Blank Canvas – Part 3

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Since Part 2, Andrea has opened her own unisex salon in a row of retail units on the outskirts of town. Her advertising for the opening stressed that the salon would focus on short hair. Business has not been good. She’s struck up a friendship with Janet, the owner of a boutique in the same row, who’s tried to keep Andrea’s spirits up.

This is Janet’s story.

I’d been wondering what would happen to the hair salon unit in our little business community. Felicity had only had it a matter of months before she threw in the towel (sorry!). It stood empty for weeks and then there were signs of activity. Comings and goings, you know. It was good to see that someone was taking it over, as it’s never good to have an empty unit so close to your own. It was even better to see that it was going to stay as a salon. I’d been there four or five times and it was so handy. Once I knew that Felicity was closing down, my first thought was that I’d have to start going back into town to get my hair done and that added extra time and effort into it. It was so much handier just to pop along a couple of doors and get it done when things were quiet.

I must admit that I struggled a little when I met Andrea, the new tenant. Not only was she bald, she also told me that she was positioning the salon to cater for short hair. To me that just meant a barber shop, however much she tried to put a spin on it. She gave me the impression that she wasn’t overly keen on long-haired clients such as myself, so that meant a trip to town was back on the cards whenever I need a trim. I couldn’t really be further removed from her. My wheat-coloured hair drops below my bra strap when I let it, although I usually wear it up for work. I find there’s something more sophisticated about not having hair swooshing about the place when you’re trying to serve a customer. I want an aura of elegance for my boutique (“dress shop”, according to my husband!).

The news gave me something to tell said husband, Patrick, over dinner, particularly as the new salon was potentially somewhere closer to home for him to get his hair cut. Even if I don’t see myself as part of Andrea’s demographic, I want her to be a success for the local community. I gave him an outline of her plans, saving the unusual detail for last.

‘What?’ he asked, when I told him that she was completely bald.

‘Bald as a baby’s bottom’ I re-iterated.

‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘Patrick! Why should there be anything wrong with her?’

He looked at me, surprised that I should be shocked at his assumption.

‘Isn’t that usually the reason for a woman not to have hair?’

‘Maybe. But plenty of women like short hair, some choose to shave it off, the same as some men choose to do it.’

‘Fair enough’ he conceded, holding his hands up in surrender.

He finished what was left of his meal without another word. I was about to take the empties to the kitchen when he piped up again.

‘Doesn’t she look weird?’

‘No. Why should she?’

‘You said she hasn’t got any hair; doesn’t that look weird?’

‘She’s an attractive woman, that’s all there is to it. If you’re that curious, why don’t you help her out by booking an appointment?’

He looked pensive for a moment. ‘Maybe I will’ he said, passing me his plate.

Nothing more was said on the subject. Then about three weeks afterwards, I got a surprise. Patrick texted to say that he’d be late home and when he appeared, he’d had a haircut. I made my usual comment about him looking tidier, leaving him to supply any further detail. It didn’t come. I left it at that.

I had to wait until we were in bed before he told me that he’d been to Andrea’s salon.

‘You were right. Andrea doesn’t look weird’ he said as he switched his bedside light off.

‘So you went to her then?’

‘Didn’t I say?’

‘No, you didn’t. And it’s “Andrea” now, is it?’ I said, aiming a playful punch, which I hoped connected with his arm. ‘Do I detect a little crush? A little thing for bald women?’

‘Let’s call it a new-found appreciation, shall we?’ he replied.

‘An appreciation or an attraction?’

‘I don’t think you have anything to worry about, my dear’ he said.

‘Really?’ I asked, reaching down to discover that he was sporting a chubby.

‘Really’ he replied, hands starting to roam.

Just to put that into context, it had been a while since we’d made love, to the point that I was starting to think that he was once again looking elsewhere for his jollies. He’s forty-six, looks after himself and I’m well-aware that I’m not alone in finding him rather attractive.

A friend recently told me that I should just put up with his roving eye after seventeen years of marriage. It’s something that all middle-aged men do, she claimed. Where was the harm, since we haven’t got kids (she always has to get that dig in, whenever I see her) and what’s to stop me looking further afield myself? I wonder why I actually still regard her as a friend. I’m forty five, like to think that I’m still attractive enough to have any man that I chose and even get glances from some considerably younger men too, not that I’m overly interested in those who’ve been corrupted by internet porn. I took a vow when I married Patrick and I intend to keep it. As long as he keeps his promise to keep his dick in his trousers with more success than in the past, that is.

The following day, I had a spring in my step when I went into the shop. I tried to distract myself with changing the window display, but it wasn’t long before I popped along to see if Andrea was up for a coffee and a chat. We’d become quite friendly in the short time that she’d been open and I like to offer encouragement. It’s fairly obvious that business has been slow for her since she opened, but she doesn’t appear to have made the connection with the emphasis on short hair. I wear mine up when I go to work and it’s my private joke that I only do it so as not to provoke her with the sight of my flowing mane.

‘Would you believe it, I’m free’ she said with a smile when she heard the door open. I had to admire her resilience. The previous owner hadn’t cracked that site and it didn’t look like she was going to have better luck either.

‘I believe you had a new customer last night’ I said, accepting her offer of a coffee.

‘Yes, thank you for that. The more the merrier!’

‘I think you’ll be seeing more of him’ I commented, my mind flashing back to Patrick’s enthusiasm the previous night.

‘Pleased to hear it.’

I paused for a moment.

‘Did you suggest that he should maybe change the way he has his hair?’

‘No, it didn’t come up. We were just chatting away, about work, life, films. You know.’

‘I thought your mission was to convert everyone to go short?’

‘Ideally, but I don’t want to frighten people off. As you can see, I’m not exactly rushed off my feet at the moment’ she smiled, with an exaggerated scan around the empty salon.

‘Makes sense. You’ve just got me thinking that maybe you’d find that he’d respond positively if you made the suggestion. If you feel like being a bit more adventurous, you have my blessing.’

‘Does he know?’ she asked with a smile.

‘I’m intrigued and let’s just say that you’ve made a favourable impression’ I informed her.

Her expression told me that she understood what I was getting at.

She took a sip of her coffee.

‘Does that mean I might be seeing you as a client soon, too?’ she asked.

