Generations part 1

1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (13 votes, average: 4.15 out of 5)
Loading...

Story Categories:

Story Tags:

Views: 2,306

This is an Upload of one of my favorite stories from When 1hss.com was active. But i have saved some of the old stories from 1hss.com and hope to reupload them here.

Update:

The Author of the series is Dreamer who was a well known author in 1hss. I am not sure of his real name and was unsure of how to contact him. If anyone is against me sharing his content i would glad to remove it.

Generations

The house had seemed so empty since Mandy went to university. It had only been a couple of months, but felt like much longer. To be honest, I wasn’t adjusting to my new-found freedom that well, which probably meant that I needed to make the effort to make some proper friends and do something other than just work. Mandy always seemed to have somewhere to go when I rang her or was just back from somewhere. If what she was telling me was true, she seemed to have landed on her feet at university. She had settled in, found new friends and it was full-steam ahead. I had told her when I dropped her off on that first day that I would go down and see her, but she had greeted that with a lukewarm response, which is only to be expected of a teenager. After all, they don’t want their old mother invading their cool new world, even if that “old” mother is still in her mid-forties.

I mentioned it to her again on the phone one evening and got a begrudging agreement to me going down at the weekend. I decided that I would stay in a hotel, so that I could take her out for a decent dinner without any thought for the need to drive back home again.

I drove down on Friday afternoon and arrived in plenty of time to meet her for dinner at an establishment of her choice. It was only when I called to say that I had arrived that she dropped the bombshell that she had been invited to a party that she absolutely had to go to. Reluctantly I agreed that I would see her for coffee on the Saturday. So, instead of hearing all about my daughter’s new friends, her teachers and her adventures as a single young woman in a new town, I ended up with room-service and a long soak in the bath before reading a little and going to sleep. Not what I had hoped for.

I got ready on the Saturday morning and went into town in good time to meet her for a coffee so that we could decide where to go for lunch. I had agonised over what to wear, trying to decide what was least likely to embarrass her. I went with just jeans and a jumper, hoping that I would be acceptable to her if we bumped into any of her friends. My figure was still trim enough to get away with wearing jeans, although my days of being a contender for “Rear of the Year” were probably past.

I waited outside the cafe for her, and waited and waited. University clearly hadn’t taught her to improve her punctuality! I spotted a figure running towards me nearly ten minutes after we were meant to meet. At first I thought it was Mandy, but the figure had short, dark hair, not Mandy’s long dark-blonde hair. I looked in the other direction and looked back at the running figure. She was smiling. It really was Mandy.

‘Mandy! Your hair?’ I said as she caught up to me.

‘Nice to see you too, mum’ she said, immediately exasperated. That wasn’t the sort of start that I wanted.

‘You know it’s lovely to see you, but it’s a surprise, that’s all’ I said, not wanting to dwell on the uneven colour and slightly ragged cut that she had. I took her by the arm and we went in to the cafe.

No matter how hard I tried, I kept looking at her while we sat at the table. Despite her reluctance to let me come to see her, there was no stopping her in all of the stories that she had to tell me about her new life. It was lovely to see her so excited. She told me all sorts of tales of settling in: adventures with her landlord, about people at the university, but there were only two topics that I was interested in, which were the same two that I knew I had to broach carefully. I asked the least contentious one first.

‘So what made you cut your hair?’ I asked as innocently as I could.

‘I knew you’d get round to that sooner or later’ she replied.

‘I’m curious.’

‘Well, don’t worry, I’m getting it cut again this afternoon’ she replied.

I decided to move on to the second question. I could see that it was going to be a teeth-pulling exercise. I asked various sub-questions, probed carefully and eventually sat back, wondering whether I liked the final answer which explained so much. I could see her watching me like a hawk for my response. I could see her thinking that I had got what my inquisitiveness deserved. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked, but I would have found out eventually. My daughter had “come out”. She had gone away to university and almost immediately declared herself a lesbian. She had cut her hair to please her new “friend”. I didn’t know what to say.

“Be happy for me” she said after a while. I waved away an ill-timed offer of a refill and took a deep-breath.

‘It’s just so unexpected, that you’ve got a …got someone special and you haven’t told me before now’ I said. It didn’t matter so much that she was in a relationship with another girl, it just mattered that she hadn’t told me. It wasn’t as if it had slipped her mind, it was obviously a big part of her life. She had sacrificed the hair that she had cherished all these years for whoever it was, so it clearly wasn’t anything too casual.

‘To be honest, you’ve taken it better than I thought’ she said.

‘So you thought I’d shout and scream or something’ I asked, trying to smile.

‘Something like that’ she replied.

‘Look, Mandy, I’m happy if you’re happy, it’s just not what I was expecting’ I said.

‘Nor me’ she replied, laughing nervously. She sipped her coffee, giving me the chance to re-align all of the hopes and visions that I had had for her since she was born. It would take more time than that. I could see her looking over the rim of her cup, wondering what I was going to say next.

‘Has she got a name?’ I asked. That was the best that I could manage.

‘Alison, but I just call her “Sugar tits”‘ she replied, before both of us erupted into laughter. It was the best thing that she could have said. I decided that there would be no more soul-searching while I was with her. That could wait until I was back on my own. For now, I needed to concentrate on my daughter, the daughter that I thought I knew so well, but clearly didn’t. I paid the bill and we left the cafe arm in arm. It felt good to hold her again.

‘Where to now?’ I asked.

‘I need to go to a friend’s house’ Mandy replied, all mention of lunch forgotten.

‘I thought you’d made time for us to do stuff together’ I protested, sounding more annoyed than I had intended.

‘I told you I was going to get my hair cut this afternoon. A friend said that he’ll do it for me, rescue it for me really.’

‘Can’t you make another appointment?’

‘He doesn’t take appointments. He does it as a favour.’

‘What’s wrong with going to a proper salon?’

‘I don’t like all that chatter. Anyway, Simon’s fun.’

‘Do you have to do it now?’

‘You can come too. I’m sure he won’t mind’ Mandy replied.

It looked like I wasn’t going to get much “alone time” with my daughter, so I needed just to make the most of it. I took her arm and she led the way round to her friend’s house. When we got there it turned out to be an apartment rather than a house, but it was nicer than I was expecting. I could only approve as a mother that my daughter seemed to have friends who were civilised. All I needed to do now was to get my head round the “lesbian” thing! She introduced me to her friend who was a young man called Simon. He was older than her, in his final year, and not at all what I expected. If anything, he was the last person that I would have taken for a ladies’ hairdresser, particularly one with gay friends. He was tall, slim, well-proportioned. Buff, I think young people called it. In short, the sort of young man that I had hoped Mandy would take up with when she went away to university. I certainly didn’t expect to find out that she was the one chasing the skirt!

Simon made us welcome and offered us coffee from a rather nice machine. I made myself comfortable and as inconspicuous as possible on the sofa while Mandy settled into a dining chair in the middle of the room. It had been a long time since I had been to the hairdresser’s with her. When she got to thirteen or so, she had decided to let her hair grow and only had the lightest trim of her ends every once in a while. Now here she was, her hair coloured several shades darker and with it much shorter. I certainly hoped that it wasn’t Simon who was responsible for the way that it looked at that moment.

‘Whoever did this should be soundly beaten’ Simon said, running his hands through Mandy’s short hair. That answered that question.

‘I think they fled the country’ Mandy replied with a smile.

‘I’m going to have to take a lot off, you know that, don’t you?’ he told her.

‘Do what you have to’ she replied with an air of resignation. Perhaps there was still some of my long-haired daughter left, I mused.

Simon didn’t waste any time with pleasantries, he was straight down to business. He cut her hair dry, which surprised me a little, but then he probably wasn’t equipped to wash his “clients” hair for them.

He worked quickly, wielding his scissors and comb with more skill than I had expected. To be honest there was little difference between watching him and watching someone who does it for a living. I sat and wondered about what might have been.

He wasn’t kidding when he said he would take Mandy shorter. Within minutes, her hair was no more than two inches at its longest, less than an inch in places.

