A beautiful Saturday afternoon.

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A beautiful Saturday afternoon.

 

At the private club I sometimes visit, I have – after some wrong choices – truly found my angel. Unfortunately, she is a favorite among many clients, so it isn’t always possible to make an appointment with her. Luckily, this Saturday it worked out.

 

The last time I visited her was about three weeks ago. I had to laugh a bit that day when she said it had been so long. Indeed, almost three months. Secretly, I had brought a pair of scissors and a comb in my jacket pocket. As soon as my little hair-trimming issue came up and I confessed, she didn’t waste any time. She immediately got up from the bed and grabbed those items from my jacket.

 

We played a delightful game, and when I gave her the green light to really cut an inch, she could hardly contain herself. At least, that’s what I thought I saw in her eyes. She tugged, combed, and pretended to really be cutting. It came very close to reality. I was under the impression, or rather hallucinating, that she was actually cutting. Until she said, “I’m not cutting anything, you know, a fantasy should remain a fantasy.” That gave me a feeling of disappointment but at the same time a huge relief. The coward that I am.

 

As the cherry on top of our game, she did cut a piece of my chest hair. I found that very exciting because it surprised me that she did it. After an hour, we said our goodbyes.

 

This Saturday afternoon, I was greeted by her with the usual enthusiasm. She slowly undressed me and set the tone for this appointment: “Everything off, because no hair should get on your clothes… Just teasing… or maybe not.” Kissing under the rain shower, she scratched her nails over my chest and, of course, my hair.

 

We dried off and, kissing, ended up on the bed. She sat on my lap in the yab yum position and played a bit with my hair. “I think you’ve secretly been to the hairdresser since you were last here. Naughty! The hairdresser must have been stingy. Not much is gone, but I noticed right away.”

 

“Yes, something had to be done. It looked terrible after all those months, and if I have to wait for you…” She looked at me open-mouthed and responded surprised. She gave me a shove on the shoulder to show that my comment didn’t sit well with her.

 

I continued with my story: “I didn’t know where to go and eventually ended up in a small salon not far from my house. A nice and beautiful woman who listened well to my wishes, and I left quite happy. But from the first time I washed it at home, I couldn’t get it to look good again. Probably because she started slicing at some point. I know from experience that cutting my hair with a razor does no good.”

 

“So, are you leaving it as it is now? Because you don’t sound happy about it.”

 

“Ah, luckily it’s only a few centimeters off. I can do anything with it. I’ll see. To go looking for a new hairdresser after a few weeks…”

 

“Oh? So I’m completely out of the picture?” she said, making a disappointed face.

 

“No, of course not. I’m here, right? But as you always say, it’s very exciting and I don’t want to do anything rash or burden you with it. We talked about trimming a bit last time, and that’s only just been done. You said it should remain a fantasy, right?”

 

She answered, “For now, yes. A little build-up of tension doesn’t hurt. You know, there’s a girl here who knows how to cut hair and sometimes does it for her family? Haha, I won’t say who. She gave me good advice if I ever wanted to do it.”

 

“Tell me, I’m curious…”

 

“She said that if it’s purely about the game, the fun of someone wanting to cut your hair, then it’s best to cut very little. That’s what I was thinking too, at least initially. And if you really want to cut, start with much less than you actually want off. If it’s uneven, you can still correct it. But…”

 

“Yes, but what…?”

 

“She also mentioned a saying about amateur hairdressers: They start with two centimeters off, and when they’re done, there’s only two centimeters left. She meant well, giving it as a warning that things can go differently than expected. If it’s really your thing, she thought you should go for it completely. Cutting it radically short. The shorter, the less can go wrong.”

 

I laughed. “Of course, no hair always looks good.” “That hairdresser from two weeks ago said I didn’t inherit the good genes in terms of hair. I told her my father had nice hair, but my younger brother shaved it off years ago. Bald. I was a bit shocked when she asked: ‘But that’s not your thing?’ No hairdresser had ever asked me that. Naturally, I said no.”

 

“Would you say no to me too?”

 

“It depends on what you’re asking me…”

 

“May I cut your hair? Completely short. Like this…” She made a gesture with about a centimeter space between her thumb and index finger. “Or even shorter.”

 

Unexpectedly, she pulled out a pair of scissors and clamped her legs around me. Her body pressed against mine.

 

“Silence gives consent…” As she spoke those words, she spread her fingers through my hair, lifted a lock, and resolutely cut off the hair that extended beyond her fingers.

 

“Hmm, I can tell you like this. Trust me, you won’t regret it.”

 

I saw a considerable lock of hair fall before my eyes, some of it landing on her cleavage. As I watched, I moved my chin toward my chest, not realizing it made it easier for her to reach everywhere. It also unintentionally gave the impression of “go ahead.”

