Into the Wood

Into the Wood

 

By Shorngirl

 

“The Cave”

 

         I could smell the cedars as I stopped along the rolling brook, the water tasting sweet as I swallowed. Normally, I would never drink directly from a stream, but I knew that the source of this stream was pure, pouring from the mouth of a cave no more than a mile upstream.

         I turned, excited to see the yawning cavern for the first time. It was something I’d always meant to do, despite the warnings from a few friends to stay well clear of Mooring Cave.

         Being an adventurous sort of girl, I found the idea too much of a temptation. Having filled my camelback with the crystal-clear water, I continued, knowing I was only a few minutes away from my goal.

         I would have a clear view of the entrance, at least according to the map. The stream ran straight from the base of an imposing bluff from which it surged. Pleased, I spied the cliffs rising from the horizon as I rounded a crook in the valley.

         What I didn’t expect was the line of smoke rising in a single line from the blackness of the cave. I was disappointed, as I wouldn’t have the solitary experience of exploring the cave alone. Disregarding any danger that might lurk thereabouts, I continued.

         The closer I came, the more acrid the scent of the smoke became, and I wondered just what the kids might have been burning. Of course, I had only assumed they were kids. Who else would light a fire inside the entrance to a cave? By the time I recognized the smell, it was too late.

         “Who the hell ‘r you?” A male voice scolded from above on the left bank of the stream. “Y’all shouldn’t be up here.”

         Realizing that what I’d stumbled into was a moonshining operation, I went to leave, when someone grabbed me from behind. “Hey, let go!” I screamed.

         “Let’r go Clive. She ain’t gonna tell on us, are ya, pretty girl?”

         “Y’all know the rules, Vernon. Ain’t nobody to know ‘bout this still. Ma said…”

         “Well, Ma ain’t here, ‘n’ this’un looks like trouble. Let’r go Clive.” The pressure from the man’s grip eased, but he didn’t let go.

         “I promise I won’t say a word. Please let me go.” Begging, I looked at Vernon, who seemed a bit older than the man who held onto me. “I just wanted to see the cave. I didn’t know…”

         “See that Vern, she wants t’ see the cave. I say we show it to’r.” Clive chuckled his breath stinking of rotgut whiskey as he peered over my shoulder.

         “She ain’t seen nothin’ Clive. Y’all take’r up there’n she’s all yours to deal with. What the hell’r you gonna do with a city girl, anywho?” Vernon chuckled, no longer seeming concerned over my well-being.

         “Oh, I kin think on a few things I might git up to.” Clive chortled, pushing me ahead of him towards the now ominous cave entrance. All I wanted to do was get away, to forget all about this place. Now it seemed I was going to be their guest, and that seemed like a horrible idea. “Who’all knows yer up here?” Clive asked, gruffly.

         I had to think if I’d actually told anyone where I was going. A few of my friends might think of this place, even though it had been a few days since we talked about the cave. I decided it would be safer for me if I let them think I’d be missed. “My friends know I’m up here, and they know where it is,” I warned.

         “Ya’ see Clive, trouble.” Vernon sighed, unable to convince whom I assumed was his brother to let me go.

         “Aw, we’ll let’r go, but not a’fore I have a bit ‘o’ fun with’r though.” Clive laughed. I was certain whatever he considered fun, would be a nightmare for me.

‘I’d Been Warned’

         The smell of corn alcohol mixed with a strong syrupy smoke inundated the air as we approached the impressive entrance to Mooring Cave. Under any other circumstances, I would be overjoyed. Just then, I was terrified something awful was about to happen.

         Just inside the entrance, I could see their operation, the copper coils of the still spiraling down to an older man, who looked up shaking his head. “What the hell r’you boys up to, n’who the hell is that little’un?”

         “We found’er pokin’ around outside, Paw.” Clive was quick to answer, his hand still forming a vise around my upper arm. I was certain I’d have bruises, but that was the least of my worries.

         “What the hell ya bring’er in here fer?” The old man scolded. He looked closer at me as Clive pushed me down the muddy slope that led to the business end of the still. “You two ain’t got the sense that god gave a gnat, dag nab’it!” He took over for his son, his grip much tighter and a lot more forceful. “Y’all go over’n set on that rock, yonder.” He ordered, releasing me with a push in the direction of a small ledge.

I imagined I just might make a run for it, but he interrupted the thought. “If’n yer thinkin’ ‘bout runnin’, think agin, girlie.” The old man grumbled. He leaned over and lifted a double-barreled shotgun from behind the still, just long enough to show me, before setting it back.

