Grey. Not fifty shades, but still fucking grey. My gaze was fixed accusingly at the predominantly grey hair that was doing its best to touch my shoulders, a bob in need of a trim, grey or not.
My “dry run” for the end of lockdown had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that I was standing in front of the full-length mirror in my “fuck me” underwear, all I could see was how much greyer my hair was than when this all started. Of course I’d been aware of it happening over a period of time, but there was no escaping it. My naturally mousey hair was mutating into naturally grey hair. Thirty-nine and grey. Not what I’d hoped for. Stockings, sheer knickers, half-cup bra, all coming together to frame my “not bad, even if I say so myself” body, but they still weren’t enough.
Maybe it was the harsh bathroom light? Who was I trying to kid? Other mirrors in the house had been telling me the same story for the past few months, but when I’d hoped that other parts of my body would be the focus, it was my hair that was capturing my attention. Hopefully, any guy who’d got me to this state of undress wouldn’t be looking at me above shoulder height, but how many guys would make a move on a grey-haired crone in the first place? I needed to do something if I was to achieve my objective of getting laid at the earliest post-lockdown opportunity. There was nothing I needed more than to get rid of the cobwebs in the filthiest way possible.
Maybe I was being too hard on myself. Too much time away from other people. Too much time absorbed with myself. I cupped my boobs, gave them a consoling squeeze and then stripped away the hooker-garb.
Jeans and a sweatshirt, loungewear rather than slutwear, made no difference.
I was looking in the hall mirror now, but I was still fixated on my hair. I really was going to have to do something about it. Hide it, somehow. I needed to see my stylist, if she was still going to be there, of course. That was a big unknown. Which businesses will survive the lockdown? I needed advice, if only to avoid the big mistake of trying to colour my own hair and then finding out that what I’d chosen was either the wrong stuff or it didn’t suit me. What if it didn’t take properly on grey hair and I ended up stripey or blotchy. Zebra or cheetah? What colour would suit me? Black, red? Was I expecting a miracle? Should I try a wig, see what suited me? How much did wigs cost? Was there even a wig shop open?
Attempts to distract myself failed miserably, so it wasn’t long before I was sat in front of my computer doing some research. It took fewer than half a dozen keystrokes to confirm that there was indeed a wig shop within a fifteen minute drive and that it was open, even during lockdown. Clearly for such emergencies as I now found myself in: prematurely grey, but in need of a good screw from someone young enough to be potentially put-off by the thought of grey hair.
So, that was that decided then. In the absence of a functioning hairdressing sector, I was going to be forced to consider wearing a wig. Such irony!
The lady who answered the phone sounded pleasant, compassion coating her every word. I should’ve expected it, based on some of the case-studies on her website. People who were genuinely in need, rather than the vain and horny like myself. I explained my dilemma briefly and had an appointment booked for an hour’s time. So much easier than getting an appointment at my salon in pre-lockdown days. Who knew what it would be like once they got hit with a wave of pent-up demand in a few days?
I got changed into something more respectable, my third outfit of a young day, and headed for the wig studio, as the woman called it. The “woman” when she welcomed me turned out to be elegant, of indeterminate age, but immaculately turned out. She had to be over fifty, but she was clearly a woman who could give me a run for my money. Note to self: get back to the gym as soon as possible. To crown it all, her hair was a shade of black that probably didn’t occur naturally, but a shade that was so dramatic that you wouldn’t question it. It was a chin-length bob, precision cut, striking. She had to be a walking advert for her products, but outside of her studio, who would know?
‘Hi, I’m Hannah’ I said, closing the gap between us. I felt that I should be offering to shake her hand formally, but those days were long gone. I smiled, trying to look at my ease, which I most certainly wasn’t.
‘I’m Sylvia. We spoke on the phone’ the woman said, making no attempt to hide the fact that she was appraising the task at hand.
‘I hope I’m not wasting your time. I don’t even know if you deal with people like me’ I said, struggling to hide my nerves.
‘Everybody’s different. Everyone is an individual as far as we’re concerned.’
‘That’s good to hear. I don’t know what else you need to know, apart from what I said on the phone.’
‘Well, it’s probably easiest if I show you some of our styles, but ultimately, you can have anything you want. You just select the one that’s closest to what you want and I can have it styled exactly as you like. So much easier than going to a hair salon’ she said, exuding professional care.
‘I’m still not sure what to do. I really don’t want to colour it and then have to re-do the roots every few weeks.’
‘It wouldn’t be right for me to try to sway you one way or the other. I’ll show you what I can offer and hopefully you’ll see a solution, rather than me trying to persuade you that what I can offer is better than your stylist would suggest.’
‘And here was me hoping that you’d convince me that this is the best for me’ I laughed.
‘Let’s see, shall we?’ she said, indicating with her arm that I should head deeper into her studio.
