10 Years of Stories!

I gave the story I had copy and pasted to my Pepper Punnister blog a final look over to make sure it had no typos.  I was almost positive that no matter how many times I looked the story over, there would be at least a few typos I had missed.  Those times when autocorrect was convinced I wanted to discuss waterfowl instead of using a rude word for fornication, and such.   

I written this particular story with a subtle theme of ten years as a nod to an anniversary I was sure no one else had noticed.  

Ten years ago, the first time I had gathered my courage up to actually let others read my stories, the idea that a typo might escape uncorrected had haunted me, by now I just accepted it.  I read other peoples stories, which had little typos of their own and it wasn’t a big deal, as long as a story wasn’t completely riddled with them, my brain just corrected them and moved on.

I turned off the computer, and got up from the desk.  That was another thing that was different from 10 years ago, when I would anxiously watch to see if anyone actually looked or if I was just screaming into the void.  I wasn’t even sure why I cared if people read the stories, I wasn’t getting paid to write them or anything like that.  I was just compelled to write them, and for some reason share them.

Why I wrote them I could fairly easily explain.  They’d been an outlet for my feelings in both the most joyful and darkest times of my life.  My divorce, not sure if that counted as joyful or dark, since it was kind of both.  The complicated feelings I’d had as I had lovingly cared for the sick, vulnerable, and frail dying woman who had been my abusive mother.  Dating and finding love.  The pain of my first broken heart.  Dating again and finding the love of my life.  Then the overwhelming weight of grief, and the slow moving on.  

The stories had let me look at feeling from a different perspective as I put them through the prism of fiction.  Fiction let me just feel, without having to explain, without having to justify the emotions, without having to put them into perspective.  

The stories had also given me freedom to explore.  They had always had a bit of a fetish and kink slant to them, but over the years, that aspect had grown.  Though I certainly hadn’t been purely vanilla in the bedroom, before I started writing the stories, it had always been a dirty little secret.  Writing had been a chance to let that secret out.  There also had just been aspects of my sexuality that I had hidden so so deeply, that I had hid them from myself.  The stories had gotten more and more blatantly sexual over the years as I had discovered those things I’d kept hidden. 

In some ways the stories had been better therapy than money could ever buy.  And considering my day job as a gardener didn’t come with insurance, and all I had was the most bare bones high deductible insurance from the open market, I wasn’t getting real therapy anytime soon.

Also though writing them had simply been a fun hobby.  A welcome distraction from life.  I especially appreciated the escape writing the sci-fi adventure with a bit of kinky sex thrown in had provided, distracting me from the rise of fascism in the US.  

Why I published stories was a lot harder to explain.  What drove me to rip back the curtains to these complicated fantasies was a mystery.  As much as I used the stories to express my complex emotions, at the heart of them, they were just smutty kink fantasies, and I couldn’t for the life of me explain my desire to share that.  Maybe I was a bit of an exhibitionist, maybe I just didn’t want to be alone.

Whatever the unexplainable reason I published was, I had finished putting the most recent one up, and I was ready to get on with my day.  

Getting on with my day included an appointment for a haircut.  Scheduling the haircut the same day as publishing the story wasn’t an accident.  Dramatic unwanted haircuts were a recurring theme in my kink stories, and it was good to get it out of my system before I went to get a haircut.  

Not that I’d ever given into the temptation to get all my hair cut off.  Closest I’d come was when I was caring for my mom, and it would have just been sensible.  Caring for mom had been physically challenging and frankly messy.  Not having to pull the long hair up before cleaning her up would have saved a bit of time.  Plus sometimes I found my hands dirty very suddenly before I’d had the opportunity to pull the hair back.  Cutting it off would have made so much sense, but instead of doing it, I’d written out the temptation in a story, before I went and got my typical one inch trim.

Today, I was definitely just getting my typical one inch trim.  Sure there was that niggling thought in the back of my head, just below my bouncy ponytail, to come up with an excuse about why I sadly had to get the pretty hair all cut off, but there was zero real reason, so it wasn’t happening.  I pushed the idea aside as I drove from my little homestead into town, and parked across the street from my destination.

“Hey Samantha,”  I said as I walked into the little barbershop, causing the bell above the door to jingle.

My excuses for getting my long hair trimmed in a barbershop instead of a salon were, saving money and hating the smell of hairspray.  It helped that both of these things were true.

“Hi Alex,”  Samantha greeted me with a smile as she finished shaving the back of the neck of her previous client.  

