Catherine’s Close Shave with the Past, Part 1 – Natasha

Prologue

Okay, Catherine, take deep breaths, I silently cautioned myself as Erin, my girlfriend, eagerly pressed the play button on the DVD remote control. I watched the opening credits of the dreaded video start rolling down the TV screen, noting the empty box, mysteriously marked “H/C”, discarded on the coffee table.

Sixteen years ago, I had managed to bury that little escapade; physically in terms of the recording, and mentally deep in the recesses of my mind. And now, thanks to Erin’s insatiable curiosity as she and my own weak will, it was all coming back to haunt me with astonishingly clear high-definition images.

‘It’s nothing,’ I shrugged when Erin pressed me. ‘Just a bit of modelling I did when I was at university to help with my tuition fees.’

‘This I need to see,’ Erin chuckled mischievously, as she had loaded the DVD player before handing me a glass of wine and settling down next to me.

Erin

I glanced at Erin, sprawled beside me on the sofa. She was a vision in the tartan miniskirt I loved to see her wear, and a simple white camisole, her mid-back brown hair worn in cute braids. A stark contrast to my own casual state. I wore one of my usual flimsy dresses, outrageously short with a plunging neckline supported by two thin staps. And my hair, my pride and joy, a chaotic blonde cloud that reached down to my hips.

Erin adored my hair. She always said it was one of the things that first attracted her to me when we met six months earlier. Already, she was absently winding a long tendril around her finger as she avidly viewed the TV.

The screen showed a younger, undeniably more fresh-faced version of me stepping into a shop from the street. ‘Sixteen years ago,’ I mumbled, more to myself than to her. ‘I was such a naive idiot.’

Erin squeezed my hand. ‘You were a student making extra cash. No big deal. Besides,’ she winked, ‘you hardly look any different. That hair is a trademark for sure, even if it has grown even longer now. Even that dress is like the one you are wearing now.’

‘I guess so.’ I had to admit, the dress was eerily similar, a fact I had not even consciously registered until Erin pointed it out although it had become my signature style over the intervening years.

‘Okay, okay,’ Erin said, bouncing with anticipation. ‘What happens now?’

I cringed. ‘Just, er … wait and see.’

The statuesque and intimidating woman appeared, all sharp angles and confidence in her form-hugging black outfit and high ponytail. Natasha, I remembered, greeted my younger self with a professional smile, and led me further into the shop that revealed itself to be a hairdressing salon. The woman directed to the styling chair where we had a brief conversation, although I was unable to recall the details. However, the anxiety I was trying to hide in my expression suggested what we might have discussed.

Following my consultation, Natasha ushered me to the backwash. As she lathered my hair with shampoo, I felt a phantom tingle on my scalp, a ghost of the cool water and her firm massage.

‘Nice legs,’ Erin giggled, her eyes drawn to the dress that had ridden up, as I laid almost prone on the chair, head against the basin.

‘Another one of my best features,’ I said airily, doing my best to disguise my anxiety regarding what was coming next.

Erin watched, mesmerised, as “young Catherine” with damp hair made her way back to the styling chair. I imagined I could feel the warm air of the blow drier as Natasha vigorously forced the moisture from my hair with the aid of a round brush. Finally, she moved and left me staring at my reflection with my hair sleek and gleaming.

‘So, was this for a shampoo commercial?’ Erin asked.

‘No, er … not exactly,’ I said, suddenly feeling extremely hot.

My younger self began tossing her hair around, piling it up on her head and releasing it, and fashioning remarkably long ponytails and braids. A couple of times I stopped, bereft of ideas, but an unheard voice off camera was urging me on to perform additional poses.

‘And this was the modelling you were paid for, Cath?’ Erin asked, eyes still glued to the screen, captivated by what I had been doing. ‘It was certainly a provocative use for all that hair … well, it’s doing it for me anyway,’ she chuckled, giving my hair a playful tug.

‘I can do that for you any time,’ I offered, hoping to distract Erin’s attention away from the TV so I could turn off the DVD without her noticing.

‘I might take you up on that, Cath,’ she said, still not facing me. ‘No, scrub that. I will take you up on that! So, what now?’

