Caroline: A Bad Haircut Turned Great

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It was 5:30pm when she got home, as usual.
Just as I was about to get up and leave my office, she had already opened the door and entered. There she stood, five feet tall, in a summery dress, her shoes still on. Her once teal bowl cut was grown out heavily, and her blonde roots showed more than just a little. She had a very confused expression on her face as she came closer and fumbled nervously with her hands. She reached into her handbag, pulled out her phone and held it out to me.

On the screen was a photo of a young woman, perhaps in her late twenties. Her hands were holding up the collar of her gray turtleneck sweater, and her subtle make-up was applied in a professional manner.
However, her most striking feature was her silver-blond hair, styled in a short pixie cut. The upper part was longer, perhaps three to four inches long, and the sides were shorter, but not so short that one could call her shaved. From what I could tell, however, the back part of her hair seemed to be clipped to just an eighth of an inch.
All in all, I would say I found her look quite astonishing.

Caroline cleared her throat and asked, “So, sweetie, what do you think about me getting a haircut like hers?” She blushed a little, and quickly added, “Just the style, not the color.”
Normally, she would only ask my opinion on her hairstyle choice after she had already been to the salon, so I was rather perplexed. It occurred to me that she wished for a different hairstyle, but was afraid to go through with it, so she sought confirmation.
“Sure, go ahead! You know I like your short hair, so why should I object this time?” I replied smiling. She immediately seemed more relaxed, relieved even. I got up and gave her a firm hug.
I smelled her conditioner, felt the tickle of her hair on my nose and planted a kiss on her crown.

“So – what’s for dinner tonight?” she finally asked.

The next morning Caroline left while I was still in the shower. She said she had to come to work earlier than usual and planned to go to her stylist’s right after. She threw me a kiss, left the apartment, and I heard the elevator in the hall rumble.

Strangely enough, I’ve been distracted all day. Sure – I have seen my fiancée get many haircuts and different styles over the last six years. Then why was I so nervous and excited this time?
The fact that she has short hair really turns me on, and she knows it. I can remember many times when she came home, wore a new hairstyle and I got excited by her looks while she teased me with it. But this time it felt different. It’s been almost three years since she last had her hair cut into a pixie, and I’ve always found the sight particularly appealing.

When I thought about the picture she had shown me, I decided to take a break from work and finish up the rest the next day.
I started searching for pixie haircuts on Google, hoping to find the picture Caroline had shown me. And after a short while I actually found it.
As I looked at it, I fantasized about how cute my fiancée would look with this amazing style when she finally returned.

It was well past 7pm when I finally heard the clattering of their keys and the clicking of the lock on the front door.
“Sweetie? I’m home! Sorry I’m late and for not calling you, but my battery was dead, I must have forgotten to charge it last night…” she said when she came in. Her voice had a slightly depressed tone, but I couldn’t figure out why. Maybe she was just exhausted from the long day. I jumped up from my chair and headed towards the hall to welcome her.

She was just about to take off her boots, facing away from me. And for some reason, she was wearing a dark blue beanie. It was September, but it was still quite warm outside – at least not yet so cold that she would have to wear winter clothes.

“What’s with the hat?” I asked, half amused, half worried.

She turned around, looked me in the eyes and then down, at my feet. I wouldn’t exactly say she looked exhausted, but more like she was crying. As I stood there confused, trying to figure out what had happened, she took off her cap and showed me her new hairstyle.

At first sight it looked really cute on her. As expected, she was about three inches long at the top and much shorter at the sides.
She evidently decided against dying her hair again, as it was her natural blonde all around. Only the tips of the longer parts at the top of her crown showed traces of their former teal color.
From the base of her neck to the occipital bone, where two inches of grown-out hair had been that morning, her hair was reduced to only an eighth of an inch.
I raised my hand and touched the fuzz on the back of her head. The tingling sensation of the buzzed part felt amazing, but as soon as I touched it, she started to tremble.
I turned her around and looked into her eyes where tears began to gather.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, “I think you look great…” But then it began to dawn on me.

