Free Falling

Story Categories:

Story Tags:

Views: 3,297 | Likes: +44

“I want to cut your hair short,” Damon said, casually handing me a five. His smile showed deep dimples on his cheeks, softening his otherwise thin, manly face.

“Thanks,” I put the bill in the bust of my black lace body suit, and batted my fake eyelashes. I leaned forward a bit, giving him a better look at my cleavage. “Are you sure you’re not interested in something other than my hair?”

“I like it all,” he said, enjoying his diet coke, “Haven’t you ever had short hair?”

I tossed my long black hair over my shoulder, bare and cold in the club. “No, I never have,” I answered with a giggle, “You know, most guys like my hair long. Buy me a drink?”

He handed me another five, and leaned toward me. I could feel his breath on my ear as he asked, “Do you know what I’m going to be thinking of while you earn that drink?”

I raised an eyebrow to him. “I think I can guess.”

As I danced for him, I let him watch my hair cascade down my back. I let the locks fall into his face so he could get a smell of it. I’d had a few cigarettes that night, but I knew my hair still smelled like Herbal Essences. Yes, I probably spent too much money on hair products, but it beat paying for a stylist. Dancing on autopilot, I found I found my mind wandering. I thought about how, without all this hair, I could wear any kind of wig I want. I know the guys would love that. Still, I might be too chubby to pull-off short hair. And if I lose weight, my tits won’t fill all my expensive lingerie. Did I want to wear a wig all the time? For Damon, if that was his real name, I wouldn’t have to.

After the dance, I had my drink, a whiskey sour, and asked, “So, what are you? A hair stylist?”

“Yes, but I don’t work at a shop anymore. I only do specialty jobs. And just so you know, I’m not here trying to solicit for clients.” Damon gave me another five while explaining, “It’s just that you have the most beautiful blue eyes. Wouldn’t you like to get your hair cut, out of your face, and show that pretty face?”

I batted my eyelashes and mouthed “thank you” to the compliment. He did look very passionate, even dreamy when talking about it. But getting my hair cut ‘out of my face’ probably meant something shorter than a bob, shorter than I’d ever expected to go.

“You haven’t yet told me you have a boyfriend who wouldn’t approve, so what’s stopping you?” he asked.

I tossed my hair and gave him a sideways look. “You can’t be serious. I’m just trying to work here, and I’m not trying to get involved with you, in something outside of here.”

“Right,” he set his brows and gave me another few dollars, then made a pleading look. “Just indulge me. Please. I just want to talk. Have you ever thought of cutting your hair short?”

“Yes,” I nodded, earnestly. “Though not much until you brought it up. You think I would look good?”

“Yeah. And I know a lot of girls here wear wigs. I think short hair could open up a lot of options for you.” Damon’s speech quickened and he began to wring his hands, “As long as your hair is, it’s beautiful by the way, there’s only so short you can go with a wig. Wouldn’t you like the option to go shorter?”

“Well, if my hair’s beautiful, why do you think I ought to cut it all off?”

Damon made a pleased smile and handed me a few dollars. “Because the hair hides you. You can take off your clothes for me, and I like that, but I want to see what’s underneath all your hair. I want to see all of you, every version I can.”

“Even me as an old lady?” I teased, and luckily he caught the humor, and chuckled.

“I know I’m to be a gentleman here, so I’m not going to press the issue. But if you ever change your mind, please let me know. I’ll be back some time, but either way, here’s my card.”

“Thanks,” I blew him a kiss and made a cute wave as he walked away.

His business card said Damon Kaiser, private hairdresser. And I took it as proof that he wasn’t bullshitting me. I looked over to Sally Jessie, who was wearing a curly red wig, which I always thought would look good on me. I thought of what fun it would be to have a ‘wig pool’ at the club. But I was too shy to let anyone know I was giving any serious consideration to cutting my hair. Damon was the hottest guy I’d ever seen at the club, not like our usual crowd. Would it be so bad to hook up with him? I kept wondering, as the night went on and turned into a series of nights, during which I couldn’t help but watch the door for Damon, hoping he might convince me to take the plunge.

But exactly a week later, I saw him coming through the door, and I went right to him. After all, I had been his choice last time. Why wouldn’t he want to see me immediately?

“Hey sweetie. You know I still have your card,” I said to him.

“Oh you do?” He seemed unsurprised, sipping his diet coke. “Does that mean you’ve given some thought to cutting it off?”

“Maybe,” I admitted, batting my fake eyelashes, then continued, accidentally sounding more shy than flirtatious. “But I can’t decide. I wish someone would decide for me.”

