Bouffant Shave
In the autumn of 1993, David and Priscilla were a couple who seemed to have it all together. They’d been dating since the spring of that year, meeting at a mutual friend’s barbecue in Portland. David, a lanky man with a quiet charm and a love for old jazz records, had caught Priscilla’s eye when he flipped burgers with a crooked grin. Priscilla, with her long, golden-brown hair cascading past her shoulders, had a laugh that could light up a room. They clicked instantly—dates at the diner, walks along the Willamette River, and late nights talking about everything and nothing. For five years, they were the couple everyone envied, the kind who finished each other’s sentences.
But by 1998, something lingered unspoken between them. Priscilla had always assumed marriage was the natural next step. Five years was plenty of time, wasn’t it? Yet David never popped the question. No ring, no proposal, no hint of a future beyond their comfortable routine. It gnawed at her, a quiet frustration that grew louder with each passing month.
One crisp October evening, Priscilla decided she’d had enough. They were sitting on the worn plaid couch in David’s apartment, a Miles Davis record spinning softly in the background. She set her mug of tea down with a deliberate thud and turned to him.
“David,” she said, her voice steady but edged with impatience, “when are we getting married?”
David blinked, caught off guard. He leaned back, running a hand through his dark hair, and sighed. “Priscilla, we’ve been over this before. Early on—I mean, way back when we started—I told you what I’m into. You know bald women are my thing. It’s a turn-on for me. I’ve mentioned it plenty of times.”
Priscilla frowned, crossing her arms. She did remember, vaguely, that odd conversation from their first year together. He’d said it casually, almost like a joke, and she’d brushed it off. Her hair was her pride—long, thick, the kind of golden-brown that caught the sunlight just right. Over the years, David had dropped hints, sometimes playfully tugging at her locks and saying, “Imagine how stunning you’d be without all this.” She’d laughed, rolled her eyes, and kept her hair exactly as it was. To her, it was a quirk, not a dealbreaker.
But now, here he was, bringing it up again, serious as ever. “I’m not kidding, Priscilla,” David said, locking eyes with her. “Wear your hair exactly how I like it—shaved, smooth, bald as a cue ball—and we’ll be married. I mean it.”
The words hung in the air. Priscilla stared at him, searching his face for a trace of a bluff. There wasn’t one. For a moment, she thought about walking out, calling him ridiculous. But then she thought about the past five years—the way he’d stuck by her through late shifts at the hospital, the way he’d cook her favorite lasagna on her birthday. She loved him. Was her hair really worth more than that?
Within a month, Priscilla made up her mind. She sat in her bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, her golden-brown mane fanned out around her shoulders. She picked up the clippers she’d bought on a whim, the buzz filling the silence. Strand by strand, her hair fell to the tile floor, a soft pile of what used to be. Then came the razor, cool against her scalp, until there was nothing left but smooth skin. When she looked up, she barely recognized herself—but she felt a strange thrill, too. She called David over that night.
He walked in, stopped dead in his tracks, and grinned wider than she’d ever seen. “You’re perfect,” he said, pulling her into his arms. Two weeks later, on November 20, 1998, they were married in a small courthouse ceremony, Priscilla’s bald head gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
From then on, it became their ritual. About once a month, sometimes two, David would catch her eye across the breakfast table or while they watched TV and say, “I want you shaved bald, babe. Just to reaffirm.” She’d smile, nod, and fetch the clippers and razors from the bathroom cabinet. The hum of the blades, the scrape of the razor—it was their odd little dance, a reaffirmation of their vows in a way no one else could understand. And every time, David would look at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
By 1999, they’d settled into married life, quirks and all. Priscilla grew to love her bald look, the way it made her feel bold and unapologetic. And David? He never stopped grinning.