He took his sons just outside the entrance and started screaming at them in a tongue that was just barely discernible as English. Obviously, they saved the fancy speaking for me, because I swear I barely recognized a word.

The three of them walked back into the cave, single file, Vernon and Clive obviously having had an earful of their father’s wrath, the old man pressing up behind them.

“Soon’s we’re done here, missie, y’all’r gonna have to talk t’Ma. ‘Magine she’ll know what’s best fer ya.” The old man hissed. “Whaddya wanna poke ‘round here fer?” He asked, under his breath.

“I just wanted to see the cave.” Still terrified but at least confident that nothing horrible was going to happen to me at the hand of his son, Clive, fairly certain the old man had at least some scruples.

I think I sat there on that ledge for hours before they announced to me that they were heading out for the day. Another man, considerably younger than the other two arrived just as they were packing up. I assumed he was the night shift. He was more than amused over my predicament, laughing as Vernon filled him on the day’s events, using the backwoods dialect that I was struggling to understand.

“Give’r one them jugs, Vernon. Might as well git some use outta her.” The old man handed his son a large earthenware jug which the man immediately handed off to me.

“Don’t ya go droppin’ that now, less’n y’all want a whuppin’.” Vernon warned. Between the small pack that was still strapped on my back and the jug, I had all that I could carry.

We walked in the opposite direction, up and over the bluff and across a field until we reached a dirt road. An old pickup truck was hidden in the bushes, emphasizing the fact that what they were doing was still quite illegal. Clive strapped the jugs into a wooden crate and took a seat next to them in the bed of the truck while Vernon and his father sandwiched me between them on the bench seat, the gear shift suspended precariously between my legs.

Even though I could hardly understand them, I knew they were joking about how close the old man’s hand was coming to my crotch every time he’d shift. After twenty minutes or so, we turned off onto a barely navigable track, heading up a steep hill.

‘Ma’s House, Ma’s Rules’

A couple of young kids came running up to the truck as we pulled in front of an old house, which had one of those wrap-around porches. Sitting in a rocker in the center of that porch, a woman leaned forward as Vernon pushed me in her direction. I assumed this was ‘Ma’.

She didn’t say anything as I was walked up to the porch and up the rickety stairs that seemed barely there. The old man spoke to her in their tongue, and I did my best to listen, barely able to pick out but three words: cave, trespassing, and trouble. The rest was gibberish.

Again, she failed to say anything, simply motioning to the door with her eyes. I think I was more frightened of her than I had been of any of the others, only because she didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. Her hardened face a testament to a difficult life, she had eyes that just bore holes right through me.

I’m a gonna put y’all in here ‘til Ma comes ‘n sees ya.” He opened the door to a central room, obviously used as a catch-all. In the center, a single chair seemed out of place, until I realized just what this room was used for. He sat me down and closed the door as he left, a single line of light leaking under the door the only illumination.

I tried not to think about being put in there as a child, for some sort of twisted time out, because that’s exactly what the chair must have been there for. Every time a shadow crossed in front of the door, I saw Ma opening it and scolding me in whatever hellish voice I imagined her having.

Slowly, shadows began to form in the room as my eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light. It wasn’t long before I was able to make out shapes and recognizable objects. Suddenly, my eyes were insulted by the bright light that coursed in, the old woman appearing as a silhouette before me. “Y’all come with me, girlie!”

A hand reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the chair. Just as quickly we were climbing a set of stairs, her bony hand leaving more bruises on my arm, I was sure. “You’re hurting my arm.” I managed, as I stumbled on the top step before being launched into a bedroom off the landing.

“You set right thar, missie.” She pushed me onto the single bed, the metal headboard painted white but peeling ever so slightly. Strange, the things you remember. “Why’d ya have to go sniffin’ ‘round that cave?”

“I’d heard it was beautiful inside,” I admitted, truthfully.

“All the caves in Tennessee, y’all had to pick ours. Well, now I gotta figure out what I’m gonna do with ya. Not from these parts, are ya?” The older woman accused.

“No. I just moved here from New York. I’m sorry. If I’d known that…”

“New York? Well, city girl, we do things a bit different down here.” She tossed a faded blue dress on the bed after rummaging in a small dresser for a minute. “Y’all put that on.”

I looked down at the single-piece smock, then back at the woman who was staring me down with those eyes again. She didn’t appear to be leaving so I assumed she wanted to watch. I took off my pack and started unbuttoning my shirt, not thinking anything of not having worn a bra. I very rarely did.