What I hadn’t noticed immediately in my excitement, became suddenly clear to me now.Something was strange about the cut, very slight, as if the different parts of the style did not really fit together. The length and the layers of the upper part did not fit together well, the sides were uneven, and it looked as if someone had tried to hide this by using far too much product.

I watched her silently for some time, with a blank expression on my face. After some time I tried to put on a comforting smile – or at least I imagined it that way. I pulled her into a hug and patted her head.

“Don’t worry, it’s not so bad. Maybe if you style it in a different way, you can make it work. AND I really appreciate your efforts to look sexy for me. I really do. But I always find you attractive no matter what the length or style of your hair. I love you for who you are, everything else is… is just a bonus.”

She looked up at me, trying to put a smile on her face as tears ran down her cheeks.
After she had pulled herself together again, the first thing she did was to wash all the product out of her hair. Unfortunately, this only made the bad aspects of the cut more apparent.
From what I gathered, her usual stylist had fallen sick, and her replacement didn’t really know what she was doing.

For the rest of the evening we sat on the bed in our pyjamas and watched movies wrapped in a big blanket.
In the end, we slowly drifted into a peaceful slumber.

The next morning, Saturday, looked like a rainy day.
We slept in, and when I finally got up I went into the kitchen to make coffee and Caroline shuffled in after me. It looked as if she hadn’t washed all the product out of her hair the day before, because it looked like she had a bird’s nest on her head.
“Morning, honey, did you sleep well?” I asked. A yawn and a tired but content mumble was her response.
“Listen, I’m just going to check my e-mail,” I said, “and then we can spend the rest of the day on the couch, ordering pizza or something. Does that sound good?”.
She nodded, I went to my office, she went to brush her teeth. A few minutes later I heard her swearing from the bathroom.

I looked up from my monitor and said, “Is everything okay?”
“No! Could you please come over here and help me for a minute?” she replied. I complied.

Caroline stood in front of the sink and looked in the mirror. Apparently she had tried to make her new hairstyle more pleasing. Evidently she failed in this attempt, as her hairstyle looked even worse than the day before. “I just can’t get it right!” she exclaimed visibly annoyed and threw a bottle of hair wax into the sink. When she noticed the pitying expression on my face in the mirror, she looked over her shoulder.

“Oh, please, spare me that,” she complained and then, calmly, added, “Could you please help me with this?
“What were you thinking of?” I asked. She lowered her eyes and silently pointed to my beard trimmer on the counter.

“Alright, I’ll go get a chair from the kitchen.”

We placed the chair in the middle of the bathroom, right in front of the sink. Caroline took off her top and bra and mumbled, “…don’t want hair all over it.” She sat in the chair, bare-breasted, but kept her panties on. I was standing right behind her, the little battery-powered clipper in my sweaty hand.

“So how do you want to do it?” I asked.
“I thought – maybe set the guard to the longest possible length?” she replied.
“The longest setting would be a number two,” I said. She pondered for a moment and then positioned herself so that she could see everything that would happen to her.
She looked into the reflection of my eyes in the mirror, nodded and, to my surprise, smiled.

“I’ll start by shaving the back – so you can chicken out before it gets out of control,” I teased her. She just stuck her tongue out at me and put on a defiant grin.
“Alright,” I said and pressed the button on the clippers. They came to life with a pathetic, high-pitched humming sound. Caroline jumped a little, but I put my free hand on her shoulder to comfort her. “Ready?” I asked and she confirmed with a nod, almost driving her head straight into the clippers I held behind her. I placed them below the hairline at the base of her neck.

Then I drove the blades into her hair with a swift but steady motion.
Up her neck, up to the occipital bone, further over the crown of her head and forward until they broke through her bangs and left a small path of bristly stubble.
The longer hair from the crown of her head and the bangs fell down onto Caroline’s forehead, nose and breasts.
For a moment she just sat there, her facial expression changing rapidly between shock and excitement. Then she puckered her lips, blew a strand of hair from her nose and then began to bite her lip in anticipation.

