Amelia Seeks Equality, Part 1 – The Early Years

Prologue

In college, I learned to smile. To sway my hips just so. I wore skirts that were short enough to make boys stutter and to prompt girls to blush before averting their gaze. My hair still ended above my shoulders, but I compensated. For those times when I stood in front of someone, I learned the most alluring way to apply makeup, the most provocative way to dress, and the most attractive way to pose. In summary, although my hair was short, I finally became noticeable, influential, and persuasive.

But still, I saw them. The ones with hair that brushed their backsides. Those who tossed their ponytails over their shoulders like they were throwing down a gauntlet. And other who swung thick braids behind their backs, pretending they were not flaunting themselves. I found it frustrating.

Everyone admired them. Even desired them. And undoubtedly worshipped them. Well, apart from me.

While they may have envied me for my legs, my lips, and my figure, it would never extend to my hair. And why would it when my locks were so unremarkable?

The upset had commenced when I was first old enough to brush my own hair and had found myself lacking. Then it continued throughout my formative years, the annoyance growing and the resentment festering.

If we were all born equal, hair would not have been an issue, despite people calling me weird or unbalanced.

My Formative Era

When my friends began comparing whose hair was the longest and whose hair was growing more quickly, I remained on the fringe of their discussions. My own hair stubbornly refused to grow past my shoulders, and it just hung down unflatteringly each side of my face. I grew more introverted as each of my former friends, without a care, flaunted their long tresses in front of me.

I remember one occasion when I convinced Helen, a newcomer in town, to pop around to my house, where I suggested playing at hairdressers. She had sat on the floor in front of me, allowing me to put her hair in two untidy braids. Licking my lips, with craft scissors near my hands, it was the perfect opportunity to begin levelling up the playing field. With the thought lodged in my mind, I embraced the prospect of working towards equality. And I came close to achieving it.

However, at that very moment, my mother interrupted us. Frightened as I was by authority figures at that tender age, I tearfully managed to convince her that Helen and I were just playing. Thereafter, she gave me uneasy sidelong glances whenever I had scissors in my hand, and she steadfastly locked them away whenever I was in the vicinity of someone with long hair. Helen’s mother never allowed her daughter to play at our house again and, more than once, I heard my mother whispering to anyone that would listen that she thought I was weird.

Her reaction seemed excessive for a single incident in what was clearly an unfair situation. Given the strength of her feeling, I had often pondered whether other incidents might have taken place that I had since blocked out from my mind. Certainly, the inequality persisted, and the temptation was always lingering in the back of my mind.

To the best of my recollection, I did not tempt fate in that way again, but the hair on my dolls took a battering. Once they had an abbreviated haircut, I kept them hidden from Mother in the back of the wardrobe. However, one day she screamed when she discovered them. Sighing loudly, she became tearful, and she was uninterested in hearing my excuses. I tried to comfort her, but she bawled me out, repeating that I was weird.

I thought she was being unfair. After all, it was her fault that I was not born equal. After that episode I became a recluse, studying intensely for qualifications. Filling my spare time by drawing pictures of women having their long hair cut, I vowed that one day I would recommence my legitimate and necessary mission to achieve equality.

My College Phase

My intense years of study earned me a scholarship for a college of further education to study business matters. Finally, I was living away from home and avoiding the damaging influence of my weird mother. I considered the options for accommodation, finally settling on sharing a flat with another female student in a converted town house near the campus.

Eve, also eighteen and in her first year, reminded me of my friend Helen from years earlier. The earnest expression, the round spectacles, and the long braids that stretched to her hips were all similar. Despite her plain appearance, her short feminine dresses and all that hair were, I soon realised, enough to attract any person she wanted.

She tolerated me, but then, with my introvert personality and barely shoulder-length hair, I would not have expected anything more. We were not equal.

Within weeks of starting college, I began shaking off my shyness and smiling in a way that resulted in others noticing me. I taught myself to sway my hips just so and wear skirts that ended high enough to make boys stutter and encourage girls to admire. While my hair still steadfastly stayed above my shoulders, I compensated. Eve taught me the most alluring way to apply makeup, the most provocative way to dress, and the most attractive way to pose when confronting someone. In short, people stared and they listened to what I had to say.

