Jungle Cruising

Here’s a stand-alone based off of an idea I got from all of the old school adventure movies I’ve watched my whole life. I never get how the long haired heroines ever make it through the jungle adventures with their long hair still intact. It seems like a recipe for sweat and discomfort if you ask me. Thanks for reading and make sure and check out my other work of you like this one!

The Expedition

Rose hated the jungle. Yet, for some reason, she had signed up for the job as the professor’s assistant on this journey deep into the Amazon. Maybe it was because she wanted to find adventure. She didn’t think it was that reason. Instead, she was fairly sure she was doing it to give herself a leg up at gaining a spot in Yale’s anthropology program. She hoped it was worth it as she slogged through the damp, sweaty jungle.

In 1935, it was far from easy for a young, pretty woman like herself to find her way into such a highly favored institution of education, and studying under the professor came only after beating out the stiff competition. Rose hoped she could prove herself on this journey as something more than just an assistant who could take notes and make his tea.

But, unlike all of the men in the party, she experienced an unfair hindrance. Rose, due to her status as an unwed 22 year old woman, was forced to dress modestly, even in the painfully humid heat of the jungle.

She had been allowed to wear pants, fortunately, but she had to wear long sleeves and keep her blouse buttoned all the way up to her neck. That, combined with her dense head full of golden blonde hair which she kept back in a tight bun under her wide brimmed hat, made for her to be miserably hot in comparison to the men on the expedition.

Swatting a mosquito with her gloved hand, she nearly bumped into the professor as he held his hand up to signal a stop. The professor was actually fairly young. He was a veteran of the Great War and was experienced as a field researcher. His time spent in the field had shaped the tall man into quite the imposing figure. With broad shoulders, dark hair and a stubbly beard of roughly a week’s worth of growth, Rose would have been lying if she said he wasn’t attractive. Even with the grime of the jungle on him.

The professor reached for his right hip, lifting the flap from his holstered pistol. He turned to Rose and held a finger to his lips, giving a silent “shhh” before fanning his hand down.

Rose held her breath. She trusted the professor’s instincts. They had once saved her oldest brother’s life, back in the war. Many eligible candidates agreed that the only reason Rose had even been chosen as his assistant was because her oldest brother and the professor were old war buddies. They had each saved the other’s lives countless time in the trenches of the Western Front.

The professor’s concerns were warranted. Deep in the Amazon jungle, there were still hostile tribes, ones that did not take kindly to foreign invaders traipsing through their pristine, untouched lands. Everyone in the party was armed, the other scientists, the men carrying the luggage, even Rose. She clutched the grip of her small Colt pocket pistol, a gift from her older brother, hands sweating from the nerves and from the heat.

Rose held her breath, wanting to shrink into the professor’s back. They hadn’t come across any of the hostile tribes yet, but each time they encountered new people that seemed to materialize out of the jungle itself, she knew it would be the end of their journey.

Instead, the professor laughed and stood up, closing the flap on his holster. As if from nowhere, three of the short indigenous people from that part of the jungle appeared in the brush. They laughed as well and the professor moved to hug them.

Rose stood as well and stood behind the professor as some of the others in their party moved to greet our hosts. There was something she noticed this time about the members of this new tribe. Each of them had their heads either shaved or it was obvious that they had been shaved recently, and all three were women. The previous people they had encountered had always been men and had wide varieties of hairstyles that would have drawn plenty of attention anywhere back in the States.

”Rose, meet the Amazonian tribe,” the professor said after properly greeting the members of the tribe.

”Excuse me professor, aren’t all of the tribes Amazonian?” Rose asked, stepping up alongside him and adjusting her round glasses.

”Well technically yes. But their name is far too difficult for an English speaker to pronounce and the Spanish began calling them Amazonians because the women are hunters and warriors just like the Amazonians from Greek myth,” the professor explained, putting a hand on her back and pushing her forward.

The three women stepped closer to Rose and looked her over. They seemed extremely intrigued by her long hair that was tied back, even gesturing for her to remove her hat. Rose obliged and they laughed and said something to the professor who laughed as well.

”What is it?” Rose asked him, tilting her head to the side.

”They think your hair is funny. Take it down for them to see,” the professor explained.

”Have they never seen blonde hair?” Rose asked, removing the pins and ties that she used to hold her tight bun together.

The professor laughed, “Not at all. You know you aren’t the first person of European descent to pass through here. They thought the bun was funny and they’ll certainly think your long hair is funny too.”

They did in fact laugh, the closest one even stepping close to Rose and lifting up an end and showing the strand of long hair to her friends. Rose instantly felt like the butt of some joke she didn’t understand.

”Why is my long hair funny? Do all Amazonian women shave their heads?” Rose asked, feeling extremely embarrassed.

”That’s exactly it. They can’t understand why you’re walking through the jungle with so much hair on your head. They don’t understand how you American women are so attached to your looks,” the professor said before saying something to the women in their language that drew a laugh from all of them.

Rose laughed too, pulling on the strands of her hair that were tangled and sweat soaked from being worn in the bun for multiple days in a row. She was sick of the hair, sick of the modest clothes. The Amazonian women were dressed like all of the other women they had encountered while studying the vastly different people groups within the jungle, which meant they had hardly any clothes on at all. Apparently despite having different cultures, languages, and religions, all jungle peoples understood that heavy clothes and long hair had no place in their home.