An eyebrow rose as I slipped the garment over my shoulders, revealing my A-cup breasts. I heeled off my sneakers and started unzipping my jeans. I was thankful that I at least hadn’t gone commando that day. All the while, the stare of those jet-black eyes nailed me to the spot.

Picking up the dress, I raised it and allowed it to slip over my arms and neck, the flimsy fabric falling over my nearly naked form. I lifted my waist-length hair out from under the collar, and I thought I heard a measured scowl from the woman as it fell around my shoulders. I went to put my sneakers back on, but she shook her head.

 “Na uh. N’you kin get them socks off too, city girl.” She insisted.

I did as she asked, slipping the ankle-high socks off my feet. “Why are you doing this to me?” I asked.

“I can’t very well let y’all go back into town, blabbin’ about our still, now, can I?” The woman reasoned. “So, yer just gonna have to set here fer a while, least ‘til I know y’aint gonna talk.” She reached out and fingered my hair, shaking her head as she let it go. “Soon enough.”

I didn’t have to wonder what she was thinking, and the thought of this woman touching my hair made me shiver inside. I was proud of my blonde hair and had been growing it out for years.

Satisfied that I was presentable, she motioned toward the door, and we headed back down the stairs; the splintery wood testing my bare feet. Clive, Vernon, and the two kids were sitting in the living room as I came back in, and I wondered just what they were thinking when they saw me like this. The two young men chuckled under their breath, their amused faces saying all that needed to be said.

‘Those Jezebel Tresses’

“Come on, then.” The woman spat, glaring at the men, who immediately wiped their faces clean of the smirks. She led me into the kitchen, pulled out a chair from under the table, and dragged it to the center of the room. “Y’all set in thar, now, missie, n’ stay quiet.”

My heart sank in my chest as I saw her lift a large pair of scissors from a drawer. Opening and closing them, she looked my way and frowned. “Y’all look like a jezebel with all that harr.”

I shut my eyes, wishing it to be over. Not just this, but the whole ordeal. My heart was in my throat as I felt the cold steel against my neck. But, the sickening crunch of the blades against my crowning glory, sent it racing. I closed my eyes tight, vowing not to cry, but knowing it would be futile.

When I felt the scissors against my cheek, I knew how short the woman had cut it. As she started in on the other side, the unbidden tears started to fall over my cheeks. I tried not to imagine what I was going to look like. Stripped down and forced into a hillbilly dress, and now having all my hair cut off, my nerves were frayed to tatters. I started to bawl.

“Quit yer caterwaulin’, girlie. It’s only harr.” The woman chided as she finished with the cut. I opened my eyes looking down, the floor puddled with a sea of shiny blonde strands. I reached up and felt the blunt ends of my hair ending at the middle of my ear, and the back just as short. Still sniffling away my crying spell, I sat waiting for the woman to bark something at me, but she didn’t.

So, I sat there, my fingers testing just how short my hair was and coming to the conclusion that it was a really short bob. It probably looked horrible. I always looked awful in short hair. My ears were too big for it, sticking out from the sides of my head like little radar dishes. So, I kept it long, the only evidence of them, the delicate pink rims that poked through the long tresses unassumingly.

“Y’all gonna just set thar, or are ya gonna clean up that there mess y’all made?” The woman pointed to the floor around my feet, tossing a paper bag to the base of the chair. “Go on now.”

I slowly stood, my own hair tickling the bottoms of my bare feet as I did. The woman put the chair back under the table, leaving the pile of hair haphazardly arranged in a ring before me. Still fighting back tears, I knelt, took the bag and scooped a generous quantity of my hair, and deposited it inside.

It was demeaning enough to have my hair stolen from me, but to have to clean up the aftermath was beyond humiliating. Handful after handful went into the bag until all that remained on the floor were scattered silky hairs that my efforts had missed.

The woman handed me a whisk broom, encouraging me to finish what I started. “We’ll git y’all over to Markus in the mornin’, but that’ll do fer now.” She decided, taking the bag and the whisk from me as I stood, the floor as clean as it had been before, which wasn’t saying much. “Go on and set with the boys, ‘til I git to fixin’ supper.”

Unsupervised for the first time, I wandered slowly back toward the living room, spying a bathroom along the way. Ducking in, I examined just how drastic the haircut had been. My beautiful hair was gone, a short choppy bob in its place. The ends barely grazed my cheeks, and as I had feared, my ears stuck out from under the hair that would only have just covered the tops, if they weren’t so big.

The back was cut above the hairline, and I could see the woman had tried to trim the hair close where it was exposed. The bristles felt long and coarse against my fingers. She had said something about somebody named Markus, but I tried to put that out of my mind as I made my way to the living room.