I was excited too and without hesitation, I started to shave the left side of her head. Starting the back of her neck, I directed the clippers past her ear and finally sent a rain of short hairs on her shoulder when I reached her sideburns. I repeated the same on the right side of her head, now covering both shoulders in small tufts of hair. At last, I continued where I had first started, pushing the blades over her head from back to front again and again. Soon all the hair on her head was cut to a uniform length, an eighth of an inch long. With another push of the button the high-pitched sound stopped. She looked at her short buzzcut for a moment, tilting her head from one side to the other.

“I don’t like it,” she said, “take the rest off as well!”

We both smiled like crazy, and she kept biting her lip as I complied. I took off the guard and flipped the clippers back on.
But this time I shaved the remainder of her hair right down the middle, starting in the front.
After making a pass, I put two fingers on her forehead and began to slowly pull it back, the same way the clippers took only a few moments earlier.

Caroline rolled her eyes up to follow my movements in the mirror as I ran over the crown and down the back. The feeling of velvet fuzz was intoxicating, and as I passed her hairline at the back of her neck, she shivered with glee. “Hurry up, I want to feel it too,” she commanded, while she could hardly contain her excitement.

So once again I complied. Quickly and methodically I continued to reduce her buzzcut to nothing, while I covered her naked upper body with a fine mist of blonde hair. After I finished, I switched off the beard trimmer and took a step back. “Then touch it already,” I dared her.

With her eyes closed she brought her shaking hands to her head and touched her scalp with both of them. In the complete silence of our bathroom there was a faint rasping sound as she stroked the stubble. Caroline’s smile faded and she opened her eyes.

“I still don’t like it,” she merely said.
I was confused. What did she expect from me now? This was all her idea after all. But before I could ask, she reached into the shower and grabbed her safety razor.
“Do you think you could do me one more favor?” she asked in her most flirtatious tone.

At that time, it all seemed like a dream, too good to be true. My fiancée wanted me to shave her head completely bald – smooth!
But it wasn’t, and I was wide awake when I took her razor and the can of shaving foam from the sink. I spread some of it in my hands and tenderly began to lather her head. When the cool, foamy gel touched her head, she flinched a little, but as I continued, she began to relax. You could feel the anticipation in the air as she waited for the last remaining bit of hair to be removed from her head. A little later her whole head was covered with white foam. I wet the razor thoroughly, but then I hesitated when a thought crossed my mind.

“Would you like to try it first?” I asked and nodded at her reflection. Her eyes widened and she happily agreed.
Caroline took the razor to her forehead, very slowly, her eyes concentrated on the blades. The tip of her tongue came out between her lips as she pulled the blades back over her head, clearing the foam and stubble from her scalp. When she had finished passing, she tilted her head to see the result, touching the bald patch in the middle of her head.
When she felt the smooth skin, she let out a cute little squeak of joy. After she finished her inspection, she returned the razor and signaled that it was my turn to shave the rest of her head.

Dip the razor into the water, scrape the stubble off her head, and repeat. Seeing how effortlessly they did their work, the blades must have been new or at least only used once or twice before that day. When I was finished, I removed the excess foam and small hairs with a dry towel and told her once more to touch her head.

This time their hands did not shake at all. Her fingertips touched and rubbed her scalp, her eyes were closed and an enormous smile of satisfaction lay on her face.
Then she stood up and sent the short hair clippings from her shoulders and breasts to the floor. She turned to me, took my hands in hers, lifted them slowly and placed them on her crown.

It felt as incredible as it looked. Then she looked up at me with big eyes and kissed me while I rubbed her bald head.
When we parted, she stepped back, still smiling, and took off her panties. Without saying a word, she jumped into the shower, turned on the steaming hot water and gestured me to follow her.

I didn’t even need a second to get undressed and jump into the shower after her.


Author’s Note: This is my first story, I hope you enjoyed it. Please note that English is not my native language, so please forgive any spelling or grammar mistakes I may have made.

– rightdownthemiddle

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