He had managed to put some style back into it and make it look respectable again, which was no mean feat, but I just struggled with the idea of my daughter with such short hair.

When she left home she had been my long-haired baby, now she was a young woman who knew her own mind. Something that every parent had to deal with, I suppose.

Simon handed her a mirror so that she could see his work. She looked at herself intently. I looked at her again, looked at the way Simon had made her hair lie so well, just sitting off her ears.

A sort of pixie, I suppose you’d call it, tapered in to the nape. She looked like an office girl, not a lesbian, I thought, still far from used to the idea of my daughter’s chosen lifestyle. He had done a good job. There were still hints of different shades running through her hair, but Simon made no offer to colour it for her. That must be someone else’s job.

‘I can go shorter if you want’ he offered.

Mandy looked at me.

‘Maybe next time’ she replied, clearly for my benefit.

‘What about your mum?’ he asked, obviously not realising that he could talk to me directly.

‘Tell him that your mum is fine as she is, thank you very much’ I replied, looking at Mandy.

‘Gosh, I’m sorry. That must have seemed awfully rude’ he said, now making the effort to look at me.

‘That’s alright, Simon’ I told him.

‘I mean it, I have time, if you want your hair cut’ he repeated. I wondered whether he was suggesting that my hair needed to be cut. I’d be the first to admit that I do tend to leave it to do its own thing for the most part.

It has a natural wave which I quite like. When it gets past my collar, the kink gives it a certain deliberately-styled look even though that is far from the truth. I usually go to the hairdresser’s every couple of months or so, when I think that I need to be tidied up, but I rarely have anything more than a decent trim. I had taken the plunge after I got divorced, four years ago, but I let it grow back. It seemed such a clichÈ to cut your hair after a relationship ended and I regretted doing it purely for that reason. I thought that I looked okay with short hair, but I just hadn’t repeated the exercise. I wasn’t dating anyone at present and hadn’t for a while, so I only had myself to please and what with working from home, there just didn’t seem to be any need to try to keep up with any particular fad. It was at its “just touching the shoulders” stage at the moment; a shade of deep mahogany, well, that’s what it said on the box! Not far from my natural shade, though, I just give it a little bit of help once in a while.

‘No, honestly, thank you. Mandy and I need to be getting off, don’t we Mandy?’ I said.

‘Actually, mum, I meant to tell you earlier. There’s this party…’ she started. My expression silenced her. I sighed.

‘Look, Mandy. I’ve seen you. I know you’re okay. That’ll do for this trip. Go to your party and don’t worry about your poor old mum’ I said.

‘Don’t say it like that’ she said.

‘Come on. I don’t want to keep Simon back. How much do I owe you Simon?’ I asked.

‘Don’t worry about it, it was a pleasure’ he replied.

I gave him some money whether he wanted it or not, which seemed to embarrass him more than a little. We said our good-byes and the two of us left. There was an awkward silence as we went down in the lift.

‘Please don’t be mad’ Mandy said, taking my hand as we walked out on the street.

‘I’m not mad’ I replied.

‘Look, why don’t you come too? It’s not a big thing, just nibbles and drinks at a friend’s’

‘Nibbles and drinks? How very civilised!’ I said, mocking her.

‘You’re probably too old anyway!’ she fired back, hopefully joking.

‘Just for that, young lady, I will come. For a while anyway’ I said.

I don’t want to dwell on the party as it was notable only for the fact that Simon was there and he and I ended up chatting for a while. Obviously I asked him about his unusual hobby and he put it down to being an easy way to meet girls. Anyway, he took pity on me and took me away from the noise to a pub round the corner. I had hoped to say goodbye to Mandy before I left, but she had disappeared. Off to meet the mysterious girlfriend no doubt. Simon proved to be good company, with a wicked sense of humour, not at all the awkward type that I had pegged him out for earlier in the day. So, feeling like Mrs Robinson, I sat in a pub drinking lemonade, thoroughly enjoying myself with a student less than half my age.

Eventually I told him that I needed to be getting back to my hotel, but would drop him back home first. I smiled to myself as I noticed the odd head turn as we walked out together. A mother and her son out for a drink or something more intriguing, they were probably wondering. I must admit, I was wondering too. It had been a perfectly platonic evening, there was no attempt at a grope in the car. All in all, he was the perfect gentleman.

‘Would you like to come in for coffee?’ he asked as I pulled on the handbrake.

‘Coffee?’ I repeated.

‘You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to’ he said. ‘I’m happy to do it in the car, if you are’ he said with a beaming smile.

Was that his sense of humour or was he chancing his arm? It was cradle snatching to even have any thoughts in that direction. He was a friend of my daughter’s. He had no income, although on the plus side, he didn’t need batteries, unlike my companion of late! Something about his almost blasÈ attitude at that moment made me turn off the ignition.

As we went up in the lift he explained that his dad had bought the apartment as an investment rather than wasting money on rent. That was quite an incentive to keep it looking presentable. We went into to the kitchen and I smiled as I watched him make coffee. It was a long time since I had done this sort of thing, standing in somebody’s kitchen, drinking coffee like that. I leaned back against the worktop, taking the cup in both hands when Simon passed it to me. He adopted a similar pose, his coffee at his side. Then he straightened up, paused for a split-second and moved closer to me, reaching out again with his hand. Nothing was said as I stood there with both hands around a cup and he stood with one hand around my left breast.

‘Is this what counts as seduction in this day and age?’ I asked, frowning at him, but making no move to get away from him. It had been a while since I had had somebody else touch me like that.

‘I thought I’d take it slower than usual, you know, you being from a different generation and all that’ he smirked.

I had to hand it to him, the boy had confidence.

‘So now what do you think is going to happen?’ I asked him.

He took his hand away, looking me straight in the eye. He had no fear of the hot coffee that could so easily be heading his way.

‘Hold on a second’ I said abruptly as his fingers busied themselves with the button on the waistband of my jeans. He stopped. I put my cup down on the worktop, eager to avoid both accident and temptation. His fingers were poised. The button had already been slipped out of the button hole and my jeans were agape. His left hand held on to the waistband and the fingers of his right grasped the zipper.

I couldn’t believe that I was standing here with a student friend of my daughter’s, letting him undo my jeans a matter of hours after I had first met him. If it had been a date with any of my normal circle, rules would have been observed, rituals honoured, boundaries respected. This was not first date behaviour. But then I hadn’t even been on a date with the guy; I had met him in the company of my daughter, chatted to him at a party, chatted to him in a pub and now he was tugging my zip down. And I wasn’t protesting.

‘You know, it’s polite to kiss a girl before trying to get into her knickers’ I chided him, although still making no attempt to stop him.

The zipper was down, he was brushing the front of my panties. I must be mad!

He took the fact that I reached forward and cupped his package in my own hand as permission to carry on. He was trying to ease my jeans down, although he was having the same degree of trouble that I had had getting them on. It was a foolish idea to try to dress like a teenager when you were long since past being one. I looked good in the jeans, even if I did say so myself, but they had been a torment to get on and were certainly not what a horny student wanted to be dealing with at that moment.

‘Stop’ I said, holding up my free hand. He looked at me, crestfallen.

‘We’ll be here all night at this rate’ I said. I looked at him again, treasuring the change in his expression as he realised that the “old woman” was trying to help him, not stop him.

I eased my jeans down and was left standing there in respectable knickers rather than ones more appropriate for the occasion. Not one to stand on ceremony, Simon covered my mound with his hand, his middle finger burrowing into the warmth between my legs. I cupped him again.

‘Sooner or later you’re going to have to get yours off too, you know!’ I said to him with a smile.

‘Ah! A welcome mat’ he said cryptically. ‘I’ll sort that out for you later, if you like’ he said, his fingers nestling in my pubes.

‘Who says I want it sorted out’ I challenged.

‘I just thought, well, you might. I’ve done Mandy’s for her a couple of times. It’s a purely professional arrangement’ he added quickly.

‘That’s not the sort of thing you should say to a girl’s mother when you’re hoping for a quickie’ I said, my annoyance obvious.

