How it All Started

I spent a lot of my childhood hoping that there would be a girl at SuperCuts getting more than a trim,  so I could watch while I waited to get mine cut.

In my old childhood journal, when I was 6 years old, I wrote about the girl I played with across the street getting her long hair cut into a chin length bob, saying it made me feel funny and excited.

Only a few months later, I wrote in my journal about two girls at school (one of which eventually became my girlfriend in high school) getting their long blonde hair cut short.  One went from hair covering her butt in length to a mushroom cut.

When I was 7, my dad re-married.  My new step-mom was the source of a lot of looks from men.  Dad was no slouch.  He was 29 at the time, and married a 21 year old stunner.  5’9, long legs, tight waist, big breasts, blue eyes, curvy hips, waist length brown hair highlighted mostly blonde, and a cute, youthful face.

Not long after the wedding, my new step-mom  unexpectedly cut her waist length hair and went through an experimental phase. I always wrote about each cut in detail in the journal I kept in my bedside drawer.

First, she had it cut to shoulder length.  That was a shock, but nothing anyone would call short who hadn’t seen her before.  Then, not even a week later, she came home with a chin length angled bob. The very next day, she picked me up from school with a “Karen” haircut (like Kate Gosselin), spiked in the back but a bob in the front.  That cut caught my attention, and that “funny and excited” feeling I’d written about in my journal year came back.

Over the course of about a year, my step-mom’s haircut got shorter and shorter. It went from chin length to lip to nose to eyebrow length in the front. In the back, the first cut was about 2″ long and a messy spiked style, then later about an inch long spiked.  All of that was documented in detail in my journal.

Then something happened that changed the way she cut her hair. I don’t know if it was pre-planned or a sudden realization watching me get my hair cut. I just remember getting my haircut once, just a couple weeks after she’d had her hair cut to a new shortest length.  The back of her hair was less than an inch long, and shorter at the bottom.  The front was basically a pixie cut at eyebrow level, swept to the side.  Unexpectedly, she walked up with another stylist and sat in the chair next to me.  I was getting the sides and back of my bowl cut buzzed before they cut the top (they always did a high undercut before cutting the top).  She asked the stylist to buzz the back of her head down like my sides and back were, a number 2.  The next thing I knew, I was watching as everything behind her ears was buzzed to a quarter inch.  It was more like a Chelsea cut than anything else. My young self didn’t know what to make of the feelings I was having.

She gave up the smooth in front, spiked in back style soon after that, and started getting monthly haircuts at Supercuts with my brother and me. I remember multiple times sitting in the chair getting my own hair cut, when my mom would get in a nearby chair and ask for a number 2 all over, or for a number one or two on the sides and back with an inch long, finger length, or a number 4 on top. I’d sit and watch with side eyes as the stylist buzzed her down, confused by the buzz I was feeling in myself.

Once, the day before leaving for a month long summer trip to Costa Rica and Belize, she had them buzz my little brother’s curly blonde mop bald and had them cut my bowl cut way above my ears, layer it to less than an inch long, and buzz the sides and back to the skin without the guard, extra high underneath to keep me cool and last for the month. I didn’t really mind or care.  I thought it was cool that I could spike it all up with water.

What was memorable was that when I was done, she sat in the same chair.  She had maybe an inch and a half of hair on top with half an inch on the sides and back.  I watched the stylist use the same guardless clippers to take her whole head to the skin. We were straight to the airport the next morning, so no one we knew saw the cut. A week into the trip, a roadside barber in Costa Rica shaved my sides and back smooth to keep me cool, then, as my dad watched intently, gave her a razor shave twice over. When we got home a couple of weeks later, her hair was back to over a quarter inch long of brown fuzz, like she often cut it.

My dad seemed attentive and happy with the change in her style, always complimenting her when she’d come home with a freshly cropped and shorter cut. They always had what seemed like a healthy and loving relationship, and as an adult I learned recently that they were having a lot of good sex around that time (they say too much when drinking on vacation).

When I was 10, she started growing her hair out again, and by the time I was in high school, she once again had hair well past her shoulders, and I was berated with jokes about having a hot step-mom by my teenage classmates.  My friends had forgotten about any version of her without long hair.  Secretly, I was still fantasizing about the version I’d seen of her on the beach in Costa Rica, her smoking hot 24 year old body wearing nothing but a tiny neon green G string thong and sun glistening off her bald head, and filling in the final pages of that old journal notebook.

Then I came home from college one day to visit, and found my 33 year old step-mom alone in the kitchen, wearing a robe, and a towel on her head as if she’s just gotten out of the shower.  I closed the door, and she slipped off the robe.  Underneath was the tiny G string thong bottoms from the beach in Costa Rica, and nothing else.  Her body was fitter and hotter than ever.

“I read your journal.” She said, as she slipped the G string from her hips and the towel from her head, revealing a beautiful, smooth, bald head.  “Let’s make that fantasy come true.”

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