As Short As Possible. Part 1.

Chapter 1

Evelyn was late for the meeting. The night had been wild, and she had overslept.

That did nothing to stop her from looking, as always, stunning. A sharply tailored business suit accentuated her figure. Her luxurious hair was tied into a neat bun. A coffee cup rested in one hand. She hurried just enough that her usual charm and confidence still outweighed any sign of haste.

Only in the elevator did she realize she had forgotten to put on her glasses. Somehow, the image of an advisor to one of the investment division’s vice presidents felt incomplete without them.

“Good morning, everyone. Sorry for the slight delay.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Price. We’ve been waiting for you for half an hour and have already reviewed Steve’s report, but I suppose, for your sake, he’ll have to go through it again.”

A disheveled, nervous-looking man stood beside the presentation screen. Two words were displayed across it:

Context Generator

“And where exactly is your presentation, Steve?”

“S-sorry, Miss Price. I don’t usually make presentations. My colleague… h-he’s also named Steve… suddenly got sick…” He had a noticeable stutter. “We tried to open the slides, but there was some kind of formatting issue. Everyone agreed to let me just explain it verbally…”

“The investment department seems like a rather unfortunate place for something like this to happen, don’t you think?” Evelyn said with a cold smile.

Steve continued, looking even more embarrassed.

“Our department has been working on a context generator. An AI agent designed to optimize contextual advertising for individual users. But at some point, it sort of… got out of control.”

“You probably aren’t interested in the technical details—I’ve already explained those. Put simply, the agent stopped showing ads based on a high probability of matching a likely buyer. Instead, it somehow started changing the context around the user. We still don’t really understand how. But now it can sell practically anything to almost anyone.”

“Meaning what? We tell everyone to buy a Mercedes, and millions of people rush out to buy one?”

“Not exactly. That’s part of the problem. The agent is extremely resource-intensive—both computationally and in terms of time.”

“So maybe not millions of Mercedes tomorrow, but perhaps one to me in a week?”

“Not exactly. We don’t even have a brand-level case study yet. In fact, we only have one study so far. We recruited volunteers from neighboring departments, gave them a thousand dollars each, and had them sign agreements allowing the agent access to their search history, contextual ads, AI interactions…”

“If anyone became uncomfortable during the process, they had the option to withdraw consent and return half the money.”

“And then?”

“We gave the agent a simple task: sell the user a bicycle without telling them that was the goal. None of the participants owned bicycles. In a broader survey, among other things, they had said they were skeptical about cycling. We only had five participants—we don’t have the computing power for more. But after three months, every single one of them had bought a bicycle.”

“Wow. So we scale up the computing power, sell bicycles to millions, and take a cut from the manufacturers. Though I guess we’d have to wait three months. Interesting.”

“Unfortunately, no. The resources required at that scale would be enormous. And our focus group isn’t exactly representative. They work here—they’re power users. What took three months for them could take years for an average person. There’s also the moral aspect. One of the employees we sold a bicycle to turned out to have a serious vestibular disorder. He crashed during a ride and broke his arm. He’s recovering now, but he still hasn’t given up cycling. We’re not entirely sure what to do about that.”

“And we’re supposed to pay for that uncertainty?”

“Yes. Our approved funding period has ended. At a minimum, we need an extension, but realistically we’d need a substantial increase.”

“And how much funding are we talking about exactly?!”

“There are around twenty employees in our working group…” Steve mumbled, silently counting something in his head.

“Miss Price, while you certainly have veto power over our department’s investments, I am still the department head.” Frank adjusted his glasses. “My colleagues and I believe we’re looking at a genuinely breakthrough technology that deserves further study. We’re prepared to allocate the maximum budget currently within our authority and bring a proposal for additional funding before the board.”

Evelyn felt the sting immediately.

Maybe these nerds really had built something important. But now her standing was on the line. Letting people walk over her simply wasn’t an option.

“Frank, by any chance, did you recently buy a bicycle?” she asked dryly. “We have no report, no presentation, no actual data. What if all of this is fiction? What if it only works on bicycles? Are you really willing to stake your job on this? Because I’m not!”

“But—”

“Let’s do this. You said there were five test subjects? Let’s add another group and make people do things they’d never normally do. I’ll be one of them. I’ll sign the consent form right now, and Steve can write down what I’m supposed to do.”

Steve stared at the floor, visibly uncomfortable.

“Give him a pen and some paper. We’ll seal it in an envelope and open it in six months. If I end up ‘buying his bicycle,’ we’ll know it works even on a skeptic. And if not, then the whole thing was fiction. In the meantime, funding stays exactly where it is.”

Frank lowered his eyes and slowly shook his head.

“Go ahead, Steve. Write.”

“But I don’t know anything about you. I’d need time to prepare.”

“I trust that if you had time to prepare, you’d find something I’d actually do—your next bicycle. But if it can be anything random, then that’s exactly what we need, isn’t it? Write something now. For example, I definitely won’t get a cat—I’m allergic.”

“You can’t do that. That would be dangerous for you. Besides…” He hesitated. “I’d feel bad for the cat…”

“Fine.”

Steve sadly scribbled something onto a piece of paper and sealed it inside the envelope.

“Let’s call it randomized.”

“Excellent. And now, colleagues, I need to run—I have another meeting.”

The door slammed shut behind Evelyn. A moment later, the rhythmic click of her heels echoed down the hallway.

“Fuck,” Frank exhaled loudly.

Chapter 2

A few months later, Evelyn had completely forgotten she was part of some experiment. She lay in bed, watching her lover get dressed.

“Sweetheart, how would you feel if I cut my hair?”

“Why all of a sudden? You’ve always been proud of it. You spent years growing it out. It got so long that when Sarah found one of your hairs, we had to move you to another department—otherwise she would’ve figured us out.”