I was aware of her watching me.

‘Sorry. I didn’t want to put you on the spot’ she added.

‘Let’s see, shall we?’ I replied.

‘Okay, no pressure, honestly. You know where I am and I’ll certainly be cheaper than your usual salon.’

‘I haven’t really got a usual salon. I’d just started to get into the way of regarding your predecessor as my usual salon, but you’re here now to show that it didn’t work out for her, unfortunately.’

‘Just think of it as a continuation of the salon. Just a different face.’

‘That’s very true’ I replied, finishing my coffee.

I told her that I needed to go, much as I would’ve liked to carry on chatting.

The rest of the day passed without anything out of the ordinary, which gave me plenty of opportunity to reflect on what Andrea had said.

When I got home, our evening meal was again punctuated by comments about Andrea and her salon.

‘I saw Andrea for coffee this morning’ I began.


‘Do you think you’ll go back to her?’ I asked, looking at his hair that wasn’t really any different from the way that his usual barber cut it.

‘I should think so’ he replied, giving me the impression that he was trying to downplay the idea.

I let him take another couple of mouthfuls.

‘Don’t you think you should pay a bit more attention to her “mission statement”, as you corporate types like to call it?’

‘That’s so old hat’ he replied.

‘You know what I mean. She’s aiming to convert people to short hair.’

‘My hair’s short’ he replied, sounding hurt.

‘It’s not that short’ I remarked, looking at his rather unadventurous businessman’s cut.

‘We didn’t discuss it, to be honest.’

‘You must’ve distracted her, trying to chat her up.’

‘I wasn’t chatting her up. Just being friendly.’

‘Well, you could be friendly again and ask her what she’d suggest for you. Something different maybe.’

‘Why do I want something different?’

‘Let’s just say it could be fun’ I replied.

The back and forth continued for a while, but eventually he conceded that I’d make him an appointment for the following evening.

The next day, I popped in to see Andrea on my way past. We exchanged pleasantries, but she could see that I was there with a purpose.

‘Can you put Patrick in your book for this evening?’ I ventured.

‘Do I take it that you’ve used your powers of persuasion?’

‘I just told him that he might want to let you focus on your work this time, rather than trying to chat you up’ I said, smiling.

‘Is that what he was doing?’

‘Between you and me, I think he’s got a thing for you’ I said in a hushed tone.

‘Oh my! And you’re letting him come in here on his own?’

‘He’s pretty harmless’ I said with a chuckle. I had a pang of conscience at such a brazen untruth.

‘And if he’s not?’

‘You wouldn’t be the first’ I confessed, a little more quickly than I should.

She looked at me.

‘When you say he’s got a thing for me, is it for me or for this?’ she asked, pointing at her head.

‘Both, I think’ I replied, starting to regret the way that the conversation was going.

‘Gentlemen prefer bald, at least in his case’ she quipped.

‘This one likes variety and you’re a variety that he’s not come across before’ I said, before realising what I’d said. ‘Sorry, that was a poor choice of words.

She smiled.

‘So would you mind if I did?’ she asked.

I stared at her. Was she being serious?

‘Only joking’ she said, a broad smile beaming over her face.

‘Just save some for me’ I replied, determined not to be outdone when it came to outrageous remarks.

Andrea put the appointment in her book and I sent Patrick a text with the details. The reply of “Can’t wait” that came through almost immediately was somewhat disconcerting.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after him’ Andrea called after me as I went back to my shop to ponder what I’d done.

That pondering took the form of revisiting some of the lowest points of our marriage, when I’d caught him playing away from home. I almost smiled at my ingenuity, when I realised that he could be working his way through a list: blonde, brunette, redhead, long and short and now bald. That number of knocks would’ve wrecked other marriages, so we must have something that’s worth hanging on to.

The day went slowly, but eventually I went home. I calculated roughly when Patrick would be back from his after-work appointment with Andrea, so I went for a bath, wallowing in the bubbles. I ran my fingers through my soapy pubes, knowing that it would be so easy to slide a finger inside and spoil what I hoped was to come.

Patrick was used to a generous, dark landing strip that wasn’t much more than my bush with the edges shaved off. I trimmed it down, but that was as far as I ever went. He’d once asked me to shave it completely, but made the mistake of asking me a couple of days after he’d returned from a business trip. He’d obviously screwed some slapper while he was away and I refused, in no uncertain terms. I told him I liked having a bush and that shaving it off was slutty. He’d not repeated the request.

I picked up my razor and leisurely shaved my legs and underarms. It was only when I was drying myself off that my resolve crumbled. I stroked my pussy fur and soaped up. With a final look in the mirror, I let the razor slide through my tufts, feeling the frisson as bare skin emerged. I was frightened of cutting myself, because I’d lain in the bath for too long and it wouldn’t be long before Patrick would be back.

As it happened, I needn’t have worried. By the time I heard him come in, I was downstairs in the kitchen, rustling up supper. I’d decided not to put too much effort in, since it could all go to waste. That depended on how he’d got on with Andrea.

‘Hi honey, I’m home’ he called out, which he knew annoyed the hell out of me.

I turned round to look at the kitchen door; expectant, hopeful. I stared at him.

‘Are you sure you’re in the right house?’ I asked.

‘It’s me, Patrick, your husband’ he replied.

‘No, you can’t be. My Patrick has luscious dark hair. Hair that I love to run my fingers through while he fucks me.’

That unusual candour raised his eyebrows. He stood in the doorway while I examined him, letting my eyes rove over his hairless scalp. Patrick’s dad and grandad both had healthy heads of hair, so I’d never contemplated the thought of a bald husband.

‘Did you ask her to do it or did you just let her?’ I asked.

‘I left the decision in her hands’ he replied.

‘What do you think?’

‘It’ll take some getting used to. What do you think?’

I put on my serious voice.

‘There must be something in the water. I haven’t got the same amount of hair that I went out with this morning either’ I said, running a hand down to touch myself through my dress.

‘Let me have a look at it for you’ he offered gallantly.

I lifted my dress, which revealed that I wasn’t wearing knickers and that there wasn’t a single hair to defend my modesty down there.

‘You knew she’d do this to me?’ he challenged, once he’d registered that the landscape down there was transformed to his liking at long last.