“Well, Ma sure set you to rights.” Vernon chortled, as I took an available spot on a threadbare sofa. I looked over to Clive, who seemed less enthused over what ‘Ma’ had done to me.

“Y’all look funny.” The young girl said, standing to face me, her own brown hair hanging just to her shoulders. She reached in and took the tips of my ears in her fingers and waggled them to and fro. I shook off her assault, but not before she had garnered a few laughs from the rest.

“Y’all do have some ears on, don’t ya?” Clive finally said, before turning away.

Feeling a bit out of place, I stayed quiet for a while, listening to them converse in their peculiar tongue. Finally, I said something. “Who’s Markus?”

“Oh, he’s an old coot that lives up the holler. The ol’ guy likes to pretend he’s a barber, so Ma sends us up thar if’n we need a trim.” Vernon scruffed his head, the close-cropped stubble barely qualifying as a crewcut.

“Ma threaten to take y’all up thar or somthin’?” Clive asked.

“She said she’d take me to see him in the morning,” I answered nervously.

“Well, say goodbye to that harr, missie. Markus’ll take care o’what Ma might’a missed on ya.” Vernon chuckled. “Y’all er gonna look funny in that dress ‘n’ them ears, all skinned up the back and sides.”

I tried to ignore what they were saying, hoping that Ma might treat me differently than the men. I was a girl, after all. “Can’t look any worse than it does now,” I murmured under my breath.

“Y’all got a name, city girl?” Ma asked, as I helped her peel potatoes in the kitchen.

“Rachel,” I managed, dropping a peeled spud into a large pot that was just coming to boil. “Rachel Wood.”

“Well, fer now, ya’ll ‘er gonna be Bertha, my niece from up’n Kentucky. Am I bein’ clear enough fer ya?” The woman insisted. “So, what’s yer name?”

“Bertha.” I hissed through gritted teeth.

“N where Y’al from?”

“Kentucky!” I blurted out as she swatted me on my rear end.

“I don’t take no sass from any ‘o’ mine, so y’all ain’t no differnt!” Ma dusted her hands together. The thin material of the dress and my panties offered little protection from her spank, and my ass stung from it.

In the back of my mind, I knew there had to be a way for me to escape this hell. If only I’d listened to my friends and stayed away from that cave, none of this would have happened. I’d still have my long blonde hair and I would be wearing this ridiculous dress, barefoot and doing this woman’s bidding. Now she was spanking me, for crying out loud. I had to escape.

That night, I was back in that dingy little room on the second floor, expected to sleep and be ready for Marcus the next day. I could only just imagine what lay in store for me there. According to the men, it was nothing good. I just lay awake and fretted.

I had tried the window, but it was painted shut. Maybe after everyone was asleep, I could sneak down the stairs and run. I had no idea where the hell I was, but anywhere was better than there. I tugged at my hacked-off hair, mourning the fact that it was utterly ruined. A tatty old mirror that had lost most of its shine hung over the small dresser, and I had sat looking at myself until I could no longer bear the sight of my own reflection.

When I was certain that everyone was asleep, I made my move to get away. I had made it halfway down the stairs, when one of them creaked so loudly, that I cringed. I felt a presence behind me.

“Where you goin’, Bertha?” I heard Vernon’s voice from the top of the hallway.

I quickly thought of the only thing that made sense. “I’ve got to use the bathroom.”

“Well’n use the one up heres.” He pointed behind him to a small door halfway down the hallway. I slipped by him on the landing, wearing the flannel nightgown that Ma had given me; all my plans dashed. To be honest, I was surprised by the fact the place had running water, much less an upstairs bathroom.

Much to my frustration, all I managed to do for the rest of the night was sleep. I don’t know how, but between thoughts of escape and my impending haircut in the morning, I had drifted off.

‘Markus, The Backwoods Barber’

“Rise’n shine, Bertha!” Ma yelled in the door, the sounds of the children laughing in the background only cementing my reality. My pleasant dreams were shattered by the looming plans for me that morning. “I sent Clive off to Markus’s place. He ain’t got no phone, so’s he’s ready’n waitin’ fer ya.”

“Isn’t this short enough?” I sighed, as I crawled out of the bed under Ma’s watchful eye.

“I done told you, girl. Now git up and git yer dress on, less’n y’all want another whooppin.” Ma scolded, closing the door behind her loudly.

I looked for my sneakers, but all my clothes seemed to have disappeared. Did she really expect me to go barefoot? My satin panties, which I had placed on the dresser, had been mysteriously replaced during the night with what could only be described as cotton granny-panties. I opened the door, to find Ma, the young boy in tow. “I can’t find my sneakers.”

