Ivan Stops Twirling His Hair

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“Ivan, will you please stop twirling your hair! It’s driving me insane!”

“I’m sorry, Susan. I didn’t know I was doing it.”

Now that both my husband and I are working from home, I sit across from him all day long. I love it, because his mere presence is soothing and pleasurable for me. He’s also pleasant for me to look at, not because he’s the world’s handsomest man, but because when a woman likes a man’s character and personality, he starts to look gorgeous in her eyes. Even so, Ivan was objectively good-looking. He had a kind, open face, big green eyes, nose neither too big nor too dainty, face not too round but still young and boyish, and dimples when he laughed. Ivan was five years younger than me, so that he was still in his twenties and not wrinkled yet.

But Ivan had a bad habit. He twirled the front of his hair incessantly, all day long. I know he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, much less trying to torment me. When he used to go into an office to work, he would slick back his chin-length hair with a hard-hold product. Working from home, Ivan didn’t bother to put product in his hair, so the front pieces were always flopping down into his face. He got into the habit of twirling these front pieces while thinking, since they wouldn’t stay tucked behind his ear.

I thought about tying his hand to his leg, but then he wouldn’t be able to type. That wouldn’t do. Perhaps he could be persuaded to slick back his hair again. I had a feeling that he would pull out the front pieces to twirl anyway. No, the only thing for it was to cut his hair short. I prefer short hair on men anyway.

One day, I had finally had enough. “Ivan, if you can’t stop that infernal habit, I’ll have to take drastic measures. Come with me.”

I led him out onto the back porch and sat him down on the rattan chair. There was a picnic cloth in the tool shed that would have to do as a cape. Ivan had had a beard for a brief period early in our marriage, until he realised that he would get more kisses without one; he still had the beard trimmer.

I found it in the tool shed and opened the box. There were only a few attachments, and all of them were small. That would do nicely. I decided to go with the no. 2. The guard snapped on easily and the clippers roared into life. Good, the battery isn’t dead.

“Chin down.” As far as I knew Ivan had never had his hair clippered before. It wasn’t this long when we met and got married, but he had still had a medium-length scissor cut. I laid my hand on the crown of his head and began pushing the clippers up through the hair at his nape.

The long brown hair rained down onto the picnic cloth, from which it fell onto the ground. I went over the back of his head several times before pushing on into the top, grabbing the hair with one hand while guiding the clippers with the other. Once I had reached his front hairline, the cut hair started to accumulate in his lap. Ivan noticed the length of the cut hair and let out a gasp. Yes, boys who can’t control their bad habits get punished.

I decided to do the sides last. It was important to be careful around the ears. I grabbed the long side hair, which completely covered his ears when left down, and plowed through the top part of the left side first. After several passes from the back toward his temple, the outline of his ear became visible through the remaining hair. I grabbed his ear and pulled it down and away from his head so that I could buzz around it. Now, for the other side.

I went over his whole head again, then removed the guard. He would probably look good with the hair at his neck and ears tapered a bit. I snapped on the next guard down and turned the clippers back on. Ivan shivered in his seat. Good. I hadn’t set out to punish him originally, but it did feel good to have this kind of power. That unmistakable throbbing warmth was radiating from my nether regions out to my whole body and I could feel my face flush and underpants get wet.

When I was all done, I rubbed his freshly-buzzed head with my hands to get rid of the little cut hairs, then removed the picnic cloth. “Let me have a good look at you.” I moved to the front to see his face. To my surprise, Ivan had a look of pleasure. He had enjoyed his shearing as much as I had.

He put a hand on his head and rubbed the short bristles, then smiled. “I’ve always wanted to try a buzzcut, but never had the courage to ask for one at the barbershop. Thank you for taking charge.”

“My pleasure. How about I take charge of what happens next as well.” I had already draped my arms around Ivan and started to drag him into the house. It wouldn’t do to let the neighbors watch what was going to happen next. Clearly, we were going to keep his hair short from now on.

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