‘Did you have any particular style in mind?’ she asked.
‘I’m open to ideas’ I replied.
‘Colour?’ she asked, smiling as she realised that my answer would be the same. ‘That’s the beauty of wigs, you don’t have to commit to any one style’ she encouraged.
‘I’m willing to be guided by you’ I conceded.
‘I think you should try something shorter’ she said, looking at my grey bob.
‘Okay’ I accepted. ‘My stylist told me several times before all this lockdown business that it was maybe time to try something shorter’ I replied.
‘So you didn’t fancy it?’
‘She wasn’t very convincing’ I laughed. ‘I’ve never had short hair, so it was a big step. I wasn’t convinced and she didn’t pursue the idea.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘Why? Do you think I’d suit short hair?’ I asked, reaching up to touch the ends.
‘Maybe’ she replied with an enigmatic smile.
I picked a chestnutty-brown bob and held it in my hand to try to appreciate it better. I turned it this way and that, but in my mind, it remained more dead animal than something that I’d put on my head. Sylvia helped me on with it and held a mirror for me to have a look.
‘That gives you an idea, but obviously it isn’t fitted properly, so it doesn’t look as good as it should’ she said.
I wasn’t really listening, I was too pre-occupied with seeing myself as a brunette. A brunette with hair shorter than I could remember having before, even if it was still a bob.
‘What do you think?’
‘I’m not convinced that I’m a brunette’ I said, even though it wasn’t a million miles from my mousey heritage. Maybe it was the fact that the colour was so rich after a lifetime of looking at indeterminate mouse.
She eased that one off me, restoring the grey. I shuddered at the sight of it. I was definitely pursuing the right course of action, changing the colour, be it by a wig or going for a chemical solution. The grey definitely had to go.
Sylvia took me through a selection of colours and styles, taking me long and blonde, black and pixie.
‘I’m spoiled for choice’ I said, exasperated at my inability to pick one.
‘That’s the beauty of wigs. You can go through several colours and styles in one day if you want. You could be an everyday blonde, but then go vibrant red for a date in the evening,’
‘I’m not sure that I have any dates on the horizon’ I chuckled.
‘I’m sure you will, once you feel confident again.’
I dipped my head to make it easier for her to take the vampish red wig off me. I was grey again.
‘I think I’m just going to have to close my eyes and pick one’ I confessed.
‘Well, if you’ve decided that you’re going with a wig, we need to talk about fitting, otherwise it won’t sit properly and it won’t look natural.’
‘So what do I do? Tie this back? Put it up?’ I asked, taking the ends of my hair between my fingers.
‘You’ll find that your hair will spoil the line, no matter what you try to do with it’ she said.
‘So what do I do?’
She looked at me, her expression changing, becoming more serious.
‘You need to cut it short at least’ she said, putting the last of my sample wigs back on its stand.
‘It’s the only way to get a proper line.’
‘I wasn’t expecting that’ I replied.
‘It depends how committed you are. If the wig is just for a night out, then obviously you wouldn’t, but if it’s a definitive choice, you don’t want to let the hair you’re trying to cover up, spoil the new look that you’ve decided on.’
I looked at her closely. Her own wig looked pretty damn good on her.
‘So I’d have to go to my stylist and get her to cut it and then come back here for you to fit the wig?’
‘Oh no, I offer a complete package, supply and fitting’ she said, making me think of a local garage.
‘So you’d cut my hair?’
‘That’s a lot to think about’ I said hesitantly.
‘Certainly. You should take your time, maybe talk to your stylist about other options’ she suggested.
‘She’s not open yet’ I said.
‘Of course not’ she conceded.
‘I do want to get something done. I want to be ready for normal life again and this just reminds me of the darkest days of lockdown.’
‘Maybe you should think of it as the grey before dawn’ she replied poetically.
‘Very poetic, but it all comes down to something more prosaic – can I afford it?’
‘Well, it’s not cheap.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘You’d need a couple of pieces at least.’
She told me how much it would cost, based on ones that I’d shown most interest in.
She looked at me as I reacted to what she’d said.
‘I think we can work something out for you.’
‘How? That’s a lot of money.’
She took me to a seating area and poured me a coffee.
‘Have you ever thought of modelling?’ she asked.
‘No’ I smiled. I liked to think of myself as attractive, but not “model attractive”.
‘Well, we’re always on the lookout for models for our own advertising. You could model for a testimonial for us and we’d pay your fee in product and services.’
‘You mean I’d get a wig for doing it?’
‘At least one.’
‘So what would I have to do?’
‘We’d take a few pictures, put together a little interview. Show what a satisfied customer looks like, you know the sort of thing.’
‘Where would it be?’
‘On our website.’
‘I’m interested, if you think I’m what you want’ I said, flattered to be asked to be a model of any sort at my time of life.