By the spring of 2000, David and Priscilla welcomed their daughter, Emily, into the world. She was a tiny bundle with Priscilla’s golden-brown eyes and a wisp of hair that hinted at her mother’s once-iconic locks. Life shifted gears after that—nights of jazz records gave way to lullabies, and the couple’s quirky rituals took a backseat to diaper changes and preschool runs. One evening, as Priscilla cradled Emily in her arms, David looked over with a soft smile and said, “Maybe ease up on the shaving for a while. Let’s just enjoy this.”
Priscilla nodded, relieved in a way she hadn’t expected. The clippers and razors stayed tucked in the bathroom cabinet, gathering dust. Her hair grew back slowly at first, then with a vengeance—long, thick, and fuller than ever. By the time Emily was toddling around, Priscilla’s golden-brown mane reached past her shoulders again, a quiet return to the woman she’d been before David’s bald obsession took center stage. The monthly shaves faded into memory, a chapter they rarely mentioned. David didn’t ask, and Priscilla didn’t offer. Life moved on.
Fast forward to 2021. Emily was 21, a bright young woman with her father’s quiet charm and her mother’s laugh. Priscilla’s hair now flowed down her back, a cascade of golden-brown streaked with the faintest hints of silver. She’d all but forgotten the feel of a razor on her scalp, the buzz of clippers a distant echo. David hadn’t requested a shave in nearly five years—not since Emily’s high school graduation, when he’d last murmured, “You’re perfect as you are,” and left it at that. They’d settled into a comfortable rhythm, raising their daughter and tending to their little house on the edge of Portland.
Then, one crisp September afternoon, Emily burst through the front door, her eyes sparkling. “Mom, Dad—I’m getting married next month!” she announced, holding up her left hand to show off a modest engagement ring. The room erupted in hugs and laughter, and suddenly, the next few weeks became a whirlwind of wedding planning. Priscilla threw herself into it—dress fittings, floral arrangements, a rustic venue by the river. Emily wanted a small, intimate day, but every detail had to be perfect. Down to the last moment, Priscilla was in charge, corralling bridesmaids and double-checking the cake.
The day before the wedding, October 15, 2021, Priscilla, Emily, and the bridesmaids piled into the beauty parlor for their final hair appointments. Emily’s curls were pinned into an elegant updo, the bridesmaids got matching waves, and Priscilla sat in the stylist’s chair, debating a trim to freshen her long locks. She caught her reflection in the mirror—full hair, a little wild, a testament to years of growth. She smiled, content.
Back home that evening, the house buzzed with last-minute preparations. Emily and the bridesmaids had gone to bed early, leaving David and Priscilla alone in the kitchen. As she packed up the last of the wedding favors, David sidled up behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear, and whispered, “I want you bald.”
Priscilla froze, a jar of lavender sachets slipping from her fingers to the counter. She turned slowly, meeting his gaze. There it was—that crooked grin, the one she hadn’t seen paired with those words in half a decade. Her heart thudded, caught between shock and a strange, buried nostalgia. “Now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “The wedding’s tomorrow, David.”
He shrugged, eyes twinkling. “Why not? For old times’ sake. For me.”
She stared at him, the weight of twenty-plus years between them. Her hair—long, lush, a symbol of the life they’d built—suddenly felt like a question. Did she owe him this, one last time? Or had they outgrown it? The clippers were still in the cabinet, she knew that much. The choice loomed, as sharp and electric as it had been back in 1998
Next chapter Priscilla rcalled the great times and sex thryd had when she was bald. David put on the kettle I’ll need some steamed towels for when your get busy with the razor for the wedding Priscillas freshly shaved head really stood out and took center stage in all wedding picture
When it was done, she ran her hand over her head, smooth as a cue ball, and looked in the mirror. There she was—bold, unapologetic, the woman she’d been two decades ago. David stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection. “You’re stunning,” he murmured, and she believed him.