I took a seat in the row of waiting chairs lined up against the wall.   The shop had three barber chairs, but it was the day of the week, tuesday, that Samantha was the only barber in the shop.  It wasn’t the completely perfect picture of a mid-twentieth century barbershop like my fantasies demanded.  Instead of black and white checkered linoleum, the floor was faux wood laminate, and the chairs were newer, but it also was clearly not a salon.  It had no reception area, a single wash station I’d never seen used, no hood hair dryers, or whatever those things with the lights are.  It didn’t smell like a salon, it smelled like a barbershop, and Samantha clearly thought of herself as a barber.

Samantha finished up her previous client, who was exactly the kind of guy you expected to see in a barbershop.  He had a simple short conservative men’s haircut one would expect to see someone at a barber getting.  He gave me, with my long wavy chestnut hair, a curious look as he walked towards the door.

“Hop on into the chair,”  Samantha invited me, then started walking towards the back of the shop.  “I just need a minute, ok?”

“Yeah sure,”  I told her, assuming she meant she needed the bathroom.

I got up and walked towards the chair that faced the big mirror.   I stood next to it, lingering in front of the counter for just a moment, looking down at the implements I knew could wreck havoc on the pretty hair that hung down past my shoulders not quite to the small of my back.   Many of the tools were mundane, combs, clips, a spray bottle, and hair dryer, but others were menacing.  There were clippers both large and small, a variety of shears, and even a razor and a foil shaver.  

I knew from experience, few of them would be used on me.  She would start by twisting the long hair up, putting a clip in it to hold it up while she put tissue around my neck and we chatted.  She would fasten the cape over me and then let my long hair back down.  Then she would use the spray bottle to just dampen it slightly.  Combing the long hair smooth would take a few minutes, and then she would select a pair of scissors, and finally cut just the inch off the bottom of my hair.  She would give the hair just the slightest amount of minimal layering, barely run the hair dryer over it, and whisk off the cape.   

I’d pay her and think her, while secretly disappointed she hadn’t decided to try to convince me the long hair absolutely had to go for some random reason.  But then, I would glance at my reflection, and see the long healthy beautiful hair framing my face, and be relieved Samantha wasn’t scissor happy, since I did genuinely love the way it looked.

I heard Samantha coming back, so quickly took my seat in the barber chair, hoping she hadn’t seen me staring down at her tools.

“Sorry about that,”  Samantha said, walking towards the front of the shop instead of straight to the chair.  “I just needed to check something online.   I hope you don’t mind me putting down the shades and turning the sign to closed.  You’re my last client today, so I’ll be closing up early.  I have plans for later.”

“Not at all,” I said as I watched her turning the key in the lock, which did seem a little excessive, but I knew from working retail in college what people could be like.

“God this is such pretty hair,” Samantha proclaimed as she gathered my locks back.  “You know, it’s such a coincidence, but I was just reading a short story last night and the main character in it had hair just like this.”

“Oh, what was the story about?”  I asked, not thinking that much about it, as Samantha twisted the bundle of reddish brown tresses and fastened it to the crown of my head the way she always did.

“It was about a woman caring for her mom with emphysema.”  Samantha said, pausing and looking me in my eye a little more intently than normally, then as my heart pounded, she causley continued putting the tissue and cape on me.  “I think you could really relate to the character, she went through a lot of the same things you did when you were caring for your mom.”

“Oh,” I pretended that I hadn’t just panicked, as I felt the cape fastened tightly around my neck, the chances that it had been my story were practically zilch, nobody would admit to reading my stories.  “What was the title? Maybe I’ll read it.”

“Oh, I forget.”  Samantha claimed as she let my hair down.  “It’s by one of my favorite authors though.”

Samantha started playing with my hair in a way she didn’t typically, not picking up the spray bottle to wet it.  My breath became slightly shallow as I tried to just act casual.

“Oh, maybe I’ve heard of her,”  I said nervously as I watched Samantha playing with the long hair, pushing it in front of my shoulders.

“Her?”  Samantha challenged me, “what makes you think the author is a woman?”

“Oh, I just figured since the story you described was about the relationship between women.”  I said with relief that the author was a man, so obviously not me.  “So who is he?’

“Oh no,”  Samantha told me, placing her hand on my shoulder  “you were right, the author is a woman, I just wondered how you knew.  It’s funny, a lot of the author’s stories are really similar to your life.”