‘She’s, well, like a lesbian, it’s not a sex thing’ he said, trying to defend himself, to rescue his evening.

I gave him a stern look, admitting to myself that he was right, given what I had discovered about Mandy’s “alternative” lifestyle since she had come to university. Simon remained convinced that he had nothing to be ashamed of and busied himself by sliding a finger inside me. I was still the only one to have shed any clothing, and then only my bottom half. From the waist up I was quite decent. From the waist down, it was a different story. My knickers were still on, but eased to one side and I was being finger-fucked with a degree of expertise that belied Simon’s age and sex. This young man was no novice.

‘I hope you have supplies’ I told him slightly breathlessly, before realising that he was bound to! Probably an assortment of textures and flavours too!

There was no point pretending that I didn’t want to fuck, I just hadn’t considered the possibility of it being with somebody of Simon’s age. It turned me on that he seemed turned on by me or was he just one of those that would take whatever he could get?

He was doing some wonderful things with his fingers, but I wanted to feel him properly. He allowed me to undo his jeans, but before I could free him, we were back on his terms. I went with the flow, allowing this youngster to turn me round, pull my knickers down and bend me over. There was something deliciously wrong about the whole thing I thought as he fiddled with a condom. I tried to imagine what I would think if I had had a son and he was doing this to one of his friend’s mothers. Bending her over, splitting her lips, pushing inside her. Pounding her. Making her gasp, making her come.

I don’t think that I have ever come so fast. I hadn’t even got my top off before the first waves broke over me. Simon gripped me around my waist, thrusting, making me squeal. He was so good for one so callow! His balls slapped against me again and again and again before he made his final bid to get his cock as deep inside me as he could. He held me there, frozen for a second as his juice drained into the confines of the condom. It was a shame in a way, as any child made from such a coupling would have been bound to be energetic and feisty.

Reality started to creep back into view. I was panting over a kitchen worktop with a spent student still hanging out of the back of me. I pressed back against him to confirm that his work was done. He took the hint and stepped back.

‘Well, that was fun!’ I said as I stood up. ‘You obviously know how to make an old lady happy! I said with a smile.

‘I didn’t want your coffee to get cold’ he said with a smirk, standing there, no hint of shame as his semi-erect cock paused for breath.

‘So now what do we do, watch cartoons?’ I taunted before taking a welcome swallow of my coffee.

‘Like I said, I’ll sort that out for you’ he said, nodding towards my groin. I took hold of a tuft of my almost black curls and pulled it out to its full length.

‘Oh yes, and what do you propose?’ I asked.

‘Same as Mandy?’ he ventured.

‘Careful! I don’t want to know what you do to my daughter’ I said.

‘You can relax. I’ve never done what you and I just did and I wouldn’t. She’s a friend and she’s with somebody’ he said.

‘How sweet! You won’t fuck your friends, but you’ll fuck their mothers.’

He nodded cheekily. I drained my cup.

‘Are there spare towels in the bathroom? I asked.

‘In the cupboard’ he replied as I headed for the shower.

I was pleasantly surprised at the layout in the bathroom. Plenty of freshly laundered towels, nice and fluffy. Everything about Simon suggested that he should be gay: interested in hairdressing, house-proud, clean, all that stuff, but he fucked like a demon. He would be quite a catch for some lucky woman!

I stripped off my remaining clothes and jumped in the shower, enjoying the sensation of the hot water coursing over me, adding to my glow. I thought about washing my hair, but decided against it. I wanted to be quick. I turned the tap off and turned to get out of the cubicle, only to start a little as I saw Simon standing in the doorway. I put an arm up to cover my boobs, before realising just how foolish it looked. True, he hadn’t actually seen all of me, but what difference did it make now that he had just screwed me in his kitchen.

‘I brought you these’ he said, holding my jeans up with a finger through one of the belt loops.

‘Thanks’ I said, starting to dry myself.

He stood there, jeans still held aloft like some sort of trophy.

‘You can put them on the floor there, they’ll be okay’ I instructed.

‘I’ve got these too’ he said, holding up what I recognised as hair clippers.

‘I think I’d better just go’ I said.

‘Please stay. I like to have somebody tuck me in’ he said, that cheeky grin making a re-appearance.

‘I bet you’ve got a little collection somewhere, haven’t you’ I said.

‘What?’

‘A collection of pubes that you’ve saved. You want mine so that you can put them next to Mandy’s’ I said, finishing drying myself.

‘You’re more of a pervert than I am’ he said. He looked shocked at what I had said, but perhaps he was just a good actor. I held the towel in front of me.

‘You really want to shave me?’ I said, moving the towel away and looking down at my dark bush. He nodded slowly, brandishing the clippers in his right hand. He held his left hand out to me, putting on his best puppy-dog face.

I took his hand and he led me out to the bedroom. He took the towel from me and spread it on the bed, patting it as an indication to me to lie down on it. It felt so weird as I positioned myself. I had had a fairly radical wax at a spa once and after the pain had subsided I had quite liked the way that it looked, although not enough to repeat the experience. Apart from that, I trimmed myself from time to time, but never that much. I sported a fairly conventional triangle for the most part and certainly in recent times, there had been no-one to change that.

Simon eased my legs apart gently, running his fingers through my fluffy pubes before turning the clippers on. I wondered what he was going to do. I wondered what he did to Mandy, even though I had tried to tell myself not to think about it.

He touched the clippers to the side of my bush, right at the top and moved them in ever so slightly. He took them away and used his free hand to sweep away the tuft that he had just severed.

‘See, it doesn’t hurt’ he said. I smiled at him, urging him to get on with whatever he was going to do.

The clippers went to the opposite side.

‘So this is your thing then?’ I asked.

‘Not really. More of a public service. Somebody has to do it’ he said, smiling, moving the clippers with much more certainty than that first cut. That had just been a taste of what was to come as I now had an inch-wide strip of stubble where, just a moment ago, luxuriant pubes had been. They rolled themselves up and made a bid for freedom, dropping to the white towel. Simon changed his angle of approach, heading downwards rather than across and I realised that he was not going to waste his time crafting some sort of design, he was just stripping me bare. He cleared my mound with a minimum of strokes and just as I was assessing my true shape for the first time in memory, he was nudging at me to open my legs wider. He was going to leave me with absolutely nothing.

‘You don’t do things by halves, do you?’ I said, hoping that I wasn’t blushing. He smiled his response before returning his attention to what he was doing. I could hear the clippers, but could barely feel them. I could feel his fingers though, gripping my pussy lips, moving, stretching, caressing. I knew that I would be getting wet again, there was no way that I could avoid it. I leaned back and stared at the ceiling, grateful when the sound of the clippers subsided.

‘Don’t go away’ he said as I started to move.

In a few moments I could feel his attention again and knew what was happening without needing to look.

‘You’d better not cut me’ I said, closing my eyes to enjoy the touch of his fingers as they spread shaving cream over me.

He worked in silence, slowly, carefully. I ran through the events of the evening in my mind, thinking how much pleasure I had got out of being with young people for whom only the present moment was of any interest. There was no thought of what tomorrow might bring, no burden of life in general. There was just the thought of how to have fun and for a little while I had been allowed to enjoy that world. I was paying the price with my honour and my dignity to some extent, but what did it matter? I had had fun, more so than I could remember for years and when I went home I would have a little memento, at least until it grew back.

I felt the texture of a towel being rubbed gently over my nether regions and took that as a signal that Simon had finished. Once more he told me not to get up as he wasn’t finished. I was pretty sure that he had shaved me everywhere down there that could ever have grown hair, and probably some places that never could, yet he was telling me that he wasn’t finished. I gasped.

The new sensation was Simon’s tongue, licking me, slipping between my petals. Then I felt teeth nibbling insistently, testing my tenderness. I arched my back, reaching down to touch his head, to press him into me. Where had this boy learned to do that? I have no idea how long it took him to make me come again, but he licked me and nibbled me and bit me in a way that no-one has ever done. If that was the reward for letting him exercise his little foible for pubic shaving then I never wanted to grow a bush again! I was still trembling when I felt his breath on my ear.

