It was the mother who called me, complaining about her rude and messy teenage daughter. She had gotten my number from someone in a mom’s Facebook group. You don’t openly advertise services like mine. When she finished ranting, I agreed to come their house and sort her girl out. She didn’t know that I also planned to sort her out as well.
It was the mom who opened the door. She was a tall nervous birdlike woman with a thick chestnut braid that snaked down the center of her back. I shook my head at a woman of her age having hair that long. She yelled for her daughter. The girl was also tall and with a thick chestnut mop that my fingers itched to shaved off. Especially considering the attitude that she took getting there. Huffing and puffing like she had better things to do.
“This woman is here to give you a haircut,” said the mother, nervous and unable to look her daughter in the eyes.
“What? Fuck no. I’m not letting this dyke touch my hair,” she exclaimed.
When she went to turn away, I grabbed her wrist. Then I wrestled her to the ground. The mom looked satisfied as I pulled out my haircutting shears and sawed through the girl’s ponytail until it came loose. When I got off the girl, to put my new trophy away, she touched her cropped hair in disbelief.
“Mom…” she said, her eyes full of tears.
Suddenly full of confidence, the mom said, “This woman is here to shave your head. I asked her to do this because I’m tired of your entitlement. All the money that you spend without a single thank you. Take your lesson with grace, and I may let you grow your hair back.”
Still crying but broken, the girl sat in the chair that I pointed to. I decided not to cape her. I just ran my clippers, without a guard, up and down her scalp. When I finished, I asked the mom if this was sufficient punishment.
“Shave her to the skin,” said the mom, never breaking eye contact with her daughter.
So, I did, lathering up the girl’s scalp and using a blue vibrating safety razor to shave her smooth. The girl’s scalp was humiliatingly pale compared to the rest of her tanned body. I decided to use a special lotion in my bag to make it shiny as well. The mom looked pleased by the sight of her daughter, red-faced, covered in little flecks of her hair, and shakily touching her slick shiny scalp. She dragged the girl to the mirror, so she can look.
“I love you, but you’ve been such a nightmare. I could’ve not punish you. Now go take a shower while I get my haircut. We’ll talk afterwards.”
With a kiss to her daughter’s bald head, she let her go. I was suprised. Usually I need to make an effort to get the mother’s hair, but she sat in my chair and told me to shave her to the skin as well. I caped her. Then I chopped off my trophy. When I got out the clippers, I did ask if she wanted a guard.
“I said to the skin,” she said, clearly nervous but committed.
I kissed her cheek. Then I started buzzing. When I finished, I gave her the same treatment as her daughter, complete with the lotion. She actually looked great bald. Not all people do. Rubbing in the last of the lotion, I complimented her long neck, big brown eyes, and little seashell ears, which made her smile.
“Thank you,” she said, “I think that I needed this as much as my daughter.”
And, with that, I packed up my things and left.