I swallowed nervously, wishing I could think of an excuse to leave as Samantha pressed down on my shoulder instead of dampening my hair.  “Really?”

“Oh yes.”  Samantha purred.  “You both grew up in Boston.  You both studied horticulture at a community college.  You both played tennis in school.  You both discovered you were lesbians later in life…”

“How did…”  My fear grew, I had never actually come out to Samantha, I was pretty discreet in the conservative small town.

“I just have pretty good gaydar,”  Samantha claimed.  “You know what the most uncanny coincidence is though?”

My heart pounded as I stared back into Samantha’s cool eyes.  I couldn’t say anything, so I just slightly shook my head no.

“The author always publishes a new story in the morning on a day that you have an appointment for a haircut in the afternoon.”  Samantha revealed.  “I just checked, and a new story went up just an hour ago.”

“That is quite the coincidence,”  I agreed, trying to hide that I was entering fight or flight mode.  “Very strange.”

“Yes, very strange,”  Samantha finally broke eye contact to my relief.  “So, did you just want a little trim?”

“Yeah, an inch,” I said, trying to act normal even though Samantha had never worded it quite like that before.

“Are you sure?”  Samantha challenged.  “We could do something nice and sensible.  Good and short in the back, so it’s off your neck when you’re working.  Wouldn’t that just be so much more practical.”

“I… uh… can just put it in a ponytail.”  I said as my mouth went dry.  

“Don’t you find that tight?”  Samantha challenged,  “That author I mentioned, she wrote a story a few years ago about a character who got headaches from always wearing ponytails.  I’ve been reading her stories for just about a decade.”

“Maybe I should get this done another time.”  I started to try to get up, even though my legs felt like jello, and I wasn’t sure what I would do once I got to the locked door.  

Samantha pushed down on my shoulders, keeping me in the barberchair.  “Don’t be silly Pepper.  You are getting a haircut.”

“Pepper?”  I pretended I didn’t recognize the nom de plume not too convincingly from the way Samantha chuckled at the rouse.

“Oh Pepper,”  Samantha told me.  “If you really hadn’t wanted anyone knowing, you wouldn’t have kept giving all your characters the exact same three jobs over and over,  the same three jobs you have worked.  Now, if you don’t want everyone in town reading your kinky little fantasies, you’ll sit still, and let me deal with this silly little girl mop finally and give you a nice short no nonsense grown woman haircut.  You are much too mature for this silliness.”

“I…uh…I…” I stammered, frozen in the chair, totally unsure what to do.  “I.. like the way it looks long.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.”  Samantha said.  “But I’m in charge now, and I have decided that function is more important than fashion.”

Then she undid a belt I realized looped around her waist three times, making it long enough to go around me, my arms, and the back of the barber chair.  I started trying to get up again as Samantha’s surprisingly strong grip clamped my shoulder with one hand, and she looped the belt around me with the other.

“Oh god,”  I pleaded as I became trapped.  “What are you going to do?”

“Take charge and take care of you, just the way it is so clear you need someone to do.  Not only have I read your stories for ten years, I have listened to you as you complain about the ways you barely manage your life and business as you have sat here in my chair.   Late fees because you sent checks to the wrong addresses, misplacing important papers, and stuff.  It’s so obvious you need a guiding hand.”  Samantha said as she fastened the belt, and finally loosened her grip on my shoulder.  “I’m willing to be that guiding hand, help get your chaotic life in order.  We’ll start with getting rid of all this messy hair.”

“Samantha please don’t”  I begged.

“That’s Sampson’s Mistress to you, young lady.”  Samantha scolded me, as she revealed a name I knew well.

Sampson’s Mistress had been a long time follower, always commenting on my stories.  We’d even have some back and forth conversations occasionally.  I had never thought I would actually meet her though.  As it turned out, I had known her for years.

I simply stared at my reflection in the mirror while Samantha walked over to the counter where her array of barber tools waited.  I looked completely defeated sitting there.  The leather belt, trapped my arms inside the classic blue and white striped barber cape, sinching the fabric around me.  Above it, my head stuck up, still surrounded by the rich chestnut colored hair that cascaded over my shoulders and down my chest, just barely obscuring the logo of a clipper company centered there.

Before picking up any tools, Samantha opened a drawer,and took out an Ipad. 

“SMILE!” Samantha ordered me as she pointed the camera lense at me, I simply glared back.  “Fine, pout instead, you’re cute when you pout.”