 

I felt helpless. Each time, she ran her fingers through my hair again. She switched places and then suddenly cut another large chunk. Without following any particular direction. Just cutting for the sake of cutting, is how I can best describe it and how I experienced it. She had me in her power, and she realized it very well.

 

Her breathing and how she kept her body close to me testified that she was also enjoying it. Maybe even more than I was.

 

She put the scissors down for a moment. Grabbing my now much shorter hair firmly, she gave me an intense French kiss that took what little breath I had left away. Then she paused, looked at me with a smile like the Mona Lisa’s, deeply into my eyes, for minutes. Before picking up the scissors again. It didn’t take long before she was done with the rough work. My heavens, what a pile of hair I saw on and beside us.

 

“I’m not done yet!” We both moved a bit to avoid getting cramps from sitting in the same position for a while.

 

“Now I’m going to make it really short. Everywhere the same length. I’ll try at least.”

 

That last sentence didn’t inspire much confidence, but she didn’t show any further hesitation. She continued by lifting my now shorter hair between her fingers, pressing her hand against my head, and then slowly and precisely cutting everything above her fingers. Everything became one finger-width long.

 

The way she did it… I had to hold back from screaming with pleasure.

 

After about twenty minutes, she seemed to be finished. “Come, let’s rinse off those loose hairs.” She took me by the hand to the shower. First, she rinsed the hair off her slender body, then she began washing the loose hairs off my head with a little shampoo. A heavenly feeling. We embraced each other tightly. Her beautiful long hair also got wet. With our wet bodies and the steam of the warm water around us, we started making love.

 

After a while, we stepped out of the shower. “Sit down.” She directed me back to the bed. With her back to me, she bent over to her bag. Her tight buttocks tensed in that position, and I couldn’t take my eyes off them.

 

She pulled a hairdryer from her bag and plugged it into the socket next to the bed. Once again, she sat on my lap and gently began drying my hair on the lowest setting. She rubbed my hair in all directions with her hand.

 

My super short hair was dry in a few minutes. “It turned out quite well. Do you want to see?”

 

She reached out to a small hand mirror she had placed next to the bed. “Close your eyes first. I’m curious what you think. I think it’s a big improvement… go ahead, open them.”

 

I had to be shocked and let it show. Not that I found it ugly, but still. It was quite a change. “I have to get used to it,” I said.

 

“Yes, I can imagine. I think you’re brave to let me do this. It suits you well. It couldn’t be better, unless you take the advice of that hairdresser from two weeks ago.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Maybe I can persuade you to do what she hinted at but couldn’t get you to do… You have to get used to it anyway, so if there’s a time to go all the way, it’s now. Whether you get used to one thing or another, it doesn’t matter, right?”

 

“You mean bald?” I said shocked.

 

“No, not completely smooth, but with the clippers, to a few millimeters or so. Like the length of a five-day beard. If you then also grow such a beard, you’ll have to beat the ladies off with a stick, I fear.”

 

“You’re joking…”

 

“No, seriously. You’re really the type for this, and I can already see it will look amazing on you. I think you’ve been fantasizing about this for a long time, so I say go for it. You only live once. In a month, it will be back to the length it is now, unless you come back to me in a few weeks and beg me on your knees to shave it again.”

 

She gets off the bed and walks over to the bag I brought with me. “See, I knew it!” She pulls out the clippers and returns to the bed. She sits up straight with her back against the wall.

“Turn around and lay your head between my legs.”

 

I slowly lower myself, my head resting on her lower abdomen. “Slide down a bit more… perfect, stay like that.” I’m now lying between her legs…

 

She gently strokes my hair back and “click, buzz…” she turns the clippers on, placing them at my hairline and slowly draws them back.

 

“Oh, that’s still quite long. Let me set it a bit shorter.” She runs the clippers over the same path on my head again. “Yes! That’s exactly right.”

I see nothing, just the clippers in her hand repeatedly moving towards my forehead. I feel the hair sliding down the sides of my face and ears.

 

I lose all sense of time. The buzzing of the clippers feels like that of an alien spaceship. I experience it as something otherworldly.

 

She whispers, “Turn your head, face down…” guiding me with her hand so I can’t lift it very high. “If you want, you can practice using your tongue. But stay just like this.”

 

While I indulge in her, I feel the clippers at the nape of my neck, slowly moving upwards. She has a soft, sweet, and moist taste. There’s no doubt she’s enjoying this. Sometimes she pauses the clippers to let out a sigh that turns into a light moan.

“Almost there and…” She cries out during the final pass of the clippers over my head.

 

We lie in each other’s arms for a few minutes, wordless. Then she tidies up the missed spots. “Wow, I never thought you’d let me do this. Honestly, I didn’t expect I’d dare to do it either. Don’t look in the mirror now, wait until you get home. It looks really good on you, I mean it.”

 

I shower off the loose hairs again, she gives me a big hug and a kiss, and we say goodbye. As I walk out the door, she calls after me, “See you in two weeks…”

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