‘Knew? No. Hoped? Yes’ I replied, moving forward to touch his hairless scalp. His left hand busied itself between my legs.

‘Why?’ he asked. ‘You’ve never said anything before about the way I have my hair.’

‘I wanted to see what you look like without hair.’

‘So I’ve got to walk round as a slaphead just because you were curious? I hope you like it.’

‘Mmmm, I think I do’ I replied. ‘Do you like what I’ve done?’

My occasionally errant husband surprised me by dropping to his knees and planting the tiniest kisses all over my hairless mound. That sort of attention wasn’t something that he’d ever done and I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he’s actually gone down on me, even briefly. The tongue lapping at my freshly-exposed pussy told me that this was only the start of a long evening. I was pleased that I’d only planned salad, so there was nothing going to waste. I stroked his bald head, excited by its texture. Andrea had done an excellent job, making him glassy-smooth to the touch. I closed my eyes to allow my other senses to take over. He scooped me up in his arms and tried to carry me to bed.

I spared him that, wanting him to save his energy for me and fearing that he’d put his back out before I’d got what I wanted out of him. He didn’t disappoint, but despite everything that we did, I was left with the impression that his mind wasn’t 100 per cent on me.

I was still tingling when I drove in to work the following day. All I could think about was Patrick’s transformation, both in appearance and behaviour. He was totally different without his hair and I liked the new version of my man very much indeed. Although I had slight misgivings about his focus, he was very energetic and enthusiastic. Maybe he was thinking about one of his dalliances rather than me, but it was me that benefitted and I was grateful. He’d not fucked me with as much enthusiasm as that for months, years even and I could certainly say that he gave me a long-overdue service. I should send Andrea a “thank you” card, although I’m not sure whether the Hallmark range would have one with a suitable message for the circumstances.

Patrick had left for work early, giving me time to think. He was nervous about what people would say, but he’s a big boy, he’d be alright. After my unexpected awakening, I wanted to wear something sexy to work, but couldn’t find anything in my wardrobe that suited my mood. I decided that I’d change into something at work, so as not to waste any more time and got on the road earlier than normal. As I drove, I tried to recall what stock I’d got that would tickle my fancy. I made a point of having a few items that would hopefully satisfy requests for a “special occasion”, but there didn’t tend to be too many of those, so I didn’t keep them on display.

I walked past darkened units, waiting expectantly for their owners to arrive. I fumbled with the keys to my door and walked the familiar length of the shop without putting the lights on. I made myself a coffee and rummaged in my stockroom in search of something interesting. By the time the kettle had boiled, I was standing in my underwear wondering which package to try first. I refined my selection, tossing a couple to one side, having decided to go with something that was completely unsuitable for the workplace. Unless you were a hooker, of course!

I smiled as I poured water into my cup. My underwear was now draped over the back of the chair and I was wearing a sheer, red, one-piece body, (not unlike a flimsy swimsuit, for those who haven’t seen one) the crotch fastening not yet done up. I might as well be naked! I tip-toed quickly out of my office and across into one of the changing cubicles so that I could look at myself in the mirror. I fastened the press-studs, realising just how awkward the process was. Now the fabric was stretched tight, as it was meant to be. For some reason it seemed to accentuate my boobs and my newly-bald mound. My large dark nipples were clearly pleased to be on display.

‘Morning Janet’ I heard.

Andrea. I hadn’t locked the door. Shit. I’d got nothing in the cubicle to cover myself with.

‘Hi Andrea. Just trying something on in here’ I called out.

‘You’re in early’ she replied, still some way away.

‘I could say the same for you.’

‘I just wanted to see what you thought of my handiwork. See what Patrick thought once he’d got home.’

‘Great. We both think it’s great’ I replied, wondering how to get rid of her.

‘You’re coffee’s out here. Mind if I make myself one?’


‘No, go ahead’ I replied. ‘You couldn’t throw my clothes in here could you. I wasn’t expecting anyone’ I said, still flustered.

I heard rustling. She was looking at the packaging.

‘Ah! I see. Trying on something for Patrick, are you?’

‘Just some new stock I wanted to check out.’

‘Let me have a look then. Maybe I’ll want one too.’

I was just about to reply when the curtain moved. I turned my back to her, which I realised too late, put me face-on to the mirror, creating a reflection in her direct line of sight.

‘Well, if that doesn’t get him going…’ she said.

‘I don’t think he’d like it’ I said, trying to sound as dismissive as possible

‘Why not? You look stunning’ she replied, parting the curtain fully and coming into the cubicle.

I turned my head to look at her, not sure which way to turn my body to preserve my modesty. I looked around the cubicle, assessing the angles.

‘So tell me what you thought about Patrick’ she invited.

‘I’d better get dressed first’ I replied.

‘No need, on my account. It’s really flattering.’

‘I can’t. It shows everything I’ve got.’

‘Put a skirt on then, but the top’s such a sexy look. You’ll sell loads if you show your customers what they could look like.’

‘You think so? I’ll get myself arrested.’

‘Loosen up a bit. You look fabulous’ she said.

‘My coffee’s probably cold’ I said, trying to break the thread.

‘Nothing could get cold near you, when you’ve got that on’ she replied, still looking at me shamelessly.

I raised my eyebrows. That was the nicest thing anyone’s said to me for a long time, despite my awkwardness.

When I joined her in the kitchenette, I’d put on a black wrap-around skirt from one of the racks near the cubicle, but, as she’d suggested, hadn’t covered my top half.

‘I made a fresh one’ Andrea said, pointing to a mug on the table.

I followed her gaze and completely missed the approach of her other hand, which cupped my left boob or as much of it as she could manage. My boobs are more than a handful for Patrick, so she had no chance with her dainty hands. It sent tingles through me that she was trying, though.

I looked at her with obvious surprise.

‘You haven’t told me about Patrick’ she said quietly, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was holding one of my tits. Her hand was moving almost imperceptibly. I knew that the nipple was already hard against her palm.

‘He liked it. I liked it’ I replied, still trying to get my head round the situation.

‘He asked me whether I’d talked to you about cutting your hair.’

‘Did he?’

‘He asked whether I’d cut it for you’ she said, pressing the flat of her hand more firmly against my boob.

