Big Girl Makeover

When I rounded the corner, in the seaside town, I saw again the salon I’d wandered past that same morning. I don’t know why I was fascinated by it. I even liked my hair at the moment and had not had any thoughts about it of late. 

The hairdressers sat in the ditch of two sharp corners of road on the side of the harbour. The town seemed to be set in a corner of the world which was perpetually overcast. Its grey skies and sea front harbour reflecting one another in dullness. I was here as a nomad passing through, having driven through that morning, I’d seen a dull looking hotel with the typically drab lace curtains visible through the windows. It was as off putting as it was alluring. The hotel seemed nibbled and covered mothballs, and although I saw no cats present there was a distinct acrid smell of cat pee in ever room. I’d ventured out of the hotel and remained charmed by the harbour town. Overcast and colourless. Deserted boats bobbing lifelessly. 

Whilst walking through the narrow streets, deserted bar a couple of locals swallowed by their waterproof coats. I’d seen the salon on my route. It was painted a vibrant red, though its sign “Sandra’s” was badly faded and chipped. There was a huge window where I could see the inside of the beauty shop. It was distinctly dated like the rest of the town. Laminate floor and only two stations. Both of which were empty. Yet, once again I was fixated. I saw my reflection through the window, my clearly out-of-town appearance. My hair was nearly at my waist and I’d dyed it nearly every colour in the past. It now sat thick but somehow limp, it’s green faded dyed ends stood out. I didn’t look how I wanted anymore. I was getting older. Something was telling me the push I needed would be found in this salon whether I liked it or not. 

I made note of the place and decided to google it when I returned to the hotel. Once on the homepage, I found a consultation option and scheduled it for the first available appointment in the morning. To my surprise there were two stylist options, I chose Patty just for the sound of a trusted older woman. 

I dressed in my usual attire the next morning. A slouchy dungarees with a crop top underneath, my converse and a huge yellow raincoat, for the weather. The salon was right where I’d left it the previous day. The bright red, shocking against the dim clouds. I pushed the door open, a tacky bell rang to announce my presence. 

The inside of the shop was as expected, the two small stations were there with cheap looking plastic arm rests and cracked cushion covers. Generally the whole vibe was inoffensive, just very cheap. It was very basic, black chairs, laminate fake wood floor and old mirrors. It was also deserted. At the front desk, I almost lost my nerve. This whole endeavour had been so stupid and aimless. Why did I want to destroy my hair? Why did I want a haircut in a small strange town? The travel was clearly taking a toll on me. I pulled my hood back up and began turning around for the door. 

“Hello? Can I help you?”

Shit. I turned back around seeing a rather large, heavily fake-tanned woman probably in her fifties burst into the shop from a back room. Her hair was this dated brown colour with assumed caramel highlights, volumised as if it were the eighties. She had on a long black dress to the ankles, with a tight zebra print shrug over the top. Her swollen feet in flip flops poked out from beneath, the neon orange nail varnish catching my eye. This was very much a mistake. I did not want this woman getting her hands on my hair. 

And yet… “Oh… hi. I think I’m booked for a consultation at 10?”

She looked at me up and down sceptically. “Who are you booked with? I didn’t get a notification.”

I suddenly felt very embarrassed, despite having a weird pit growing in my stomach. Half-hoping, half-cursing. “I booked with… Patty?”

“Ah!” She exclaimed. “Was that still an option on the system? Patty left a year ago. I will fit you in though, doll, if you don’t mind me taking you. As you can see, I’m not busy.”

I paused. Unsure how to proceed. But the large woman seemed to make the decision for me. 

“Let me take your coat and we’ll see what we are working with,” she held out her hand for my raincoat. 

Reluctantly, I handed it to her. I was suddenly even more unsure than I had been previously. Now that the decisions were being made for me, I was inclined to resist and leave but somehow politeness and that weird pull kept me standing there. It urged me to take off my coat and hand it to her. Which I did. 

“What was your name, doll? You don’t seem local.” She took my coat and disappeared with it into the back room once again. 

When she returned, she looked at me expectantly. 

“Polly,” I lied. “And no, I’m just on… holiday.” I said, uncertainly. “I only booked in for a consultation on your website, so… er… if it’s not possible-”

She waved away my fretting and pulled me over to the chair. “Nonsense, I can fit you in. It’s very quiet down here in the off-season.”

The chair squeaked and cracked when I sat down, almost tripping over the footrest. I stared back at my reflection in the mirror. What the hell was I doing? I looked fine. A bit pale and small compared to the woman’s swollen body stood behind me. But generally, I looked fine. I suddenly really didn’t want this small town hairdresser ruining my hair. 

Too late. She already had her hands in my hair. Running her large hands and fake nails from my scalp to the ends, fanning my long hair out around me. I sat uncomfortably, my knees tight together, hands nervously gripping the plastic arm rests. 

“Well, my love,” she said, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “You’ve got quite the hair, so thick and long.  Been a few years since I did hair for someone as young as yourself.”

I could feel her large bosom pressing into the back of my head as she toyed with my hair, brushing the parting into different places. 

I quickly spoke up. I still had that weird feeling of wanting terribly for this to end and to just go home but that weird pull kept me fixed in place, it even dictated the next words out of my mouth. “I was wanting a… a restyle.”

I wanted to kick myself. Her hands stilled in my hair as they were raking through it. “Cut or colour?”

“Erm… both?” I said, weakly. 

She smiled at me in the mirror. “How big of a restyle are we talking?”

I searched for my answer. Seeing her swollen fingers possessively stroking my sad greenish ends. My gut twisted, the same anticipation brewing as being at the start of a rollercoaster. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I mean… it’s really up to you. I don’t think I know what suits me anymore.”

The large lady beamed. “Oh doll, you are making an old hairdresser’s day. Actually, I have a few ideas in mind, you know. As soon as I saw you, I knew. I have a feeling you’re secretly quite daring so I’m not worried one bit. And with your face, honestly, I think you can pull off anything. Well, dear, I’d say you’re ready for something a little more dramatic but also sophisticated. And we can get rid of that green, did you do that colour yourself, hun?”

“Ermm… yes. It’s faded now though,” I said, uncertainly, feeling a little affronted that she asked if I’d done it myself.

I sat in absolute horror looking at her own poofy hairstyle and bad dye job. She disappeared into the back room momentarily before coming back with a bright leopard print plastic cape. 

“I agree with you,” she said, as she shook out the garish cape. Well, this was definitely happening. Why didn’t I just say there was a mistake earlier on? Undaunted by my nervous stress, the woman continued. “You need something new. Thank god, you came on a free morning.”

The garish cape was dramatically flourished and then thrust over my body and tight round my neck. I was suddenly just a head poking out of the shiny ugly pattern. My light brown hair with faded colour on the ends was once again fanned around my shoulders. The chair was also no longer visible, save for my converse poking out the bottom on the footrest. 

“Are you ready?” She picked some large scissors and an old comb off the chunky worktop in front of me. “Just a little warning, doll, I think most of these ends have to go.”