‘I’d provide the full fitting package for you.’
‘Thank you’ I replied.
‘I’d better tell you what that involves before you thank me’ she said, taking a sip from her cup. ‘I’ll need to ensure the best possible fit. That doesn’t work with hair.’
She looked at me.
‘I’m not with you’ I said, taking a sip of my own coffee while I tried to tease the meaning out of what she’d just said.
‘I’ll shave your head so that there’s nothing to affect the way that the wig sits’ she explained.
I knew that I was looking at her wide-eyed.
She shook her head.
‘That would certainly solve the problem’ I chuckled, trying to make light of what she’d just suggested.
She settled back into her chair and sipped at her coffee, leaving me to process what she’d just said.
‘It seems a bit drastic’ I ventured after a while.
‘Maybe, but if a job’s worth doing…’ she replied.
‘Do all of your customers do it?’
‘Some don’t have much of a choice’ she said, making me realise that I was being somewhat insensitive. ‘Some only want a wig for a bit of fun, but anyone who’s serious about it, comes to see that it’s worth it.’
‘Still, it seems like a big step.’
‘You’d get used to it. You might even find that you like to go without your wig from time to time’ she said.
‘My partner likes it when I do’ she said.
I looked at her inquisitively, conscious that I shouldn’t stare.
‘When I’m here, I fly the flag. When I’m at home, I let my hair down, so to speak. Or at least, I leave it on the dressing table.’
I didn’t know what to say.
‘No pressure. If you want to do it, I have a pro-forma contract that we use, so we just need to fill in a couple of details and we’re ready to go.’
‘It’s all a bit sudden’ I said, cold feet very much evident. ‘I’d only intended to start the ball rolling really.’
‘That’s absolutely fine. You know where I am if you want to go ahead’ she said. She was perfectly serene, not a hint of irritation that I’d taken her time and her coffee.
I reached forward to put my empty cup on the ornamental table that was between us. As I made sure that it was properly on there, I had a flash of inspiration / resolve, call it what you will.
‘You know what? No time like the present’ I said, surprising myself.
‘My stylist is closed, who knows what I’ll look like if I try colouring it myself. I need to do something’ I said.
‘Okay, great’ she said, getting up.
She went over to a cupboard and was holding a camera when she turned round.
‘We can do the words later. Let’s get a couple of pictures and then we can get down to business’ she said.
This woman didn’t mess about.
I tried to look natural, but I doubt that the pictures were the best that had ever been taken of me. All the while I was posing for her, looking serious, looking relaxed, however you conveyed that, I was thinking about what I was letting myself in for. How short did she really need to cut my hair for the wig to sit properly. I wanted to ask her to take hers off to show me, but that was something so personal. Who knew what condition had led her to wear a wig. Had she done it as part of her business, had she got one of those conditions that made her hair go thin or fall out in clumps? My hair was healthy enough, it just wasn’t doing what I wanted it to. Okay, I would never look like I was straight out of hair commercial, but I wanted hair that looked good, even if it needed a bit of help.
‘That should do’ she said after taking way more pictures than I’d expected. Surely there’d be a good one in there somewhere.
She put the camera down and headed for a door towards the end of the studio.
‘We’re just through here’ she said.
I followed her and saw a small hair salon. There were a couple of styling stations in there, but no dryers or those lamp-tree things that you’d see in a proper salon. This was pared down to the essentials for her. She pulled out a chair at one of the styling stations and indicated that I should sit down. The first thing that I noticed was that there was no mirror. I glanced at the other station. That one had a mirror. She saw what had drawn my attention.
‘That one’s for the fittings’ she said.
I got it. She didn’t want people to dwell on this part of the process, but the fitting stage was where the magic happened and she didn’t mind people having that fixed in the memories. I could understand that.
The cape came round me and with it the realisation that this was happening. It wasn’t quite too late, but if I was going to bolt for the door, it had to be now. I wanted to look at myself again, check that this really was the right thing to do. Could I picture myself with darker hair if I just threw a bottle of dark brown or black over it until I could get in to see my stylist. She was due to open again next week, but who knew how long I’d have to wait to get in. Maybe this was for the best.
Sylvia’s hand ran over the crown of my head. I heard a gentle buzzing sound and then felt a not unpleasant sensation run across the top of my head. Something was happening. Something that probably meant that there was no going back.
‘How short do you go for this stage?’ I asked.
‘Short enough to give me a good idea’ she replied, without giving much away. ‘Just try to relax and I’ll have you looking resplendent in no time’ she added.
‘”Resplendent”. There’s a word I’d never thought that someone would use to describe me’ I chuckled.
‘It’s very apt. Just think of the options you’re going to have now. Before, you could wear your hair up or down. That would be the same whether you coloured it or not. This way you can keep your man on his toes, he can go to bed with a different woman every night if he wants’ she said.
