Mistake or Not

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MISTAKE OR NOT

 

Part Two of the Mistake Series

 

By Dreadlocks

 

It was Saturday morning, and I had just dropped Matt off at his cousin’s for the weekend. My sister had been shocked, to say the least. I had had long blonde hair for most of my life, and for her to see me so brutally shorn was incredibly embarrassing.

It had always been sort of an unspoken contest between us as we grew up, one that I had always won. Anne’s hair was mousey brown and had no body to it whatsoever, in spite of everything she did to it to make it less so. My hair had always been blonde, although it had darkened some since my towhead days as a youngster. I had always been proud of it and knew that it was probably one of my best features.

Now, without the protection of that luscious blonde shield, I felt naked in front of my sister. It took her a good ten minutes before she had stopped gawking and slowly realized that for the first time, she had the upper hand.

“What on earth were you thinking, Clair?” Anne questioned, unconsciously running her hand over her shoulder-length hair, which she had just recently permed. It was colored in a Balayage, so the tips were the lightest platinum and the roots, her usual color.

“It was all a mistake, actually.” I admitted, remembering how Jimmy had lured me into his chair, that damned number still clutched between my thumb and fingers. “Matt took two numbers when we were at Jimmy’s last week, and without thinking I hung onto the other one.”

“So, you just let him do this to you?” Anne chuckled, finding some humor in the story.

“I was next.” I sighed. “It was like I couldn’t stop it from happening.” I knew how ridiculous it sounded, but to me, it was still the source of incredible arousal. I couldn’t remember masturbating so much as I had that week. Now, with my younger sister making light of my situation, I found myself wet all over again. It was as though I was turned on by her apparent superiority. There I was, sitting in her kitchen, shorn, and for all intents and purposes, unfuckable. With her new style flowing over her shoulders, Anne seemed to tower over me, and she was taking advantage of that position.

“Do you like my new style, Clair?” Anne spun in her chair, causing her hair to billow out, accentuating the length and luster of the cut and color.

I couldn’t help but nod. “It’s lovely,” I admitted, coyly.

“You know, I never realized just how big your ears are, Sis.” Anne dug, knowing how it would affect me.

I couldn’t help but reach up and cover them with my hands. It had been the one thing I was the most embarrassed about, and Anne couldn’t help herself. The weird thing was, the fact that my ‘bat ears’ as I had begun to call them, stuck out so embarrassingly far, was another source of arousal for me.

My hair had always covered my ears, all but the very tips, and I only ever noticed them when I showered or wore my hair up. I fact, I had stopped wearing my hair up at all, because they seemed so…’odd’.

The humiliation of my sister calling me out for them was too much, and I felt a gush of moisture between my legs. I needed to go, despite my strange enjoyment of her belittlement.

As I was leaving, Anne couldn’t help it. “You know, Clair, that’s going to take an absolute age to grow out.”

I didn’t answer, quickly making my way out to my minivan, nearly tripping over an overturned tricycle on the walk. I hadn’t driven more than a few blocks before the urge was too great. With one hand on the wheel, my right drifted under the waistband of my jeans, finding my hairless sex sopping from my demeaning encounter with my sister.

The morning after my husband had left for his business trip, I had relieved myself of my pubic hair. I had just taken a shower and the bush just seemed so out of place. With nothing to do with my hair other than towel it dry, I reached for one of my husband’s razors and, without a second of hesitation, began shaving.

         My blonde bush was long, but the hair was thin and sparse, so it took less than a minute before I was as completely smooth. At first, it looked so strange. I hadn’t looked like that since I was ten.

         After reclining on the bed and allowing my fingers to explore my new nakedness, I began to realize the advantages of a hairless pussy. “Why did I wait so long to do that?” I questioned myself, aloud. Whatever the fate of the hair on my head, this at least was going to remain hairless.

Unfortunately, traffic and the constant stopping and starting had kept me from achieving an orgasm while I was driving. Whether it was a conscious decision or not, the route I had chosen took me right by Jimmy’s barbershop. I slowed as I passed, noticing how busy it was inside. I could see the row of heads running down the one wall of the shop, all waiting for Jimmy’s clippers to have at them. That thought only made me hornier still.

