Failure II: Sharing My Secret

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When the barberette returned me to the train station, she also returned my clothing and purse to me. Then I went back to my car and drove home. Luckily, it was a Saturday. I bought a wig close to what my hair was. I also used the weekend to practice drawing on my eyebrows with a pencil. On Monday, I went into work looking almost the same. No one noticed except my best friend Amanda. At first, I didn’t want to tell her. I mean, who wants to admit to allowing themselves to be shaved bald and then treated like a fucktoy? But, like all best friends, things eventually came out. I even removed my wig for her. Much to my surprise, she didn’t judge me. In fact, she seemed intrigued by my experience.

Rubbing my stubbly head, she said, “Do you regret it?”

“No…it felt…well..like a necessary experience…like I needed her to destroy me before I could go any further…I felt great afterwards.”

Much to my surprise, Amanda asked me to bring her to the barberette. She had beautiful waist length black hair from her Chinese mother. Still, I agreed to bring her. Mainly because I wanted to see the barberette again myself. We went that night.

The barberette smiled when she saw us. “Hey, it’s my bald bitch,” she said, “did you bring me another head to shave?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Amanda, “I want the same treatment.”

“Well, watch me shave this bitch first, and then I will do you.”

My breathing got heavier. The barberette snatched the wig from my head and tossed it in the trash, which made me wince. It was an expensive wig. Still, I sat her chair. Shaking her head, she took a makeup wipe to my face, removing my carefully drawn on eyebrows. She then caped me and lathered me up. Amanda watched eagerly as she used a straight razor to shave me smooth again. Once I was finished, including a vigorous oiling up of my scalp and the writing of “SLAVE” across my forehead in Sharpie, it was her turn.

The barberette had me kneel nearby as Amanda sat down in her chair. She began crying as the barberette started sectioning off her hair in ponytails, which made the barberette laugh. Then she picked up her clippers. She started her harvest eagerly, laying each ponytail across her counter.

“Unlike this bitch,” she said, taking the last ponytail in her hands and pulling it tight, “your hair may be worth something.”

Once she collected the last ponytail, she gave Amanda’s head another pass with her clippers. Then she lathered up her scalp and eyebrows. Once she was shaved smooth like me, she also received a vigorous oiling and “SLAVE” across the forehead.

She had Amanda kneel next to me. We were an identical pair of ugly baldies. Which made her clap with delight.

We knelt on the barbershop floor until the barberette closed. Whenever she had a customer, she’d offer our mouths. Free of charge. They all took her up on the offer. That, of course, was only the warm-up to what happened that evening.

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