‘He didn’t tell me that.’

‘I think he wants me to’ she said, squeezing me now, rather than just pressing against me.

‘I’ll talk to him when I get home tonight.’

‘I think he just wants me to do it. Would you like that?’ she breathed.

‘I don’t know’ I replied lamely. My hair was coiled into a bun, exposing my neck. I thought that she’d make a play for it, but didn’t.

Her other hand came up to join the occupied one, which she repositioned, so that the tips of her index fingers were lightly touching my nipples. She looked at me, staring deep into my eyes. I was mesmerised, although I knew that I should’ve been outraged. Her fingers slid to surround my boobs and squeezed. They squeezed harder. There was something so erotic about it, unknown, forbidden. I knew that she didn’t have a boyfriend, but hadn’t considered that she was into women. I’d never thought about it personally, never had the opportunity, had never been sure how I’d respond. Now I knew. It appeared that my response was to part my lips and let her tongue explore!

I couldn’t believe that I was doing it, but her mouth was so soft, her tongue so gentle, which contrasted with the firm grip on my left boob and her roaming left hand that arrived at my backside. I reached up and touched the back of her head tentatively, before committing and splaying my fingers across her hairless scalp. I was actively kissing a woman!

She pulled away. I actually felt disappointed. Who’d have thought it? I looked at her. Her arms were down by her sides, her hands innocently empty. I didn’t know what to say.

‘I’d better go’ she said unexpectedly.

‘I’d better get decent’ I replied, suddenly self-conscious again.

Andrea turned to leave, but then turned back, with a mysterious expression on her face.

‘Just a thought. Last night, when you were, you know, when Patrick came home. Do you think he was fucking you or me?’

She didn’t wait for an answer. She was half-way down the shop, leaving me stunned. Not so much stunned that she’d asked the question, but stunned that she’d put into words exactly what had been troubling me. She hadn’t asked it in a nasty way, she made it seem so natural.

I looked at my watch. Not long until I was due to open. I went back to the mirror in the cubicle and looked at myself. My boobs were doing themselves proud. All natural and still roughly where they’d always been, still looking forward rather than down. Nipples still proud and glowing in memory of the unexpected attention they’d just received. I went to the rack that had provided my skirt and lifted the matching jacket. Back at the mirror, I looked at myself, in a black suit with a slash of transparent red along my torso. It was obvious that I wasn’t wearing a bra and the teasing glimpse of exposed chest was guaranteed to turn the postman on if he had anything for me today. I smiled and went in search of sensible shoes.

The hoped-for distractions in the form of customers didn’t come for ages. My mind raced, tangling memories of Patrick looking down on me last night together with fresher images from this morning. I tried to focus on what had happened with Andrea. Bald Andrea, who’d awakened something in Patrick and in me. Patrick had fucked me with the intensity he’d had when we’d first met, except with the added experience of his more recent, assorted dalliances. Andrea had kissed me as if I were the most delicate thing in the world, but squeezed me as if I were indestructible. Both made me wet.

I wanted to think that Patrick had been focussed on fucking me, but knew that wasn’t the answer.

The jingle of the old-fashioned bell announced a customer and consigned my thoughts to the “pending tray”.

The customer wasn’t someone I knew. I sensed her sly, lingering looks at me while she pretended to flick through the rails. I left her to it.

‘I was wondering…’ she said after a few minutes. I looked at her. ‘Does that top come in other colours?’ she asked, with a nod towards me.

That got me interested. That got us chatting. I undid the button on my jacket to give her a better look.

‘As you can see, it’s not necessarily something to wear to the supermarket. Unless you’re prepared for the attention it’ll get you’ I said, flicking my jacket completely open, so that one of my boobs was on display. She didn’t flinch. When she left the shop shortly afterwards, she had a bag with three of them in an assortment of colours. Thank you, Andrea!

Andrea. Andrea. Patrick. Andrea. That’s all that was going through my mind. I’d come in early to choose something to add a little spice to another evening with Patrick, and now I was standing in the shop wearing it, tantalising glimpses of my boobs on offer to anyone who was interested. I’d been trying to build myself up to a quick stroll round the block, just so that I could say that I’d gone out in public dressed like this, but it hadn’t happened so far. The outfit I’d intended for Patrick had got me touched up by a bald woman and as much as I’d tried to consign the experience to the back of my mind, it kept creeping back. Did it count if the other person hadn’t got hair, could I convince myself that she therefore didn’t look like a woman? That argument sank at the outset, because hair or no hair, Andrea was very definitely all woman. I had to accept that I’d had an encounter with someone of the same sex and I’d thoroughly enjoyed it. I just hoped that my boobs didn’t betray their rough handling when I got home.

I had a couple of other customers drift in during the day, but there was nothing meaningful. Late afternoon, I heard the bell and looked up. Andrea. I felt a frisson of excitement, a tingle, the sort of tremor that I don’t get very often these days.

‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’ she called from the door.

‘No, you’re okay.’

‘It’s a bit quiet. Thought I’d just pop in’ she said.

I wondered whether to mention this morning or pretend that it didn’t happen.

‘I haven’t seen anyone for an hour or so’ I commented.

‘I’ve just locked up. Had enough of it for today.’

‘I wasn’t going to hang about either’ I replied.

She looked at me and then back at the door. She flicked the sign to “Closed” and turned the lock.

‘I wasn’t going to close up just yet’ I said.

‘It’s after five, I thought we could have a coffee’ she explained.

I shrugged.

‘I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. About this morning’ she commented, reaching the end of the shop where I was folding some jumpers.

‘Yes, I’m fine. It was a bit of a shock, that’s all.’

‘It’s not something I’m in the habit of doing’ she said, putting her handbag and a shopping bag down on the floor.

‘Best we forget about it’ I replied, turning to go and make coffee for us.

There was still tension in the air. I poured water into the mugs, my back to her.

‘What you said about Patrick, what did you mean?’ I ventured.

‘I got the impression that he was taking more of an interest in me than he would if I’d got hair.’

‘That’s a thing of his. He’s not very good at hiding the sideways glances. Stupid thing is, too many women fall for it when he turns on the charm. He’s a bit of a skirt-chaser.’

‘There’s not much of that one for him to chase’ she said.