‘I hope that didn’t hurt’ he said.

I opened my eyes and turned my head to look at him, still licking his lips.

‘You’re filthy, aren’t you’ I said, easing myself up to see what I looked like down there. I ran my fingers over my mound, amazed at how soft I felt, how different it was without my pubes. I traced the line of my slit and dipped a finger inside so that I could enjoy a taste of what Simon had been feasting on. I looked at him as I licked the tip of my finger.

‘That’s the pussy’s cream alright, but I don’t see pussy’ I said, trying to be obscene, but ending up just being embarrassing probably.

‘Now will you let me cut your hair?’ he asked.

‘Haven’t you done enough?’ I asked.

‘As if you haven’t liked it so far!’ he said.

‘Have you got something to drink?’ I asked, avoiding the original question.

‘I’ve just had a drink’ he replied, skittering off the bed before I could slap him.

‘Wine? Beer?’

‘Wine would be fine thanks’ I said, sitting up as he left the room. I looked at the tangles of my pubes, dark against the towel. I looked down at my groin, at the smooth flesh where that hair had been only minutes ago. I opened my legs and marvelled at the palette of colours and textures that had been revealed.

‘Enjoying the view?’ Simon asked, standing there with two glasses of wine.

I clamped my legs together in a reflex action before the realisation struck me that he had seen all that there was to see, tasted all there was to taste, explored me in ways that I could never explore myself. I opened my legs again and ran a hand the length of my lips.

‘Is this your preferred look?’ I asked, taking the glass from him.

‘It should be compulsory’ he replied. ‘I can’t think of a single reason for women to have pubes. Look how much sexier you are without them’ he said.

‘You’re quite the connoisseur, obviously’ I said, taking a sip of wine. Wine with a hint of pussy, that’s not something you hear the wine buffs talk about very often! He shrugged his response. I still wondered if he shaved Mandy bare like that, rather than sculpting a shape for her. How could she resist being aroused by having that done to her, regardless of who she shared her bed with.

‘Can I?’ he asked again.

Can I? Can I? Please mom? That was what it sounded like.

‘Isn’t it past your bedtime?’ I said, taunting him unfairly. He had given me the most memorable evening that I had had for many years, so I should be grateful, not cruel.

‘And if I say “yes”, what do you intend to do?’ I asked finally, taking a long pull at my glass. Decent stuff, I thought. Definitely not student screw-top, by any means.

‘You tell me’ he said, pulling his sweatshirt over his head before heading for the bathroom. I heard the shower running and eased myself back to a more comfortable position. I reached up to my hair and stroked it gently. Now what? What would Simon do, given the chance? Would he do what I told him? Would he do what he wanted? Would I prefer him to do what he wanted? Did it matter? Who would care? I wasn’t going to see Mandy again until the end of term and probably not even then if she went travelling with her friend. I worked for myself from home, so there were no issues there. There was no man in my life, so all in all, I could please myself. Or Simon could please me. I drained my glass and lay back, unable to resist a little stroke of my hairless mound.

I hadn’t heard Simon turn the shower off.

‘Don’t let me stop you’ Simon said, interrupting my musing.

I sat up abruptly to see Simon towelling his hair dry, smiling, cock bouncing jauntily as he rubbed his hair. I hadn’t taken much notice while he was screwing me, but now he was standing stark naked in front of me I could see that he practised what he preached. He had no pubic hair, just an expanse of smooth, muscled lower belly, with his cock doing its merry jig without a hint of embarrassment. He saw where I was looking and smiled.

‘Pubes are so unnecessary’ he said, tossing the towel into the bathroom before coming closer. ‘You’re still here then’ he added after a moment.

‘I thought there might be some of this left’ I said, cupping his balls, before changing my grip to encompass his cock.

‘There might be’ he said, stretching to pick up his glass, which was just that bit too far away. He wriggled from my clutches to get himself a drink. I couldn’t begrudge him that though, after his exertions tonight.

‘So..?’

‘So, what?’ I asked.

‘How would you like me to cut your hair?’ he asked.

‘You’ve managed to turn that one round haven’t you’ I replied, marvelling at how we had arrived at that question from his original request to cut my hair.

‘If you would like to cut my hair, you may cut my hair’ I said, sounding more like the mother talking to a child than I had intended. It certainly wasn’t appropriate when both parties were stark naked and had so recently satisfied each other.

‘So how would you like me to cut it?’ he asked. His pleasure at my answer was evident from the slight hardening of his cock.

‘I see that somebody else has other ideas about what you should be doing’ I said, nodding towards his groin.

‘He’s happy to wait’ Simon replied.

I took it as a sign of how comfortable I was in a relationship by the length of time it took me to refer to a man’s cock in the third person, as a separate being. I wasn’t even in a relationship with Simon and I was doing it already!

‘How about you tell me what you have in mind then’ I said, curious as to how this young man saw me.

He reached forward, taking the weight of my hair in the palm of his hand, assessing it. He touched his fingers to the side of my head.

‘I think we should take this short’ he said. I looked at him, waiting for more.

‘Very short’ he added. I waited.

‘Then I’d take the top short’ he said, looking at me for my reaction.

‘So let’s get this straight. Mr Wannabe Ladies Hairdresser is a one trick pony. You only do “short”, is that it?’ I said.

He sat on the bed, next to me and turned towards me. He cupped one of my breasts in his hand, tweaking the nipple. Hard.

‘Careful’ I said, placing my hand at the top of his thigh. I wasn’t the only one vulnerable at that moment.

He kneaded my breast, leaning in to kiss me, all thoughts of hairdressing apparently abandoned. My hand brushed his cock, which was drawing itself to its full height in preparation to impress someone. I took hold of him as we kissed, as he squeezed and teased. Our tongues fenced, darting in and out, thrusting, parrying. He started to kiss my neck, nibble it, raising fears of me going home with a collection of hickeys as evidence of my dalliance with a student. I was starting to work him with my hand, wanting him inside me again, wanting to look down and see his cock buried in my newly-hairless lips.

‘I want to cut your hair off’ he whispered breathlessly in my ear. That was the most off-topic thing anyone had ever whispered to me as a prelude to sex.

‘I want you to fuck me’ I replied as seductively as I could manage. His cock seemed to be getting harder, if that was possible.

‘I want to cut your hair off and come on your head’ he said in that insistent tone.

Okay, so I’ve stumbled into a weirdo, I thought, wondering how much weirder it was likely to get. I drew back from him, looking at him.

‘Wouldn’t it be better to deal with the matter in hand first’ I said, giving his cock a squeeze. It was so odd to think that on one hand you had fallen into the clutches of a weirdo, but on the other that you still just wanted to fuck him.

I stood up and reached down between my legs to show him that I was ready for him, trailing a finger along my lips, parting them invitingly. I touched my moist finger to his mouth. He stood up, which I took to be an indication that it was rear-entry time again. Not that I had any objections. I leaned forward and braced myself on outstretched arms in preparation. I heard his drawer slide open, heard him fiddle with wrappings, listened to the expectant silence as he slipped on the rubber and then felt his hand between my legs, exploring. His fingertips were replaced by the tip of his cock, which he slid in to me slowly and deliberately, allowing me to savour its progress. I dipped my head to look at my bare pussy, impaled for the first time in its new incarnation. It looked good, but next time I wanted to see it while I was straddling him. That would be perfect.

He was easing in and out of me, so slowly, with such control that it was almost as if he wasn’t moving at all. It was such a contrast to our earlier bout in the kitchen which was everything that a fuck with a student should be. Frenetic and gloriously decadent at my time of life. Now I was relaxed, enjoying myself, admiring his change of approach and didn’t notice that he had grabbed a handful of my hair and was drawing my head backwards. When I say “grabbed” it wasn’t violent at all, he just had a fistful of my hair in his left hand. He was tenderness itself as his hips continued their gently insistent penetration and withdrawal. It was almost surreal.