The words “most of” hung in the air. I had an out of body image of a passerby going past the bright red salon. Through their eyes, I saw the scene unfolding in the shop window. Me sat up front in the window at the mirror, my last moments before my hair was mercilessly hacked off by the larger woman. Dwarfed in the chair, with only my feet visible, on the metal footrest. The leopard print cape like a siren around me. 

And then, she began. 

None too gently, she sectioned four quadrants on my head. Beginning at the back, she grabbed one section and sank her scissors in. I felt them brushing too high along my neck. Working through the first thick ponytail, the woman had her fat hand clamped around. The sawing sound was right behind my ear and I saw the inches upon inches of length being separated from my head. 

“First cut is always the scariest, hun,” the large woman held up her prize, one of my ponytails. “Look at that. Oh, doll, I am excited already.”

She waddled around my chair. And laid the sawed hair on the worktop in front of me. I saw my face in the mirror, horror frozen on it above the tacky cape. But the hairdresser was already moving on to the next section. The same again on the other side, high on my neck I felt the sudden shock of cold metal scissors. She laid the next bundle of hair next to its fellow victim. And moved onto the two sections on the sides of my head. 

As she combed out the left side she paused and met my gaze in the mirror. “I’m just thinking. Which side is better for what I have planned. Do you have a side your hair naturally falls to?”

“Ermmm, well-“

Before I could answer, she picked up her scissors again. “Actually, you know what, it doesn’t matter. I’m adding in bits at the front so I’ll just do this side a bit longer.”

Having no idea what ‘bits at the front’ even meant. I was stunned when my eyes saw where her scissors landed when she’d stated this side would be ‘longer’. 

My mind stuttered. The woman had cut the front left section off at just below my chin. Waddling round to my right, she stood in the way of the mirror. So all I could see was her over spilling bosom and horrifically long, overly adorned fingernails. These same fingernails suddenly found their way under my chin. 

“Head up, doll. I need to see you straight on,” Her fingers forcefully snapped my neck back. Her gaze met mine, looking down at me and assessing. Her comb dragged through the right side of my hair and over my face. Forcing my eyes closed for fear the comb would scrape my retina. Then her scissors slid in shockingly under my cheekbone. Dawning realisation crept over me as the final long tresses were severed. 

She stepped back, placing my old greenish hair next to the rest on the counter in front of me. I felt like I was having an out of body experience. Surely I hadn’t come into this horrible little hair salon in the middle of nowhere and let this tacky woman commit some sort of hack job on my long hair. 

She saw me looking aghast in the mirror, my long hair spread forlornly on the counter. She walked behind me again. Her pudgy fingers moving from my shoulders to what was left of my hair. She ruffled through it playfully. 

“There,” she said, with satisfaction. “I bet that feels better. Not got that mop weighing you down anymore. Now don’t you worry, this is just the rough cut. Actually… where did I put my glasses?”

She went back into the little room off to the side and I was left alone with my severed locks. In the mirror, it reflected the very obvious mistake I’d made and was continuing to make by not getting up and getting out of there. My hair was still dry and extremely uneven. In the mirror I could see the back was short and falling no longer than the middle of my neck. In the front, my hair was at my chin on one side and at my cheek on the other. I had the awful feeling this woman was aiming for some sort of asymmetric cut. 

I fished a hand out from beneath my cape and pulled at the short ends. Shocked when, where my fingers expected to find hair, there was only air. 

The large woman bustled back from the other room. She now had glasses perched on the end of her nose. Shockingly, she swatted at my hand touching my ‘rough cut’ sharply.

“Now, now, don’t mess with my work. We’ve got to even you up first.” Feeling chastised, I quickly put my hand back beneath the ugly material. “Look, no touching until I say, all right, darling? You’ve messed the cape up now and we don’t want any hair on your lovely clothes, do we?”

Gone was her sweeter manner from before, now her words dropped off with condescension, like a child trying to make her job difficult. She made a show of undoing and reshuffling the cape around my neck. But this time she put a grubby old towel beneath it around my neck. Then refastened the cape tighter than before. On top of that she placed a heavy and worn out cutting collar. The rubber sat around my shoulders, cheaply velcroed at the front. There would be no getting out of this without her saying so. I figured that was probably the point. My hands felt clammy and slick on the plastic armrests, braced for impact I readied for whatever she had in mind next. 

She picked up an old paddle brush and brushed through my much reduced locks, none too gently. 

“Right, my love” she said, in-between the sound of her harsh brushing. “For colour, I’m thinking we get some dimension in there and sophistication. No more green.”

She laughed more at me than with me. 

Even though I hadn’t spoken, she continued, “I think a chocolate base is good, with some caramel and ginger highlights.”

I thought it sounded not good. But it seemed way too late to be stopping this steam power train of a woman. When she came back with a rickety plastic trolley, she had a dirty lime green apron on with matching gloves. The gloves seemed better suited to cleaning bathrooms than hair dyeing. Once again, she haphazardly began sectioning my now-short hair. She placed tin foil underneath seemingly random hair strands. I counted five of them positioned on the left side near the front. These highlights would be chunky I thought. 

As she moved to the other side she began chatting. “My daughter was like you when she was your age. Very… what’s the word… different style. But when she got her first proper job. Up in an office on the industrial park, a secretary job. What do you do, love?”

I paused as she slapped strong smelling bleach onto the foil. “Ermmm, I’m kind of between jobs at the moment.”

She met my eyes in the mirror, peering over her glasses. “Just as well. When you have green hair, who’s going to hire you?”

I gave her a tight smile. 

She continued, “I’ll sort you out. Just like I did my daughter. You know, she had all this blonde highlighted hair. And I told her, look you won’t have time with your job to be fussing with all that. You’re older now and you need an appropriate haircut,” She seemed to glance in the mirror at her own noticeably outlandish haircut. “Obviously, I have time for my hair. I’m a hairdresser.”

She laughed, folding the foil messily around the thick highlight she’d made at my forehead.

“So you cut it?” I asked weakly. Imagining this woman’s poor daughter. 

“That’s right, dear. I gave her this proper professional look. You know like those sharp bobs. Short at the back and longer at the front.” She demonstrated with her luminous hands. “I dyed her hair this dark colour, very swish. She was nervous to begin with, like you, honey. But she said her boss had really approved. I’m going for something a little different with you though, darling.”

I hated to think about what this “little different” look was. I stared at my severed hair still draped across the shelf in front of me. I was too scared to try to stop her now. The bleach was on my hair. It was now cut and  going to be damaged. I repressed a heavy sigh. What the hell had I done?

The large woman seemed satisfied with her foil highlights at the front. She picked something white and plastic with strings from a draw.

“There. Your front highlights will be quite striking but I think we need subtlety in the back. So bleach cap it is. These were popular in the eighties, love, I don’t know why people stopped using them these days.”

My humiliation seemed almost comical now. The foils sat in front of my eyes so I could only peek between them. I saw her lower the plastic onto my head from behind. Then, she came round to the front to tie it neatly in a bow under my chin. Like the cape and cutting collar, she tied the strings very tightly. Too tight for any sort of comfort. My hair was trapped under the cap and I peeked out in horror to see her use some kind of hook to weave tiny pieces of hair out. I looked hilariously bad. In addition, the length of the locks being pulled out continued to shock me as if my brain hadn’t gotten around to the violent cutting she’d done initially. 

