatsoever to stop it.
“You have absolutely no idea what you’ve just said to me.”
“Oh, I think I’ve got a reasonable idea.”
“No, you haven’t.”
He laughed.
—-
I moved closer and ran both hands through his hair, pushing it back from his face, then flattening the sides against his head as though I could somehow preview him.
His face looked stronger without the volume around it.
The beard suddenly seemed more important.
I could picture it.
Far too easily.
“Do you want to do it now?” I asked.
Nick blinked.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“We can’t.”
“Why?”
“We don’t own hair clippers.”
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
“The supermarket’s still open.”
He laughed because he thought I was joking.
I got off the sofa.
“Nat.”
“Go and put your shoes on.”
“You’re actually serious.”
“If you’re serious, I’m serious.”
“It’s nearly nine.”
“And?”
“And normal people don’t decide to shave their heads and immediately walk to the shops at 9pm.
He was still laughing when he followed me into the hall.
——
It wasn’t far to the supermarket and neither of us suggested taking the car. The air was cool, the pavement still damp from earlier rain, and there was a strange energy between us that made the walk feel more like the beginning of a night out than a trip for groceries.
Nick kept touching his hair.
I kept noticing.
“Second thoughts?” I asked.
“No.”
“You’re checking it a lot.”
“You could say I’m saying goodbye.”
“That’s rather sweet.”
“You know, you’re enjoying this far too much.”
“I haven’t even started yet.”
He looked sideways at me.
“I like this side to my wife.”
I laughed.
—-
The supermarket was quiet. A few people drifting around with baskets, somebody stacking vegetables, the usual bright lighting that made everyone look slightly ill.
We headed straight for the grooming aisle.
There were more clippers than I expected.
Nick picked up the first box he saw.
“Shall we get these?”
I looked at them.
“No.”
“Why?”
“They look cheap.”
“They cut hair.”
“So do kitchen scissors. We’re not using those either.”
He put them back.
I picked up another set and started reading the box.
Multiple guards. Cordless. Washable blades. Adjustable lever.
Nick leaned over my shoulder.
“Why are you looking at those?”
“They’re better.”
“They’re nearly twice the price.”
“So?”
“For one haircut?”
I turned my head towards him.
“They might not just be for you.”
His eyebrows went up.
I smiled.
Nick looked deliberately at my freshly buzzed sides.
“Oh.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re planning ahead.”
“I always plan ahead.” I said, as I put the clippers into my basket.
I checked inside the printed list on the back.
It came with 14 different attachments, which was more that everything I needed.
Nick noticed where my finger had stopped.
“I said two.”
“I can read.”
“Then why are you staring at the one?”
“Options.”
“Natalie.”
“Basket.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling.
We picked up a bottle of Pinot on the way towards the tills.
Nick looked at it.
“For courage?” I asked.
“For afterwards.”
“I don’t want you blaming the wine tomorrow.”
“I haven’t even had the haircut and you’re already preparing my defence.”
“I’m thoughtful like that.”
——
We exited the store when the rain started.
Not drizzle.
Proper rain.
It came suddenly, hammering off the pavement and soaking through us before we had any chance of finding shelter.
Nick swore and grabbed my hand.
We ran for an awning outside the supermarket, arriving underneath it laughing like idiots.
His hair was plastered against his forehead.
I couldn’t resist.
I reached up and pushed it back.
“Enjoy it.”
“What?”
“This.”
“My wet hair?”
“Your hair.”
He looked at me.
“Still confident, are we?”
“Very.”
A stream of water ran down the side of his face.
I wiped it away with my thumb and put my hands on either side of his face, giving him a kiss.
It wasn’t a polite married kiss.
He caught me around the waist and pulled me closer, both of us wet and laughing into it, the clipper box knocking against my leg inside the carrier bag.
When we separated, Nick looked towards the rain.
“We’re going to have to run for it.”
“I know.”
“You’re grinning again.”
“I know.”
I was so excited by everything that was happening. I took his hand, and began to run.
——
When we got home, we were soaked.
We left our shoes in the hall and went upstairs, hurriedly peeling our wet clothes away between our high charged kissing.
I placed the clippers box on the end of the bed.
Neither of us ignored it.
Nick was towelling his hair when I opened the box.
“Last chance to change your mind,” I said.
“You’ve offered me about six chances, but I want this.”
Something in me went up a notch.
I took the clippers, guards, comb and oil into the en-suite and lined them neatly along the oak vanity beside the sink.
Nick followed.
“You’ve gone quiet babe.”
“I’m concentrating. I’ve experienced these as a client, but never needed to use them on anyone.”
I pulled in my vanity table stool into the centre of our en-suite.
“Sit down, sir.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I looked at him.
He grinned.
“Too much?”
“Not enough.”
He sat.
His hair was still damp, but already beginning to sweep backwards again. Thick salt-and-pepper hair, darker through the sides with silver catching at the front.
I pushed my fingers through it.
“You know I actually love your hair.”
“I know. And I loved your hair when it was long all those years.” He said. “But like you, I’m craving a change.”
“Oh Nick.”
I kissed the top of his head and ruffled his hair one last time.
“I need you to take off your T-shirt.”
He smiled and pulled it over his head.
I wrapped a towel around his shoulders, then picked up the number-two and number-one guards.
I put one in each hand and held both behind my back.
Nick looked at me knowingly.
“What are you doing?”
“Pick a hand.”