“Somethin’ wrong with yer feet. Y’all git used to it. Shoe’s is fer winter, girl, an older folk that’s grown into’em. You ain’t much older’n these two…” She looked down at the kids, the little girl having joined her brother, “… barefootin’s fine fer ya.”

I didn’t have the time or the fortitude to argue with her. I’d just turned twenty-one in the spring but was always mistaken for much younger. She’d seen me naked and I’d be hard-pressed to convince this old woman that I was a day over sixteen.

I winced and whimpered as I made my way over the rough gravel in the drive, while the kids just skimmed over it, their feet apparently immune to the sharp stone. I looked over at Ma, her utilitarian boots laced tight around her ankles, but protecting her from this torture.

She chuckled, the first time I’d seen the woman smile. “Ya’ll got tender feet, city girl?” Ma grinned. “They’ll toughen up, soon’uf.”

‘Soon enough’ I thought. Just how long did this woman plan on holding me prisoner? Were any of my friends wondering where I was yet? My roommate was away for three weeks, so she wouldn’t know I was gone. My job would know I wasn’t there, but all they’d probably do was fire me. For now, I figured that I wasn’t missed, and I had no idea how long it would be before someone came looking.

The old Ford trundled along the one-lane dirt track, that seemed barely more than a logging road at times. I watched as one shanty after the next rolled by the window, and realized that Ma was pretty well off for these parts, apparently; her house was larger by three times any of the others.

Finally, we pulled into a winding drive that ran down a hill to a wide valley. A small, neatly kept house, sat right at the bottom. As soon as the truck stopped, the boy hopped out, holding the door open so I could slide across and step down, the grass and soft mud a lot easier on my virgin feet.

“G’on now. Whatcha waitin’ fer.” Ma griped, sending the boy into a sprint toward the front door of the simple cottage. My enthusiasm was a bit more measured. Eventually, Ma pushed me inside.

“Well, well, who’s ‘is lil’ un?” An older man asked, rising from a well-worn armchair to greet Ma with a handshake.

“Well… tell Markus who y’are.” Ma insisted.

Remembering my instructions, I didn’t dare disobey. “My name’s Bertha.” I managed, not even attempting to mimic the drawl.

“She’s a niece from Kentucky, Markus. The girl came to’us with’all this harr’n I did my best but…”

“I’ll be see’n to it, Ma. Somethin’ close fer summer, I’m a thinkin’.”

“She is a girl, Markus, but maybe’r mama back in Kentucky’ll ‘preciate somthin’ easy. You go on then and do what y’all think’s best.” Ma sat down in a rocker while Markus gathered me into a rickety barber chair he had set up in the idle of the room.

I looked around me and noticed some rather rudimentary barber tools set on a TV tray next to the chair. The thing that scared me the most were a set of antique hair clippers. They had handles that looked like they squeezed together. I’d seen a movie once where some guy got his hair cut off with something like these. I supposed back here in the boonies, that’s what they had. I only hoped they stayed right there on the tray.

“Well, Bertha, let’s git ta fixin’ y’all up.” The old man ran a comb through my hair which looked like it had seen its fair share of work, a few of the tines broken off at the base. “Might’s well git right to it, then.”

I saw him pick up the ominous-looking clippers, working the handles together once or twice before sliding them up my neck and having at the roughly hewn stubble left behind by Ma. The crunching sound they made was only outdone by the squeaking the machine made as he rapidly opened and closed the things. My stomach did a flip as I felt them work their way up the back of my head, nearly all the way to the crown. I had no idea how short they were cutting, but the old man’s breath against my newly shorn scalp should have given me a clue.

Starting at my neck again, he made another pass, the clippers pulling slightly at my hair before severing it close to my skin. All the while, Ma just sat there staring, a slight smirk on her face when she saw how miserable I was. Markus worked his way around my head, the clippers doing their worst and ridding me of all but the shortest stubble on the back and sides of my head.

There was a small mirror mounted on the wall, and I managed to catch a glimpse of myself as he moved to the side. With all the hair removed from the sides of my head, my ears stuck out a mile, and I looked like some sort of freak with a ragged mop of hair still clinging to the top of my head.

“Whaddya think, Ma? Y’all want somethin’ to comb’r should I jis clip’er down tight?” The old man chuckled, as he ran his hands over my choppy crown.

“Don’t see the sense in it, Markus. Git rid of it.” Ma smiled, satisfied that she had me right where she wanted me, looking me square in the eyes. “Least I won’t have ta worry ‘bout the boys gittin’ after ya.”