‘Except that there isn’t a man at the moment’ I informed her.
‘I’m sure that’ll change very soon’ she replied.
‘It’s not so easy to meet “Mr Right” these days.
‘You just need to get out there, show the world what you’ve got’ she said.
All the while she was running the clippers over my head and being very crafty, I’d realised, in making sure that she was ushering my hair backward where I couldn’t see it coming off. Maybe it was habit, not wanting to traumatise women who didn’t have a choice. I’d had a choice to come here or not. I wasn’t so sure how much freewill I’d exercised before she started to cut my hair off. True, I’d got in the chair, but I hadn’t exactly sat and gone through the pros and cons of what she was doing. It was too late though, the die was cast, my bed was made, I wouldn’t be a “grey” when I walked out, whatever else I was going to be. The image of myself in my slutty lingerie in the bathroom flashed across my mind. What would I see staring back when I did that again? Redhead? Blonde vamp?
I felt the flat of her hand on the top of my head. I felt more hand than I usually felt when a hairdresser did that. The clippers were quiet now and returned to their resting place.
‘That was quick’ I said.
‘I find it’s best just to get that part done and then move on.’
‘Can I see?’
‘We’re not there yet’ she replied.
I could hear her fiddling about behind me. Hear cupboards opening and closing. I felt something cold on my head.
‘Oooh’ I said.
‘Sorry, I should’ve said it might be cold’ she confessed.
‘What is it? Conditioner?’
‘The next stage’ she said, running her hands over my head. ‘Hold still’ she said.
It took me a few moments to work out what she was doing.
‘You’re shaving me?’ I said, with a healthy dose of concern in my voice.
‘This is the pre-fitting preparation. I want you to be perfect’ she said.
‘I didn’t know that I was going to be bald, bald’ I said, a little tremor in my voice.
‘You’re going to be whatever you want to be.’
‘That didn’t include being bald’ I replied.
‘It’s just one more option for you, but most of all, it’ll give you the best fit, the most comfortable fit.’
‘If it’s what you recommend’ I said, resigned to my fate.
‘Absolutely. I want you to leave here feeling and looking like a million dollars. Remember, you’re going to be on my website as someone whose life has been transformed. In a good way, so I don’t want a picture of someone who’s not absolutely beaming, now do I?’
‘I suppose not’ I replied, feeling better.
I kept any further reservations to myself and let her get on with the job of shaving my head. If you’d said to me yesterday that I’d be letting some woman take a razor to my scalp, I wouldn’t have believed you, yet here I was, well on the way to being bald as a coot. Did my greying hair actually deserve that? I wanted to see what I looked like, but then again, I was frightened of what I’d see.
It only took a few more minutes and then she was wiping my head with a damp towel and then a dry towel. Then things moved quickly and I was looking at a reflection of a woman with a cute chestnut bob, sharply cut. She’d been right, of course, it did sit better now than it had first time around. I just wasn’t convinced that the price of that was one that I’d wanted to pay.
‘I can’t believe that’s me’ I told her looking round.
‘That’s all you and you’re gorgeous’ she replied.
I wasn’t so sure.
‘You only have to say. Lighter, darker, shorter, longer. I can do any of them in a trice’ she said, clicking her fingers to emphasise her point.
‘I really liked the short black one’ I said.
‘It suits you’ she told me after doing the swap while my back was turned to the mirror.
She took me back into the studio, and sat me down with another coffee. We chatted and I tried to concentrate on what she was saying, but I had an undercurrent of the seismic transformation that I’d undergone. I wasn’t thirty-nine and greying anymore, I was thirty-nine and whatever my imagination, or budget wanted, whichever was more limiting. I could just pop a different wig on and be someone entirely new, if that’s what I felt like.
Our conversation had ranged far and wide, suggesting that she wasn’t expecting anyone else.
‘I suppose the only thing that I need to do before I go is to see myself without the wig’ I said.
‘Are you thinking of going topless, so to speak?’ she asked with an easy smile.
‘God, no. I couldn’t. I just want to see what I look like while there’s someone here to revive me, if it’s too much of a shock’ I replied, which wasn’t far off the truth.
‘Is that really me?’ I asked a few moments later when I was in front of a mirror, my sexy new hair in my hand.
‘It is. You might not think so right now, but you look so much better like that than you did when you came in. It really was the right decision to grasp the nettle.’
‘I’m not sure that I agree with you’ I replied uncertainly.
‘You will, give yourself time to get used to it’ she said, plucking my wig from my hand and helping me on with it again.
‘I’d better be going’ I said.
I watched her raise her eyebrows.
‘Oh, sorry. Pictures. You want pictures.’
‘I’ll be as quick as I can’ she replied.
I’m not a natural model, so I needed a few nudges before she got what she wanted.
‘I’ll send you some’ she promised as we wound down.