And that is when it happened. The hairdresser suddenly reappeared, gave my hair a cursory brush, and without any warning, raised a pair of scissors. She said something and I nodded.

Natasha smiled and placed the blades of her scissors around my hair, just below the level of my shoulders.

Natasha

‘No!’ Erin wailed.

Part of me was reminding myself it was sixteen years earlier, and my girlfriend’s reaction in that context was amusing. However, I watched, mortified, as Natsha began to haphazardly chop off my hair, sending thick blonde locks tumbling to the floor. The camera lingered on my face, capturing what was a mixture of extreme shock and resigned acceptance.

‘What?’ Erin shrieked. ‘How could you let her do that?’

On screen, my younger self continued to stare straight ahead as the last three feet long tendril snaked over my bare shoulders, then over my dress, into my lap, before tumbling to the salon floor.

As Natasha combed through my shortened hair, I was staring at my reflection with a strange, blank expression on my face. An unseen prompt jolted me into modelling my abbreviated hair, attempting the same poses as before. Except the updos were less full, the ponytails barely there, and the bun drops almost non-existent. Although I had tried to maintain the blank expression to disguise my true feelings, flickers of sadness were frequently evident.

‘I don’t want to watch this anymore,’ Erin snapped to my great relief. But as I reached for the remote, she stopped me. ‘No, leave it. I need to see what happens next.’

What happened next was, predictably, worse. The hairdresser, with the same unnerving calm, continued her assault, transforming my shoulder-length hair into a short bob that barely reached my chin.

A drastic bowlcut then followed, incorporating my first ever fringe, a blunt line straight across my forehead that exaggerated my wide-eyed expression. When Natasha used hairclippers to shear away the hair on my neck and temples, I lost my composure when I allowed a solitary tear to roll down my cheek. The camera zoomed in to show my reaction.

A stylish and edgy asymmetric pixie cut then followed, combining spiky texture on the crown with one side of my head cropped short.

After each cut, I posed and smiled, projecting an image of carefree acceptance that I never remembered feeling.

Erin paused the DVD, her eyes wide with disbelief. ‘Wow,’ she breathed. ‘That was, er, intense … and, er, unexpected. I would never have believed you ever had short hair. And I could never even imagine you with a short haircut. That wonderful cloud of hair is such an intrinsic part of who you are.’

‘I know, Erin, but it was just that once,’ I whined, ridiculously excusing myself for something I had done over fifteen years before we had even met. ‘And I need the cash.’

‘Actually, that last style really suits you. I am not so sure about the boring bob or the schoolboy bowlcut, but in that freeze-frame on the TV now you look incredibly hot,’ she giggled, her voice hitching slightly.

‘Thanks, Erin … er, I think,’ I said, trying to decipher her reaction. After Erin’s earlier shock, was she now actually enjoying what she was seeing, I wondered.

‘Well, that hairdresser is so clinical with how cuts your hair,’ Erin continued, her voice taking on a strange, breathy quality. ‘And I’m not really sure why, because I really love your long hair, but I found it a bit of a turn on …’

‘Really?’ I asked, my voice unable to disguise my surprise.

‘Well, yes … sort of,’ she replied, sounding flustered, blushing a little. She glanced at the screen, where the paused DVD showed there was still a significant amount of time left. ‘What happens next, Cath? More modelling?’

I was hoping Erin had seen enough and I could surreptitiously eject the DVD and discard it forever. However, as I reached for the remote, the video resumed playing. I sighed, bracing myself for the grand finale.

Fulfilment

Natasha reappeared beside the edgily cropped younger me on the screen, brandishing the hairclippers once more. A conversation ensued and, from the expressions, a little more fraught than the earlier consultation. Natasha looked concerned as I waved airily over my crown, a gesture that could have meant anything. Except it meant only one thing.

She looked directly at me, clearly asking a question. I gave a curt nod and waved my hand once more. Natasha shrugged, shook her head in amazement, and placed the blade of the hairclippers against the hairline at my forehead. Then paused. I saw myself force a smile that barely passed as a grimace. And the hairclippers sailed through my spiky haircut leaving a narrow bare path over the top of my head in their wake.