As Markus started in on the top, I started getting numb. I could feel the pressure of the clippers against my skull as he pressed down with them, clipping as close as the old things could manage. My head was swimming a bit, knowing that I was about to be shorn bald.

I should have been enraged, I should have been screaming, but I wasn’t. I hated what was happening, but knew I was powerless to stop it. Getting used to the gnawing of the clippers as they were worked over my head this way and that, I thought I might actually be enjoying the sensation. I eased into the pressure of the blades crunching mercilessly through the stubble, as the old man did his best to get it as close as they could.

I even dipped my chin to my chest, unbidden, as he went to work on the back, cleaning up what the old clippers had missed. Finally, when he was certain he had done his best, he set the machine down on the tray, and dusted the top of my head with his hand. “Short’nuf fer ya, Ma?”

She stood and walked over to stand over me in the chair, bending down to look at my newly exposed scalp. “Least she ain’t got nits.” Was her only comment as she paid the man from her pocket. “Com’on then, baldie.”

“Y’all come on back, iff’n ya wanna keep’r tight.” Markus called out, but Ma just pushed me into the truck, with the boy snickering over my new haircut as he climbed in next to me.

‘Monkeyshines’

“I’m a thinkin’ we should call’r ‘Jughead’, Mama.” The boy chuckled, running a hand over my closely shorn scalp and tugging at the ear closest to him. Humiliated, I shucked his hand away, my own running over the sandpaper grit which was all that remained of my flowing blonde locks.

“Y’all call’r what ya wanna, Billy. She ain’t gonna be with us fer all that long.” Ma decided, looking sideways at me as she navigated the narrow track. “Damn, girl, y’all do have a sit’o ears on ya, don’t ya.” She laughed, shaking her head.

When we got back to the house, it was the old man that caught sight of me first. “Damn, Ma. Whadya have ta skin’r like that fer?” He shook his head. “Hell, sh’all looks like damned monkey.”

I felt something inside me twist, almost painfully as I absorbed his comments. I wanted to run, to run away, but something kept me glued to the spot as he looked me up and down.

“Clive’ll be shook up, I’m thinkin’ he’d taken a shine to’er.” The man announced, picking up a set of tools and tossing them into the bed of the truck. Just then, Vernon and Clive came pouring out of the house, stopping dead in their tracks as they saw me.

“Done told ya he were gonna skin’er.” Clive grumbled to his brother as they walked past me.

“Jist as well, then, Clive. Now y’all won’t be tempted.” Ma griped as she pushed me toward the house, the gravel sharp against my bare feet. I wan’t sure whether it was the shock of the experience, or if I was actually losing my mind, but all the intense humiliation that I’d been through had me wet.

I’d never experienced anything like it. The more the kids made fun of me, and the more Ma belittled me, the more aroused I got. The old man saying I looked like a monkey was the kicker. When I saw myself in a mirror, there was no arguing the fact that my bald head and my ears made me look like a chimpanzee. My feminine facial features did little to temper the harsh reality of my altered appearance.

Weeks passed, and I was little more than a slave for Ma, who had me doing everything from laundry to cooking and cleaning, to chopping wood for the stove. My feet had toughened up, and I barely even noticed that they were bare anymore. As promised, she had taken me back up to see Markus as my hair began to grow, and I was shorn to the skin all over again. This time, I secretly enjoyed the harsh gnawing of the clippers as they balded me all over again.

         One night, after slaving for Ma around the house, I was examining what I had become. I shed the blue smock dress, and sat naked, staring at my reflection in the mirror. As I had done every night, I masturbated, absorbing what I had become and reveling in the humiliation of my absurd situation.

         I must have been louder than I realized because I never heard the door open behind me. “No need fer doin’ that, now.” Clive’s voice brought my ministrations to an abrupt halt. “Y’all git on the floor, monkey.” He demanded. I wanted to scream, to stop what was about to happen, but something inside was broken. Naked, I laid down on the floor, pulling my knees up to expose myself to this vile man. “Hands’n knees, I ain’y wantin’ ta lookit that ugly puss o’your’n.”

         I did as he told me, rolling over to present my naked ass to him. Inside, I was humming, so aroused that I knew I was dripping between my legs. I could hear him unzipping his trousers, and then felt his turgid cock as it slid between my cheeks, searching for my sopping cunt.

         “Y’all may be ugly ‘n’ bald as a coot, but that ain’t stoppin’ me from fuckin’ you.” I felt him slide inside, his girth larger than anything I’d felt before. I was no virgin, but I felt like it as he slid his member home. He thrust inside me for a second time, and a third, until he was fucking me in earnest and I was grunting as the air was pressed from my lungs.