Once she was satisfied with the hair poking through the cap, she grabbed something else from the trolly of horrors. It was literally a cut up piece of bin bag to look like another collar. 

She tied that on top of the cape and rubber. “There we are. Got to protect my capes.”

Again, tied too tightly. The plastic restricted tightly around my neck. I felt incapacitated. I felt like a small child with no say in the matter. The way she spoke to me. The way she manoeuvred my head and hair, a little too rough and direct. I felt like I’d misbehaved and this was my punishment. I felt wetness gather between my legs. My knees felt weak.

I looked straight ahead, horror plain on my face as I was swathed in several layers of plastic and polyester. I couldn’t see my clothes. I looked like a completely different person. I couldn’t have been here for more than 40 minutes yet the transformation was shocking. 

She slapped yet more thick bleach onto the top of the cap. It smacked and plopped against the plastic. Some landing on the bin liner. 

Soon the hair visible out of the cap was slathered in the thick light blue paste. It smelled strongly of chemicals. I sighed inwardly again. It really was too late. The damage was done. 

She placed her gloved hands possessively on my shoulders. “Aren’t you so relieved? You don’t have to have that mop on your head anymore.”

She met my eyes in the mirror nodding to the forlorn severed hair below. Her smile almost seemed malicious. She squeezed my shoulders tightly. 

“Don’t look so worried, hun. I’ve got so many ideas, you don’t have to stress about anything. Oh, your shoulders feel tight. This beauty trip must be just what you needed, right? When you go home, your friends and family will be amazed by your transformation.”

“Well, erm… I’m just glad you could fit me in,” I said politely. God knows why I still felt the need. 

These many ideas seemed suspicious to me. It was only a cut and colour, what could she possibly have in mind?. She smushed the bleached hair around on my head and wrapped it in on itself. It looked like the proverbial, blue pasted turd. 

“I have nothing but time for you today, doll” she squeezed my shoulders again, leaving a bleach handprints on my bin linered shoulder. “I’m even thinking about some free treatments we have on offer I can throw in. You see, this is a small town so I offer as many procedures as I can so people don’t have to travel far.”

“Really? Well, don’t worry, I just needed my hair done.” I tried to say smoothly. 

She carried on as if I hadn’t said anything. “You’ve seen the Dental clinic next door? We often do a good deal together so people can get both for the price of one. And that dentist is so nice, I highly recommend him to all my clients.”

I had not seen the dental clinic next door. I ran my tongue along my teeth. There was no way in hell I’d let anyone in this town touch my teeth. At least, hair grew back. “Ahh that’s a shame. I’m leaving tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll have time.”

“Good thing you came to see me today, right?” 

I nodded, the foil flopped into my face. 

Sandra had a full roll of cling film and was wrapping it tightly around the bleached mess on my head. Then, she rolled some kind of hood dryer from a dusty corner over to my chair. Muttering to herself. “Maybe if I speed this process along…”

In the mirror I saw her lowering the hood over my bleach covered hair. It felt like something from an old salon, like when ladies had rollers. 

I was enveloped in hot air as she turned the machine on. My eyes watered. 

“I’m gonna go get you a drink, doll,” she said over the dryer, not asking what I wanted. 

It seemed only moments later she came back with a milky tea. I hadn’t been able to take my hands out from under the cape for fear of her chastising. She shook her head again when I tried to move the cap aside. 

“What did I say, Polly?” Her tone stopped my movement and I was struck how she remembered the name I’d given her. I wondered helplessly how she expected me to drink. “Getting your hair done is a messy business, I can’t have you getting dirty in my salon. Leave everything to me.”

To my horror, she held the teacup to my lips. 

“Take a long sip, doll,” hot tea burned my mouth as I sipped from her cup. The temperature made my eyes water and I nearly choked. 

“There, there,” she took the cup back and took the edge of the bin bag to wipe unhelpfully at my lips. I managed to swallow the hot liquid. 

“It’s a bit hot,” I said carefully. 

She shook her head, peering over her glasses at me. “Nonsense, dear. Now I want you to drink the whole thing. I can’t stand here forever.” 

She raised the cup to my lips again, tipping the tea to my mouth. I quickly opened my mouth as the liquid spilled into my mouth and dribbled out the sides. 

“Swallow,” she commanded. 

I did as I was told. Almost in a daze as tears ran out my eyes at the temperature and shock. Her dominance had a full hold over me. I couldn’t do anything else. 

“That’s a good girl. I’ll be back in thirty minutes. Don’t move, Pol, you’ll upset my bleach,” she placed the cup on top of some of my chopped hair in front of me and headed for the door. To my confusion, she left me. Trussed up in the shop window for all to see. The bell jingled with finality. And I literally found I could not move as the hair under the dryer began to crisp. 

Thirty minutes passed and the large woman came barrelling through the door. This time, another woman followed her, she was tall and very lean. The pair of them looked like a comedy duo. The tall woman had a more masculine look. Her hair was trimmed with military precision into a short Bob reaching her chin. She was dressed head to toe in black, black slacks and polo neck. With some black thick framed glasses to match. 

“Polly! This is my good friend, Melania, she’s going to help me with you. Don’t worry, you’re in safe hands,” the large woman gestured to the tall imposing woman. 

“Hello,” I said quietly. Thankful they had finally returned. And grateful that some of the wetness between my legs had dried. The tea episode had almost seemed like a dream. I was a little dizzy but much more relaxed than I made been. My mouth was still burnt and I attributed my general fuzzy feeling to that. 

The tall woman bent down at my side and looked at me. “Sandra has told me all about you! Looking for a dramatic change to get your life on track. Well, I am excited to get started. I think I’ll get my hands on you after Sandra is finished.”

Getting my life on track seemed to be something Sandra had added to her story for embellishment. But I found I didn’t care. The old salon chair was feeling very comfortable and I smiled at Melania who smiled knowingly back. 

“Oh she’s taken to it quickly, Sandra, getting higher by the second,” Melania’s words seemed strange but they didn’t worry me in the slightest. 

Melania took a seat in the salon chair next to me, turned around to watch and Sandra took the hood off my hair. It could have been my imagination, but I swore I saw tiny wisps of smoke rolling off the bleached hair atop my strange plastic cap. 

Sandra took her position behind me. “Oh gorgeous!” She exclaimed to the blonde white mess on my head. “I can’t wait to get started, there we are, my good girl. Let’s get you washed.”

I smiled at being called a good girl. Praise felt so nice. Sandra ripped the bin bag from my shoulders and threw it to the bin in the corner of the salon. 

“No, no, you don’t need to get up, Polly,” she held my shoulders down sharply as I had assumed I needed to go to a shampoo bowl. “Look, the sink is under here.

Unceremoniously, Sandra dumped my longer hair off the counter to the floor and folded the worktop up. Beneath was an old black basin just below the mirror. 

“Oh,” I said. “Good. I felt so comfortable here.”

“I know, doll, remember what I said? Leave everything to me,” she whirled my salon chair around and lowered my back down.