She was walking me to the door when she paused and looked at me seriously.
‘Are you doing anything this weekend?’ she asked.
‘I looked at her, surprised.
‘I’ll probably still be hiding behind the sofa’ I laughed.
‘I hope you won’t. I’m going to a trade show. My partner usually comes with me, but he’s going to be away on business. This show is more social than business, a lot of fun. People really let their hair down, if you know what I mean.’
‘Err, I’m not sure that it’s for me’ I replied.
‘Nonsense. You said you’re single. Think of it as a “coming out” party. A chance to show off the new you. Think of it as a chance to get back in the saddle, if you will.’
I looked at her.
‘There’s plenty of riding that goes on, if you know what I mean. That’s what I go for’ she said with a mischievous smile.
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Roger and I have an open relationship. This weekend is one of the highlights of the year, for both of us. It’s far enough from home for no-one to know us, so we do plenty of mingling.’
‘I must’ve led a very sheltered life’ I smiled.
‘Think of it as a chance to broaden your horizons.’
‘You’re very kind. Is it okay if I come back to you on that? I need to get my head round this first’ I said, touching a hand to my head.
‘Of course it is.’
She gave me her mobile number and I was released into the wild, my head spinning.
I was safe for the time being. I had to make it from her studio to the car park. From the car park back to my house. No real chance of meeting anyone, friend or foe.
I got into my house with no contact with anyone. I closed the door behind me and just stood for a moment. I made it to the mirror and looked at myself. Last time I’d done that, I was on my way out of the house with a host of unexplored options for my grey bob. The stranger in the mirror had a cute black crop. She looked good, very good. The stranger concealed the real me. Could I bring myself to step forward, see myself as I really am now?
I reached up tentatively. I could only compare it with exploring an injury of some sort, a broken tooth maybe. You want to touch it, but fear the consequences if you do. My fingers made contact; took hold; pulled gently. The cute black hair slid from its position, revealing the reality of my scalp. It was one thing to see myself bald in the neutrality of a salon, but this was my home. There was no pretending that it wasn’t real or that everything would be fine once I got home. I wanted to put the wig back on, but my fingers were trembling and I couldn’t get it to sit right. I tossed it onto the couch and stared defiantly at my reflection.
I don’t know how long I stood there for, but eventually I broke away and made myself some tea. It took a while, but I managed to convince myself that it was something that I could get used to. It was different, unusual, but in a way, strangely liberating. I just had to hope that the rest of humanity shared that view.
Images of my time in the salon kept playing in my head throughout the day and were still with me when I was trying to sleep. I watched myself looking in the mirror, saw myself sitting in the chair, experienced the sensations of the clippers over my head and the trepidation of that first glimpse of my hairless self in the mirror. I wondered how a man could find me attractive.
My first bald day began gently with toast and coffee. Confirmation of my new existence came in the shower, when a reflex caused me to reach up to wash my hair. My fingertips made contact, kept contact, explored. My soapy hands moved downwards, while I wondered how I could’ve been so reckless as to sabotage my chances of hooking up with someone. My mind turned to Sylvia’s suggestion about being her “plus one” for that convention. I’d been to the occasional party with a previous boyfriend that had evolved into a free-for-all, but had demanded that we leave before it got too serious. It hadn’t felt right. Now, during my current drought, could I bring myself to get involved in something seedy?
I sat at my dressing table in my bra and pants, phone in my hand.
A formal voice answered.
‘Sylvia? It’s Hannah Osborne. From yesterday’ I said nervously.
‘You say that as if I would’ve forgotten. Good morning. How are you today?’
‘Fine. Slightly less shocked than I was yesterday’ I chuckled.
‘I’m pleased to hear it. You won’t think twice in a couple of days’ she comforted.
‘I was wondering if you’d found someone to go with you to that trade show?’ I ventured.
‘I have. You’ she said confidently.
‘You knew before me then’ I said.
‘Not at all. It’s fun. Who wouldn’t want to go?’
She gave me a few more details and we chatted for a while before circling back to make arrangements. Just as I thought we were done, she uttered her parting words: ‘Make sure you bring your best frillies’ she said. I didn’t know what to say to that.
The next couple of days were spent getting mentally prepared for the trip. I wondered whether I would let myself go sufficiently to actually give someone the benefit of the ridiculously expensive, ridiculously revealing underwear that I’d nipped into town to buy.
Before I knew it, I was in Sylvia’s car and on my way to a date with who knew what. She’d fixed me up with a room in the same hotel as her and refused my offer to pay for it myself. That’s the beauty of business expenses, I suppose.
We’d agreed that we’d meet at her room once we’d got changed and I felt rather odd, walking down the corridor, dressed to the nines to meet some unknown guy, if that was what was on the cards. I knocked at her door and waited.