         I could feel the juice dripping down my belly as Clive found his rhythm, and my own orgasm was close at hand. Then I felt his hand on my head, his rough fingers running over my freshly shorn scalp, finding my ears. To my horror, or delight, I wasn’t sure which, he grabbed each like a set of reins, tugging on my ears roughly as he fucked me. Using them as handles to manipulate me, I arched my back as he pulled back, stretching them until I swore, they might rip from my head.

         He thrust hard, and with a growl, came deep inside me, and I could feel the hot cum spread through my loins as he finally released my ears. My own orgasm had rocked me to the core. I collapsed on the dirty floor, the rough wooden planks rubbing coarsely against my diminutive breasts and erect nipples.

         I felt empty as he pulled out, zipping his jeans and getting to his feet. “Least them ears is good fer somethin’, Rachel.” Clive mused, turning to leave. Hearing him use my real name, cemented the reality of my situation. Ma must have told them all who I was, where I was from. How they must be laughing at what they’d done to me, a city girl, with my fancy talk, and pretty-girl looks.

         I laid there for a while, recovering, but not able to shake my infatuation. As much as I hated what they’d done to me, I knew that deep inside, I yearned for more. I thought back at the first humiliation, stripping for Ma and donning that hillbilly frock. Then there was the haircut in the kitchen, the rough and haphazard way Ma had chopped away at my crowning glory.

         Then there was Markus, and his enthusiasm with those manual clippers, working them hard against my scalp, the sensation still sending chills through my skin and raising goosebumps all over. Shorn and looking just like the monkey they accused me of, I’d been fucked by Clive, who, a day before had been so repulsive to me. I’d meant to get up, I’d meant to sneak into the bathroom and clean myself up. I had. The thing was, I fell asleep, right there on the floor, naked, with Clive’s spunk leaking from my gaping cunt.

‘Revelation to Reassimilation’

 

         “Jesus H!” Ma screamed as she pushed through my door in the morning to find me just as I had described. “Ugly as y’are, damn fool still couldn’t keep his filthy hands off’n ya.” She turned. “Clive!”

         After balling out her son for God knew how long, using that vernacular that only they were privy to, Ma turned her attention to me. “Time you git home, lil’un.” She disappeared into another part of the house and returned with my belongings. “Y’all git dressed n’ git out.” She tossed them on the bed, slamming the door to the bedroom behind her.

         All that time, I’d stood there, naked. I’d thought about putting on the smock, but for some reason, being naked just seemed right with all that was going on. Now, with all my ‘city’ clothes laid out before me, I quickly dressed, not bothering to wash up or worry about my appearance.

         I may have looked almost normal if it wasn’t for my shaven head and protuberant ears. Nothing was said as I made my way out of the house. I was cast out, just as I was warming up to the role. I wondered just what would have happened if I’d stayed right there. Would Ma have kept taking me for regular haircuts up the ‘holler’ as she had been? Would Clive have kept up his attention, and would he have eventually warmed up to my new ugliness? I guessed I’d never know.

         So, as I walked along the dirt road, making my way back to where I had parked my beater of a car, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Of course, there was the fact that I’d have to show up back in town looking the way I did. That thought was growing more ominous as I drove the last few blocks to my apartment. To be honest, I was almost shocked to find the old sedan right where I had left it.

         I could always have blamed the whole thing on Ma and her kin, squealing about their still and what they had done to me. The thing was, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

         Everyone was shocked, of course. My roommate was flabbergasted, not understanding why I’d just shave off all my hair on a whim, as I had suggested. “I just felt like a change.” Running my fingers over my stubbled scalp.

         I was lucky my boss had let me continue working, even after being gone for so long. “It’s just lucky you aren’t in a position where you have to meet the pubic. I just couldn’t have you, well… you know how you look, Rachel.” His words, even though they were well meant, kindled that same humiliation the old man had managed when he called me a monkey.

         “I accept how I look, Mr. Reynolds. It’s the new me though. No more hiding it behind my hair.” I couldn’t believe I was talking like that, but more and more, everyone began to tolerate how I looked. I say tolerate because no one was getting used to it. I’d become a loner; the guys that I used to date, falling by the wayside, and my friends marginalizing me for the most part.

         So, the first time I’d showed up at Frank’s barbershop, it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone. I could have just let my hair grow back into the luscious blanket of golden fleece it once was, but I just couldn’t get past the bristly stage.