I wasn’t sure what she meant until I turned round and saw her looking down at my skirt.

‘It’s a bit shorter than I’d normally wear.’

‘You should wear this sort of thing more, you know. You’ve got a great body.’

‘For my age, you mean?’

‘I mean you’ve got a great body, full stop. Most women would kill for boobs like yours. And the rest’ she said.

We both paused.

‘I don’t know what to say to that’ I said eventually.

I looked down. She was playing with the button on my jacket.

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea’ I said, my hand reaching protectively for the button.

‘I just wanted another look. To see whether one of those tops would suit me’ she said, fixing my gaze.

‘I’m sure you’d look great in one’ I replied.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got one in my size?’

‘I’m sure I can find one for you’ I replied, turning to pick her coffee mug up, so that her hands something to occupy them other than me.

She was leaning back against the sink, seemingly without a care in the world. My mind was still racing, compounded by her turning up in the shop again this afternoon. She realised that her coffee was too hot to drink and placed it on the draining board.

‘Can I take your hair down? I’ve never seen you without a bun or a ponytail’ she asked.

‘It’s a pain to put back up’ I protested lamely. Her expression forced me to add ‘Stupid thing to say to a hairdresser.’

She smiled. I reached up and undid my handiwork, letting my hair tumble while I watched for her reaction.

‘It needs to be brushed out’ I said, trying to tame it with a couple of vain pulls.

She reached towards me to touch it.

‘Do you colour it?’ she asked, probably already knowing the answer.

‘It gets a little bit of help, but nothing too serious’ I confessed.

‘Don’t you like the idea of not having to spend so much time on it?’

‘It’s no trouble’ I replied, hoping to close down that avenue of questioning. That wasn’t true of course. It takes ages to make it look good if I wear it down. That’s why I go for the easy option for work.

‘Patrick really wants you to cut it’ she said, repeating what she’d said this morning.

‘Well, that’s something we’ll have to talk about’ I said, unintentionally sounding like one of my old schoolteachers.

She nodded, easing herself upright from the support of the sink. We were facing each other. Her fingers were toying with the button on my jacket again and then they succeeded in their objective. Our eyes were locked, just as they had been this morning. She eased the jacket off my shoulders.

‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do’ she said quietly. Her arms were around me now. I was still looking into the alternate reality of her inviting eyes.

‘I had a customer ask me for a refund because it does that so easily’ I said, feeling my skirt sliding down. ‘I told her that it took some effort to get it undone. Obviously that’s not the case.’

I was standing there in just the see-through body again, feeling exposed. Andrea brought my hair forward and thankfully draped it to conceal my boobs. I hoped that she wouldn’t be brazen enough to cast her gaze lower down, out of reach of my hair. She cupped my face in both of her hands and kissed me so sensuously I could feel the effects where it mattered.

‘I can’t’ I said, easing away from her.

‘Think of it as a warm up for when Patrick gets home’ she said with a knowing smile.

‘Who says I need warming up?’ I countered.

‘You’re right, you don’t’ she said, fixing me with those eyes again. She had two fingers curved between my legs, so she was only too aware of the heat that I was generating. I closed my eyes, feeling the press-studs give in without much struggle. Her fingers were inside me. What was I doing? A respectably married woman. A respected business woman. I widened my stance to make it easier for her and bent slightly at the knees. I was staring into the eager eyes of another woman, one who appeared to have my pleasure as her only goal.

‘Feel my head’ she said, concentrating on maintaining her rhythm.

‘Why?’ I gasped.

‘Because that’s going to be your head in a few minutes’ she replied with an air of determination, her fingers picking up the pace.

‘Oh God’ I said, not really knowing if it was in response to her words or her fingers.

I closed my eyes to concentrate better, but just as I felt myself about to reach the point of no return, she stopped. I opened my eyes to see what had caused her to stop. She was smiling at me.

‘I was so close’ I protested.

‘I know’ she smiled.

‘That’s cruel’ I told her, surprising myself. I wanted to come, but more importantly, I wanted her to make me come. I wanted a woman to make me come. I suppose younger people would make reference to a bucket list, but I was thinking more in terms of getting one up on Patrick, to go some way to making amends for the number of cum-buckets he’d emptied himself into over the years. I told myself that the vow I cherished didn’t count with another woman.

Andrea looked at me.

‘How much do you want me to make you come?’ she asked, with a twinkle in her eye.

‘Please, just do it’ I said plaintively. I just wanted to come.

‘Do something for me and I’ll do something for you.’

‘I won’t be as good as you, but finish me and I’ll try. I’ll try really hard for you’ I offered.

She reached across and wound a tress of my hair around her fingers. Those fingers had been inside me. The slick fingers that I wanted back inside me. She gave my hair a little pull and then slid her fingers out from the curl that she’d created. I thought that they’d go back to where I wanted them, but instead, she reached into her bag. When she withdrew her hand, she was holding a pair of scissors.

‘Show me how much you want me to make you come’ she said, holding them out towards me.

‘I don’t understand’ I said, conscious that I was rapidly going off the boil.

She lifted her tunic up and ran a hand over the front of her scarlet knickers. Her fingers moved down towards her lips.

‘Take them. Show me how much you want to come’ she instructed, proffering the scissors again. The flimsy material was drawn aside, displaying her hairless pussy. I was fascinated by it, by its shape, its curves, its hidden pleasures. Until today, I would’ve averted my eyes. Before today, I wouldn’t have taken the scissors from her. She leaned back against the sink as she’d done before, hips pushed forward, making her prominent mound the centrepiece of the display.

I took hold of the ends of my hair and placed the scissor blades about an inch up from the ends. That would be about where I’d expect to have my overdue trim.

‘You obviously don’t want to come very much’ she commented, an active finger noisy inside herself.

‘I do. I really do’ I said, not wanting the feelings to subside.

‘Cut it properly and I’ll make you come like you’ve never come before’ she promised.

‘I don’t want to cut it.’

‘I think you do’ she countered.

‘How much do I have to cut?’

‘That’s more like it’ she said.

She reached across with her free hand and with her fingers supporting mine, lifted my hand higher and higher.

‘No, please’ I said quietly as my hand reached my shoulder.