The spinning made me slightly dizzy, but as the basin sat neatly around my neck, my eyes to the salon ceiling, I relaxed again.

Sandra’s face loomed large above me as she snapped the strings on the plastic cap and tugged it off. It wasn’t gentle and the tugging strained the roots of my hair. Next, she blasted the water over my scalp, cooling the bleach that had hardened there. 

The shampoo didn’t include anything fancy. Sandra’s big nails were rough against my scalp and it seemed to me she scrubbed with the vigour of someone who was hosing down a dog. 

“It’s looking perfect, darling. I’m gonna do your colour in the basin.”

Next thing I knew she was slopping different mixtures onto my scalp and brushing haphazardly with a small comb. I was wondering where a conditioner was because my hair seemed incredibly knotty and Sandra’s hands wrenched and tugged on several occasions. After about 20 minutes, Sandra took her bowls of colour away and told Melania she had 20 minutes. 

I stayed reclined back in the hard sink. My legs folded, my hands still on the reclining arms. I stiffened only slightly when I saw Melania in my periphery. She brandished some tweezers. 

“Oh,” I said, confused. “I don’t need-“

Melania shook her head. “Now darling, don’t worry, you won’t even feel it. It’s included in your treatment. Actually, I’ll use a razor. I can tell you’re a little stressed still.”

Melania disappeared but was back in seconds, she had another grubby towel placed over my chest and she placed cold fingertips on my eyelids to close them. And then I felt her place little bits of tape on them. 

Melania patted my cheek to soothe me. “Polly dear, the tape is to make sure nothing lands in your eyes. Sandra said you tended to fidget.”

“Okay,” I said. 

That seemed strange. Why would anything fall into my eyes? What was she doing? And I didn’t fidget, Sandra called me a good girl. But I tried to open my eyes and the tape held them. 

“Polly. Please, don’t open your eyes or I’ll have to call Sandra.” Why did that sound like a nasty threat to me? I’d only just met Sandra. 

“I’m going to start now,” she said. “Sandra told me your face was a little hairy; I can see what she means and I’ll take care of these brows, too. I can tell you haven’t seen to them in quite a long time, dear dear,” Melania clucked. 

My face felt like it was on fire with embarrassment at her comments. I felt her rubbing oil all over my face roughly as my hair dripped into the basin. 

Next there was a scraping and I realised Melania was literally shaving my face. It was happening so quickly. Some part of me was screaming to get up and get out of there but it seemed far away. And my heart wanted to trust these ladies. I didn’t want to disappoint Sandra. She was doing this to help me, I think… but that seemed strange. I couldn’t think why though. 

Melania worked all over the planes of my face and down to my neck until she was satisfied. Then, came the worrying sentence. “For your brows, I’m thinking it’s best if we start over and draw them back on, all right? I’m licensed, honey, don’t worry.”

The razor she’d used on my face tugged across my brows, not as if it was shaping them. But as if it was creating a path of destruction. She went again and again across my forehead until, I assumed, my former brows were completely obliterated. Eventually the sound of razor scraping and the light touching stopped. She used what felt like a towel to scrub at the skin and I smelled alcohol. 

My whole body felt very strange now, I wasn’t sure if it was the elevation. My head being equal level with my torso. But my legs and arms felt tingly. I could barely grasp the arms of the chair as I had been earlier, they flopped onto my belly as if I didn’t have the strength and my mind felt wiped clean, happy to be here. Excited for what these ladies could do for me. Melania and Sandra knew best. They were experienced. I was just a silly girl. 

Next, I heard Melania plug something in and a high keening sound began. As it came closer to my brows and made contact it dawned on me; a tattoo gun. 

It should have been painful and I should have shouted and screamed at what this woman was doing. But I didn’t move and weirdly I couldn’t feel anything except a tugging. Melania made pass after pass. It didn’t hurt and I almost convinced myself it wasn’t real. 

“Sandra! She’s finished!” Melania called, ripping the tape harshly off my eyelids. 

The light of the room shocked me as Sandra reappeared, turning on the faucet again. 

“Oh my!” Sandra beamed, her heavily made up face peering into mine as she brutally rinsed the colour from my hair. “Melania is amazing. Now you don’t need to worry about makeup or anything. They look just darling on you, sweetheart.”

She started washing my head rigorously once again. Her nails should have been painful as they dug into my scalp, I thought fleetingly, but I felt nothing. 

I smiled up at Sandra. Sandra smiled back at me. “Polly, you look so much better already. How about we have the full works today? A proper big girl makeover?”

I wasn’t sure what a proper big girl makeover entailed but I wanted it desperately. I wanted her to tell me I was a good girl. I wanted to please her. 

She was wrapping a towel around my head. The one that had been used to catch my face hair, I thought dreamily. 

“Yes,” I said, dazed. “I want to have a big girl makeover.”

Sandra ruffled the towel on my head with strong hands. She beamed down at me, her chins shaking as she laughed. “Good girl, Polly dolly. You’re going to be so excited when you see in the mirror. Melania has done wonders. And this hair colour is gorgeous. Are you ready?” 

“Yes, Sandra,” I said, smiling hopefully. 

“Call me Mistress, Polly. It’s more respectful, you need to know your place, little one.” She wrapped the towel tight around my hair and pinched my ear for good measure. 

That seemed even stranger. She was my hairstylist. But I wanted to listen to her. She was right. What did I know?

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Lovely, darling,” she crooned. “Let’s finish your haircut, there’s still a lot to get rid of.”

The back of my chair was pushed back up forcefully. And my body slumped into the comfortable seat. I tried a little to get a hold of myself. All I could do was rest my hands on the arms of the chair, barely gripping them. Sandra stroked the side of my face, “You have to stay awake, Polly. This is a big girl haircut. Only little girls get sleepy.”

I nodded weakly at her. “Yes, Mistress Sandra.”

“Good girl. Now get ready for your reveal in 3, 2… 1.”

On one, she whirled my chair round and a girl appeared in the mirror. The sink was covered once again and my old greenish hair still lay in a heap on the floor. The girl couldn’t be me. Her face was very red, shiny and tight. Her eyebrows were shocking; they were very thin and severely arched like cartoon eyebrows drawn in a dark black pen. Not a single eyebrow hair remained on her forehead. The skin across the girl’s face looked inflamed and irritated. Around her eyebrows it was a violent red. It wasn’t the beautiful girl Sandra had told me. The girl’s face fell in confusion. 

Sandra rubbed my shoulders. “Now, now, silly. No tears. Your face is just getting used to Melania’s procedure. It’ll be all right in a few days. And you are going to love your hair!”

Oh wow, I thought dreamily. This is the big girl makeover. That girl is me. 

Sandra pulled the towel from my hair and began viciously brushing through my hair. First, I noticed the colour, it looked extremely dark. I wanted to dismiss it for being wet. My hair was light brown, I knew that. Throughout the dark hair of the red faced girl, were chunky and mismatched scattered highlights. Some seemed yellow, some seemed orange. They looked very strange. And I couldn’t help but notice on the highlights, some of the hair looked like chewing gum. And she had little spiky, broken hairs sticking up everywhere on top of her head. Lots of hair was sticking to Sandra’s brush.