I felt him lean across me, his chest against my back. The moment was interrupted by the sound of the clippers that I hadn’t even realised that he had picked up. He must have left them on the bedside table, close at hand. He held them near my head. Was he just using them as a prop, as a turn-on or was he going to use them? It wasn’t how I imagined he would cut my hair. I pushed back against him, my thrust much more forceful than his. He had had his shot at love-making, now I wanted to fuck. I pushed again.

‘Do it’ I urged, wondering what it was exactly that I wanted him to do, what it was that he wanted to do.

I felt him pull my hair, draw it taut. I heard the buzz get louder and then felt the tell-tale pressure on the nape of my neck. I was torn between bucking and holding quite still, eager for him not to cut me, not knowing if it was possible for him to cut me with those clippers. He hadn’t cut me when he used them on my most sensitive flesh, so I decided that there must be some sort of safety mechanism in the design. I bucked again, feeling him deep inside me, feeling the vibration of the clippers high on the back of my head. I felt his hand on my back.

‘Be still’ he said, sounding remarkably old-fashioned in his choice of words. I steadied myself, squeezing his cock with my lips, working him with no visible movement. He hadn’t come yet. I could hear the clippers, feel them, but could still feel hair brushing my neck. Then a hank of hair appeared on the bed to one side of me. He was really doing it, really cutting my hair. I could feel myself getting wetter. He slid out of me and touched my arm to urge me to stand up. He turned the clippers off. I looked at him, his cheeks red, and reached up to feel what he had done. The back of my head was stubbly, uneven, but what could I expect given the circumstances? It seemed longer than the setting that he had used to cut my bush down to manageable proportions – that had been really short!

‘Do you want me to do more?’ he asked, slightly sheepish now. I could see him wondering if he had gone too far.

‘Be quick’ I said, wanting him back inside me. I picked up the towel that we had used earlier, spread it on the chair by his dresser and sat down. The last thing that I wanted was to leave a “snail trail” on his lovely furniture! I sat down, eyes fixed on his cock, willing it back where it belonged. The prospect of having my hair cut off was immaterial at that moment. Well, when I say “immaterial”, it wasn’t scary. There was something erotic about getting my hair cut as part of sex, although I wasn’t sure what it was. I had had my hair pulled during sex, been spanked, that sort of thing, but there was an air of deniability about those. There was no way for anyone to tell what had gone on in my bedroom, but everyone would know that I had had my hair cut. They would ask questions.

I crossed my legs as Simon turned the clippers on again. There was no declaration of intent, no whispering in the ear, just a sound, a sensation and a clump of dark hair landing in my lap. That had been from the side of my head, but the next was from the top. That was it, the point of no return. I came, wondering if Simon had noticed or whether he was too absorbed in what he was doing to me. I squeezed my breasts, pinched my nipples harder than Simon had done earlier on. They were like hazelnuts, they were so hard, clearly pleased to have been allowed to express themselves once again! I thought back to watching Simon cut Mandy’s hair. At the time I thought what a shame it was to see her hair cut so short, but now I realised that it wasn’t really short at all. It was my hair that was going to be short and Mandy who would be asking the questions about why I had done it. My thoughts went to the excitement of Simon shaving my pussy, wondering if it had been that little more exciting because I knew that he had shaved my daughter. So many new thoughts, and hair cutting and shaving at the heart of all of them. How odd!

I was pacified by the soft humming of the clippers, by the gentle rhythm as Simon eased them over my head. I could get used to this, I thought, regardless of the consequences. I started to think of it as an almost sexual experience, wondering if that was the intention of Simon’s silent concentration. He was letting the clippers do the work, letting them stroke me, caress me. There was no need for him to touch my “traditional” erogenous zones, he was opening me up to another one, to the sensations through my scalp. I was well on my way to coming again, a myriad thoughts, images and sensations still running through my mind, but then there was silence. The rigid form of the clippers was replaced by Simon’s hand, moulded to the shape of my head as he swept it over and over my crown. I wanted to see what I looked like, but in a way, didn’t want to look. I liked the thought of not knowing what I looked like now. There was an air of mystique in not knowing what he had done. Then my mind veered off in a surprising direction: did I look like a man? I had a sudden need for reassurance, to know that I was still feminine, still attractive. Then I had the silliest thought: what if he was bi-sexual and cutting my hair off was a way for him to pander to that side of his nature. That was it, he wanted to turn women into male figures. I looked at his still-erect cock and stood up, telling myself not to be so stupid.

‘Now you can fuck me again’ I said firmly. That was my need for re-assurance asserting itself, even though by my logic he could still find me attractive in a masculine way.

‘Don’t you want to see?’ he asked.

I pushed him onto the seat that still had clumps of my hair on it and straddled him unceremoniously. I stared at my crotch, watching my pussy consume him. I squeezed him for all I was worth, rising and falling, desperate to feel him stretch me. He put his hands under my thighs and lifted me, staying inside me as he transported me to the bed. He pressed my thighs back until my feet were behind my head, impressing me that I could still do that. He banged in to me, again and again, sensing my need for confirmation. For a moment I had a terrible empty feeling as I realised that he was “bareback”, but I didn’t care. I just wanted him. He was bracing himself by holding my head in his hands, either for practical reasons or to appreciate what he had just done. I still had no idea what I looked like and cared less with each slap of his balls against my hairless lips. The sensations running through me were indescribable, I knew that I was squealing every time that he hit home, but I just hoped that he had understanding neighbours. This was a woman in need and a young man in his prime, doing what they had to do.

I was getting a better work-out than at my Pilates class and it was certainly more fun. Simon didn’t appear to know whether to focus his attention on the top part or the bottom part of my folded body and to be honest, neither did I. There were interesting sensations coming from both, those from the bottom half not unfamiliar, although barely remembered. The sensations from my scalp were new. Nobody had ever paid that much attention to me there, so I’m not sure if I could ever have experienced those feelings with longer hair. I liked them and was getting to the point where I wanted to look, wanted to touch for myself, but I kept telling myself that the experience would be heightened by not knowing.

Simon was building towards his climax, his young sap rising rapidly. I was preparing myself for the flutter of warmth within, when he withdrew and scrambled to the side of the bed, pulling me with him. Whether it was a conscious decision to avoid any possibility of fatherhood at such a young age or a desire for something else, I don’t know. What I do know is that I was swiftly on my knees in front of him and he was priming himself. With just a few short strokes, he was done. Reflex made me turn my head slightly, so he didn’t score a direct hit on my face. He did get the side of my head and I presumed the top as well. I knelt there, out of breath, embarrassed, but content and let his cum run. I traced a hand up the inside of his thigh, leaning forward to kiss his cock before looking up at him. He placed both of his hands on my scalp and massaged as if he was shampooing me. I could feel the wetness spread, feel myself still horny despite what we had just done. I had lost track of time, lost count of the number of times that I had come.

‘I’d better get cleaned up’ I said after a few moments. ‘I’d better go.’

Simon looked at me as I stood, reaching out to stroke my boobs again. I leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘It’s been lovely’ I said as if I were thanking him for tea and biscuits.

‘You don’t have to go’ he said.

‘I do, I’ve got a hotel room booked’ I replied, heading for the shower. Although I had enjoyed my time with Simon more than anything I could remember for a long time, I just wanted a few minutes on my own now. I saw myself in the mirror for the first time, looked at the meagre covering of hair on my head. I guessed that it was about a quarter of an inch long all over, although it was difficult to tell, as it was mostly matted with Simon’s cum. I stood under the spray, letting the water run over me and washed myself down. I reached for the shampoo bottle and poured the normal amount into my hand before realising that I wouldn’t need so much now. I washed and rinsed and washed it again, marvelling at the difference in how it felt from the last time that I had washed it. Then I had had to work it quite hard, now it was as if there was nothing there. That wasn’t too far from the truth!