Samantha took several before pictures of me trapped in the chair with my long hair hanging around me, then set the Ipad up on the counter to record video. 

“Now, how shall we start dealing with this impractical mess of hair.”  Samantha teased me as she looked over her tools, then finally picked up a long pair of silver scissors.  

“Samantha…”

“Mistress!”  She corrected me as she came behind me, and began twirling one of my long locks around her finger, holding the long pointy scissors dangerously close to it.

“Mistress,” I continued.  “How am I going to explain a sudden dra… haircut?”

I’d almost said drastic, having a feeling that was how it was going to go, but just in case she wasn’t actually planning anything too drastic, I didn’t want to give her ideas.  Though frankly considering the length of my hair, most women would consider up to the shoulders rather drastic.

“You get haircuts regularly,”  Samantha said, beginning to simply hold the lock she’d been twirling taut instead.  “I suppose this one will be a little different though.  I’d have thought a girl as imaginative as you Pepper, wouldn’t have any trouble coming up with something.”

“My name is Alexandra,”  I tried still playing ignorant as my eyes focused on the reflection of the long silver scissors that Samantha had started opening and closing,  “why are you calling me Pepper.  You need to let me go Saman… Mistress.”

“Your mother may have named you Alexandra,”  Samantha conceded, “but that doesn’t mean you didn’t get to rename yourself Pepper ten years ago, Pepper Punnister.   Funny that an author who is such a sub would call herself punisher.”

“It was about puns originally, punisher was an accident.”  Then I remembered I wasn’t supposed to know who Pepper Punnister was.  “Or that would be my guess about what probably happened.”

“See how imaginative you are,”  Samantha chuckled and snapped the scissor menacingly as she tugged the lock she held, she could have easily cut it by now, it was obvious she was deliberately dragging things out.  “I’m sure you can come up with a very good explanation as to why you finally got this mop into decent shape.”

“I can’t Sa… Mistress.”  I pleaded hoping she was just going to play with me and not actually cut off the glorious hair.  “You’ve had your fun.  This can be our little secret.  It’s time to let me go.”

“Well, I guess I will just have to explain the reason you are getting a nice sensible haircut to you, and best of all, it will be the truth.”  Samantha finally released the long lock wrapped around her finger instead of cutting it, to my relief.  She then began to tenderly stroke my head as she told me what she had planned.  “You will tell anyone who asks, that you have hired a new business manager, so you can just concentrate on the garden design you are actually good at, and stop watching poor business decisions eat away at your profits.  Your new business manager insisted you needed to present a sharper more professional image, and what says clean, sharp and professional more clearly than a nice neat short haircut?”

“Bbb..but I haven’t hired a business manager.”  I said as I felt Samantha’s hand continue to gently pet my long hair.  “I can’t afford a business manager.”

“I won’t charge you anything upfront,”  Samantha revealed that she was planning to be my business manager.  “I can start drawing a nominal fee once I have your business running as smoothly and profitably as this barbershop does.  The money you waste on stupid mistakes will cover it in the long term.  Wasn’t it just last time you were here that you complained about having to pay the bank a whole bunch of fees, just because you forgot to move money from savings to checking and a check bounced.”

It actually sounded really nice.  Samantha was right that I needed a business manager, but it was something I never imagined I could afford.  The idea that she would do it at a rate I could afford was actually taking an incredible burden off me.  I started feeling oddly relaxed in the ridiculous situation, the tender stroking, the relief of the stress of having to run the business, even the barber cape wrapped tightly around me had begun to feel more like a blanket than a trap.

“Now,” Samantha stopped stroking down my long hair.  “Time for you to look like a professional adult and not some irresponsible teenage hippie.”

“Samantha…”  the calm I’d started to fall into as Samantha had stroked my hair instead of cutting it was gone.

“MISTRESS” Glared at me through the mirror as she lifted up one of my long locks.

“Mistress,”  I swallowed nervously,  “I really appreciate the offer to help me out with my business, but I just want to keep my hair long.”

“If you really don’t want me to take charge,”  Samantha said as she opened the sharp scissors and placed the long lock between the blades, “and make sure you look proper, just use the magic word…”

Magic word?! 

“Please?”  I tried.  “Please don’t cut my hair… Mistress.”

“That’s not the magic word,”  Samantha rolled her eyes.