She took her hand away and I felt her fingers slide into me again. I sighed.

‘Cut’ she whispered.

The blades must’ve closed. I wasn’t aware of doing it. I was just aware of her fingers sliding through my wetness. I didn’t even know what I’d done, if anything. Had the blades even caught any of my hair? She was building me back up again. I closed my eyes to process the sensations. I’d never generated anything like them for myself and Patrick certainly hadn’t. It needed another woman’s touch.

‘More’ she urged, whispering.

I gasped as she introduced a new little twist into her action. Or was it a third finger? Surely I’d be aware of that!

‘More’ she urged again.

I wasn’t sure if this was just part of a game or whether she really did want me to be cutting. I just hoped that the Health and Safety inspectors didn’t appear for a surprise visit. “Don’t run with scissors” is one thing, but there must be rules around “don’t fuck with scissors” too.

Her free hand enclosed my scissor-hand and positioned it once more. She kept a light hold on my hand to make sure that it completed whatever task it was that she wanted. My attention was on what was happening down below, rather than above waist height. I’d deal with that later. She released her hold on my hand and didn’t appear to object when I reached behind me to put the scissors down. I was inches from the finishing line, I reached for it and felt at peace with the world, despite the squeals and gasps that could only have come from me. By the time that I’d composed myself sufficiently to open my eyes, Andrea was leaning back against the sink again, tunic hitched up, knickers around one ankle. The fingers that had pleasured me were now occupied between her legs. She smiled at me, removing her fingers to lick them lasciviously. Her hand headed downwards again.

I was fascinated by the way that her pussy lips hugged her fingers, as if desperate not to let life-giving oxygen escape. It gave me a new perspective on something that I’d taken for granted, but would now have to take more of an interest in. I looked down at my own mound, the flap of the red body hanging uselessly, aware that it was meant to be joined to its mate. My eye was caught by hanks of dark blonde hair on the floor. I reached up in a sudden panic. The scissors had cut after all. What had I done?

My hair still hung down to the level that it had before. Except that it wasn’t as complete as it was before. The hair farther back was trying to compensate for the absence of hair that should’ve been hanging from the front. I felt further and further up in search of the breach, discovering that I’d cut the start of a bob, just above shoulder length. I looked at Andrea, her fingers busy, smiling.

‘Cut the top’ she said, suddenly thrusting deeper inside herself than should’ve been possible.

‘Isn’t this enough’ I said, reaching for the freshly-truncated ends of my sex-bob.

‘Cut it’ she repeated. ‘I want to watch you. Make me come’ she urged.

I looked at the scissors. I looked at her, pleasuring herself in my kitchenette. I felt a tingle. Was that just a late arrival who’d missed the party, or a pathfinder in search of the next event?

I’d been intending to ask her to cut my hair, but hadn’t got round to it. I’d even thought about asking her to take me a bit shorter. I’d definitely not been thinking of “short” as in her definition and I’d certainly never expected to be cutting my own hair. I looked at the floor. Looked at the useless hanks of blonde. I picked up the scissors.

‘Come closer’ she invited.

I moved close enough for her to grab my left boob and to give it one of her exquisite pleasure/pain squeezes. Her hand then took my free hand and moved it towards her pussy.

‘You do it’ she urged, those eyes of hers fixed on mine again.

She sensed my hesitation.

‘Just the way that you like it’ she counselled, guiding my fingers towards her. They felt her warmth, her wetness. Her eyes closed briefly to signal that I was in the right ballpark.

‘Now reach up with this hand’ she said, touching my scissor hand. ‘I’ll guide you.’

Now that I was getting into the swing of things between her legs, she lifted my scissor hand high. Her other hand was also raised, clearly prospecting the territory to be mined.

‘Just close the blades when I say’ she said, slightly more breathlessly than before. She smiled.

We were partners in a strange dance, one that they’d not dreamt up for those TV shows yet. Maybe they should, just to add a little variety. I didn’t want to cut my hair, but it was the only next step in this routine. My fingers told me that the blades were closed. Andrea’s expression told me that they’d cut something. The tremor in her pussy told me that she’d got what she wanted.

When Andrea brought her hand down, she was still clutching the hank of my hair that we’d just cut together. I was amazed that my hair was that long. Well, had been that long. She draped the hair over my wrist, so that the hand that was diddling her looked like it was some sort of long-haired creature trying to burrow into her. She eased my hand away, replacing it with her own, continuing where I’d left off.

‘Cut the rest. Quickly, I’m nearly there’ she urged.

Judging by the tresses that were on the floor, my hair was beyond redemption. I’d be lucky to be left with hair as long as Patrick’s had been before she shaved his head last night. It seemed pointless to pretend that I was going to be going home looking the way that I had when I’d left home this morning, elegantly coiffed and still glowing from Patrick’s headshave-fuck. I plucked at a tress on the untouched side of my head and drew it out to its full length. Andrea paused when she saw me do that and watched intently when I placed the scissors six inches from my head. I was about to sacrifice more than a foot of hair.

‘Closer’ she urged, her expression reflecting her urgency.

I slid the scissors closer to my head, but her look made me draw them even closer to my scalp. I could actually feel the blades against my head when I closed them. I certainly wasn’t going home with hair as long as Patrick’s had been.

‘Again’ she urged.

I’d got the message. She resumed her task, watching me progressively snip my hair to the floor. I dreaded to think what I looked like. I racked my brain for confirmation that the front door was locked.

I was in mid-snip when Andrea’s resistance broke. I watched her shudder, listened to her little sobs as she let the sensations wash over her. She was panting. I put the scissors down and hugged her, sharing in her emotion.

The hug became a kiss. The kiss became an exploration of my soul. That’s what it felt like. It was deep and long, purposeful and different from any kiss that I’ve ever experienced. I felt like a teenager embarking on the wonders of a first relationship. In a way I was. Everything about what Andrea had shown me was a first. Any other illicit grappling that I’d ever done was capable of being covered up with a hurried rearranging of clothing, but there was going to be no covering this up. The world was going to know that something extraordinary had happened in my world today.

Andrea and I eased apart, but kept our hands on the other’s shoulders while we looked at each other.

‘I can’t believe I’ve just done that’ I said.

‘Which bit?’

‘Any of it’ I laughed.