The next morning, October 16, 2021, the wedding day dawned crisp and bright. Emily’s ceremony was set in a rustic barn by the river, fairy lights twinkling, mason jars filled with wildflowers. Priscilla walked into the bridal suite, her bald head gleaming under the soft lights, and the room fell silent.
Emily’s eyes widened. “Mom… you shaved your head?”
Priscilla smiled, a little sheepish but proud. “Your dad’s idea. A throwback to the old days.”
The bridesmaids exchanged glances, some giggling, others whispering in awe. Emily stepped closer, her expression softening. “It’s… bold. But you look amazing. Like, really amazing.”
Priscilla laughed, pulling her daughter into a hug. “Thanks, sweetheart. Now let’s get you married.”
The wedding was perfect—Emily radiant in her lace gown, her groom teary-eyed as she walked down the aisle. But in every photo, in every candid shot, Priscilla’s freshly shaved head stole the show. Guests couldn’t stop talking about it—some shocked, others admiring her audacity. “You’re brave,” one aunt said, patting her arm. “And it suits you!”
In the family portraits, Priscilla stood out like a beacon, her smooth scalp a striking contrast to the sea of curls and updos. David couldn’t stop grinning, his arm around her waist, his pride palpable. And when the photographer snapped a candid of them stealing a kiss by the barn door, Priscilla’s bald head caught the light just right, making her look timeless, fierce, unforgettable.
Later that night, as the reception wound down and the newlyweds drove off into the night, Priscilla and David sat on the porch swing, exhausted but content. He reached over, running his hand over her scalp, the gesture as intimate as ever.
“Worth it?” he asked.
She leaned into him, smiling. “Worth it.”
And there you have it—Priscilla’s bald head taking center stage at the wedding, a bold choice that brought back memories and made the day even more unforgettable. Let me know if you’d like to continue or tweak anything!
Okay, so the user wants me to continue the story where Priscilla decides to shave her head again for her daughter’s wedding, and it becomes a highlight in the wedding photos. I need to think about how to structure this chapter.
First, I should set the scene. It’s the night before the wedding, and David has just asked Priscilla to shave her head. Priscilla is reminiscing about the past when she used to shave her head regularly.
I can start with Priscilla’s internal monologue, reflecting on those times. She remembers the intimacy and excitement that came with shaving her head for David. It was a unique part of their relationship that brought them closer.
Then, David interrupts her thoughts by putting on the kettle, mentioning he needs steamed towels for the shaving process. This shows he’s already planning for it, assuming she’ll go through with it.
Priscilla decides to do it, not just for David, but for the memories and the connection it represents. She goes through the shaving process, maybe with David’s help, to make it a shared experience.
The next day, at the wedding, her bald head becomes a topic of conversation. Some guests might be surprised, others might admire her boldness. In the photos, her shaved head stands out, making her a memorable part of the wedding visuals.
I should also consider how Emily, the daughter, reacts to her mother’s decision. She might be shocked at first but then appreciate the gesture, understanding the significance behind it.
Let me think about the tone. It should be nostalgic, intimate, and a bit humorous, given the unusual request and the reactions it might provoke.
I’ll start writing now.
Here’s the next chapter, continuing the story with Priscilla deciding to shave her head for the wedding, and how it becomes a memorable part of the day:
Priscilla stood in the kitchen, the jar of lavender sachets still clutched in her hand, her mind racing. David’s whisper lingered in the air like a ghost from their past: “I want you bald.” She hadn’t heard those words in years, not since Emily was in high school, not since the clippers had been relegated to a dusty corner of the bathroom cabinet. Her hair—long, thick, a golden-brown waterfall—had become a part of her again, a symbol of the years she’d spent growing, changing, moving beyond the quirky rituals of their early days.
But now, on the eve of their daughter’s wedding, David had brought it back. Priscilla’s heart thudded, caught between resistance and a strange, buried thrill. She glanced at him, his crooked grin still there, eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief. He wasn’t bluffing. He wanted this—one last time, for old times’ sake.
