Cynthia Finds Her Fetish

Cynthia Finds Her Fetish

Part One

(Re-edited from a previously published version)

By Shorngirl

It’s always fascinating to discover just how a fetish gets its start. Sometimes it’s a bad experience, and other times it’s a good one. Something gets triggered in the mind that translates a normal or not-so-normal activity into feelings of arousal. A fetish can be so powerful that nothing the person can do will stop the urges to follow it, even to despair and self-destruction. A hair fetish is one of the most powerful fetishes a person can develop.

Cynthia was a typical 18-year-old girl, living in rural America. She had lots of friends. Many of her friends were girls but some were boys as well. Some of those boys she found attractive, and others were just friends. She was pretty, cute, but not beautiful, and had long chestnut hair that cascaded down her back in swirling waves. Cynthia was convinced that her hair was her best feature. She would sometimes spend an hour brushing and fixing it, just so, each morning.

Cynthia had two younger brothers; the twins, Chad and Jason. They were ten, and caused as much mischief as two boys that age were capable of. A lot of the time, at least when she was around, they picked on her. Cynthia was often the brunt of their little practical jokes, but she always laughed them off, which of course drove the boys to even more outrageous acts.

It was nearing the end of the school year, and the days were getting longer and hotter. The twins were settling into what would be a long, hot, summer and so was Cynthia. It was the Friday before school was to recess for the summer. Cynthia’s mother had instructed her to take the boys to the barber for their summer cuts, the following morning. She hated doing this. The boys would whine all the way there about not cutting their hair too short. There was no debate, of course, as mother had laid down exactly what kind of cut the boys were to have.

Saturday morning came, with the temperature climbing into the eighties by mid-morning.

Cynthia was meeting some friends at the local park at noon, so she wanted to get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible. She gathered the twins together and marched them down to Sammy’s, the local barber. Cynthia had the money that her mother had given her in her pocket, along with the note instructing the barber on the cuts.

There were a few people in the shop, and the boys each took a number, getting in line to have their winter locks shorn. As it happened that day, and much to Cynthia’s delight, two chairs opened up at the same time, and both Jason and Chad were hustled into the open chairs.

“Summer cuts for the twins?” Asked the one barber, speaking for both of them.

“Yes, please.” Cynthia pulled the note from her pocket, handing it to the barber.

“How short, Miss? There are a few different types of crewcuts we can do.” He showed Cynthia the clippers and the different combs that attached to them. Taking the note from the barber, all her mother had written was ‘crewcuts for the boys’.

So, thinking she would do her mother proud, she blurted out “Just make it short as possible.” Cynthia took a seat in the opposite chair, she watched as the boys got sheared, and then some. She had never seen them get their hair cut this short before. The barbers started with a clipper that pretty much whisked them bald.

Cynthia knew she had made a mistake, but it was too late to do anything about it. This wasn’t the end of it though, as Cynthia soon witnessed. After the twins had been shorn down to stubble, the barbers took smaller clippers and shaved the sides and backs of their heads completely bald. The boys were watching each other in their respective mirrors, as they were shaved, their eyes wide as saucers.

After they finished with that, they lathered over their ears and up the back of their head, shaving them with a straight razor, a good 2 inches up from the hairline. Cynthia was terrified by what her mother was going to say. The boys jumped from the chairs and gave her an evil look, disappearing through the door. She figured she’d have to hide all the scissors in the house, for fear of reprisal.

As they arrived home, their mother was just carrying groceries into the house from the car. “I told you crewcuts, Cynthia! Not bald!” Cynthia knew she was in for it. “Go in the house boys, I’ll be right in.” The two baldies ran up the front stairs and through the screen door, laughing because they knew she was in trouble. “Cynthia, what the hell happened!”

“The barbers showed me all these things that cut different lengths, I didn’t know what to pick.” She hesitated. “So…, I just told them as short as possible.” Cynthia cringed, awaiting her mother’s wrath.

“Well, okay. I suppose that’s a credible enough story. How would you know, being a girl? Besides, it’ll grow in fast enough anyway.” Her mother nodded at the bags in the trunk and Cynthia grabbed two, thinking she had escaped her mother’s wrath at least.