Sandra noticed my dazed looking and my mouth open in wonder. “Isn’t this colour just darling? Now, hon, with damage from the bleach I’m going to have to go a little shorter and maybe a little spikier. But doesn’t that sound fun?” 

She waited for me to respond, the girl in the mirror nodded a little. 

Melania piped up from her seat next to me, facing in my direction. “Polly, don’t worry. We are making you a gorgeous big girl. A little haircut will make you look beautiful. Trust Sandra.”

“I trust Mistress Sandra,” I said with difficulty, slurring my words a little. 

“That’s a good girl,” Sandra told me. She’d started sectioning my strange mismatched hair as it dripped water all over the leopard cape. 

“Go get the red cape will you, Mel? She’s making this one all wet. Also, some belt ties and draw the blinds,” Sandra spoke with urgency. 

Melania got up and drew the front shop grey blinds down, I saw in the reflection she turned around the “open” sign. 

Meanwhile, Sandra undid the leopard print cape. And cutting collar. Taking them off, my chest raised in relief, I hadn’t realised how tight they were. 

Melania came carrying several unidentifiable items from the back room and chucked them down on the counter. The luminous red shiny thing must be the fresh cape, I thought smartly. 

She and Sandra started picking up the other items however. Too late, I realised, little belts with buckles were attached around my wrists to the chair. Another two around my waist and chest. And then finally my legs against the foot rest attachment. 

“Now, Polly, this is just to keep you still and safe. Don’t want you to fall out of this chair. You’re a bit of a fidgeter, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Sandra crooned, as she strapped each belt tighter and more tightly into its buckle. 

Over my restraints, she threw the cape, covering everything but my head, followed by the heavy rubber collar Velcroed back into place. 

“Let’s give you that much needed haircut, doll” she said. 

Tipping my head precisely forward. My chin touched my chest and all I could see was the sea of red cape. I felt, rather than saw the scissors slicing determinedly high across my neck. 

“If I get the clippers don’t be worried, alright, Pol? It’s because I’m going a little higher than your hairline.”

That must be why the blade of the scissors felt ridiculously high on my neck. She was going shorter than where my hair grew.

I thought fuzzily back to when I’d walked in. Had that been me? With that long, long hair…

It was hard to believe now, my body sat immobile in the salon chair. Clamped with restraints. I couldn’t have gotten up and walked out of there. Luckily, I was still in a state of blissful peace. I my eyes tracked some brown dyed locks fall past my neck and onto the bright cape, finishing their journey on the floor. Sandra was cutting with rapidity it appeared. She combed, held and cut with speed. Before I knew it she was moving to my side. 

She’d pushed her glasses onto her head and was back wearing her lime green dirty apron. She waved her scissors in my face.

“Got my hands full with you, my girl,” she said. Combing the hair at the front of my head and unceremoniously separating the hair to be sacrificed. She slid her scissor in and chopped. The longer pieces of hair fell down my front. Settling in my lap. Those chunky highlights half the length they’d been before. 

Sandra picked up the fallen lock in my lap and held it in front of my face. 

“See? I thought because your hair was used to dyeing what with all that green,” she wrinkled her nose in distaste. “It would be much stronger, but look. The ends couldn’t take the bleach at all.”

I saw the stringy hair she held. The strands at the bottom were especially gummy looking. “Oh. I’m sorry, Mistress Sandra.”

“Well, nothing to be done now, Pol, but as I said it will be much shorter than I planned,” she smiled, like she was doing me a favour. “Not to worry, I will make you look gorgeous.”

She began chopping my hair in earnest, scissor and comb working in unison. The side hair swung around as she cut it shorter and shorter, initially at my chin but inching higher. Now it ended at below my eyes and Sandra moved in-front of the mirror.

“I’m thinking a little cute fringe. Melania, what do you think?” Sandra held my fringe in her fist. Directly in front of my eyes. 

I heard Melania, “hmmmm, maybe the more you show off her pretty face the better.”

I didn’t hear Sandra respond but felt her scissors at the side of my face and unbelievably they worked around the corners of my face. Her scissors snaked a path round my eyes and over the top of my forehead to swoop down and past my eye. The cut wet hair slapped against the cape and into my lap. 

My body had a dull sense of shock trying to push through the fog. 

The hair left behind I could see in my peripheral vision. It stuck directly out of my head, not going down even after Sandra combed and combed. 

“It’ll settle when we blow dry,” Sandra stopped trying to force it down and began snipping further into her creation.

I sat blissfully unaware of what it looked like. Still my body felt cosy, despite the restrictions with the tight cape and collar around my neck. Sandra stood inbetween me and the mirror. She had a frown of concentration on her face and I relaxed, better I not fidget and leave everything to her. The sound of scissors filled my ears, the relentless snip, snip snip, followed by the plopping of wet locks onto my cape. 

Eventually Sandra moved around to stand behind the chair again. And I sat staring at the girl with alarming eyebrows and red skin. Her hair looked very… severe. Oh wait. That was me, I realised dreamily. This was Sandra’s artistic vision. 

My hair was unrecognisable from what I’d come in with. Sandra had cut it to my earlobe with some choppy-looking layers to match the garish streaks of orange and yellow in my dark hair. The choppy layers stopped abruptly when it came to my new fringe. Still not fully settled, it stuck out, in all its short glory. Maybe one inch long in the top corner before swooping down over my eye to the other side. 

Sandra beamed at me in the mirror. “Isn’t that better, doll? Professional and sophisticated but still a bit fun. I’m going to chop into all of this so you have something to play with and for the hairspray to hold onto.”

Some part of me was screaming, but she was muffled by my lazy stupor. I couldn’t lift anything to protest and I didn’t want to. I didn’t know what Sandra was chopping into but suddenly she was combing and chopping again.

This time the top of my head was the victim. In the reflection, Sandra mowed down the hair indiscriminately. All of it was combed directly up and I was losing inches upon inches. Longer locks rained down in-front and behind me as Sandra fashioned a strange spiky crown on the top of my head. 

She ruffled it, smiling and more little hairs fell. The garish red was now littered with dark and orange clippings of varying sizes. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stressed about her first big chop, I had had so much hair still on my head for this to be from the actual haircut. 

“You have such thick hair, love,” Sandra commented, running her large hands through what remained. It stopped short on top and stuck up like my fringe. “I’ll get the thinning shears to it after we dry. Melania, get the hood, will you?”

Once again, the old fashioned hood dryer was rolled over to my station. I watched as the women got me under it and I was blasted with hot air. I couldn’t hear much with its highest setting on. 

The two women discussed something in the corner, I could see in the reflection. Sandra pointed to her mouth and Melania nodded. Melania headed for the door and the old bell rang as she left. Sandra walked over to me smiling. 

“How’re you feeling, Pol? It’s an exciting day. I’m so glad you came to me,” Sandra had her dustpan and brush to sweep up the hair around me, including my prize ponytails. “You looked such a mess when you came in here. But we are going to sort you out, head to toe. I’ve got some clothes in the back for you to try on.”

My hazy head was starting to pound a little, “You want to change my clothes?” 

I was confused. 