The door swung wide, revealing Sylvia in a stunning, tight gown. As she turned to usher me inside, I saw that the front and back of the dress were held together by thin cords. To all intents and purposes, the dress was slit down the side, announcing to the world that its wearer had left her underwear at home.
‘Wow!’ I said.
‘Wow yourself. Look at you’ she said.
‘Thank you’ I replied, looking at her sharp turquoise bob. The contrast with my own short black crop was stark.
‘My party hair’ she replied, noticing my glance.
I’ll spare you much of the detail of the evening, which for the most part was unremarkable. Chit-chat, some more engaging than others, but that was about it. I made a point of scanning the room, playing a quiet game of “Would I?” with myself. There were certainly a few candidates, which may have had something to do with my barren spell. My focus was changed when Sylvia caught someone’s arm while he was passing.
“Andrew, how lovely to see you” she said.
I had to agree. Andrew was indeed “lovely”, but so was the blonde who was decorating his arm. I wondered how much she spent on shampoo and conditioner to keep her long blonde hair looking that pristine.
Sylvia and I shuffled apart slightly to allow the newcomers access to our private group. Andrew and Sylvia were friendly. I wondered how friendly. I could tell from her expression that the “decoration” was having similar thoughts. She turned out to be called Katie and was actually quite pleasant once she’d defrosted. This event apparently coincided with the one-year anniversary of their first date.
The change from superficial party chat to something else was almost imperceptible, but before long, there was an undercurrent, a frisson of something else. It had bothered me at first, but as the exchanges continued, it dawned on me that Andrew wasn’t surprised that Sylvia wasn’t here with her husband or that she was here with a female companion. How had he known? They’d been in contact since I’d accepted the invitation. This was all planned. Was Katie in on it? It didn’t look like it. I wondered why Sylvia had brought me along when she could’ve enjoyed a threesome with the “lovely” Andy and Katie all on her own. She’d added me to the mix, diluting it for everyone. Was she just taking pity on me? Feeling guilty that she’d stripped back my chances of scoring unassisted when she’d shaved my head?
The chance to mingle with a large group was clearly not as enticing as the chance to mingle as a foursome, at least as far as Andrew and Sylvia were concerned, so we slunk out of the main gathering and headed upstairs. I’d tried to overcome my nerves when chatting with Katie, but had a long way to go before I was as relaxed as the two main players. I took a deep breath as I followed them in to Sylvia’s room. Andrew’s fingers trailing down Sylvia’s back and onto the swell of her buttocks wasn’t the most subtle move that I’ve ever seen.
Sylvia offered drinks, to little interest, which was of no surprise given the restraint shown so far during the evening. I couldn’t recall a social event where I’d seen so much sparkling water consumed. Sylvia handed Katie a glass while Andrew busied himself moving a chair from the desk to just behind where Katie was standing. I wondered what the arrangements would be for the rest of us. A lingering brush of his fingers down her arm translated into his wish for her to sit down. This man was certainly “touchy-feely”. I sensed Sylvia watching me. She tapped her fingernails on her glass to attract our attention away from the furniture removals.
‘This is probably where I should do a little introductory speech’ she said. ‘Andrew and I have come up with something special to mark his and Katie’s anniversary. He wanted to do something memorable for both of you and I think that you’ll agree, Katie, that this is a little more than a bunch of flowers from a filling station!’
Everybody chuckled politely. Sylvia explained further.
‘Hannah’s going to help out for the first part of tonight’s surprise, which I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know, Katie, is as much a surprise to her as it is to you.’ Everyone was looking at me. I smiled nervously, wondering what was going to happen.
It wasn’t long before I found out. Sylvia told Katie to unzip Andrew and take his trousers off. I wasn’t expecting that!
‘This is Katie’s anniversary gift to Andrew’ Sylvia continued. ‘She said that she’d do anything he wanted, to show how much she loved him. Andrew thought that this weekend would be an ideal opportunity and asked me for my help.’
My attention was diverted by the sight of Andrew’s erect cock being freed from his underwear. Katie appeared almost proud to set it free and looked at Sylvia and I in turn to see whether we approved. I wasn’t sure whether it was the first time that Sylvia had seen it, but I was certainly impressed. It was the closest that I’d been to an erection for longer than I cared to remember. A nod from Sylvia instructed Katie to unbutton Andrew’s shirt. The earlier promise of a decent bod was borne out by reality. He was toned, although not to a stupid extent, but he clearly knew his way around a gym. I looked at his hairless torso more than was polite when his girlfriend was within striking distance. I felt a tiny shudder deep down.
‘Thank you Katie’ Sylvia said. ‘And now Hannah.’
I looked at her at the unexpected mention of my name.