= = =

Once I had established my new persona, I took to curling my hair with an expensive styling wand I had convinced Mother to buy me for Christmas. It added volume and interest to my boring hair, and Eve, as I had hoped, noticed.

‘Wow, Amelia, your hair looks so cool!’ she gushed. ‘Do you think you could do mine the same? I have always had the curse of straight hair. I know my curly hair would still be considerably longer than yours,’ she said condescendingly, ‘but with the waves like that, it would look so cool.’

Yes, Eve, you had to taunt me that your hair is longer than mine, I grumbled in my mind, but I did not voice my thoughts. ‘I would love to, Eve,’ I purred sweetly. ‘I expect you will look even better than me.’

‘Yes, I expect I will,’ she agreed brightly, not even considering the damage she was doing by saying those words. ‘How exciting.’

She quickly moved a chair into the middle of the room and eagerly sat down. Having unravelled her braids – not trusting me to do it, even when I offered – she settled expectantly with her long hair grotesquely hanging loose, almost skimming the floor.

I took a thin tendril and wrapped it carefully around the body of the wand. I knew, with its expensive price tag, that it would be capable of doing a wonderful job, even on Eve’s extravagantly long hair. It would require me to conscientiously adjust it correctly.

Unfortunately, I managed to alter the settings of the curling wand so that they were completely unsuitable.

‘Sorry, Eve,’ I sighed. ‘The curl is just not taking. I have turned up the setting to eleven,’ I lied, ‘but I imagine your hair is just too long and heavy to be curled like mine.’

‘Oh,’ she pouted, as I beamed at her, puffing up my wavy locks with my palm. ‘That is so unfair,’ she complained, crossing her arms as if it were my fault. ‘I was looking forward to having my hair like yours.’

Really, Eve, I thought to myself, then you should be careful what you wish for.

‘Sorry,’ I empathised gravely. ‘It might just be the ends of your hair are too weak to hold a curl,’ I improvised.

‘Do you really think so?’ she asked thoughtfully, looking suddenly brighter. I nodded, allowing the silence to stretch out. ‘Er, Amelia, I know this is lots to ask,’ she said, taking a deep breath, ‘but do you think you could cut my hair for me?’

I thought you would never ask, I chuckled internally, but I managed to keep my face suitably grave.

Allowing my fingers to run through the ends of her hair, she shivered. ‘Eve, I don’t know…’

‘Oh, please,’ she smiled coyly. ‘I so much want my hair like yours.’

Careful what you wish for, I repeated to myself, failing to stifle a giggle. She rewarded my mild outburst with a sidelong glance that suggested she was considering whether I was weird. After that, I kept my feeling of happiness to myself.

‘Fine, Eve, if you’re sure,’ I said nonchalantly, eagerly retrieving the sharp scissors I knew to be just inside the kitchen drawer… where I had placed them.

‘Absolutely!’ She nodded eagerly.

‘Okay, just relax then, Eve, and I won’t cut any more than necessary,’ I said convincingly, appreciating that her understanding of what was necessary might differ from mine.

‘Fine, Amelia, I trust you,’ she replied less convincingly, but it demonstrated that my newly acquired influencing skills were working to my advantage.

Without further ado, I positioned the blades around her thick hair at the middle of her back. I was extremely careful not to press the scissors against her body, leaving her unaware of how high I was cutting.

I closed the blades together, and there was a satisfying crunch as they instantly halved the length of her tresses on one side. Almost two feet of healthy hair tumbled to the floor behind her and hit the kitchen floor with a delightful plop.

‘Wow, I can actually feel the difference, Amelia,’ she crooned. ‘It almost feels like you have cut off more than just the ends.’

Well, you told me to cut it, and, at no time, did I say that I was only trimming the ends, I mentally scoffed.

‘That is just one side, Eve. I need to even it up,’ I warned. ‘So, please stay still,’ I ordered.

Eve went stiff at my imposing words and my commanding tone. She remained silent, holding her breath.