“Of course, honey. We want you to look and feel your best. I don’t think what you’re wearing will go with the finished look.”

Sandra took the brush she’d swept the floor with and brushed the cape with it as well. More hair joined it’s fallen soldiers. 

The bell sounded again and I saw Melania had returned. She hurried to the back and disappeared. Sandra followed her, dumping a tonne of my hair in the trash as she went.

I sat looking at myself. Everything felt so strange. Who was I? What was this place? I pulled feebly at my wrists, my face felt itchy and hot. But to no avail, I was trapped. Still, I felt too sluggish and tired to worry. 

Soon the women returned, Melania had also put on a white plastic apron, one of those disposable medical ones and had gloves to match. 

Sandra removed me from the hood. The sight of my hair was truly bewildering. It was dry now and stood like a poof on my head. It was shorter than I’d ever had it. No long hair in sight. My fringe looked even shorter than I’d expected, and curved forward. My forehead was exposed like a beacon for all to see. The fringe went from very short one side to swooping down dramatically over my eye. And the layers were everywhere. It looked like I’d been hacked at by kitchen scissors, not a salon haircut. But Sandra looked so pleased above me. I couldn’t help but smile at her. She knew best. 

“Just you wait until I get all this weight out of it. You’ll be spiky, classy and gorgeous,” Sandra practically squealed, lifting up random chunks. “But first, Polly, can you lift your head up for Melania, she’s going to prep you for next door.”

“Next door?” I said, but lifted my head up as I had been told. 

“That’s right, doll, for the lovely dentist I told you about. He said he can fit you in today, how great is that?” Sandra beamed. 

Sitting trapped in the salon chair, not having moved for hours now, my limbs couldn’t resist as Melania tipped my head up further. She cranked my heavy neck back. 

“Oh, that’s kind,” I said, happy that Sandra was happy. 

Melania touched my chin pulling my mouth open. “Open wide, darling.”

I saw at the last second, Melania had a large needle in her hand. It touched my gums, penetrating in. This needle hurt. I gargled in protest. Why did I need a needle before seeing the dentist?

“Shhhh, there’s a good girl,” Sandra was brushing the back of my hair, too vigorously to be considered soothing. 

“Just a little scratch, Polly,” Melania continued, holding my jaw in a steel grip as she sank the needle again into the other side. I tasted blood. My eyes swam. 

Melania let go and my head was lowered down again. I didn’t seem to be in control of anything. 

Sandra smiled in the mirror at me. “So so brave, beauty is pain, honey. And the dentist knows what he’s doing with girls your age.”

My face looked so puffy, and some of the water from my eyes had run down my puffy cheeks. I looked like a clown. But Sandra was not deterred. “Now, let me get my straighteners and finish your darling haircut. I might need to cut this fringe a little shorter.”

I couldn’t even register the thought of fringe and “a little shorter”. Melania had removed her gloves, disposed of whatever needle she’d used and also picked up a pair of straighteners. The pair of them ran pass after pass through the remains of my hair. They yanked painfully on my scalp as they passed through my stressed strands. The new hairdo seemed to fight the straighteners until the third pass and finally settle into the place the women wanted. 

My mouth began to feel tingly like my hands and feet. And then a soft cooling sensation, followed by no feeling at all. 

“Oh dear, she’s drooling, Sandra,” Melania peeked round from frying the side of my hair. 

I saw in the mirror, a little stream of spit making its way down the side of my chin. But my tongue and mouth wouldn’t cooperate. 

Sandra left and came back with something rubber and pink. Melania removed the cutting collar for Sandra to swiftly place the pink bib around my neck. It was tight and I felt constrained again as she hooked it at the back, no need to lift any hair out the way anymore. Sandra resumed straightening the spiky hairs on top. Teasing them to spiked perfection. 

I watched my reflection, my still red face from the eyebrow tattoo, arching comically. The stripy fringe curling at the top of my forehead. And the spit dripping down into the trough of the pink child’s bib. 

Was this the beautiful girl Sandra had promised? I calmed once again, no I had to wait until I was finished. My haircut wasn’t even complete yet. 

Once they were satisfied with the straightening process of my hair, Melania stepped away to sit in the other station, observing my every movement, which was very little seeing as I was physically restrained. Sandra picked up her scissors once again. 

“Shut your eyes, dear.”

I felt the cold blades high on my forehead as Sandra worked the scissors around the butchered fringe again. Trimming the ends off and cutting away the side that had previously fallen into one eye. The snipping sound at my ear and more hair falling. I couldn’t believe that there was still hair to lose. 

“There now we can see your beautiful face.”

I felt the clippings fall across my face. I opened my eyes to see some hair sticking to the drool and landing in the bib, mixing with my pool of spit. 

“No, Polly. Eyes shut.” 

Sandra’s voice commanded me. I had seen her reach for different scissors before darkness descended and I tried to keep perfectly still for her. 

Sandra inserted these scissors several times around my face. Cutting at what felt like both the ends and the roots. There was the loud schnick~ telltale sound of hair crunching through scissors. But the fall of heavy locks felt closer to a light feathery hair dust. Ahh, I realised, this was the thinning shears. She was making me beautiful.

Sandra finally moved away from my face after a long time snipping and teasing. 

“Okay, Pol, take a look. Is that fringe short enough for you to be comfortable? I’m thinking about when you’re eating or doing some work, you know, that won’t fall into your face, will it?” 

I peeked at the mirror. The fringe was alarmingly higher than before and this time you could see both harsh eyebrows clearly. There was no conceivable way my hair could fall into my face. It could barely touch the middle of my forehead. Little wispy curls floated down the side of my face. Thinned to only a handful of hairs, you most likely couldn’t do anything with them. Just let them hang there. She must have taken at least three quarters of the hair thickness at the front. 

“It’s short enough, Mistress Sandra.” I said, sounding slurred and spitty. 

“Really?” Sandra tilted her head sceptically. “That fringe will need regular trims…All right, I’ll take the bulk out of this back, too. Then it’ll be nice and light. Perfect for summer.”

And so, Sandra proceeded to clamp her scissors through every last bit of my hair. The thinning shears chewed through my thick locks. And Sandra would occasionally shake her scissors free of any hair hanging on. It seemed she always did it in front of my face. As if to show me exactly how much hair I was losing. The bib, cape and floor were now completely covered in clumps of dark hair again. The spit still drooled and I started to feel numb in the lower half of my face. 

Sandra did some final touches. Brandishing the scissors with a flourish as she chopped more and more out of the top spikes. More cut hair floated down to the ground. 

“Now let’s clean up your neck, girly,” Sandra rummaged in her trolley and brandished some heavy duty clippers. She plugged them in and the loud metallic sound sent a shiver through me. “Chin to chest!”

The clippers were without a guard and I wanted to say something. Maybe she didn’t know. I was going to be bald, my brain tried to protest, but the cooling numb sensation was spreading throughout my limbs. I sat there dumb and silent. 

Sandra placed her heavy hand on my crown to force my head further down. I offered no resistance. And then her clippers made contact, crawling up the back of my neck and round the sides. Chunky, additional clippings followed and joined their fallen brethren. I couldn’t even feel the vibrating clippers. Melania’s injection had probably seen to that. Sandra manoeuvred my head around and even trimmed my sideburns to nothing. 