She set the jar down and crossed her arms. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
David nodded, stepping closer. “Dead serious. It’s been too long, Pris. And tomorrow’s a big day. Let’s make it unforgettable.”
Priscilla’s mind drifted back to the late ‘90s, to the nights when she’d sit on the edge of the bathtub, clippers buzzing, David watching with that same grin. The ritual had been their secret language, a way to reaffirm their bond in a way no one else could understand. And the sex afterward—God, it had been electric. She remembered the way his hands would glide over her smooth scalp, the way he’d look at her like she was the only woman in the world. Those were good times, wild times, before parenthood and routine had softened the edges of their marriage.
Maybe, she thought, this was a chance to recapture a sliver of that magic. Maybe it was a way to remind themselves of who they used to be, even as they watched their daughter step into her own future.
Priscilla exhaled slowly. “Alright,” she said, her voice steady. “For you. For us.”
David’s grin widened, and he clapped his hands together. “Perfect. I’ll put the kettle on—I’ll need some steamed towels for when you get busy with the razor.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re helping?”
“Of course,” he said, already filling the kettle. “It’s a team effort.”
An hour later, the bathroom was warm and steamy, the scent of shaving cream mingling with the faint lavender from the wedding favors. Priscilla sat on a stool, her long hair pinned up in sections, the clippers humming in David’s hand. He moved carefully, reverently, shearing away years of growth in steady strokes. Strand by strand, her hair fell to the floor, a golden-brown pile that marked the end of an era.
When the clippers fell silent, David lathered her scalp with shaving cream, the razor gliding smoothly over her skin. Priscilla closed her eyes, the sensation familiar yet foreign after so many years. The scrape of the blade, the warmth of the steamed towels—it was like stepping back in time.
When it was done, she ran her hand over her head, smooth as a cue ball, and looked in the mirror. There she was—bold, unapologetic, the woman she’d been two decades ago. David stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection. “You’re stunning,” he murmured, and she believed him.
The next morning, October 16, 2021, the wedding day dawned crisp and bright. Emily’s ceremony was set in a rustic barn by the river, fairy lights twinkling, mason jars filled with wildflowers. Priscilla walked into the bridal suite, her bald head gleaming under the soft lights, and the room fell silent.
Emily’s eyes widened. “Mom… you shaved your head?”
Priscilla smiled, a little sheepish but proud. “Your dad’s idea. A throwback to the old days.”
The bridesmaids exchanged glances, some giggling, others whispering in awe. Emily stepped closer, her expression softening. “It’s… bold. But you look amazing. Like, really amazing.”
Priscilla laughed, pulling her daughter into a hug. “Thanks, sweetheart. Now let’s get you married.”
The wedding was perfect—Emily radiant in her lace gown, her groom teary-eyed as she walked down the aisle. But in every photo, in every candid shot, Priscilla’s freshly shaved head stole the show. Guests couldn’t stop talking about it—some shocked, others admiring her audacity. “You’re brave,” one aunt said, patting her arm. “And it suits you!”
In the family portraits, Priscilla stood out like a beacon, her smooth scalp a striking contrast to the sea of curls and updos. David couldn’t stop grinning, his arm around her waist, his pride palpable. And when the photographer snapped a candid of them stealing a kiss by the barn door, Priscilla’s bald head caught the light just right, making her look timeless, fierce, unforgettable.
Later that night, as the reception wound down and the newlyweds drove off into the night, Priscilla and David sat on the porch swing, exhausted but content. He reached over, running his hand over her scalp, the gesture as intimate as ever.
“Worth it?” he asked.
She leaned into him, smiling. “Worth it.”