I sat there desperately trying to think of a word more magical than please, as one of my long chestnut locks touched the gleaming edge of one of the scissor blades.   Then to my horror, Samantha closed the scissors.

Shhhhhlick

“Oh god,”  I let out as Samantha dropped the pretty lock into my lap.  

I could see in the mirror that my eyes had gone to the size of saucers.  The pounding sound of my heart filled my ears.  My breathing felt impossibly fast.  Samantha ignored me and lifted another lock, and sliced it off to about the same length, just a few inches from my scalp.

Sssssssssllllick

“Samantha please stop,” I begged while I hoped that the short locks weren’t more than I could hide.  

“You’re going to love how easy and comfortable this will be when I’m done.”  Samantha claimed, lifting up another lock.

Ssshhhhhhnip

Samatha just kept cutting off lock after lock, piling them in my lap as she went.  With each snap of the scissors, hope that there would be a way to hide what had happened by getting layers or a shag faded more and more.   

Sssssssnap, ssssssnip, sssshhhhhhhnup, sssssssssnap.

I watched in horror as my beautiful hair was reduced to short tufts, and a pile of refuse in my lap. It was especially painful to watch as she snipped away the hair that hung along the side of my face.   

Snip, sssssnip, sssssssssslick, sssshhhhlick, ssssnap

“There, you don’t need all that silly hair.”  Samantha announced as she dropped the last long lock into my lap.  “This should get you out the door much more efficiently in the morning.  As your new business manager, I think that’s very important.” 

“It’s so short,” I complained as I turned my head.

“Stop being dramatic.  It’s not that short,”  Samantha chastised me and ruffled my hair. “Yet anyway.”

“Yet?!”

“I was just gettting rid of the bulk to make it more managable for the real haircut.  Even though this length will be easier to care for,”  Samantha said as she put down the scissors, and picked up a comb and a few alligator clips,  “it’s not very neat and professional looking like this.   And it’s going to be hot on your neck.”

“I don’t mind it on my neck,”  I claimed, “and I can style it to look neat.”

“Stop fussing.” Samantha ordered me as she began parting the hair and fastening the  hair from the top of my head up and out of the way.  “ And keep your head up and straight.  I know what is best for you.”

I stopped begging, realizing there was no point as I watched the dividing line between the top and the bottom Samantha drew high above my ear with the corner of her comb, not quite all the way to the parietal ridge.   Samantha had decided, I was trapped.  I had no idea what the magic word she’d hinted at earlier was.  I felt a warm tear roll down my cheek in defeat.

Happy with the sectioning, Samantha went over to the counter, I hoped she would pick up shears, but instead she picked up clippers.  They were the Osters with the interchangeable blades, not the kind that used guards, making it harder to tell what length they’d be cutting my hair.   Samantha got them ready in front of me, her eyes fixed intently on me as she turned them on and then swapped the blade.

“No proclamation questioning what these are?”  Samantha teased me.  I had to admit my characters may have sometimes been written a little too ignorant of how haircutting worked, not to mention my own habit of playing dumb when I came in for my regular trims.

“I know what clippers are,” I admitted a little sourly as I dreaded what she was about to do with them.

Samantha just chuckled at my discomfort as she combed up the hair behind my ear, and ran the clippers over the teeth of the comb.

Buzzzzzzzzzzzoot.

I felt the chunk of cut off hair land heavily on my shoulder.  I had only the vaguest idea of how short she’d just cut my hair, but I figured I’d find out soon enough.  Of course knowing wouldn’t change anything, it was clear that Samantha had a plan she wasn’t going to change unless I could figure out what she meant by “magic word.”

Samantha combed up more of my hair, moving across my nape, and slicing away chuck after chunk of hair.

Buzzzzzzoot, buzzzzt, buzzzzoot, buzzzzzoop.

With all the hair from my nape cut off, Samantha combed up the hair that was covering my ear, lifting it up and slightly away from me scalp.  The back of the comb lightly rested against the top of my ear.  I watched Samantha run the blades of the clippers over the teeth of the comb.

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-swoop

The strand of hair that had covered my pink ear fell to my shoulder and chest.   Samantha immediately combed up the even shorter hair again and ran the blades over the teeth of the comb.  

Buzzzzzzzzzzoot

The very short clippings rained down like flurries, some sticking to my neck and face as it fell lightly to the cape.  When Samantha pulled the comb away, the hair around my ear no longer covered it at all.  I stared at my naked ear as she took the hair that covered the other ear to the same length. 