“Would you like me to decide for you?” Damon asked with a grin, and handed me a five, which I tucked into my bust with a curious, coy smile.

All I had to do was say yes, and I’d be all set. No more worrying about it. If I didn’t look good with short hair, I could always just grow it back out. Besides, I had been thinking about Damon so much. I wanted to know what he was like, under normal circumstances.

But I could only bring myself to shrug. “Will you ask me again later?”

“Sure!” he returned, and handed me a few more bills.

That night I didn’t give Damon a chance to buy me a drink in return for a private dance. Instead I took to the stage a few times, giving my long locks one last night of glory. I spun on the pole, letting my hair whip around in circles. To ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’, I headbanged and squatted, letting my hair fall over and brush against my shaved pussy. To Aaliyah’s ‘One in a Million’, I twirled the loose waves of my black mane flirtatiously around my finger, and kissed my locks. I kissed them goodbye. As I crawled on the stage, my hair dragged across the floor, and when I pounced forward, Damon put bills into my bra. He waited patiently for me, and sat up front while I danced, placing a generous pile bills onto the stage before me.

I made to leave early, in a little red dress, showing my back, mostly hidden by my black hair. Tugging at Damon’s bomber jacket, I said, “Let’s go.”

He raised an eyebrow. “With me? Does this mean you want the hair cut?”

“Yeah. Your pick. Something short, right?” I held the door for him and lit a marlboro.

“Yes, please!” He returned, shuffling alongside me. “Should I drive?”

“I’ll follow you.” I said, and got into my old CRV, my high school graduation present.

Damon drove a Volvo, and lead me to his flat. It was a big apartment for one man, and smelled like incense. His styling station was very pro, with a six foot mirror that went from his counter to the ceiling, and a black barber’s chair.

“So, do you get a lot of clients, with your private hair dressing?” I asked, sounding more doubtful than I’d intended.

“I get enough. I used to work at a shop, but now I mostly invest in stylists who want to strike out on their own. So I have a large pool of helpers. Also I do tv and movie work, so I get to travel sometimes. But this is the dream. Doing stuff like this.”

“I see.”

“Would you like a drink?” He asked, gesturing toward a reasonably stocked bar.

“I’ll have a Makers, if you have it.”

“I do.” Damon hung our coats and eagerly made for the bar. “If you’re ready, go ahead and have a seat in the salon.”

“Might as well do the thing,” I returned. The barber’s chair was old, but well cared for. The cushion was firm and the leather was polished. With my feet on the metal rest, I felt very comfortable.

With a big smile, showing his deep dimples, he handed me a high ball and shook out his striped cape. It seemed natural that I should ask what his plan for my cut was, but I didn’t want to show any reaction to whatever his answer was. My racing heart expected something short and extreme, something very unlike me. But I was brave and adventurous, sure. So why wouldn’t I be adventurous with my hair? Why not with Damon?

“Do you want music? You’ve put me in the mood for Aaliyah, rest her soul.”

“I’d love that.”

With a few button presses, ‘Hot Like Fire’ began to play from his stereo, soft but with rumbling bass.

“Hold your hair up,” he instructed, then wrapped a strip of paper around my neck before buttoning the cape. Pumping the chair, he asked, “Have you ever had short hair before?”

I took a sip. The whiskey felt hot and satisfying. “No. Never.”

“As I said, I hope to cut your hair really short. Is that still all right with you?”

“Yup.” I gave him a warm smile, taking in his handsome face and strong, deft hands brandishing a spray bottle.

While spraying, he ran a wide-toothed comb through my hair, sectioning the top from the bottom, and clipped the top of my hair out of the way. Pensively, he grabbed a pair of cordless clippers and put a guard on them.

“Ready?” He asked, showing the clippers as if I might not have expected them.

“Ready,” I answered.

“All right.”

After Damon gently removed my faux-pearl drop earrings, the haircut began. Quickly he clipped away the hair from my neck to my crown, all the way around my ears, baring the bit of fuzz that made my sideburns. He explained, “I’m taking the sides to a half inch, and then tapering it.”

I could see the remaining fuzz was thick enough to hide my scalp. Already, I felt so cool, feeling things I’d never felt, like the gently moving air, crawling behind my ears and along my hair line where my finest hairs used to stick to my neck when I sweat. My chest and lap were piled with fragrant locks. On the floor, even more hair piled about Damon’s feet. He put a smaller guard on his clippers and worked around my ears and hairline with brisk, expert strokes. And now I could see a shade of my pale scalp peaking through. And I was free falling, loving it in a way I’d never expected, letting this man I hardly knew take full control of my hair.