I dried myself off, feeling so much better for being clean. Sexy as it was to have a guy come over you, it wasn’t a state that you wanted to stay in for any length of time! I looked at myself in the mirror again, clean and pink and soft. I certainly looked different without my curtain of hair, but I looked better than I thought I would. I let my eyes stray across my body, down to my boobs with their still erect nipples and then further down to my slutty bald pussy. Young Simon really had taken me a long way in such a short space of time, making more changes to my appearance than any other boyfriend or my ex-husband had ever managed. I didn’t think of myself as being in the last chance saloon, but I was obviously more open to new ideas than I used to be.

‘Come on, Millie, hurry up!’ I heard Simon call at the door.

‘Millie?’ where had that come from, I wondered as I wrapped the towel round myself and opened the door.

‘Who’s Millie?’ I asked, one of your other conquests?’

He looked surprised at the conclusion I had reached.

‘No, not at all. It’s my pet name for you’ he replied, slightly awkwardly.

‘Come on, tell me. How do you get to “Millie” from Angela?’

‘Well, you know…you know what a MILF is, right?’ he said.

I had heard the term before, although as far as I was aware, nobody had ever applied it to me.

‘So that’s what I am for you then?’ I said sternly. ‘Your MILF, your Millie!’

‘I’m sorry Angela, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just found it funny’ he replied.

‘I think it would be best if you went back to calling me “Mrs Patterson”, from now on’ I said, feeling rather cruel for teasing him. He wasn’t sure whether I was being serious or not. He was quiet for a moment.

‘I won’t call you that again, Mrs Patterson, I promise. As long as you’ll still let me fuck you’ he said, before a wide grin spread over his face. I laughed.

‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea’ I replied

.

‘It can be our little secret’ he replied.

‘The same way that shaving my daughter was a secret?’ I asked.

‘That’s no secret’ he replied unabashed.

‘Never mind. I still need to go.’

I got dressed while Simon was in the shower, marvelling at how my hair was really “wash ‘n go”. It was great. I thought briefly about sneaking away while Simon wasn’t there, but that wouldn’t have been fair. I really had enjoyed the time that I had spent with him and whether I liked it or not, I would be reminded of him every time I looked in the mirror for some time to come.

When he came out of the bathroom, we avoided any grand good-bye, although we did do better than a handshake. I was left to mull things over on the drive back to the hotel, pleased that very few people would be around at that time of night.

I noticed the receptionist look at me a fraction longer than before. Maybe she was just trying to make sure that I was a guest, I don’t know, but I smiled and hurried past, eager to get to my room.

The following morning I marvelled once more at how quick it was to get ready without hair to tame. My hair did what it wanted, which wasn’t very much, and once I had put on some make-up, that was it. I checked out and headed home. While driving, it dawned on me that Simon was by no means desperate for sex, he had a tried and tested method for getting together with girls of his own age, so there was no real need for him to bed me when he could have younger girls. It made me feel good when I thought of our little tryst like that. He had bedded me because he wanted to.

On the Monday, I braved the world for the first time as a “skinhead”. I walked through town and realised that nobody was really interested in my new look. As far as they knew, I could have worn my hair like that for years and they certainly weren’t going to take time out of their day to make much of it. The woman in the card shop smiled at me pleasantly, but again, I wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with my haircut or that she was just a nice person.

I went to a coffee shop and while I waited for my drink to cool, I wrote the card, thanking Simon for the time that we had spent together. I thanked him for being so sweet, thanked him for the haircut and signed off as “Millie”. I smiled as I did that. Me, a MILF! I hesitated for a moment and then put my phone number on the bottom. I posted the card and then headed for home and normality.

The next couple of weeks passed quickly. I thought about Simon more than was good for me and decided that I should perhaps try to get together with someone of my own age rather than sit and think about a young man less than half my age. That ended in an encounter that isn’t even worth the trouble of writing about. I made a poor choice and ended up with a divorced guy with wandering hands who couldn’t even wait until I had eaten dessert before he was trying to get his hand up my skirt! It went nowhere.

I was reminded of Simon by the re-growth on my pussy in particular. The re-growth on my head was slightly more difficult to monitor, but when there is nothing there one day and then there’s a rasp the next and then discernible hair growth over the coming days, it isn’t something that you can miss. I would lie in bed at night stroking myself, feeling the budding hair and thinking about Simon shaving me. I thought about getting him to do it again, but decided that, as he hadn’t got in touch after I sent him the card, he must have found another outlet. That left me at a loose end. I had a sprouting bush and hair on my head that was past half an inch long now – positively shaggy!

It was nearly three weeks “after Simon” that I rang a beauty salon and made an appointment to get myself waxed. I didn’t want to, but I thought that I may as well get a professional finish than razor burn by my own hand. The woman who ended up doing it for me was the first person to comment on my hair directly, asking how long I had worn it short, how long it had been before I cut it, why I had done it, everything that she could think of. I was grateful that her chatter was a distraction from what she was doing, but it made me realise that I hadn’t made up a cover story if I was ever faced with such a grilling. I was lucky that she didn’t seem overly incisive and I was able just to make a few bland comments about wanting a change, “now or never”, “once in a lifetime”, that sort of thing. She didn’t probe and there was certainly no mention of Simon’s involvement in the process.

She did what she had to do and when I was invited to admire what she had done, all I could think of was that day with Simon. I looked good enough to eat, I thought, the only trouble was that there was no-one available to enjoy what was on the menu. I thanked her and left. I called in at a stationer’s again on the way to the car and sat and wrote a little message for Simon. “Would love to make an appointment, but no number. Millie” I wrote. I didn’t want him to think that I was a stalker by going up there unannounced, but maybe he would be receptive to seeing me again so that I could show him what a professional does, which certainly is no better than what he does himself, and without the “afters”.

A couple of days later my phone chirped. I looked at the text message at my desk. It was Simon. “Love to” he said simply. I rang him, stomach churning.

‘Hello stranger’ I said when he answered.

‘Don’t you just hate young people, they don’t call, don’t write’ he said, obviously having benefitted from the same lecture from his own parents.

‘I don’t want to keep you Simon, I just thought you might like to fill the generation gap again’ I said, wondering whether he would get my meaning.

‘You have a wonderful gap’ he replied. He had understood!

We arranged a meeting for the following weekend and I put the phone down happy, but also feeling a little strange that I had to resort to a twenty year old to get my jollies. Every woman of my age should be so lucky, I thought as I went to make myself a cup of tea in celebration.

I decided that I would treat Simon to the sight of his MILF in full regalia. I didn’t think that many of the girls he bedded would take the trouble to dress up for him, although I also wondered if perhaps that wouldn’t be his “thing”. Well, if he didn’t like it, he could always help me to take it all off. So it was that I ended up driving up the motorway in a simple button-through dress, but with a black basque and stockings on underneath. How wonderfully filthy!

I knocked on his door, wondering what he would think, praying that he was alone. The door opened. There was Simon, in his jeans and tee-shirt. He obviously hadn’t made the same sort of effort as I had, although he wasn’t to know that until I took my dress off. I couldn’t wait.

I hugged him and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Hello Simon’ I said, slightly taken aback by his apparent cool response. I was wondering whether I had made a huge mistake. He took a step back and smiled that smile of his, easing my fears.

‘Hello Millie’ he said, in the belief that I was unlikely to chide him for it this time.

I followed him in, noticing all the books strewn across his sofa.

‘You’ve been busy’ I said.

‘I have to hit the books every now and again. I can’t have fun all the time, can I?. Wine?’ he asked, heading for the kitchen. Despite his claim to have been working, there was a film or something playing on his computer. Not such a good student after all, I thought.

On the way over, I had wondered how best to play the situation. I had thought that I would know once I arrived, but I wasn’t so sure now that I was standing there. I didn’t want to seem desperate, but I didn’t want to have a nice chat and a drink with him either. I unbuttoned my dress and left the two sides slightly parted in preparation. The basque was a cupless creation that I had bought once I knew that I would be seeing him again. I was proud of my boobs, and the way that they had so far defied the ravages of gravity and showcased in this outfit, I thought they looked better than ever. My dress was open enough to show what I was wearing, but for the time being it hid the fact that my boobs would be on display as soon as the dress was moved aside.