I tried to cover my boobs, suddenly self-conscious.

‘Don’t, they’re beautiful’ she said.

‘I’m feeling a little exposed here’ I confessed, silently comparing my state of undress, in a transparent, unfastened body to her practical tunic.

She turned her back on me and invited me to unzip her.

‘I don’t want you to feel alone’ she said with a wiggle of her hips.

‘It’s a bit late now’ I said.


I drew her zipper down. She kept her back to me, which I took as an invitation to unfasten her bra. She turned to face me and very deliberately, drew down her tunic, standing naked in front of me. I looked at her body, not as a professional assessment, but trying to view it in a way that I’d never looked at another woman before. Her boobs weren’t as big as mine, but were respectable enough. Perky. She was shapely, a nice waist. I could see that men would find her very attractive. I urged my eyes downwards, looking at her pussy without the distraction of material. It still fascinated me.

‘I’ve never done this before’ I told her.

‘I’m not exactly an old-hand at it. Trial and error, you know’ she said with a smile.

She reached out and took my hand guiding it over her body.

‘It’s not so difficult. You know what you like, it’s just a case of recreating those sensations for someone else and hoping that they like them too.’

‘I’m a respectably married woman’ I said, trying to remind myself.

‘Thank you for letting me try to convince you otherwise’ she said, her hand roaming effortlessly from my mound to my boobs. She paused with her fingers in my mouth before reaching up to stroke my head.

‘I’d better do something about this’ she said, the professional in her pushing aside the lesbian for a moment.

‘What am I going to tell people?’ I asked, sounding more than a little panicky.

‘Easy. Just tell them that you got carried away while you were fucking another woman.’

‘Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?’ I laughed.

She kissed me again.

‘Sit down and I’ll make you presentable’ she offered.

I watched her reach into the bag that she’d brought in with her. Out came a set of hair clippers.

‘Are you going to shave me?’ I asked nervously.

‘Would you like me to?’

I followed her eyes to my crotch. Without realising it, I’d started to rub myself when I’d seen what was in prospect. I closed my eyes in response.

‘I think you’d better sit down’ she said, pulling a chair from under the table.

She watched me take the body off before I sat down.

‘Don’t want to get hair on it’ I explained, tossing the flimsy material onto an empty chair.

‘It’s a bit late for that’ she chuckled.

She flicked the switch on the clippers and I closed my eyes.

‘Is this what you did for Patrick or did you just cut it shorter and shorter?’ I asked.

‘He got his tits out, just like you’ she joked.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘He asked me to take it a bit shorter for him. I just asked him whether he wanted me to use a guard or not. He said “not”. Very painless. Very professional. Although from what you told me, he was paying a bit more attention than I thought.’

‘I think he’ll be a bit jealous that I got a more personal service than he did.’

‘Are you going to tell him?’

‘Maybe, when the time is right’ I replied.

‘And how do you think he’ll take it?’

‘I suspect that he’ll be rather envious. Particularly when I tell him how beautiful you are underneath that tunic.’

‘I think he’s got everything he needs in you. He’s crazy looking elsewhere.’

‘His loss’ I said, with a hint of sadness.

‘Hopefully when you get home tonight, he’ll realise how stupid he’s been.’

‘One can but hope’ I conceded, settling into the gentle sound and rhythm of the clippers doing what they do on my scalp. Andrea left me with my thoughts, which were punctuated by falling clumps of my hair.

‘Can I see?’ I asked when she turned the clippers off.

‘I’m not finished with you yet’ she replied, winding the cord around the machine. She reached down into her bag to put them away and didn’t come out empty handed.

‘Do you have to?’ I asked when I saw her bring out a can of shaving foam. She rummaged some more and revealed a razor. ‘You certainly came prepared, didn’t you?’

She smiled up at me.

‘I can be very persuasive if I want to.’

‘You planned this? To seduce me and shave me?’

‘Not really. I hoped you would, that’s all.’

‘I hope you’re happy’ I said, taking a sharp breath at the sensation of the first daub of shaving foam on my scalp. That was confirmation that my hair was gone, if I needed it.

‘Very. I think you will be too, once the dust has settled.’

‘I’ll have to see what my husband thinks about having a bald wife on his arm.’

‘I think you’ll find out soon enough, and I doubt that he’ll be looking to get you on his arm first off’ she chuckled.

‘I’ll have to see about that. Maybe you’ve broadened my horizons.’

‘Think of me as the hors d’oeuvre. Getting nailed to the bed will be the main course, I think you’ll find.’

I blushed.

‘So you’re not…?’

‘I’m not sure what I am. Let’s just say that at the moment, I’ll take my pleasure where I can find it’ she replied.

‘So if I asked you home for supper one evening?’

‘I’m sure that I could manage a couple of courses, if that’s what you mean’ she replied.

I raised my eyebrows, suddenly conscious that they represented the only hair that I had now.

The razor barely registered with me. Andrea’s touch was so light, and so much better than my own when I shave my legs and elsewhere. A wild idea flashed through my mind of having her shave me down there when I next need it. I wondered how awkward it would be between us next time we meet. I closed my eyes to concentrate.

I’ve no idea how long it took her to shave me. I heard running water and opened my eyes. She was standing in front of me, looking at me. She was holding a cloth, which explained the water. She wiped my scalp gently and tossed the cloth onto the draining board.

‘I’m so wet just looking at you’ she said with a smile.

I reached up to touch my scalp, afraid at what it would be like. I’d obviously touched Patrick’s bald head and Andrea’s, but it’s a different proposition when it’s your own. Andrea watched me, patiently waiting for the verdict.

‘It’s so strange’ I said.

‘It’ll take a while to get used to it, but you will, I promise. I can’t see myself ever having hair again. Anyway, believe me, you look wonderful’ she said.

‘I’m not so sure about that’ I replied.

I headed for the changing room so that I could look at myself in the mirror.

‘Oh God!’ I said, putting my hand to my mouth. The difference was stunning. It wasn’t me, the “me” that I’d grown so used to over the past forty-five years. It was a stranger looking back at me. A hairless stranger, an image compounded by my still-unfamiliar hairless pussy. I cupped my boobs. I don’t know why. If I saw this image in a magazine, I’d say that it was a striking look. Not one for every day, but unusual, sexy. I don’t know why, but I thought of one of those sex-dolls you see in films sometimes. Is that what I’d become? I made an “O” with my lips to complete the image. I was going to be a sex-doll for my husband to fuck for his pleasure, not mine. That thought was banished when Andrea embraced me from behind, her arms around my waist.