I cut the hair covering the other side of her back. I made a show of running my hand down what remained of the length, and the ends were not level. Looking good, I thought to myself.

I gave a theatrical sigh of exasperation. ‘You really need to stay sitting up completely straight, Eve,’ I chided, ‘as the line is all crooked.’

‘Crooked?’ she echoed.

I nodded. ‘So, now I need to take off a bit more.’

‘More?’ she parroted, tension creeping into her voice as she adjusted her position.

‘You want it equal, don’t you?’ I mocked.

‘Yes,’ she whimpered, freezing like a statue.

‘Then stay still,’ I insisted, loving the persuasive edge that was creeping into my voice.

I adjusted my position too, tripping on the huge pile of hair that had collected at my feet. Carefully placing the scissors in a line just below her shoulder blades, I closed the blades. The satisfying crunch resulted in my feet blanketed by more of Eve’s former hair. But there was something else. From nowhere, a jolt of raw, primaeval pleasure shot through my whole body, zinging cartoon-like up and down my spine and settling pleasantly between my thighs.

‘Is it equal now, Amelia?’ she whined. ‘It feels ever so light.’

‘Nearly. ‘Just the final adjustments needed to achieve equality and keep the blunt line,’ I confirmed. I was barely able to keep the smugness from my voice as I shortened her hair even more, so the ends hung in a blunt line above her shoulders. ‘But because you kept moving around,’ I sniggered, my hands shaking with the excitement of it all, ‘it may be a little shorter than you were expecting.’

Eve’s hands went to the back of her head, and she screamed. She looked down, around at her feet, staring in disbelief when she saw the huge pile of hair gathered there. Charging over to the mirror on the kitchen wall, her eyes widened. She tugged the ends of her hair that hung down disconsolately like a spaniel’s ears, still unable to make sense of what had occurred.

I could make no sense of it either, as my mind and body were strangely, but undeniably, aroused by what I had just done. Who knew?

‘It wasn’t me moving about that was the problem,’ she snapped accusingly, wagging a finger in my face. I thought she was going to slap me, but my new confident persona did not flinch away. ‘It was you… you were jealous of my long hair.’

I shrugged, deliberately giving off the air that I was not disagreeing with her assessment. ‘You clearly said you wanted me to cut it so that it could be curled, just like mine –’

‘I know,’ she moaned, tugging ineffectively on the abbreviated ends of her hair, ‘but not cut this short.’

‘It needs to be this short to hold for the curling wand to work,’ I explained patiently.

‘But it’s even shorter than yours now,’ she whimpered.

‘Do you think so?’ I asked, studying her hair with a mock serious expression. ‘Yes, I do believe you’re correct,’ I concluded, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice.

‘Amelia!’ she said, exasperated, stamping a foot in desperation. ‘What am I going to do? It is so short!’

I cocked my head to one side provocatively, fingering my chin thoughtfully. ‘It’s cute though,’ I purred coyly.

It was like a bolt of lightning had struck her body, her anger dissipating and replaced by something else entirely. ‘Cute?’ I nodded, maintaining my pose. ‘Me?’ she asked, suddenly looking at me in a transformed way. ‘Wow!’

‘So, Eve, would you like me to use the curling wand on your hair?’ I asked sweetly.

‘Would you, Amelia?’ I nodded. ‘Yes, please,’ she nodded eagerly, her cruelly foreshortened hair flapping around like the ears of a boisterous Labrador puppy.

She sat there quietly as I set to work with the curling wand on its maximum hold setting. Without apology, I gave her an unflattering froth of tight curls that likened her to Shirley Temple. Although, in a strange way, she did look cute, and that thought added fuel to my arousal.

I clicked photos on my phone to show her how she now looked. However, more importantly, the photos provided a tangible record of the start of my campaign for equality.

‘It’s… it’s so short, Amelia,’ Eve stuttered, ‘but nice that we’re both the same now, isn’t it?’

‘Equal in some ways,’ I agreed, smirking contentedly.

Epilogue

Unequal as it was in other ways, it had been fun for a while having Eve at my beck and call. But her subservience under my growing influence became too cloying after a while. After a couple of weeks, I moved out to a smaller flat, despite Eve’s entreaties for me to stay. But in my new place I could be on my own and continue my mission.