Samantha turned back to the counter and swapped the blade on the clippers.   When she came back, she simply pushed my head down, and placed the clipper blade against the back of my neck.  I felt her push the clippers up into the already short hair, cutting it even shorter.  I felt the hair rain down onto my neck as the incessant buzzing filled my very exposed ears.  

Samantha pushed the clippers up all the way to the top of the section, only using the comb to help feed the hair to the blades, not to guide the blades from my scalp.  She made pass after pass, turning the area into a single even length I hadn’t seen yet.   As she worked forward, I felt her press my ear out of her way with the comb to capture any hairs hiding behind it.  

When she rounded the top, I saw the length she’d reduced the hair on most of my scalp to.  It was just barely enough to cover my scalp, I suspected if you looked through the little bristles of hairs at the correct angle you would be be able to catch glimpses of scalp through it.  I figured it was maybe a number 4 blade, maybe a 3.  I’d done enough research for my writing, I felt like I should be sure, but it wasn’t like I’d ever actually seen it on my own head before.

When Samantha ran the blades up through my sideburn, the hum drowned out the beating of my heart.  The short snippets rained down, some getting in my ear.   As the clippers pulled away from my head, I could see the finer hair of the side burn was not thick enough to hide the scalp where it transitioned to my face.

Once Samantha had buzzed down she began to taper the hair.  Switching the blades frequently, and using the comb to guide the blades gradually off my scalp sometimes.  

After she’d established the shape of the taper that started high up near the parting, she began to perfect it, smooth it, and blend it with her shears.   She did a combination of scissors over comb and point cutting.  

Snip, shnip, snip, click, shnup, snip, ssnip.

The blades constantly snapped closed as she worked and I felt the gentle rain of just a dusting of hair.  Sometimes, I would feel the cold metal blades against my skin as she nipped up into the hairline.

Samantha paused the snipping and began dusting off my neck, with a big fluffy brush.  Then she swept the hair on my shoulders away, seeming to be deliberately pushing as much forward as possible so it tumbled down my chest to my lap.

“Just imagine how much cooler you are going to feel when working outside on hot days.”  Samantha said to me as she started dusting my face.  “No you are going to need to remember to put sunscreen on your neck, and even up onto your scalp.”

I felt another warm tear begin to fall from my eye when Samantha so casually informed me I no longer had enough hair to protect the skin underneath it.

“A few alligator tears are not going to stop me from doing what is best for you Pepper.”  Samantha told me as she came back with a trimmer.

She pushed my head down, and began to carve in what felt like a very high hairline, well above my natural one.   She steered the humming trimmer up behind my ears, then shaped my side burns with them into little points.  Worst of all, she used them to reshape my hairline next to my face slightly.  

Samantha gave me another quick dusting off, and released the hair she’d clipped up to the top of my head.  The messy shortened locks just barely came down far enough to cover the tops of my ears.  I contemplated how femme I thought I could manage to make an under cut pixie look as Samantha dampened and combed though the hair, I assumed in preparation for trimming it and giving it better shape and texture.  She  combed it down around my head, leving half of it extending over my eyes.

When Samantha had it all evenly damp and smoothed out though, to my horror I felt her insert the tips of the cold scissor into the hair well above my eyebrows.

“No please, not that short…”

Snip

“Stop fussing Pepper.  You can’t work efficiently with hair in your eyes.   And if you have heavy bangs on your forehead, they will get plastered down against your face with sweat.  This will be easy and comfortable.”

Snip, snip, snip

The tips of the scissors travelled across my forehead, as the damp hair fell before my eyes to my lap.  With the hair out of my eyes, I could see the harsh line Samantha had snipped barely an inch below my hair line.  

Samantha combed my new tiny bangs and the hair above them straight up, and clamped it all between her fingers.  Then she began to snip the damp hair at the top of my head even to the same barely more than an inch using the bangs as the guide length.

Shnip, sssssnip, sssshnup,  ssssnip

The hair that had felt so short when Samantha had done the preliminary cut just to remove the length, fell before my eyes in big chunks.  Samantha worked her way back over the top of my head, using the previous section as a guide each time,  Then of course, she repeated the steps, a bit more to the side, snipping the hair from my left temple, then working her way back along the parietal ridge.  After she made the right side match, she repeated the pattern again on the sides of my head, just above the undercut area, though now that the top was cropped so short, it felt less like an undercut.