Katie took a step towards me and placed a hand on my hip, exerting pressure with her fingertips to indicate that she wanted me to turn round. I looked across at Sylvia, who seemed to smile with her eyes and nod almost imperceptibly. My mind screamed “Wait!”. My body did what the gentle fingertips urged. I felt the zipper being drawn down, the material that had clasped me almost too tightly loosening its grip as Katie undid me. What sort of anniversary gift was this? A bottle of fizz and a screw would normally be enough for most couples.
The dress slid down with only the slightest encouragement, turning me into a barely willing lingerie model, bra, panties, stockings, the lot. I’d known that there was the possibility that someone other than me would see it at some point tonight, but I didn’t imagine that it would be like this. Katie anticipated the next instruction and crouched down, drawing my flimsily expensive knickers down as she went. On the return journey, she reached behind me and undid my bra, tossing it to one side. She looked at me standing there in garter belt and stockings and decided that she’d leave it there. Her man was obviously unremarkable for the species and liked ladies in stockings.
‘Thank you Katie. You can sit back down now’ Sylvia instructed softly.
Andrew came closer, his hand held up as if we were about to dance. I took it, but it was only a matter of seconds before Andrew guided me backwards onto the bed, helping me to settle all the way back. I was looking at the ceiling, allowing him to pose me like a mannequin, feet drawn up towards my backside, legs spread. I put a hand over my eyes to hide my embarrassment as I sensed Andrew positioning himself to do what too few men have ever done.
I gasped as his lips made contact, all sense of Katie and Sylvia falling away. He licked and nibbled. I moaned softly and not so softly.
‘I think Andrew likes his gift, don’t you Kate?’ Sylvia asked, intruding into my most private world. In different circumstances, I’d have wanted to see their expressions, but right at that moment, my senses were fully occupied. I let everything wash over me, oblivious to the passage of time and then I came. Not a screamer, but anyone in the adjacent rooms would’ve known that someone was having a good time in 205.
I lifted my head to check that the audience was indeed still there. It was. I blushed slightly. Andrew was indicating that it was time to re-configure. He brought me to my knees, adopting a similar position, so that we looked like bookends. He kissed me briefly, but long enough for me to taste myself. He ran his hands the length of my arms, following the contours of my shoulders and neck until he paused at my head. With the gentlest of touches, he revealed my baldness, handing my wig to Sylvia. I looked beyond him to Katie, examining her for shock, revulsion. She was expressionless.
Andrew got me to turn ninety degrees, so that I was facing Katie and took up position behind me. His hands went travelling, all over my body, cupping my pendulous boobs, covering my mound and then skittering back up to my neck. He was covering my scalp with tiny kisses, sliding his fingertips over the skin. He seemed to like it!
I couldn’t escape Katie’s gaze. What devotion, what obsession would make a woman watch her man like this? If I wasn’t so turned-on, I would’ve made a stand on her behalf and stormed out in indignation. As it was, I responded to Andrew’s gentle pressure, easing me forward. I looked from Katie to Sylvia. Watched Sylvia slide her own wig off for my first sight of her without hair. If anything, she was even more striking than she was before.
Andrew entered me. Katie stared at me, seemingly oblivious to Sylvia’s changed appearance. Andrew eased all the way home, almost politely. I closed my eyes to savour the moment and when I opened them, Sylvia was standing behind Katie. Whatever had been keeping Sylvia’s dress on, wasn’t doing it anymore. Her dress was pooled on the floor, her modesty shielded by Katie’s seated form. Andrew was maintaining his rhythm, slow and steady although I felt a slight interruption when Katie moved from behind the chair to stand in front of Katie. I was able to confirm that it hadn’t been her dress providing support, she didn’t need any. She was certainly a woman who was using her gym membership to the full. Barely an ounce of fat, and either she’d had the best boob job in the world, or she’d been truly blessed with shapely, gravity-defying tits. I was quietly happy with my own body, but hers was something to aspire to.
I could see what was going to happen next and didn’t fear the younger competition after seeing Sylvia. I’d expect Katie to be firm and perky, not so much in the case of Sylvia. Katie stood up to let herself be undressed, just as I was letting her man take me down a road that I’d rarely been down. Even when I had been down it, none of those journeys could possibly be as memorable as this one was shaping up to be.
Katie sat back down, her eyes still watching our display. She appeared almost unaware that she was sitting opposite a stranger, caressing herself, exploring herself. I was only too conscious of watching another woman doing things that should only be done in the most private of locations.
So that was it. My drought had been broken by a dirty weekend with a twist. Fucked by a stranger, while his submissive girlfriend watched silently. I took it gratefully.
My attention was re-focussed by an unexpected thrust from Andrew. I’d got so used to the languid pace that it came as a shock. I braced myself for another, but it didn’t come. I realised though what had triggered it. Sylvia was standing behind Katie again, her fingers holding out a tress of Katie’s gorgeous hair at ninety degrees from the side of her head. Sylvia’s other hand was holding a pair of scissors. Katie’s expression was more animated than it had been while watching her man take me from behind.