Although I was pleased with my initial success, immediately after I had cut her hair, I had been concerned about the ramifications of my action. Would she complain about me to friends and even express a view that I might be weird? However, nothing could have been further from the truth. She had swept up her mounds of former hair and happily tossed it in the kitchen bin without an apparent care, and she could not do enough for me around the flat.

Thereafter, Eve begged me to curl her hair whenever I had a free moment. And she even spoke of looking forward to her first trim when she might want me to cut her hair even shorter. In a complete turnaround from our initial relationship, she insisted on tagging along whenever I went out. I only had to sleep with her once to keep her that keen. However, without the arousal associated with ridding her of her long hair, it was a dismal experience.

The ‘old’ Amelia would have never been able to exert such a strong influence over such an attractive and confident person. It was an excellent test of my capabilities, but I had completed my work with Eve. I had achieved equality in the most important way with one person, so that is why I knew I had to move on to seek further opportunities.

= = =

My college course, studying all aspects of business, had started well. I applied the same level of dedication as I had to the exams that earned me the scholarship. However, it still left me time to undertake extracurricular activities in pursuit of my mission. That said, if I had cut the hair of all my long-haired flatmates, then people might start to think I was a bit weird.

So, bumping into Jilly, quite literally, was extremely fortuitous. As I was walking down a corridor after lectures one morning, preoccupied and irritated by a long and bouncy ponytail attached to the person in front of me, I staggered straight into Jilly. As she bumbled out of her classroom, she had a large and colourful poster in her hands, hiding her from view.

‘Sorry,’ she said distractedly, as she pinned the artwork to the noticeboard.

Jilly, in her mid-thirties, had short-cropped hair, shaved on one side, spiked on the other, and coloured electric violet. The tartan miniskirt, opaque tights in a shade close to that of her hair, and the black lace top screamed ‘art lecturer’. However, from reading the poster, I gathered she was a senior tutor in the cosmetology department, specialising in hairdressing.

‘I doubt it will do any good,’ she said, standing back to check the positioning of the sign. ‘I would ask you to be a model for the students, but they need more hair to work with during their training. Trying to grow yours, are you?’ she sighed dismissively.

You have not covered yourself in glory with that remark, I pondered, but I quickly dislodged that thought as a plan began to take shape in my mind. The irritating ponytail that had earlier flaunted itself in front of me was making a return trip up the corridor with its owner walking slightly ahead of it. She stopped to glance at the new poster, scoffed disparagingly while flicking her ponytail and nearly taking my eye out, and walked on.

‘I’m Amelia,’ I announced brightly, ‘and I imagine you’re Jilly,’ I deduced, indicating the sign.

‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ she said again, meaninglessly in my opinion. ‘It’s just been a tough day, and I’m stuffed for having enough models for the students to practise on.’

‘That’s fine, Jilly,’ I said sweetly. ‘Would she have been suitable?’ I asked, nodding to the disappearing ponytail.

She sighed. ‘Perfect,’ she said, causing a tingling between my thighs, ‘but you saw her reaction to my advertisement. You do not happen to know anyone interested in a free makeover, do you?’

‘Absolutely, Jilly, and I have friends who would want something really short and exceedingly stylish, just like yours,’ I gushed flatteringly.

‘Wow, persuade students like her to come along and I will be forever in your debt, Amelia,’ she beamed.

‘No need for that, Jilly. All that I am interested in is equality,’ I smirked, resulting in her rewarding me with a sidelong glance, suggesting she thought I might be a bit weird. Oh well…

To be continued

A Note from the Author

Further to sharing my stories here, on the Hair Story Network, they are also collected on my personal archive, along with additional exclusive and early release material, at The Hair Apparent Stories, where, naturally, they may be freely viewed without any need for registration, login or payment.

Traditionally, I have always relied on my own imagination and that of my readers to visualise my stories. On my own site I have included an image to serve as a “book cover” for each story, providing a pictorial introduction to the characters and scenes portrayed in the text that follows.