He laughed.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
He studied me for a second, as though there might be some clue in my face.
“Left.”
I brought my hands forward, keeping the guards closed inside my fists.
I smiled and turned towards the vanity before he could see which one he had chosen.
I fitted the guard onto the clippers.
Unwillingly, he had chosen number one. Exactly the one I had hoped he would pick.
Nick tried to angle his head to see.
“No looking.”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“No.”
He laughed.
“So I’m just supposed to trust you?”
I stepped back towards him.
“You already do.”
That silenced him for a moment.
I pushed my fingers through the thick salt-and-pepper hair at the front of his head.
“You really want to do this?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?” I probed, wanting to hear one more time from him.
“Because I’m bored of looking the same.”
I ran my fingers through his hair again.
“And because you want to know what it feels like.”
He smiled.
“There’s that too.”
I moved in front of him.
Nick watched me carefully.
I pushed his fringe and swept-back front into place one last time.
Then I set the clippers at the centre of his forehead.
His expression changed slightly, with his eyes now shut and his breathing was a little heavier.
This was suddenly real.
I switched them on.
The buzz filled the tiled room.
His eyes opened briefly towards the clippers, trying to judge the guard.
I smiled.
“Too late now.”
“Nat.”
“Ready?”
He looked up at me.
Then nodded.
“Do it.”
——
I ploughed them directly through the thickest part of his hair from forehead to crown.
The blades growled.
A wide strip of silver-and-charcoal hair lifted, folded forward and slid over the clippers onto the towel.
Behind it was three millimetres of grey velvet.
I stopped at the crown.
Nick stared at himself.
The three millimetre stripe through the centre of his familiar hairstyle was brutal, yet sexy.
“Nat.”
I ran my palm over it.
The texture rasped against my skin.
“Oh, that is good.”
Nick laughed.
“Again”
I placed the clippers beside the first strip, and make a second pass. This time it was slow and deliberate.
Then the third.
Heavy pieces of his swept-back hair dropped over his shoulders and scattered onto the pale tile.
With every pass, more of Nick appeared.
His brows looked stronger. His cheekbones sharper.
His beard suddenly heavier against the close shadow above it.
I loved it.
He could tell.
“You’re smiling.”
“Shh and keep still.”
I was in my element as I worked across the rest of the top, then down the sides.
Around his ears I slowed, folding each one carefully while the clippers stripped away the last of the longer hair.
Within minutes, the man who had sat down with thick, swept-back salt-and-pepper hair was gone.
In his place was Nick with his velvet shorn head.
Close.
Even.
Hard.
I switched the clippers off and put both hands on his head.
Forward, the stubble felt soft.
Backwards, it rasped against my palms.
The sensation went straight through me.
“Oh, Nick.”
He looked up at me.
No smile now.
Just heat.
His hand lifted.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
I ran my palm slowly backwards over his crown again, then let him touch it.
His fingers moved over the top once, then against the grain.
His eyes changed. Beneath the heat, emotion crossed his face as he understood what I had given him: the same freedom I had found in short hair, the relief of being seen without hiding.
His fingers rested against the roughness.
“You did this for me,” he said quietly.
“I wanted you to know how it feels.”
He covered my hand with his.
“I love you.”
The words landed harder than I expected.
“I love you too.”
We had both changed through our hair, in different ways, and somehow it had brought us closer. We no longer needed to explain the relief, the thrill, or the intimacy of being seen so clearly.
His eyes darkened again.
He stood.
Christ.
Without the thick hair, his face looked sharper. Harder. More exposed.
I wanted him instantly.
Nick stepped towards me.
I put my hand against his chest.
“Stay there.”
He did.
We stared at each other for a second that felt far too long.
Then I caught his face in both hands and kissed him.
Hard.
His hands closed around my waist, pulling me against him, while my fingers spread over the roughness of his crown. The kiss deepened, urgent and breathless, until I broke away just far enough to breathe.
He followed me.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
He stopped, barely.
I dragged my palm backwards over his crown.
Nick closed his eyes, his hands tightening at my waist.
That was it.
Whatever control I had left disappeared.
I kissed him again, and he pulled me close until there was no space between us. My hands moved from his cheeks to his neck and back to his crown, unable to leave the new texture beneath them.
The clippers, the hair on the floor, everything else disappeared.
There was only his breath, my hands, and the charged silence between each kiss.
—-
Later, we lay together in bed, tangled in the sheets and quiet except for our breathing.
Nick rested his head against my shoulder.
Every so often, his hand drifted up to his crown and rubbed the stubble slowly, as though he still could not believe it was there.
“I love watching you keep touching it,” I said.
“I can’t stop.”
“Do you like it?”
He smiled against my skin.
“I love it.”
His fingers moved over the top again, then paused.
The urgency between us had settled into something warmer, but the look in his eyes remained.
“What do you think you could use to get completely smoother?” he asked.
I turned towards him.
“My foil shaver.”
“How would that work?”
“I’d run the clippers over again with no guard, then use the foil shaver to finish it off.”
“Completely smooth?”
“Like glass.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“I want to know what nothing feels like.”
For a moment I just looked at him.
Then I ran my palm backwards over his head one more time.
I wanted him bald.
I wanted him under my hands again.
I wanted him so badly I could barely think.
Nick shifted closer and rested his forehead against mine.
“Not tonight,” he whispered.
“No,” I said.
“But soon?”
I smiled and held him tighter.
“Soon.”