Here’s the next chapter of the story, continuing from where Priscilla decides to shave her head again for her daughter’s wedding, recalling the great times and intimate moments it brought to her and David’s relationship, and how it becomes a standout feature in the wedding photos:
Chapter: A Return to Boldness
The night before Emily’s wedding, Priscilla stood in the kitchen, her fingers tracing the edge of a lavender sachet she’d been fussing over for the favors. David’s voice broke through her thoughts, low and teasing: “I want you bald.” The words hit her like a jolt of electricity, pulling her back to a time when her shaved head wasn’t just a style—it was a spark, a secret language between them.
She turned to face him, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, a far cry from the smooth scalp she’d once known. “You’re bringing that back now?” she asked, half-laughing, half-incredulous. But David’s grin was unrelenting, that same mischievous curve she’d fallen for decades ago. He nodded, eyes gleaming with nostalgia.
Priscilla’s mind wandered to those wild, carefree nights of the late ‘90s. She could still feel the buzz of the clippers against her scalp, the cool air kissing her bare head, and David’s hands—oh, those hands—running over her smooth skin with a reverence that made her feel invincible. The sex afterward had been something else entirely: raw, electric, a celebration of their quirks and closeness. Shaving her head had been more than a whim; it was an intimacy they’d built together, a ritual that stripped away the ordinary and left only them.
“You remember how good it was, don’t you?” David said, reading her silence like he always could. He stepped closer, his voice softening. “Tomorrow’s a big day. Let’s make it ours, too.”
She exhaled, the memories tugging at her resolve. It wasn’t just for him, she realized—it was for her, for them, for the thrill of reclaiming a piece of their past. “Alright,” she said finally, a smile creeping in. “Let’s do it.”
David clapped his hands together, already moving toward the counter. “Perfect. I’ll put on the kettle—I’ll need some steamed towels for when you get busy with the razor.” His confidence made her laugh; he’d clearly been plotting this, assuming she’d say yes.
An hour later, the bathroom was a haze of steam and shaving cream, the kettle’s work evident in the warm towels draped over David’s shoulder. Priscilla sat on a stool, her hair pinned up one last time before the clippers hummed to life in David’s hands. He worked with care, shearing away the golden-brown lengths she’d grown over years of practicality. Each pass revealed more of the woman she’d once been—bold, unapologetic, alive.
When the clippers quieted, David lathered her scalp and took up the razor, gliding it smoothly across her skin. Priscilla closed her eyes, the sensation flooding her with déjà vu: the scrape of the blade, the warmth of the towels, the quiet intimacy of his touch. When it was done, she ran her hand over her head—smooth, perfect—and met his gaze in the mirror. “Still got it,” he murmured, and she felt it, too.
The next day, October 16, 2021, the wedding unfolded in a rustic barn by the river, all fairy lights and wildflowers. Priscilla walked in, her freshly shaved head gleaming under the soft glow, and the chatter around her stilled. Emily, radiant in her lace gown, blinked in shock. “Mom, you actually did it?”
“Your dad’s idea,” Priscilla said with a shrug, grinning. “A little throwback for luck.”
Emily laughed, stepping closer to touch her mother’s scalp. “It’s wild—but you look incredible.” The bridesmaids buzzed around her, some giggling, others marveling at her nerve. And as the day wore on, Priscilla’s bald head took center stage.
In every wedding photo—family portraits, candids by the barn, shots of her and David stealing a kiss—her smooth scalp stood out, a striking contrast to the curls and veils around her. Guests whispered about it, some calling her brave, others just staring in awe. “You’ve got guts,” one uncle said, raising his glass. “And it works!”
David couldn’t stop beaming, his arm around her waist, his pride as clear as the shine on her head. The photographer caught it all: Priscilla laughing with Emily, her baldness catching the light, making her a focal point in a sea of tradition. It was bold, unexpected, and utterly unforgettable—just like the great times she and David had once shared.
That night, as the reception faded and the newlyweds sped off, Priscilla leaned into David on the porch swing. He ran his hand over her scalp, the gesture as tender as ever. “Worth it?” he asked.
She smiled, the memories—old and new—warming her. “Worth it.”