         I’d dressed down and foregone the use of makeup that morning, but I wasn’t fooling anyone. They all knew I was a girl. “Take a number and have a seat.” The old barber had said, so I obliged. There were only two barbers in the town’s only shop, and there were a few men waiting before me. It was Saturday, so I should have expected it to be busy.

         I knew I was the subject of all sorts of gossip in town. The strange girl who had forsaken her good looks and long flowing hair for a stark, oddly freakish creature. Some of them had even begun referring to me as Gollum. So, I knew that everyone knew who I was as I sat in that shop. I could feel their eyes upon me as I sat, but all were quick to avert their stares if I looked up to catch them leering. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as it probably should have been, and I chalked that up to my newfound affinity for humiliation.

         Finally, after what seemed like an hour, my number was called. The old guy raised an eyebrow as I took a seat in his chair, cautiously enveloping me in his cape, as though I might lash out and bite him. He had the clippers in his hand before he even asked how I wanted it. Of, course, my hair couldn’t have been more than a half-inch long, so, the options were limited.

         “Crewcut?” He suggested, looking to the captive audience of men who had suddenly stopped guarding their interest.

         I thought about it for a moment but knew what I had come in for. “No, I think I’d like it shaved,” I announced, loud enough for all to hear.

         The barber slipped the blades from the Oster clippers and installed another that looked far thinner and seemed to promise a shorter result. He didn’t ask, or hesitate, before setting the whirring machine at the top of my forehead and pushing them over the top. The sensation was so different from the manual clippers Markus had used to skin me. There was no pulling or tearing of the hair, just a delicious vibration that reverberated through my skull as the clippers efficiently peeled me to the bone.

         I watched in the large mirror mounted behind the man’s station, as my scalp came into view once again. I’d missed that stark contrast of hair and no hair as the clippers widened my baldness from a few inches until my entire crown was bald. In that mirror, I answered the stares of the men who watched from behind me, meeting their gaze with my own, shamelessly.

         I think the barber took some joy in bending my overly large ear down, so he could clip around it. A smile crossed his face as he released it, the pinkish-white flap that caused me so much angst, popping back into place. I think it may have even wiggled a little as it settled back into place, deepening my humiliation, and the worrying wetness that was building in my panties. He repeated the process on the other side with a similar result.

         When at last the clippers fell silent, I smiled at the bald girl staring back at me in the mirror. There was no mistaking that gawkish creature that the old hillbilly had belittled. As the man loosened the cape, I expected him to remove it, but he pushed me back into the chair as I tried to rise.

         “You did say shave it, so let’s finish the job.” He insisted, and I swore I heard a few snickers from the men behind me. Moments later my entire head was covered in menthol foam, the coolness of the infusion causing my scalp to tingle. I had to admit to being nervous as the long straight razor emerged from its case, the steel glinting in the overhead lamps. Starting at my nape, I first felt the cool steel rasp against my skin.

         I hoped that the slight moan that escaped my lips had gone unnoticed, but there was no hiding my arousal from the barber, who seemed to be enjoying himself as he deftly shaved the last vestiges of hair from my scalp. Unlike the back and sides, he shaved the top with long sweeping strokes, exciting my skin as the blade licked closer than any lover I’d ever had. I was going to be bald, like, shiny bald, and I could see the unmistakable reflection of the incandescent lamps in my newly shaved scalp.

         At the end, he wiped the top with a warm towel, taking extra time to scrub at my ears, which emerged bright pink and glowing. They glowed, but were nothing compared to my freshly razored scalp, which actually did glisten as bare and naked as a hard-boiled egg, peeled and slick.

         I knew my panties were soaking as I got up to pay the barber, and hoped that it hadn’t leaked through to make my arousal all the more apparent to the glowering audience. I never looked down to see.

         As delicious as the humiliation was, I couldn’t escape the place soon enough, and practically ran out after getting my change. The place seemed to erupt in laughter once the door had closed behind me, adding insult to injury. I quickly got in my car and drove home, hoping to have a few minutes alone in my bedroom. I didn’t even notice the old pick-up parked along the curb outside.

         Before I even knew what had happened, I was being ragged backward toward the street. “Seems tho Ma’s changed’r mind about ya.” The gruff voice grumbled over my shoulder. “Y’all’ll be comin’ to stay, a tad more permanent like.” I was tossed into the seat, my arousal still unquenched.

         I didn’t put up a fight, I didn’t argue. What was the point? Clive was going to have his way with me. In a way, a very twisted way, I was looking forward to a good doggy-style fucking. I only hoped old Markus had one of those straight razors in his arsenal.