Finally, she turned them off. She raised my head and smiled at me in the mirror. Her nails raked possessively through her creation. 

“It’s just perfect, we are onto the next stage now, lovely,” she said. “What a transformation. Polly, you are already looking perfect. I think you might want to delay your trip home though because I’m not sure you’ll be fully recovered in time.

I looked at the hair. Some part of me knew it was hideous, a definite crime against me. Remembering what I’d come in with was horrific. My old hair now lay in the trash or caught in a spitty bib or the red cape or  littering the floor. 

But Sandra wanted the best for me, so I relaxed again. 

“Right, Melania, help me with her.” 

The Dentist Trip 

The two women started to undo my many trappings. They unhooked my bib, Melania quickly rinsing it while Sandra stuffed a piece of cotton in my mouth to staunch the spit flow. I nearly gagged but she clamped my mouth shut and gave me a warning look. 

They undid the cape and shook it free of hairy remnants. The chunks of hair fluttered to the floor as if they’d never been attached me. My new face and hair with my normal clothes looked like some kind of comedy Halloween costume. Sandra was right, I should change my clothes. 

They undid the buckles and my limbs flopped helplessly on the chair. I had little mobility control.

“She’s perfect,” said Melania. 

Sandra didn’t say anything, just clipped the bib back on tightly and took out the cotton spit ball. 

The pair of them hauled me out of the chair and Melania gripped me upright to stop me falling. I couldn’t get my legs to stay strong beneath me. Sandra started to undo my dungarees, wriggling the material down to my ankles. So I stood in my underwear and top with the bib. 

I should have felt embarrassed, I didn’t.

Sandra took off my shoes, socks and dungarees. Then came the issue of my top with the bib obstructing it. I felt so small and helpless. 

“Leave the bib on, we can just cut her top,” Melania said. 

Sandra grabbed a pair of her scissors and cut my own top off my body. What would happen to my clothes? I thought distantly, not present enough to be actually concerned. My strips of T-shirt fell away, irreversibly shredded. I was held up between them in nothing but my underwear and a child’s bib. 

“Don’t worry, sweetie pie,” crooned Sandra. “We’ll get you ready for Doctor Sein.”

Sandra got a dressing gown from a hook in the cupboard. It was hot pink and had “Bride-to-be” in diamantés printed on the front pocket. But I wasn’t a bride, I thought fuzzily. 

“Knickers and bra off, too,” Sandra told Melania. With no sense of propriety, Melania snaked her hands into the dressing gown to pull my underwear down.

I felt blood rush to my cheeks, my soiled knickers on the floor showed my pleasure. 

Sandra just laughed. “Don’t worry, doll. If you enjoyed that, I’ll have you back. You’ll need to have regular trims for your fringe and back of your neck anyway.”

I was confused again. But I didn’t live here, I thought dreamily. How could I get back to Sandra for trims? Would I look like this forever? How did I look? I tried to piece together memories of my time at the salon. I knew my hair was cut and that I was having a big girl makeover. My brain was trying to work out impossible equations it seemed. I let the thoughts drop like pebbles into water. 

Sandra followed up by putting her large hands into my gown, unhooking my bra, skilfully sliding it off my arms and out of the gown. I was naked bar my pink dressing gown and strangely matching bib. Still some spit mixed red with blood dribbled lazily into the rubber trough.

“Right, let’s take her round the back, Mel,” Sandra said, hauling me under the armpit. “Dr. Sein said we should be discreet.”

Melania got me under the armpit on the other side and I was frogmarched to the back room. Stopping briefly at a closet, Sandra shoved some sandals with diamantés onto my feet. Her style, I thought strangely.

Then I was outside, in a back alley. It was still light outside but the clouds were overcast and I wanted to throw my head back and scream. But the lazy stupor still had full control and I just flopped between the two women, helpless. Melania got a fire exit door open at the back of a building next to the salon. 

Inside it was silent, with calm, clinical green painted walls and a carpeted hallway. 

“He’s ready, isn’t he?” Asked Sandra. 

Melania led the way. “Yes, he’s in his surgery and ready for her.”

I was hauled between the women into a room off to the side. I saw a gold name plaque on the wall, reading “Dr. P. Sein”. Once inside, my stomach plummeted in fear and a giddy anticipation. It was just a checkup, I told myself, and my hazy brain comforted me. 

The room was a typical dental surgery. The large green chair for patients, bright lights over the top and several severe looking instruments placed neatly on a metal tray. 

A man sat on a wheel stool next to the dentist’s chair. I couldn’t see anything clear about his features. He was in green surgical scrubs with a white lab coat over the top, purple medical gloves, a surgical cap, mask and thin, metal glasses. 

“Hello, Doctor,” said Sandra, brightly. 

“Hello, this is the girl?” I didn’t like his voice, it sounded cold and brusk. “Get her into the seat.”

The two women hauled me into the chair, as soon as I sat my limbs flopped. Sandra carefully placed my legs on the reclined seat. 

“Are you doing teeth first? Or a health checkup?” Sandra asked. 

My brain was too foggy to even try to contemplate a health checkup. 

“I’ll take her teeth first, the sedative looks like it’s worked,” he said. 

“She’s primed perfectly for you, Doctor” Melania interjected. 

Next thing I knew, the chair was being reclined back slowly. My head moving further back and from what I could tell, further into Dr. Sein’s lap. I felt completely at his mercy. 

“Hello, Miss Polly, Sandra has told me your teeth are needing some treatment. It might take a while but I’ve done this many times before and everything will be fine,” I strangely didn’t feel reassured by him. 

His gloved hands yanked my chin down, opening my mouth for him. His fingers entered, no instruments being used. 

“Ahh, Miss Polly. I see you have quite a few problems here. You will be needing a little bit of surgery today, as Sandra had expected.” He didn’t seem to need any response from me. “I specialise in dentures, so you’ll have perfect teeth, don’t worry.”

Dentures? I couldn’t think clearly. Big girl makeovers had dentures? Sandra wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me though. 

“I will start by doing key removals, there should be no feeling or pain whatsoever,” he said, matter of factly, no feeling in his voice. 

He shifted the surgical light overhead so that it shone directly into my face and came down close. He placed sunglasses over my eyes. Then he carefully removed the pink bib from its hook. I breathed deeply with relief from the constraint. 

He placed a different green bib onto my chest and fished its chain under my next to clasp the other side. At least, it was more comfortable than the child’s pink bib.

He placed a plastic contraption forcefully into my mouth. It sat uncomfortably, straining my cheeks and lips painfully wide, not allowing me to close my mouth. Except I felt nothing, just a weird tugging. He also shoved a loud tube in my mouth, sucking up the excess spit. 

He rolled away briefly. And Sandra loomed over me. 

She stroked my hair. “Now, Polly. Don’t give the Dr. Sein any trouble. I will be back to pick you up when he’s finished. Your teeth won’t cause you any problems when he’s finished. Also, he said as a favour, he’ll give you a health checkup. So, be a good girl, all right?”