I turned to look at the computer monitor. It was a film of a woman getting her hair cut, but not really an instructional film. The guy who was doing the cutting was much too gung-ho for that. The model had a rough sort of bob, although the amount of hair lying around her suggested that it had probably been at least to her shoulders before Edward Scissorhands had got near it. I watched, pleased for the momentary distraction.

Simon came back into the lounge with two glasses of wine.

‘Interesting choice of viewing’ I said, without turning round.

‘One of my favourites’ he replied.

‘One of your favourite what? What is it meant to be?’ I asked.

‘A collector’s item, I suppose you could call it. There’s a whole community of folk who like to watch women get their hair cut. I like to keep abreast of things’ he said.

That was my cue to turn to him to show him that my dress was undone.

He reached toward me with his free hand. He brushed my dress to one side, revealing a bare breast. I was watching him for his reaction.

‘Nice’ he said in that way that young people have when they like something.

‘You approve?’ I asked.

He smiled and eased the dress off my shoulders. I was still watching him as he looked me up and down. Just the expression on his face made the trip worthwhile. I ran my hands over the basque, enjoying the way that it exposed my boobs to his gaze. My hands moved down to my knickers, stroking the front, fingers sliding ever lower.

‘I must apologise. I got somebody to tidy me up down here’ I said, pulling my knickers to one side. ‘Could probably do with a touch-up though’ I added.

His fingers went next to mine, moving slowly over my mound, assessing his competitor’s work. He dropped to his knees, initially behind me, but then his hands urged me to turn around. I felt my knickers being drawn down. I looked down at him, stroking his hair as he moved his head into my groin. I raised my head as he started to lap at me, running his tongue the length of my slit, kissing my mound, tongue darting between my parted legs. Then I realised why he had turned me round. He wanted me to watch the film while he was busy down there. He probably hadn’t factored in the idea that what he was doing would make me close my eyes. I had been thinking about him licking me virtually from the moment I had left him the last time, however hard I tried to deny it to myself.

I opened my eyes. The woman’s hair was much shorter now, but still roughly cut. She was being shorn without too much ceremony. It reminded me almost of the first few strokes of the clippers when Simon cut my hair. The aim was just to cut, not to produce any creative effect at that point. Was this his inspiration? There was something exciting about watching the woman’s haircut, knowing that I had experienced the same sort of thing. There was some sort of erotic element to it, although at that moment, my judgement was clouded by a twenty-year-old’s tongue burrowing into my pussy. He was driving me wild. I moaned a little louder than I had anticipated, immediately hoping that the neighbours were at work. Simon stood up and kissed me, his tongue probing me deeply the same way that he had been exploring my pussy just moments ago. His fingers burrowed into my pussy and then they too were in my mouth.

He moved behind me, cupping my unfettered breasts, nuzzling my neck. My urge to tip my head upwards was countered by Simon’s hand, moving my head back level again. He really wanted me to watch what was going on on-screen. The guy had a pair of clippers in his hand and flicked them on. They were louder than the ones that Simon had used on me. Simon’s stroking stopped. The guy on the tv was running the clippers up the side of the woman’s head.

I thought that the sound behind me was from a surround-sound system, but the sensation just in front of my ear told me that Simon had got his own clippers and had turned them on. I had hoped to get my hair cut in the latter part of the visit, but that would have been a bonus to the main event, which had been going well up until that moment. Simon had been enthusiastic in his attention to me, but now he had stopped just as I was about to move to another level.

‘Watch’ he said in my ear, the sound of the clippers still there, but not moving.

I looked at the screen. The camera angle had obscured what was happening initially, but the guy had quickly adjusted his position and I could now see that he had carved a path through her hair and that a patch of her head was now quite hairless. He was shaving her head. He cut another strip and then another, going high and then over her crown. Clumps of her hair fell to her shoulders. She was sitting motionless, apparently without emotion as he did what he was doing. I wondered what would make someone do that. What it would be like to have your head shaved.

I felt Simon move the clippers. They were going in front of my ear, slowly, deliberately. I was eager to get my haircut over with, but if Simon was turned on by me having shorter hair when we fucked, that was fine by me. Having the film playing while he was cutting my hair made it quite clear that this was a turn-on for him, so who was I to object?

It was strange standing their having my own hair clippered while watching somebody else have their head shaved. I thought about what was to come as soon as Simon had finished (me, probably!), thought about how good he had already made me feel. He moved around in front of me, blocking my view, but giving me the opportunity to undo his jeans. He didn’t pause as I unzipped him and tried to ease them over his backside. I was only partially successful before he moved to the other side. The woman on the screen was back in view, hardly a hair on her head as far as I could tell. Her guy was slightly quicker than Simon, but by that time I was enjoying the sensation, knowing that my hair was more to Simon’s taste again and the moment was about to arrive when I could feel him inside me, his mouth trying to swallow my boobs, feel his hands rubbing my head. I was trying to keep as still as I could, but was still able to look down and see the pile of hair at my feet. It was an interesting way to get your hair cut and made a change from the conventional styling chair. Then I remembered how Simon had started the first time that he cut my hair. Now that was unconventional, the start anyway.

The guy on screen was preparing to use a razor on the woman, lathering her head. I hoped that he had a steady hand, despite whatever excitement he was experiencing while he was doing his thing. The only sound now was from Simon’s clippers and in moments they too fell silent. He moved in front of me, blocking my view of the screen again, but replacing it with a view of his very obvious erection making a bid for freedom from his waistband. He had enjoyed his work. I slipped a finger along my pussy lips to show him that I matched his excitement and was ready for him as soon as he could get his trousers off.

‘Not yet’ he said, seeing me raise a hand to rub my head. I so wanted to feel my hair super-short again. I had started to miss that suede feeling over the past weeks as it had got that bit longer.

He distracted me by taking down his trousers and then stripping off his tee-shirt while examining me intently.

‘I see that you like my new haircut’ I said looking at his erect cock hungrily. I wanted it inside me. He rummaged in the pocket of his crumpled jeans and brought out a condom packet, signalling that my wait was almost over. I watched eagerly as he drew the rubber over his cock, stroking myself in anticipation. I couldn’t believe how wet I was. Simon closed the gap between us, embracing me, kissing me, his erection pressed against my belly.

‘Would you like me to do that to you?’ he asked, pausing for a moment while I realised that he was referring to the scene on the tv.

‘I don’t know. No. Yes. If you want’ I replied. I just wanted to fuck!

He reached up to touch my head, but then moved his hand down. With a little bit of re-configuration in the way that I was standing, Simon slid inside me, supporting one of my legs under the thigh so that I was standing on just one leg. I am sure that the Kama Sutra would have a name for the position, something to do with flamingos no doubt, but to me it would be the “I’m about to fall over” position. It lasted only a few strokes before I had to admit defeat rather than suffer an injury which would put me in hospital! I planted my foot firmly on the floor and led Simon to the sofa. Books flew out of the way and in seconds I was where I wanted to be, impaled on Simon, feeling him deep inside me. I ran my hands up his torso, smiling, squeezing him as hard as I could. I looked at my lower belly, framed between the edge of my basque and the black sheen of my stockings. It had been a good while since I had made the effort to dress up and the last time that I had done it, I had a bush, so the effect was somewhat different. At that moment, I pledged to myself to stay shaven, whether it was for Simon, myself or for somebody else. I liked the way that I looked.

Simon’s eyes closed briefly, but then he opened them again, locking my gaze with his while we became one, breathing in time, moving in time. I knew that I should feel guilty about what I was doing, should leave Simon to girls of his own age, but sometimes you just have to go with your baser instincts. I was grateful for the quality furniture that Simon had, as the sofa got quite a workout, particularly once we flipped positions. I stared at my crotch, fascinated with the way that Simon moved in and out of me, his strokes measured to perfection. Not once did he pop out, although there were several times when I thought that he might.