“You are going to love how quickly this dries now,”  Samantha stated as she got out the hair drier and pointed it at my head, then blasted it for no more than thirty seconds.  “See dry in practically no time, remember how long it used to take me to brush out and dry that mess in your lap.  Isn’t this better?”

I just shook my head no slowly as I looked at the severe crop and another tear rolled down my cheek.  I looked so small and vulnerable without my hair.  I felt so unfeminine.  It was weird feeling both so sad, and so turned on at the exact same time.

“You’ll appreciate it more, once I’ve given it a few finishing touches,”  Samantha told me as picked up her thinning shears.  

I just kept quietly crying as I listened to Samantha use the thinning shear to blend out any lines left.  She combed up through the short crop, snapping the thinning sheer against the comb as she did.

Chomp, chomp, click, shomp, chomp, click.

A faint dust of hair rained down to my shoulder, much like pepper from a shaker, reminding me why I had chosen my nom de plume.  It seemed to go on forever, Samantha putting in what felt like more effort than she’d ever given my long hair.

Eventually, she seemed to have decided that there were no more lines to be seen in the taper, because she switched to a different set of thinning shears, with rougher teeth, and began to methodically thin out the cropped hair on the top of my head. Combing a section up, and chomping the toothy blades closed first close to the scalp, then about halfway along the length, and finally near the ends.   As much as I had hated the crop, I hated watching her make it lay flatter and flatter against my scalp.  The way it clung, emphasized the shape of my head, in a way that made it look even more bare.

“You’re going to enjoy what comes next,”   Samantha claimed as she brushed away cut hairs from my face, neck, and shoulders.  

She went over to the towel warmer, and I felt both horror and excitement as I knew she was about to do to me what she’d been doing to the man before me.  I felt the nearly burning hot towel placed onto my neck.  Then Samantha squirted a little gell onto her fingers, which she worked into a lather against my skin.  She applied the lather, not just to the hairline on my neck, but spread it up and around my ear, then to my side burns, and finally to the hairline next to my temple.

I held my breath as Samantha pulled the skin taught and glided the exposed blade over my skin, shaving away the faint stubble.  I was especially terrified as the blade scraped up along my temple, reshaping the hairline ever so subtly.

I simply closed my eyes, as Samantha wiped me off, then made a few tiny touch ups with the trimmer and then the clippers.

“There we go.”  Samantha said as she unbuckled the belt trapping me.  “Now isn’t that just so much better than all that messy hair.   We should have done this ten years ago.  I noticed some of the coincidences in the very first story, but at the time it just felt like coincidences.  I just wish it hadn’t taken me quite so long to figure things out.”

I watched as Samantha took the cape off, unceremoniously dumping my once treasured crowning glory to the dirty floor.   With a shaking hand I reached up to feel the taper on the back of my head.  It did feel amazing as I’d known it would from having pet the backs of other people’s heads.  

“I look like a little boy,”  I complained as Samantha held up a mirror to show me the perfectly neatly tapered neckline.  “It’s going to be years before any woman looks twice at me.  And I thought my dating life was bad now.”

“Alex, don’t be silly,”  Samantha smiled,  “you are an incredibly handsome woman, and you know how many lesbians love a good short haircut.  You absolutely could have almost any woman you wanted, though they might be expecting a masc instead of a femme my handsome woman.  Of course even though you could, I have decided  you don’t need to worry about dating anymore.”

I prickled a bit at being called handsome, but the last statement was what confused me.  “I don’t need to worry about dating?”

“You don’t think I have noticed how many Pepper Punnister stories end with your main character going out with the barber she has a crush on?”

“Uh…” I flushed with embarrassment.  

“I keep a small apartment and office upstairs.”  Samantha said as she took my hand and began leading me away from the chair surrounded by my hair.  “I have your dream romantic evening all planned out.  The bed is made up with the finest cotton sateen sheets, and a feather bed, there is your favorite item from the Chinese takeout restraunt in the fridge for ua to heat up after we have made love for a little while.   I even found someone to recreate that obscure discontinued scent of bubble bath you love.   You didn’t think I would get you this turned on then leave you high and dry did you?”

I felt my slack jaw hanging down as I shook my head, “No Mistress.”

“Now come along.”

I followed Samantha up, and allowed her to simply give me the most magical evening of my life.  It was filled with details from practically every one of the stories I’d written over the past ten years.

!HAPPY 10th ANNIVERSARY HSN!