He removed the guard from his clippers and repeated the last step, shaping what was left of my hair to accentuate my jaw and my neck. As he put the clippers away, I turned my head and admired the shape of my nape, feeling encouraged. Now tiny clippings clung to the pile of hair my chest, which was like a caped shelf.

“I like it,” I told him.

He gave me a warm smile, showing those dimples again. “I’m glad. Thank you so much for doing this with me.”

“I wouldn’t have been up for it if I didn’t like you.” I admitted.

“I see.” Damon bit his lip and gave me a lewd eye. “And this is your way of showing me?”

I took a full drink and a full breath. “I guess this is just part of it. Is this all you were hoping for? This haircut?”

Damon sighed and tested his scissors, then gave he a hard gaze. “Dallas. You’re kind of my dream girl. So this is more than a hope. It’s a dream, and I’d like to take it as far as you’ll let me, whenever you’ll let me, however you’ll let me.”

It had been a long time since I’d blushed at the words of a man, especially one I’d met at the club. But now Damon was much more than one of the other gentlemen. I took a small sip, thinking this night might be one to remember, then answered, “I think you’re pretty dreamy, too. So you just go ahead and cut as much as you want. I’d love to let you have your way with me.”

“I like that,” Damon replied with a cheesy grin, and unclipped the remains of my long hair, which tumbled over my shoulders, touching the dead little clippings that covered my chest. In the mirror, I looked much like I used to, and seeing it I knew if Damon actually intended to stop here, I would have asked him to finish the job. My expectations had turned into hopes for something much more than an undercut.

Damon started at my crown and snipped my hair very short, probably an inch long. As he made his way to the front, I found myself looking much different. My neck was longer and thicker than I’d expected it to be. My jaw was more prominent, and my eyes were huge. And my hair cut was turning out shorter than most men wore, just long enough to touch my forehead. This was more like it.

He pulled out a blow dryer and blew all the tiny clippings away from my face, and then used a duster to brush away what he could. The hair on top of my head was still long enough to part one way or the other. Then, he picked up my earrings from the counter, and my eyes, looking suddenly huge, went wide. Was he done? Somehow I thought he’d go shorter, and at this moment, I wanted him to go shorter.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, “Don’t you like it?”

I gave him a pouty face, noticing myself in the mirror, how soft and lush my face was, attached to the hard shape of my skull. And somehow I was afraid to ask him to cut my hair shorter. I stammered, “I just… didn’t expect it to be done so soon.”

“Oh,” Damon look of surprise turned to a lewd grin. “Perhaps I should keep cutting.”

“…If you wouldn’t mind. I’ll do my best to return the favor.” I answered, hoping there would be something more between us after this. I couldn’t remember the last time I was so turned on.

Damon returned the pink guard, the 2nd one he used, to his clippers and turned them on, then asked, “Are you sure?”

I emptied my whiskey, smacked my lips, and said sure, “Sure.”

Starting at my forehead, he mowed through my hair, leaving behind a strip of black fuzz with pale, glistening scalp beneath. After several buzzing passes, he seemed satisfied that my hair was mostly the same length, with a brief taper where he’d earlier used the unguarded clippers. I don’t think the resulting haircut was quite as flattering as Damon’s initial cut, but I was pleased, and Damon looked especially turned on. After I was cleaned up, with my earrings in, I stood and admired my new form, free from the shroud of my black tresses.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

To that, he ran a warm, calloused hand up the back of my neck and by my nape, pulled me into him. I wrapped my arm around his muscle-hardened back and ran my lip along his stubbled cheek. “I do,” he breathed, and kissed the smooth flesh where my faint sideburns had been.

We took it slow, but before long he had my dress pulled up and his hands where the sun doesn’t shine. And as much as I wanted to see what he intended to do with me, I wasn’t going to have a one night stand.

I pulled away, and stared into his tremulous, lusty gaze. Then said, as sweetly as I could, “You know, it’s not going to take very long for this cut to grow too long. You wouldn’t mind keeping it trimmed for me?”

“I’d love to,” he answered, exhaling sharply. “I will for as long as you like, though I’d like to see you a lot more than that…”

And that was all the commitment I needed. We spent the next several days together, free falling. Damon had before gotten to know the look of my body, but he had a lot to learn about the way I felt and the way I taste, and I had even more to learn about him and the other particular things that turned him on.

Leave a Reply