As planned, Cynthia met her friends at the park, and they hung around for a while. It was really hot, so they didn’t do a whole lot except talk about school being finished and stuff they had planned for the summer.

As Cynthia was walking home from the park, she passed Sammy’s barbershop on the way. She thought about what had happened, and how her brothers were practically bald because of her. She looked through the large plate glass window as she passed, and shuddered. One of the barbers startled her as he stepped through the door.

“Hey, aren’t you that girl that was in the shop this morning.?” He asked.

“Yes, Sir….that was me, with my brothers,” Cynthia replied, meekly.

“Well, young lady, you forgot to pay us for the haircuts.” Cynthia panicked, knowing that in her flustered state, and the way the boys hustled out of the shop, she had completely forgotten to pay. She reached into her pocket, but the two crisp bills that had been there this morning were missing.

“The money.” Cynthia gasped. “It’s gone, I must have dropped it.” She frantically searched through her other pockets.

“Lost it? You mean spent it; probably on stuff for that pretty hair of yours. I felt bad for your brothers this morning, getting shaved like that, and then you just ran off.”

“Listen, mister, I live right around the corner. I can go get the money.” Cynthia begged.

“I don’t think so. You sit right there, girl.” He plopped her down on the first chair inside the door and locked it behind him, while he went for the phone. “We’ll see what the police have to say about your story.”

Cynthia’s mouth dropped open. She had never been in trouble in her whole life. “Please mister, don’t call the cops,” she pleaded “Please!” The barber placed the receiver back down, and stared over at her, shaking in the chair.

“Well, you owe me Twenty-Six dollars, plus tips young lady, how are we going to settle this?” The barber demanded.

Cynthia looked down at her hands as if they had the answer. Suddenly, the barber looked kind of strangely at her, like he was sizing her up. “That hair ought to be worth something. I bet it’s worth at least what you owe me.” He lifted the cape off the counter and gave the barber chair a pat. “Come on. I’ll take it in trade.” He suggested, as if nothing could be more normal. “We’ll be even, like nothing ever happened.” Cynthia was terrified by the idea. “It’s either that, or I call the police, Sweetie.”

Cynthia was silent, but felt her legs carrying her over to the chair, wobbly as they were. She found herself sitting in the exact spot where Jason had been shorn that very morning.

“Hold up your hair.” He grumbled.

Doing as he asked, Cynthia sat staring at herself in the mirror as the barber swirled the cape around her and fastened it, almost too tightly around her slender neck. He possessively pulled her hair out of her hands, letting it fall gracefully down and over the arms of the chair.

“That is some beautiful hair!” The barber said, excitedly “Too bad it’s all got to go.”

“All!” Cynthia yelped. “All of it? How short are you going to cut it?” There were some tears welling up in her eyes as she looked at the barber.

“Well, the more length I cut, the more money it’s worth. I figure at least up to, hmmm, at least up to your chin, I’d say.” He gathered her hair into a ponytail and wrapped a rubber band around it roughly. “Ready to pay up?”

“Yes….NO! oh….Just do it, okay!” Cynthia shouted. She was expecting to hear scissors scrunching as he hacked off her mane, but instead, she heard the whine of clippers. “You’re not going to….”

“What? Shave you like you did to your brothers? No, but I should.” He placed the clippers above the clip and worked them through her thick walnut hair. Suddenly, Cynthia felt all the weight lift away from the back of her head. She watched in horror as he carefully placed the three-foot pony on the counter in front of her.

Cynthia was afraid to look, but slowly raised her eyes to the mirror. A short choppy bob replaced the once-flowing locks she had been so proud of. Roughly cut, it fell bluntly almost in chunks around her tear-streaked face.

“Well, the debt is paid.” He said abruptly. “You can go, or I can try and fix this up a bit.” Cynthia looked at her hacked-off hair and thought there was no way she could walk outside like that. She nodded to the barber. “Please, do something. I can’t go out… there, like this.” She pointed to the street.