I remembered Jimmy’s “You’ll need that cut every week” as I had walked out of his shop, and then my husband having promised him that I’d be there. It was all feeling like a dreadful mistake, but it was a double-edged sword.

The incredible humiliation I had experienced as I tried to explain my new haircut to friends and family had been almost unbearable. On the other hand, that same humiliation had turned me into an insatiable nymphomaniac. I had never been a prude, but what was happening to me was ridiculous. One day I had counted no less than six times I had been unable to stop myself from masturbating.

I sat in my driveway, knowing that if I went inside, I would inevitably end up sprawled on the living room floor, naked and moaning like the wanton slut I had become. I had come to terms with that fact, and had begun to realize that I was indeed a slut for humiliation.

I knew that I wasn’t a slut in the way that most people would think of it, the idea of cheating on my husband having never crossed my mind. No, this was different. I had seen sites on the internet concerning gooning and edging, and thought of myself in those terms. Thinking of myself like that, a slut for mindless self-gratification, only drove me deeper. It was a downward spiral that I didn’t want to fight.

Suddenly determined, I threw the van into reverse and drove back into town. I could see the barber pole spinning as I waited, somewhat impatiently at the light and my heart was in my throat. A parking spot had opened up a few doors down from Jimmy’s and I pulled in, not really caring how close to the curb I was.

I sat there for a moment, knowing what was ahead of me; knowing the looks I would get as I walked into that predominantly male domain. There was no one with me this time, no, there would be no mistaking why I was there.

Just as they had in the shop a week before, my legs magically carried me down the sidewalk until I stood facing the window of the shop. It was just as busy as it had been a few minutes before. Spying an empty chair near the back of the shop, I made my way inside.

I could feel every set of eyes upon me as I made my way to the chair, sitting abruptly on the worn plastic seat.

“You’ll have to take a number.” I heard a voice call out.

Looking up, I realized that there were now three barbers working, one of them having made the demand. I took a deep breath and walked over to the infamous number rack and tore off a 36. Nothing special about it, just a number in a line of numbers that each of the men held in their fingers. Mine was just another.

The procession of haircuts went fairly quickly with three barbers working, but my usual fascination with men’s haircuts had seemed to fade. I had progressed farther than that, farther into that fantasy. I had now become an active participant.

“35!” One of the barbers called out, a young man with sandy blonde hair jumping at the order. I was next. I ran a hand over my head, realizing that what was once nearly shaved to the skin was now stubble, and what was once stubble was now of almost discernible length. If I pinched my fingers into it, I might actually be able to seize a few hairs between my nails. Realizing what I was doing, I threw my hands back in my lap, but my little display hadn’t gone unnoticed. Jimmy had seen and he eyed me over the top of the head he was clipping.

I almost hoped that one of the other barbers would finish first so that I wouldn’t have to face the knowing comments Jimmy was sure to make. Of course, I knew that it would inevitably be Jimmy. It was his shop, and he would see to it that I would find my way into his chair.

“36!” One of the other barbers called out, and for a moment I thought I might be spared the humiliation of Jimmy’s attentions.

“I’ve got her.” Jimmy insisted.

Nodding the barber moved on. “37!” An older man stood and walked to the chair.

So now I waited, holding a number that now meant nothing. I watched as Jimmy put the final touches on the young man with the sandy blonde hair. It was a nice cut. Jimmy was capable of styling hair, but that was not my fate.

Shaking out the cape, Jimmy looked my way. “Clair!”

He had called me by name, now everyone knew it. Clair was here to get her hair cut in a men’s barbershop. I could feel their stares as I walked to the chair, backing in and being enveloped by its leather and chromed steel.

“Hello, Clair,” Jimmy said, quietly, as he fastened the elastic neckband around me. With a flourish, he wrapped me in the red and white striped cape, which fell nearly to my ankles.

“Jimmy,” I whispered, unable to manage more.

“No Matt today?” He asked, perhaps to lighten the mood.

