Barbered by Eva 1 – Jasmine’s Introduction

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Just Strolling By

Every evening, I slowly wandered past Barbered by Eva, a small unpretentious building on Bridge Lane that stood alone near the railway station. Once, the structure may have served another purpose that people no longer remembered. However, the squat structure, dominated by a large window with a solid door alongside, had become the domain of Eva, the lady barber.

I had never met Eva, only deducing her name from the sign above the window. Whenever I glimpsed inside, I was unable to tear my gaze away from the tall and attractive woman who worked there. Our features were alike, as were our age, height, and build. To my mind, these remarkably similar qualities gave us a strong connection although, without wishing to sound arrogant, my perfectly proportioned figure obviously gave me an air of greater authority.

Eva usually wore tight shirts paired with overly short skirts bought from a chain store, often combining these with opaque tights and knee-high boots. I, on the other hand, wore elegant dresses, designer skirt suits and expensive heels that were appropriate to my senior management role in a large corporation. We both dressed as well as our funds allowed which, to my mind, added strengthen to our powerful connection. However, without wishing to sound condescending, my more expensive attire inevitably gave me a justifiable sense of superiority.

Both Eva and I had long, straight black hair, which gave us a certain kinship in a town dominated by blondes and brunettes. However, her hair did not reach her waist while mine was long enough to sit on. Without wishing to sound pompous and patronising, it was a difference that obviously led to me being superior.

Sometimes, if the barber was attending to a client, I lingered by the large window of Barbered by Eva and peered inside. Doing so, reinforced my strong belief that our similarities were greater than our differences, hence strengthening our bond.

Occasionally, we would exchange nods and smiles, but that was the extent of our interaction whenever I slowly strolled by.

Then Everything Changed

One day, as I loitered by the shop window, I stopped in my tracks. Eva had cut her long dark hair that had been like mine into the severest of bobs. It was a drastic style reminiscent of a schoolboy’s bowlcut. Her once long locks that framed her face were now a glossy cap of hair perched above her ears, with the shortest of fringes and her neck shaved to the skin.

I could not help but stare, feeling both repelled and captivated by the drastic change. As if sensing my gaze, Eva looked up and smirked at me before using a finger to beckon me inside. I bit my lip, paused briefly, then ran quickly away, my heart pounding in my chest as I her mocking laughter faded into the distance.

Another Day Passed

The following day I was feeling ridiculous after my absurd reaction to Eva’s changed appearance. Obviously, it was her decision how she wore her hair, and it had no bearing on anything else in common between us. I decided that I would pop in the shop on my way home and apologise. It was the sensible and mature thing to do.

As I strolled past the window, peering inside, she was staring right back at me as if she had been waiting for me. Smirking, she once again used her finger to beckon me inside.

I briefly studied her severe haircut, bit my lip, then ran quickly away once again, my heart pounding in my chest and accompanied by her jeering mirth.

For next few days, fear drove me to travel home by a different route. One that avoided using Bridge Lane and the need to pass Barbered by Eva.

During every day at work, I confidently challenged – with assertiveness and, if necessary, aggression – hordes of difficult people and always came out on top. So, I felt deeply embarrassed by my inability to open a conversation with Eva.

Without my daily fix on the way home, it proved to be a long week and it felt like an even longer weekend. But I worked hard to put thoughts of the lovely Eva completely out of my mind.

A Week Went By

Despite all my fear and embarrassment, I found myself drawn back to Barbered by Eva the following Monday. I had experienced an extremely restless weekend as images of Eva’s transformed appearance kept filling my mind. I had told myself all day that I must focus on Eva, the person, and not her hair. However, once again, I could not tear my eyes away from her short hair as soon as I saw her through the window.

I continued my contemplation of why she had chosen to look different from me. Despite knowing I was being silly, I shivered at the thought of matching her style as a precursor to renewing our connection.

I convinced myself I must go inside and ask why she cut her long hair. I told myself we could arrange to discuss it over a pleasant drink that evening.

But fate had other plans.

Having lingered by the window a little too long, I casually wandered towards the door. But I suddenly jumped in surprise as Eva had grabbed my arm, and her grip strong and unyielding.

‘Inside!’ Eva commanded abruptly, dragging me through the door and locking the door behind us.

Too stunned to resist, Eva hauled me over to her massive barber’s chair and pushed me down into the seat. An incredibly heavy black cape soon weighed me down. I squirmed underneath, experiencing elemental fear, but tinged with unexpected excitement.

Eva cast her piercing dark eyes towards my face and adopted an uncompromising sneer on her scarlet lips. ‘So, you think yourself superior, do you?’ she presumed, correctly as it turned out, but how did she know?

I whimpered, shaking my head a little, as she slowly raked her scarlet-polished fingernails through my long black hair. Normally, my indignation would have had no bounds if someone had touched me without permission. However, I remained still, and I whimpered again.

‘Oh, I think you do,’ Eva smirked.

Despite my senior position at work, my annual performance review always highlighted the arrogance I projected to all. My justified air of superiority when interacting with underlings, always received special attention. Although I saw my assertiveness as a positive quality that achieved excellent results, the board of directors insisted I change my ways. Although I was unworried by the observations, I had begun to wonder if everyone I met were unhappy about my justifiable air of superiority.

‘I saw through the window,’ Eva went on, ‘that you visibly sniffed every time you compared the length of your hair with mine -’

I realised that Eva was very perceptive, and my throat went dry. ‘N- no -’

‘Yes!’ Eva snapped. ‘It is one reason I cut my hair short, because yours will soon be even shorter than mine.’