“I don’t do long cuts, but I’ll see what I can do with it.” He grabbed a spray bottle and wet down her hair until it hung limply on either side of her face. Once again, the barber grabbed the clippers, and with a comb, he began shaping Cynthia’s hair: lifting and clipping, lifting and clipping. Cynthia noticed a rhythm to what he was doing, as the hair slid into the comb and the clippers whisked it off.

It was about then that she noticed another rhythm. Each time the clippers ran over the comb, there was a thrumming in her sex. With each pass of the clippers, the feeling got stronger. Cynthia wiggled a little in the chair to try and cope with the swelling arousal, but to no avail.

She looked up at herself in the mirror, only to have the barber forcefully push her chin back into her chest as he worked on the back. The slightest gasp escaped her lips, and the barber looked up from his task, smiling.

Finally, the clippers fell silent, and she was allowed to see her hair. It was short. Not the bob that she had been expecting, but tapered close to her head. Her ears stuck out as the hair had been trimmed around them. There was a white rim around each of her ears where her hairline had been exposed, and her new bangs fell halfway down her forehead. She watched as the barber placed a part on the left side of her head and combed her hair over, as she had seen her father do so many times with his.

She looked like a little boy, and was so aroused by the sight of it that an almost uncontrollable urge swept over her. Like any new fetish, it was amazingly strong and hard to control, and Cynthia was not up to that task.

“So, that short enough for you, kid?” The barber cajoled, knowing he had cut her hair far shorter than it needed to be for his Twenty-six dollars.

“I’d like it a little shorter.” Cynthia couldn’t believe the words had actually formed in her mouth. There was another force at work here, and it was firmly in control. Cynthia was just a passenger along for the ride.

“Okay, kid, you got it.” The barber sounded only a little annoyed at having to redo the haircut. He reached for the clippers and put a different attachment on them. No comb this time as he started in the back, running the clippers up to the crown of Cynthia’s head.

She could feel them, the warm metal, as it ran over the bump on the back of her head and onwards to the top. She was lost in a sea of emotions and arousal as the clippers worked their way around the sides, stripping the hair down to mere stubble. The barber paused for a moment as he brought them to the top of her forehead, but only for a moment. They plunged through her bangs, removing the last of any remaining hair. She stared at her head in the mirror. Cynthia’s scalp was clearly visible through the extremely short hair, but there was at least something there.

Cynthia fought to pull herself out of the chair and run, but the strange force held her there like glue. “I just couldn’t live with myself, if I went home with more hair on my head than my little brothers.”

The barber looked exasperated, but then Cynthia was lost, her newborn fetish firmly in control. “I think I should be punished for what I did to them. I’m sure they would feel better about things if my hair was shorter than theirs.” She felt like she was on the most terrifying rollercoaster imaginable, and all she could do was wait until the ride was over.

The barber shrugged his shoulders and picked up the trimming clippers. The quiet hum of the blades bit into her last remaining stubble, reducing her already buzzed hair to absolutely nothing. Strip after strip, her bald head was revealed, and the fetish came closer and closer to absolute victory. Finally, the humming fell silent.

Cynthia looked up at herself in the mirror, and a bald little girl looked back at her in complete shock. She brought her hands up and ran them over her smooth scalp, almost not believing anything could feel so good. As the barber removed the cape, what little hair remained, fell, unceremoniously to the floor.

As fetishes so often do once satisfied, it dropped Cynthia back into reality, fully and completely. Running out of the shop, she didn’t stop until she had reached the seclusion of the park, and the small restroom that stood at its center. She flew into a stall, and hastily lowered her jeans and her panties, now soaked from her strange encounter.

Trying to regain the blissful ignorance her fetish had bestowed, she stroked herself furiously with one hand, while the other explored her new nakedness. As if to cruelly cement its permanence in her psyche, the fetish rushed forward to take over once again. Cynthia exploded in a release so complete, that she lost consciousness for a moment, falling back into the wall behind the commode.

Once again, the fetish abandoned her. Shaking loose the cobwebs, she realized her ridiculous situation, and that someone was standing at the entrance to the open stall.

“Oh, my God! Cynthia?”

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