“No. My husband thinks it’s time for him to grow it out a little.”

“But not you, huh?” Jimmy prodded.

“No.” I looked down, almost ashamed of my behavior.

“Well, young lady. Not much to work with here.” He said, loud enough so everyone in the shop could hear. “I guess we’ll give you the same as last week, yeah?”

Not knowing why, I made the most ridiculous request. “Maybe a little shorter?”

“Shorter.” Jimmy chuckled under his breath. “Shorter it is.”

I watched as he grabbed those insipid trimmers and turned them on, their quiet hum a deception. Before they even touched my forehead, I could feel an orgasm building in my center. I was horrified that I might actually come right in the chair, in front of all these men; in front of Jimmy.

The warm steel made contact with my skin, and without hesitation, I felt them push over the top of my head, peeling off any hair that had managed to sprout in the short time since my last cut. He was more forceful this time, pushing my head from side to side as he worked. With two final strokes, he ran them over my eyebrows, no comb this time. He was done, and I was a bit dizzy.

“That’s a little shorter.” He mused, rubbing his hand over the top.

I knew I was sopping wet under the cape, and I could feel that it had soaked into the crotch of my jeans. I dreaded the moment when that cape came off.

“I’m thinking it’s not quite short enough for you, though, is it?” Jimmy eyed me, his mouth in a smirk.

“No.” I mouthed, silently.

“That’s what I thought.” The whine of the lather dispenser gave me a chill, and as the warm fragrant foam was spread over my head, I came. Jimmy knew it, and I’m sure that a few of the men sitting across from me knew it too. He just smiled, knowing exactly what had just occurred, but didn’t miss a beat as his straight razor began stripping away any last vestiges of my once glorious hair.

Not satisfied with once, jimmy re-lathered me and shaved me a second time, much to the amusement of the all-male audience. Not to leave something incomplete as an afterthought, Jimmy swiped a little lather over my brows and with two quick strokes had rid me of those as well.

The warm towel felt wonderful as it was placed over my head, but as it was drawn away I could feel just how bald I really was.

“Almost done, Clair.” Again using my name, I think to personalize what he had done to me. He grabbed a small jar from the shelf and rubbed it over my head. Then it was as though he was polishing his car as he rubbed a dry cloth over my head. I could feel the warmth from the friction as my scalp was brought to a gleaming shine, this perfect egg that reflected the fluorescent lights in detail as I looked at myself in the mirror.

Jimmy leaned in and I knew he was about to say something that would humiliate me no end. “I wonder what happened to that drop-dead blonde that walked into my shop last week? You’re nothing but a pop-eared baldie now. Aren’t ya?” He playfully flicked one of my ears with his index finger and I nearly came again.

To my surprise, I answered, “Yes, Sir, I am.” I knew I had turned every shade of red imaginable as I said it, but it was nothing but the truth. And just as I had suspected, I was treated to further humiliation as Jimmy pulled off the cape only to reveal my arousal to all as I stood.

“Fifty.” Jimmy insisted, as he walked me to the register. It was a ridiculous amount, but I also knew, that he knew, it was feeding my humiliation. To pay so much only to be humbled and humiliated by him was part of this ‘game’ if you will.

I fingered two twenties and a ten from my purse and handed it to him and watched it disappear into his pocket. “Thanks.” I offered, as strange as that seemed.

I felt a strange draw towards his man who had robbed me of my femininity, leaving me a ‘pop-eared baldie’ as he had said. The creature that looked back at me from the mirror was both frightening and incredibly arousing. That ‘thing’ was me.

“Wednesdays and Saturdays from now on. Is that understood, young lady?”

“Yes, I understand,” I answered, meekly. “I thought you were closed on Wednesdays, Jimmy.” I remembered.

“We are, Clair. Oh, and it’s ‘Sir’ to you from now on.

3 responses to “Mistake or Not

  1. I have loved reading Part 1 of the story years ago, and I must say that Part 2 is equally great! The air of authority of the barber is absolutely amazing and would love to see him weild his dominance over her in Part 3 as well. Keep up the good work!

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