He pulled me gently on to the floor and I prepared myself for my “conditioning treatment”. It seemed perfectly acceptable to do that with Simon, even though I had never had anybody else want to come on my head. In my mouth yes, but never over my head. I bowed my head as all the signs pointed to Simon being ready. He grunted and let go. I watched his cock spasm, watched him make sure that it had given all that it had to give before I kissed it gently for him. It had worked hard, held nothing back. Simon started to massage his cum into my scalp and I stroked the back of his thighs, running my fingers tantalisingly up to his balls.

‘Have you finished playing?’ I asked after a while.

‘For now’ he replied, taking my hand to help me get up. Such a gentleman, I thought, or was he being sarcastic by offering assistance to the old and infirm. My legs certainly had a slight twitch about them as I took the first steps towards the bathroom, making the first moves to free myself from the confines of my lingerie.

The last time I was in his flat, I wanted to shower alone, but I was more comfortable this time and couldn’t really object to him joining me as I was the one to impose myself on his hospitality. I stepped under the jet and moved to one side to let him join me. I was already lathering up the soap and started to rub my hands over his chest. He returned the compliment, taking infantile delight in rubbing his soapy hands over my boobs, creating little peaks of suds on each nipple. While he played, I reached for the shampoo bottle, careful to only pour out a small amount. Old habits die hard! I dipped my head under the jets and reached up. I looked at him as soon as I made contact.

‘You sly fucker!’ I said angrily. I was genuinely shocked. The spell was broken and he knew that I was not happy. The longish pelt that I had washed in my own bathroom this morning was obviously gone. What had taken my breath away was that the now-familiar short pelt that I had thought that he was giving back to me had also gone. My scalp wasn’t smooth, but there was only the slightest rasp as I moved my hands over my skin. While I thought that he had been doing the same cut as he had last time, he had obviously had other ideas. I played things back in my mind, trying to think of any tell-tale signs that I should have picked up on. There were none. I had been trusting and he had betrayed that trust. He tried to hug me, but I slipped away from him.

‘You said that I could’ he said, a concerned look on his face.

‘You’d already done it by then! Anyway, I just wanted to screw. I wasn’t paying attention. What am I going to do now?’ I said, panicking slightly. Then I thought about watching the woman get her head shaved, seeing her after it was done, thinking about how striking she looked. She had a serene look on her face, she looked better than she had with hair, even though I hadn’t seen how she looked before the first few cuts were made. I tried to calm down.

‘What do I do?’ I asked, putting a conciliatory hand on Simon’s forearm. He looked to one side, to the small shelf in the cubicle.

‘No, I can’t’ I said at the sight of the razor and can of foam. The image of the woman came back to me, her head covered in a white cap. Simon leaned in to kiss me, cupping my breast, sliding his fingers over my soapy skin. My anger subsided, I responded to him, my tongue darting between his lips. I lowered a hand to cup him, to fondle his hairless sack. The more I fondled, the more he stroked me, the calmer I became.

‘You’ll be beautiful’ he told me, pulling back from me. His hand was still clamped to my boob, my hand still curled around his balls. What had I got to lose now?

‘You didn’t have to do it like that. You should have talked to me about it, let me enjoy it’ I said with a hint of regret.

‘Would you have done it?’

‘I think so, if you’d asked me nicely’ I replied.

‘Can I shave you?’ he asked.

I lowered my head. Simon turned the jet down to a trickle and reached for the can of foam. I heard the sound of the foam coming out of the can and then felt him smear it over me. I knew that I should let him concentrate on what he was doing, but I couldn’t resist the urge to try to resuscitate his exhausted cock. Whether it was me or the act of shaving my head, there were certainly signs of life that bode well for later on. I decided to stop after a while, so that I could concentrate on the sensation of what Simon was doing to me. I started to understand the serene expression on the model’s face on the tv. It really was quite soothing to be shaved like that, although it also had sensual undertones, perhaps more so in the scenario that I found myself in than for her, but there was something about surrendering your hair in such a way. It was an act of faith almost. I decided not to try to analyse my feelings too deeply. That could wait. For the time being, I was feeling horny again, Simon was semi-erect and what little remained of my hair was going down the plug-hole on a carpet of foam. I squeezed my boobs, covered with shaving foam and stubble.

Simon pronounced himself happy with what he had done and then knelt down to do the shaving that I had hoped that he would do. Being waxed by somebody just doesn’t compare with being shaved by your lover. The element of embarrassment wasn’t there. It was a case of here I am in all my glory, shave me, fuck me and hopefully there was no bill to pay at the end of it! The other major difference was that the woman in the beauty salon hadn’t slipped a couple of fingers inside me mid-way through the process!

A lingering kiss on my mound was the signal for me to rinse off and to take that first step towards the mirror. I closed my eyes just before I reached it and felt Simon embrace me from behind, his chin nestling on my shoulder, his cock nestling between my buttocks. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. There I was, obscured by a steamed-up mirror. I should have thought about that. I leaned forward and wiped it as best I could with my hand, before leaning back to examine myself. Neither of us said anything. Simon was waiting to see if I was going to cut his balls off and I was taking my time, trying to work out what I really felt.

‘You’re very lucky’ I said ‘in more ways than one.’ He was lucky because I actually liked it, but lucky because within the next few seconds he was going to be in bed with the woman that he had just shaved. My eyes looked bigger, my neck longer. I didn’t look like a forty-something anymore. My age wasn’t betrayed by my hairstyle the way it had been before Simon had clippered me the first time and I sensed that there was something else about me, now that the last remaining bits of hair had gone. It was quite a turn-on!

Everything about my shaven head was going to be a new sensation. I loved the way that the bed-linen felt against my scalp while Simon treated me to the slowest, most wonderful screw that I have probably ever had. We took our time, the whole afternoon and evening ahead of us. The pent-up frustration and expectation had given way to sighs of contentment. Simon moved slowly against me and I wondered just how I could continue with something that was so lovely and so wrong. Would Simon want to have a proper sort of relationship anyway? I thought about the irony of my lesbian daughter having a shaven-headed mother and what she would think about it? Those were questions for another time, a time when a twenty-year-old wasn’t exercising more restraint than a twenty-year-old should.

After we had showered again, we sat in bed and talked. It was my chance to ask Simon about what had happened. He was quite candid with me about the videos that he had of women getting their hair cut and even offered to let me watch some properly. He was more forthcoming than he had been in the pub that first evening we were together. He told me that he had picked up hairdressing skills from watching his sisters who were professionals and had realised once he started to get interested in girls that he preferred them with short hair. He then realised that he was even more interested if he had been the one to give them short hair. From there it was only a short leap to the wonders of the internet and taking things a little farther. He had actually intended to ask me to shave when I was with him the first time. The quarter inch buzz cut wasn’t meant to be the finished article, but I had left sooner than he expected. Today’s scenario with the video playing when I arrived had been something that he had wanted to try, just a little fantasy. Again he had planned to ask me first, but then had just got caught up in the moment and decided to go for it. When he admitted that, I gave him a little squeeze and told him that it was actually a really erotic scenario and I apologised for shouting at him in the shower. Then I decided that he deserved a proper apology!

It was about seven o’clock by the time that we decided we really needed to get something to eat. We had earned our dinner. I put my dress back on to go out, giving him a quick flash of my bare pussy as we got to the front door, just so that he knew for certain that I was knickerless while we were eating. I took him to a restaurant out of town, somewhere that I knew I wouldn’t meet Mandy and her friends. I wasn’t ready for her to see me with Simon, I wasn’t ready for her to see me bald. That would be for another day, that is if either Simon or baldness became a long-term scenario. For now it was enough for me to face strangers with my bald head. I took Simon’s arm in the car-park, proud of my young man and proud of what he had done for me. Together we walked towards my public unveiling.

 

3 responses to “Generations part 1

  1. The author of this story was “Dreamer” who posted on 1hss.com. I know that “Dreamer” would prefer that their stories weren’t re-posted under new names, although full credit to you for your introductory comment.

    1. Thanks a lot for that razor. The title is the same as it was in 1hss but i wasnt sure about the author since being a few years of 1hss being closed. At this moment im not sure how to contact dreamer about permissions for his story. But i do remember dreamer, but i was unsure of it if it was his story.

Leave a Reply