Her internal struggle was playing out on her face. Had this possibility crossed her mind when she’d offered Andrew whatever he wanted? Did she even know that he had a “thing” for bald women? Did she even know that bald women were a “thing” for some men? Was she going to go through with it or had the gift suddenly moved out of her price range?
Andrew’s forceful thrust coincided with the blades of the scissors closing around the hank of golden hair, priceless to its former owner. Her expression was one of disbelief. Sylvia selected the next sacrifice and cut again, as close to the crown as she could manage. Katie would’ve felt the scissors as they cut. I saw the first tear roll, but then saw defiance shine through, which broke into a brave smile.
I returned my focus to what was shaping up to be the best fuck that I could remember. Patient, controlled, all the time working towards a definite goal. Then it stopped. Andrew slid out and eased himself towards the edge of the bed. I aimed my best “WTF?” expression at him, but he studiously avoided looking at me. I eased back on my heels and watched him go over to Katie and plant a kiss on her cheek, taking away her salty tears.
There was a brief exchange, resulting in Sylvia standing aside and being replaced by Andrew. Obviously stripping his beloved of the rest of her hair was more enticing to him that fucking an already-bald woman that he’d only just met. There’s devotion for you!
I was more interested in my frustration than watching a beautiful blonde become a beautiful bald. Is that how you’d phrase it? Makes sense, but the second one doesn’t sound right. Obviously less used than “beautiful blonde”. My gaze met Sylvia’s. It looked like she shared my annoyance. This wasn’t how she’d intended the evening to work out buy the looks of it. She turned her attention to Andrew just as he stripped the final lengths of Katie’s hair from her head.
‘Andrew, be a darling and finish off in your own room, would you?’ she asked with the sort of tone that excludes it from being a request.
There was some irritated huffing, but the pair of them gathered up their clothes and did the bare minimum to make themselves decent. I looked at the uneven patches on Katie’s head where Andrew had yet to clean her up. There was something satisfying about sending her out half-finished. I hoped that she met someone in the corridor, but maybe that was just being mean.
‘Let me just get decent and I’ll help you clean up’ I said as the door closed behind our no-longer wanted guests.
I looked at Sylvia for a response as I shuffled towards the edge of the bed and then stood up, pausing at the unexpected touch of her fingers brushing my forearm. I looked at her, noticing the change in her expression.
‘I think we need to finish something before we do that’ she said.
She held my gaze while I processed what she’d just said. I looked for other meanings, but arrived at the same one each time. The backs of her fingers brushing the swell of my left breast reinforced the message.
‘I’m not…I don’t… I haven’t…’ I said, unable to complete a sentence. My mind was whirling.
A single finger nestled in the valley of my boobs and then started to travel lower. Oh God! My attempt to form an objection was met with a silencing finger placed gently across my lips. The travelling fingertip left the relative safety of my belly and started to traverse the slope of my mound. Our eyes were still locked, so she saw the change in my expression when her finger slipped inside me, joined almost immediately by a travelling companion. She smiled. I sighed.
The rest of the evening introduced me to sensations and tastes that I’d never experienced or ever expected to experience. Andrew had only been the warm-up act for what turned out to be the main event. When I trotted down the corridor in the early hours of the morning, my head was full of images of Sylvia’s bald head busy between my legs. I’d tried to return her generosity as best I could, but it was obvious that it was my first time. As I got out of the shower and headed for bed, I hoped that it wouldn’t be my last. I drifted into a satisfied sleep.
Breakfast was interesting. I’d toyed with the idea of not wearing my wig, but took the cowardly option. Sylvia, on the other hand strutted across the room in her bald glory, studiously ignoring Andrew and Katie at their table. She made a beeline for my table.
‘May I join you?’ she asked.
‘Please’ I smiled in response.
‘How was your evening?’ she asked in a voice intended for any near neighbours.
‘Fine, thanks’ I replied politely. ‘My jaw’s a little sore though. Must’ve been too much talking’ I added. She smiled.
She leaned closer. The performance for any outsiders was at an end.
‘I hope you’re okay’ she said.
‘A little embarrassed, but otherwise fine, thanks.’
‘There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.’
‘I don’t think I was very good’ I blushed.
‘Last night was about you.’
‘Thank you. I enjoyed it.’
‘I was thinking that maybe we can give today’s sessions a miss. Go for lunch somewhere, spend the afternoon in bed, something like that. What do you think?’
I looked at her.
‘A few days ago, nobody would’ve looked twice at me in the supermarket. I was unremarkable, looking for a guy to treat me right.’
I reached up and slid my wig off. ‘And now, I want you to sit on my face’ I laughed.
‘Let’s finish breakfast first, then I’ll see what I can do!’
‘No. I’ll see what I can do’ I replied. I owed her that.