I pondered Eva’s statement. It made no sense. Puzzled, I gave her a quizzical look, tittering nervously.

She roared with laughter at my confusion. ‘Your hair will be shorter than mine because all of yours will soon be coming off!’ she smirked provocatively.

Eva’s excitement was clearly apparent and bubbling over as she raised her scissors and menacingly clicked the blades together.

A Pivotal Moment

It took me a moment before I ascertained from her steely gaze, that Eva was deadly serious about cutting my hair. I struggled in the chair, now pumped up high off the ground to hinder any attempt to leave. The ridiculously heavy black cape restricted my movement, impeding any opportunity to escape. I felt my power, my entitlement, my superiority, ebbing away.

‘Look, can we talk, please, Eva,’ I ventured, trying to reason with her. ‘My name is Jasmine and -’

‘No,’ she snorted. ‘This is not the time for talk. This is the time for action.’

I grew increasingly anxious. ‘Eva, I -’

‘Silence!’ Without ceremony or care, Eva grasped a thick lock of my hair and chopped it off close to my scalp. ‘See? Action!’

Eva dropped the long tendril of hair into my lap with a satisfied grin. More clocks quickly followed, her arms and scissors moving in a frenzy.

I wanted to tell her to stop, but I could only manage a whimper. Eva simply laughed at my discomfort.

Soon, she had hacked all my lovely long hair into an ugly and badly cut short bob. She had exposed my delicate ears and removed all the weight from my neck and the back of my head.

Eva skilfully edged the bob with hairclippers, taking it even shorter, and creating a smooth cap of hair on my crown that resembled her own. But even shorter.

She expertly created a blunt fringe high up on my forehead leaving my wide eyes to dominate my features.

Then Eva shaved the buzzed expanse above my ears and at the back of my head, all the way down to the skin.

What remained on my head was the severest of bowlcuts. Suspended high in the chair, enveloped by the black cape, I resembled a schoolboy. One who had displeased his mother and suffered the consequences at the hand of a fearsome barber.

Although I had grown increasingly numb as Eva had sheared off my hair and shaved my skin, something peculiar had occurred. Unexpectedly, I became turned on by every element of the process. Gently at first, but then my arousal began to increase. Although I was deeply upset by the loss of my hair, astonishing waves of pleasure began suffusing my body.

My grumbles of complaint subtly morphed into moans of desire. I surreptitiously rubbed a hand between my thighs, the added sensation creating immense satisfaction through my whole body. I was unable to reconcile the deep arousal I was experiencing with Eva’s outrageous conduct, but I was unconcerned.

Each breath was increasingly shorter and coming faster than before. Under the cape, my fingers were exploring higher and more quickly.

‘You were an attractive woman with your long hair, wearing designer dresses,’ Eva stated judgementally as she surveyed her handiwork. ‘Now you look like a schoolboy.’

I took a deep breath and stared disbelievingly at my reflection. She was correct.

‘Yes!’ I cried out as I climaxed, the intensity of the experience leaving me breathless.

I could not believe what had just happened, but I could not deny that I had enjoyed every second. Wallowing in the warmth and pleasure that suffused my body, I accepted that Eva and I were equals, my imagined superiority left behind.

Once my body had returned to something approaching normality, I realised that I needed to say something to thank her. It was the right thing to do. ‘Eva, I -’

‘You will return every Monday at 5 pm to have your hair cut,’ Eva ordered, her voice firm, ‘and you will be wearing dark grey shorts, a crisp white shirt, and a smart tie.’

After such a wonderful, shared experience, I was unable to comprehend the meaning behind Eva’s strange demands. However, I wanted to experience those wonderful feelings repeatedly, so I knew I had to do as she said. I did not understand why, but I could not resist her.

‘Yes, Eva,’ I said meekly.

‘Thank you, Jason,’ she said, smirking as she delivered her new name for me. A name derived, no doubt, from my transformed appearance with my “schoolboy” haircut.

I decided it was unwise to correct her.


‘Jasmine, what have you done to your lovely hair?’ Carla, my closest colleague, asked, sounding personally affronted when I went in to work the next day. As so often before, I felt it prudent not to comment on her limp shoulder length bob that always looked in need of a good trim.

‘I had it restyled. I felt like a change,’ I responded casually, attempting to brazen it out. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Restyled?’ Carla questioned disbelievingly. ‘It looks like you have had it hacked off by an over enthusiastic barber!’

I shrugged and chose not to respond to her surprisingly accurate assumption.

She grew irritated and impatient by my silence. ‘And, no, I do not like it. It is far too short,’ she complained. ‘If you had wanted a change then why did you not get something nice like mine,’ she said, preening the thin ends of her own hair.

‘Well, Carla, I like my hair,’ I countered, and I watched her storm off in a huff.

To be fair, hers was one of the better reactions I received. Friends and colleagues were almost universal in their surprise and disappointment at my transformation, but I did not care. Despite its severity, my bowlcut looked surprisingly good with my business attire. Indeed, it gave me an even more authoritative and superior air when at work.

At home on Monday evening, I repeatedly stared at myself in the mirror and relived every second of the events from earlier, with the inevitable pleasurable consequences. I had never felt so alive, so free.

Having to wait a whole week to see Eva again, was a nightmare but I was counting down the hours … the minutes … the seconds …


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