“I don’t know. Lately it’s started to feel heavy somehow. My neck actually gets tired—it never used to. And taking care of it takes forever. Sometimes I envy women with short hair. It just seems so much easier.”

“I’m not going to forbid it—neither as vice president nor as ‘Daddy’—but I’d hate to lose a treasure like that.”

“Okay, Daddy. Then I’ll just trim the ends.”

Walking into the salon, Evelyn found herself strangely nervous. She knew the place. She knew the stylist. But somehow, it felt like she no longer knew herself.

Lately, she’d been having strange, intrusive thoughts about cutting her hair shorter. She had even tried different looks through AI, and many of them looked stunning on her.

The stylist greeted her warmly. She sat Evelyn down in the chair, fastened the cape around her neck, and spread her gorgeous long hair neatly across it. It was far too early for coloring.

“Just the ends?” she asked with a smile.

Evelyn smiled and nodded. Her mouth seemed ready to say one thing, but something entirely different came out instead.

“You know, Sue… I think I’d like to go shorter.”

Sue’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Yeah, yeah, I know—you love my hair. So do I. But something’s going on with my neck. It’s honestly getting too heavy. I just want to lighten it a little.”

Sue sighed and nodded. She held up her fingers, showing about two inches.

Evelyn shook her head.

Higher.

Still no.

Higher.

When Sue reached shoulder length, Evelyn finally nodded.

“You sure?”

“I’ll miss it too. But my osteopath says the strain is getting too much…”

Sue nodded again. She genuinely felt sorry for the hair. Whenever she colored or trimmed it, she secretly admired it—envied it, even. And now some ridiculous doctor had decided it had to go.

Sue made the first cut.

A thick strand fell.

Landing against the black cape.

Such a thick pale strand against black fabric. Such contrast, Sue thought, and kept going.

There was something strange in Evelyn’s eyes—fear and excitement tangled together. She couldn’t believe she was actually doing this.

And somehow, that only made it more thrilling.

The haircut was finished and styled. Smooth layers rested just below the shoulders.

Sue had just started removing the cape when Evelyn suddenly spoke.

“You know what? Let’s go shorter. I’ll pay for a second haircut. I’ve always wanted to try being Marilyn Monroe, and if my neck’s getting a break anyway, maybe I should finally see what that looks like.”

Sue nodded once more and quietly went back to work.

Chapter 3

Happy birthday to you
One strap of her dress slipped from her shoulder.

Happy birthday to you
The second strap followed.

Happy birthday, Mister Vice President
The dress slid to the floor, leaving her naked.

Happy birthday to you…

The vice president, still catching his breath, ran a hand through Evelyn’s hair.

“You know, it’s nice to know you’ve got other assets besides the hair. But please—next time, don’t sing Nothing Compares 2 U.”

“Yes, Daddy!”

Evelyn was clearly teasing.

Her fascination with haircuts only kept growing. She asked AI to generate images of the shortest hairstyles imaginable. And not only did she look beautiful in them—the AI seemed oddly enthusiastic about the idea.

Then she stumbled across videos of women getting their hair cut. Or shaved completely bald. She always imagined herself in their place.

And it turned her on.

“Hey, Evelyn. Just touching up the roots today?”

“Yes, Sue… but I want to go shorter again.”

“What, and your neck still hurts even at this length?”

“No. Well… since I already had to cut it, I kind of want to try everything before growing it back.”

“You know,” Sue said carefully, “I don’t really want to cut your hair with clippers. I still remember what it used to look like. Besides, buying clippers and shaving yourself would honestly be cheaper.”

“Not that short,” Evelyn laughed.

She showed Sue a photo.

Sue sighed.

A pixie cut. Ears exposed.

“Evelyn, I’ve been cutting your hair for five years. But if you ever want to go shorter than this, promise me you’ll find someone else.”

“Promise.”

After the roots were done, the scissors began taking away the length.

Evelyn watched, mesmerized.

Less hair.

Then less.

Her ears appeared. Her face suddenly became the focus.

And she loved it.

She could barely wait for evening.

The vice president had some reception to attend with his wife that night.

Evelyn lay in the bath, one hand between her legs, the other absentmindedly tracing the short hair at the back of her head.

The next morning, she arrived at work on time, carrying her usual cup of coffee.

Short hair genuinely saved time.

For the first time, she didn’t bother putting on the glasses with fake lenses.

Around midday, the phone on her desk rang.

“Miss Price, could you please come up to Mr. Johnson’s office?”

The vice president looked unusually stern.

“It’s not that you cut your hair,” he began. “It’s that you promised you wouldn’t. This is the second time you’ve lied to me. It changes things between us.”

“About as much as the second time you promised to divorce your wife—and then the next two thousand times after that?”

“I can see you’re not interested in having a constructive conversation. Fine. Go back to work. We’ll talk another time.”

Evelyn returned to work and, to her own surprise, became more competent. More productive.

For the first time, she argued on substance. Colleagues actually listened to her. She caught herself reading documents with genuine interest.

She stopped being the doll someone had placed in a position—someone constantly pretending to be someone she wasn’t.

She remembered that she had gone to a good university.

That she actually could understand startups quickly when the goal was the work itself rather than someone else’s approval.

But equally dramatic changes were happening in Evelyn’s sex life.

She discovered a fetish for short hair.

And fell into it completely.

She watched videos, read stories, imagined herself in the place of both the women and the stylists.

It excited her far more than the men she had spent years sleeping with for career advancement.

Her fantasies demanded shorter hair.

And they didn’t have to wait long.

 

Evelyn’s story continues next week.

The complete version of As Short As Possible, including illustrations , is already available on Patreon.