I couldn’t respond to her even if I’d had anything to say. How had a haircut turned into this? I was bewildered but also just resigned to everything. 

Dr. Sein rolled back into view, he had what looked like a pair of pliers and a pick. “I’m going to start.”

I couldn’t feel anything but a pull and a release of tension when he started. I saw his wrists and the furrow of concentration on his brow as he wiggled and pulled at my teeth. My tongue sat immobile in my mouth, liquid pooling and being sucked out again. I couldn’t tell if it was spit or blood. Every tooth he pulled, he held up for inspection right in front of my eyes. Was it really my teeth? Methodically, the Doctor pulled every tooth, inspected what looked to be a perfectly fine tooth with large roots. I couldn’t believe the size of them. 

He removed the bottom ones before starting on the top. I saw his frown as my front teeth offered resistance to his pulling. 

I gargled in protest, feeling an unpleasant tug and pain in my nose. 

He sighed, as if I had inconvenienced him. “I’m going to have to crack and file these ones down before I can remove them.”

And so he swapped between several questionable grotesque looking instruments, the sound of the file filling the room as the dentist drilled and drilled at my front teeth to remove them. The tooth dust landed on my cheeks and face, some spit splashing in the process. Until finally, the dentist pulled the resistant tooth and held it up. Blood flowed freely from the front of my mouth.

“Got you, fucker,” Dr. Sein said with triumph. He placed my hefty front tooth with the others on the side. “Now to remove the other. Front teeth can often offer some resistance.”

After the same process with the other and the loud drilling as he filed the tooth into a shape he could grip with his pliers. It was done. I still couldn’t feel a thing but there was pressure releasing and I was a little lightheaded. I should have been screaming. Why was he removing all my teeth? 

Eventually, the dentist sat back from his work. “That’s the last of them, now we need to sanitise your gums. You’ll have no worries about tooth decay or crowding anymore. Your gums are free of problems.”

It was strange to hear a dentist refer to actual teeth as “problems”. But I was still in my hazy dreamworld. The dentist went back to observing and touching around in my mouth but I couldn’t feel a thing. 

“Would you like to take a look before I put the stitches in and get you set up with your denture?” He asked. 

I couldn’t answer around the plastic contraption keeping my mouth open. Dr. Sein didn’t seem to need my answer as he simply held a mirror above me. 

With sunglasses still on, I stared in a dazed horror. This couldn’t be real. That couldn’t be my mouth. My teeth were gone, nothing but bloody stumps were visible in my mouth. I was a sea of pink and red, no white anymore. I looked like a gummy monster. Dr. Sein took the mirror away and returned with needle and thread. 

“You won’t be able to eat solids for a few weeks as this will need a while to heal. You can suck on ice to help with swelling and pain. Also, your jaw will be swollen for a week or so,” he said this all without feeling or concern. “I can remove your stitches in a week. I will know if you have been following my advice. No solids until I say, okay?” 

I could only gargle in response. 

“Good girl.” 

There it was again. I hated how it made me glow with pleasure and a little wetness came between my legs. 

Dr. Sein took the plastic out of my mouth and I tested running my tongue along where my teeth used to be. It was horrifying, it was only empty raw gummy space with the odd thread knot. My cheeks felt sunken and I wanted to turn my lips in. 

“That must feel great, know more diseased teeth cluttering your mouth.” 

I could feel panic and horror welling behind my inner fog. 

“I’ll measure you for dentures next week once you’ve healed, but try out these samples for the look,” Dr. Sein said, slipping some rubbery item into my mouth. 

It wasn’t a perfect fit and I could tell my mouth was beginning to swell but the fake teeth slotted into place. He held the mirror up again and I gasped. The teeth were so strange in the mirror. I could tell almost straight away they were fakes. They looked too perfect and neat. Perfect in size and a luminously white. 

“You can’t get perfection like this without dentures, not even veneers can look like this.” 

In my head, I wondered why anyone would want teeth like this. My face and teeth made me look like a strange plastic freak.

And the hair… lying down with the sunglasses I couldn’t see the full effect. But the mirror showed my hair couldn’t be past mid ear. It had looked longer earlier but maybe I’d been mistaken. Sandra had sheared me good and proper. My fringe taunting me at the top of my forehead in wisps. 

Health checkup x-rated

“Now for your health checkup, Miss. Polly. I’m a doctor in both senses of the word so do not worry.”

He removed the mirror, took my sunglasses off and roughly slipped the dentures out of my mouth. “I’ll leave your bib on until we’re properly finished.”

His stool wheeled away and he hooked something onto my chair. Next thing I knew, he was roughly manoeuvring my legs. He hoisted one leg into a styrup followed by the other on the other side. My legs unwillingly parted, exposing in-between for him. 

“If you try to move, Miss. Polly. We could have problems,” he threatened. “But I don’t think you can so I won’t strap you down… wait, I’ll move this seat up a bit.”

The dentist chair started moving, the whirring seeming incongruously calm compared to the situation. I knew this wasn’t right. The head fug couldn’t change that. 

“What are you doing?” I tried to say but my new toothless mouth struggled. It was spitty and slurred, my words blending into each other. 

“You’re checkup.”

He didn’t elaborate and just cleared his throat, as if I was making his job difficult. 

“Sandra didn’t…” I trailed off as my tongue glided along my gums, looking for my teeth to enunciate.

He sighed. “Sandra has paid me to complete your procedure and you can either be awake or unconscious for it.”

I stayed quiet and heard Dr. Sein snap on a new pair of medical gloves.

“Good choice. I’m going to check everything is in working order before the next stage,” He said. 

My brain swam in confusion and half anticipation. 

Dr. Sein took his fingers to my lips and parted them. I felt my face flame in embarrassment and shame. He didn’t make any comment, only adjusted his lamp to see more clearly, and then he began the strangest doctor’s examination. 

He proved my lips, inner lips, labia. Inspecting it thoroughly it seemed. There was no towel, no curtain of modesty. I could just see his spectacled eyes looking critically into my vagina. Then he started to rub, stimulating wetness between my legs. What was going on? This was for Sandra? My hazy fog descended over me as pleasure exploded between my legs. 

After denying myself in the hair salon, I wanted to be dominated like this. 

I’d closed my eyes and felt Dr. Sein slip something large inside me. My eyes flew open in shock, it wasn’t him, but a large speculum. He moved it in and out before replacing it with his fingers, hovering over my g-spot and making me gasp. My fingers strained on my arm rests as I couldn’t help but let out a whimper. 

“I need to see if you can orgasm. Don’t hold back,” he said, emotionless. 

He stimulated me for a minute more with his fingers. Then, heavy sighing, he retrieved a large dildo from a cupboard and forced it inside of me, vibrating. 

He stood, looking down at me before moving my dressing gown aside. He toyed with nipples. I noticed his gloved hands were damp from my own juices. Then, he used both hands to squeeze hard. I came. Eyes rolling, my mouth open in all its toothless glory. I made no sound. And my hips juddered from the release. 

“Good. I’ll call Sandra to collect you.” 

He removed the dildo, and walked out of the room. 

I lay on the dentist chair gasping. Trying to hastily cover myself with the thin pink gown. Then I passed out. 

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