‘You’re beautiful’ she said.

‘I need someone to keep telling me that.’

‘I think you’ll find that Patrick will do more than tell you when he sees you.’

‘I’m not sure that I can face going home.’

‘Of course you can. Think of everything you’ve got to tell him over dinner.’

Her hands cupped my boobs, gently, comforting me.

‘I’m not sure that I can tell him most of it.’

‘It’s been a bit of a whirlwind, but you’ll get there.’

‘I bet this was a bit racier than when you shaved yours for the first time’ I said, trying to distract myself.

She smiled a knowing smile.


‘Mine was in the salon with a colleague and her boyfriend. A triple first for me. My first head shave, first experience with another woman and first time being taken up the you-know-where’ she replied with a twinkle in her eye.

‘So you’re saying I should count myself lucky?’

‘Two out of three ain’t bad, as the man once said.’

She released her hold on me and moved past me to sit on the little bench.

‘I was thinking about a bonus for Patrick’ she said, leaning back against the wall and opening her legs wide.

My eyes were opened wide in response.

‘You could give him something to savour when you kiss him’ she said with a leer.

I looked at her, then moved my eyes down. I couldn’t, could I? I shouldn’t, should I?

‘You’re wicked, do you know that?’ I said, kneeling down gingerly.

I placed my hands on her knees and surveyed what was in front of me. She reached down and unfurled her petals for me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Eyes open again, I looked at her and then made my approach. Her hand gently clamped the back of my head to guide me in. After a final pause, the tip of my tongue made contact. I ventured further, trying everything that I would want to do to me. From the sounds that she was making, we shared the same tastes, if you know what I mean.

When I’d accomplished my mission, I knelt back on my heels. Andrea smiled at me.

‘You’re a natural’ she said, stroking my head. ‘Remember that when you kiss him tonight.’

I stood up, savouring her final caress of my thigh and a cheeky kiss on my mound. I thought that she was about to return the favour, but all I got was a knowing smile and a ‘Next time’. I wasn’t sure about that, but you never know.

‘I’d better let you get home’ Andrea said, getting to her feet.

In no time at all, I was alone in the shop again. As alone as I could be with all of those memories. I went back to the kitchenette and looked at the wreckage of my hair strewn about the floor. My hand went to my head. That really was my hair lying there. I gathered up as much as I could and put it into a bag before consigning it to the bin. I knew that I should put the vacuum on, but I made do with the dustpan and brush. I wanted to get home for a shower, despite what Andrea had suggested about letting Patrick taste her on me. Five minutes later, I was locking the door behind me, dressed in the same clothes that I’d arrived in all those hours ago.

I looked into Andrea’s deserted salon as I went past. She’d really turned my life upside down. What would I tell people? Surely I can’t walk around without a wig? She does, though, I thought. Maybe people would see me as a trail-blazer. What she needs for her salon to take off.

Thoughts and images were still spinning when I pulled up onto our drive. Patrick’s car was there. I hadn’t expected him home yet. Shit!

I took a deep breath and steeled myself. The walk to the door seemed to take longer than usual. I opened it.

‘Hi honey, I’m home’ I said, realising immediately that he’d know that something was amiss, because I never said that.

‘In the kitchen’ he called out.

Another deep breath. I went in.

He turned round. He looked at me. He said nothing. I wanted to cry. I wanted someone to hold me. What had I done?

My distress was obvious enough for even Patrick to pick up on. He came towards me, hands held out. He put his arms round me, hugged me. I was shaking, sobbing.

‘Don’t cry, you’re beautiful’ he whispered.

I couldn’t speak. He eased away from me, so that he could look at me. I’m not sure that I wanted him to. He kissed me. He wondered why I let out a little laugh. Probably thought I was manic. Should I tell him where my mouth had been half an hour ago? He held me again, stroked my head, which, to me, only reinforced the sense of loss.

He administered a few more hugs, some tender words, some wine. He didn’t ask for details. Just what I needed.

‘I’m going for a shower’ I announced, somewhat ungratefully.

I stood under the jet, my tears mingling with the hot water. When I felt drained, I started to wash, soaping my body, vainly soaping my hairless head. It felt so strange. Slippery, barren.

I saw movement through the steamed up shower door, watched it slide open, watched Patrick step inside. This wasn’t something that we did, even though the cubicle was easily big enough for three people (whatever turns you on!).

‘I was hiding’ I said.

‘I know, but you don’t need to’ he replied, taking my hand and guiding it to his already-hard cock.

He saw my expression of surprise.

‘I told you, you’re beautiful’ he said, reaching up for my head with both hands.

We stood opposite each other. I put both of my hands on his scalp and we just looked at each other. We lowered our heads so that our foreheads touched. I suppose you could say that we communed. Something had changed between us. I reached down for his cock, making sure that it was still as enthusiastic about my new look. It was. I started to move my hand up and down, thinking about what Andrea had said. I looked at him and turned my back to him. I pushed my backside out and when I felt him make his approach, I reached round to take hold of him.

‘Jan?’ he said, when he realised what I was doing.

‘Just go easy, okay?’ I said.

This wasn’t something that we’d ever done, but I’d had the misfortune to use our computer one day when he’d forgotten to clear the history. I’d never told him that I knew, but filed away his curiosity for future use. It appeared that the future was now. I took a deep breath as my competitive streak compelled me to match Andrea’s own induction.

There’s nothing like a cup of tea in the kitchen for easing a situation. That’s where we found ourselves an hour or so later.

‘Where did that come from?’ Patrick asked me eventually.

‘Oh, you know, I’ve always wanted to try it’ I replied, knowing how much that would tease him.

‘What about your hair? Did you just go in there and tell her to do it?’

‘I’ll tell you all about it. One day’ I replied.

It would take me some considerable time to process today’s events. All I can say is that certain aspects of my life look like they’re going to be very different from now on.

3 responses to “Blank Canvas – Part 3

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