‘No way!’ Erin wailed, her eyes drawn to the screen, disbelieving.

My heart hammered in my chest as I watched Natasha shear off the remains of my pixie cut, leaving only a light fuzz on my scalp. As it was sixteen years earlier, my throat was dry, and I could not speak.

‘But why?’ my girlfriend pleaded, as if it had only just occurred. ‘You looked so … so … oh no!’

After silencing the hairclippers, Natasha had briskly rubbed my head to dislodge any loose bristles. Then an aerosol can of shaving foam appeared in her hand and, doubtlessly what had led to Erin’s latest outburst.

Natasha diligently coated my whole head with the white lather, then held up a traditional razor that reflected the light ominously. After a brief pause, she began to carefully scrape away small areas of foam, taking with it the last vestiges of my hair. She wiped away the excess foam, massages my head with oil and then buffed it to a gleaming shine with specially formulated wax.

The hairdresser’s final, humiliating act left me with a completely bald head that glistened brightly under the salon lights.

‘Sorry, Erin,’ I mumbled sadly, confident that she would think the worst of me for undergoing that crushing transformation, even if it were so long ago.

Assessment

Erin remained silent, strengthening my assumption and raising my concern for our future.

‘Erin, I am really sorry,’ I repeated, ‘that you saw that, but -’

She let out a shaky breath, interrupting my flow. ‘Wow,’ she said, her cheeks flushed. ‘I did not expect that.’

I was devastated. ‘I know, but -’

‘But you looked amazing. Really strong … natural … and, well, beautiful,’ Erin panted, her hand moving rhythmically, perhaps unconsciously, under her skirt.

‘Thanks,’ I managed, unsure how to respond to her obvious arousal.

‘So, they paid you to do that?’ Erin asked, her eyes still glued to the screen that now showed me standing up and modelling my gleaming head.

‘Yes, Erin,’ I confirmed. ‘It was quite a lot, actually. At least it was a lot for a poor student.’

‘And how did the hairdresser find you, or you find her?’ Erin questioned.

‘I responded to an advert for makeover models on a student forum and it was a lovely middle-aged couple who arranged it all, including booking the hairdresser,’ I explained. ‘I met them for coffee where they told me all about their business and the fee I could expect. They even supplied me with the dress.’

‘A business making makeover videos,’ Erin said bowing out her cheeks. ‘Who would have thought there was any demand.’

‘Actually, they got back in touch later to say my video was one of their bestsellers,’ I said with a touch of pride, risking a smile, ‘and they paid me a bonus based on sales.’

‘I’m not surprised you were a bestseller,’ Erin sighed, licking her lips suggestively. ‘I would have bought a copy as you were in it.’

‘Well, I may let you keep that DVD,’ I offered, pleased that the tension in the air had subsided.

‘Thanks, Cath,’ she said as a mischievous crept on to her face. ‘Mind you, your ears stick out a bit when you’re bald … but they do look cute.’

Embarrassment

My hand flew to my hair, instinctively trying to cover my ears. ‘That’s why I never tie my hair back or anything,’ I mumbled, feeling a wave of self-consciousness wash over me.

Erin gently pulled my hand away. ‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ she said, her voice soft. ‘They’re cute. Really.’

I looked at her doubtfully before she manoeuvred herself into a position of the sofa where I rested between her legs, my back facing her. I felt her gathering all my loose hair, and scraping it back into a ponytail, something I never did myself. She pulled it taut, smoothing down the top and the sides, before securing it firmly at my nape. I sensed her twirling it around and around, pinning it tightly in a bun.

Erin then guided me to a mirror on the wall. My blonde hair was so flat to my head that in the subdued lighting of my apartment I appeared bald. My ears were fully exposed and protruded from the side of my head. As Erin planted delicate kisses on my nape, I felt naked, vulnerable and, most strangely of all, incredibly excited.

Enjoyment

The rest of the evening was a blur of passion and pent-up energy. Erin, fuelled by the images of my shaved head, was insatiable. We tumbled into bed, our laughter and moans echoing through the apartment.

It was intense, unlike anything we had experienced before.

To be continued