“Fortunately for us, the Amazonians are experts on the river and are going to take us for a little boat ride to their village for the night. Then they’ll take us to their neighbors and introduce us. All for the price of a few things we brought from home,” the professor said.

The party set off for the boats before Rose had a chance to tie her hair back, so instead of finishing the hike with her hair in the bun, she had it hanging down her back with only a hat worn over the top. Sweat hung on her neck and the ends snagged on branches as they passed them, the now loose hair hanging down to her waist.

As the Amazonians paddled the explorers downstream, the professor explained what he understood about their culture. Apparently, prior to contact with Europeans and their metal tools, the Amazonians had simply sliced their hair as close as possible to the scalp with sharp pieces of obsidian, but when given the opportunity to use steel straight razors, the tribe began the tradition of shaving their heads smooth.

Not only was it more hygienic, but they were more comfortable in the oppressive humidity of the jungle. Rose envied them. She had only gotten to wash her hair twice since they set out from America, both times occurring in larger cities before they entered the jungle. She felt disgusting and the brush that now was stuck in her hair after their walk through the jungle only made it worse.

When they finally pulled into the village and got their tents up, Rose was exhausted as she attempted to brush her hair to put it back in her bun. It was a frustrating endeavor, thoroughly tangled in knots with small twigs and leaves mixed throughout.

The one small luxury that Rose had was that, as the only woman on the expedition, she had a private and relatively large tent all to herself. The walled canvas tent had a cot, a small fold out table, and her small chest of luggage. She had a small oil lamp and even a small mirror to work with as she tried to fix her hair.

Tugging at her hair with her brush, Rose could only think of the Amazonian women. How nice it must have been to have short hair, or even no hair. Rose had been too young to take part in the short flapper hairstyles of the twenties, her mother and father strongly opposed to the provocative women and their style. Instead her entire life had been spent brushing her long golden locks.

Then her eyes caught something at the top of her open luggage. A large pair of shiny scissors. Something she had brought along in case her role as assistant also included being a seamstress. She looked at the scissors. Then at her hair. Then back at the scissors.

She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. Or could she? Or should she? Picking up the scissors, she looked at herself in the mirror that she had propped up against the wall of the tent. She held the end of her long golden hair in her hand and looked at the scissors.

The journey would go on for several weeks. Maybe even months. Her hair would never grow back to the length it was now by the time she went back to civilization. That would take years. But maybe, just maybe, it would be long enough to be fashionable.

She held the scissors up to her hair, putting the sharp blades around the section of hair she held. The hair was next to the right side of her face and she held the scissors over it, just above her chin. She could do it. Cut it short like the flappers did, back when she was a girl. Some women still wore their hair short. So could she.

She squeezed the scissors shut, the sharp blades slicing through the hair in a satisfying, crunchy sounding “shnick.” The hair that she held by the end fell limp onto her hand. Holding it up in the lamp light, she looked at it. The orange glow of the light gave her hair an almost fiery hue.

Wasting no time, Rose dropped the lock of hair and picked up another strand, a little further back and snipped that one off. Dropping that one, she snipped off another and another. She kept lifting locks of hair and snipping them, doing her best to make a straight line.

It was hard to see herself in the small mirror with only a single wick of an oil lamp to light the tent. She struggled as she went around the back, almost sure that it wasn’t straight. Her compact mirror that she had foolishly packed for makeup application would come in handy to check her neck later.

Hacking off more hair, she now worked around the the left side. She could easily see that the left side was at least an inch or two shorter than the right and winced at the sight of her uneven bob.

She started trying to trim the right side of her hair shorter to match the left side and got both sides mostly even. There were little pieces that were longer and some were shorter as her fabric scissors were ill-suited for cutting hair. After reaching a point that she was happy with the evenness of the sides, her hair fell just below her cheek bones.

Although she was scared to check the back, she knew she needed to and she searched through her belongings for her compact mirror. Finally, after nearly reaching the bottom of her luggage, she found the small mirror and pulled it out. Turning her back to the mirror that was only possibly twice the diameter of her compact, she used both mirrors to look at the back.

What she saw was a disaster. The whole back was an uneven mess. There was a longish lock that hung down to the base of her neck, there were patches cut at angles, and there was even a spot where she could see the pale skin of her scalp.

Instantly, she knew the bob was a lost cause. She had seen women with their hair cut short that curled their hair up with pin curls. Maybe she could do that instead. First, she removed her blouse and unfastened her brazier. There was already hair in her collar and she didn’t want any more building up. She lifted a lock of hair up at the front of her head and held the scissors over it, just two inches from the base and snipped. The severely shortened lock fell just over her eyebrow.

Without hesitation, she picked up another lock of already short hair and snipped it off at a length she thought matched the length of the first. She repeated the process all over her head until she ran a hand through her now boyishly short hair. Even without looking, she could tell it felt choppy and uneven.

The mirror confirmed her concerns. She looked terrible. Her greasy short hair stuck up in odd angles, hung down diagonally across her forehead, and she could feel that the back was still short and choppy. She frowned at herself in the mirror.

Then she saw the bag. The one that she had been tasked with packing. Inside it were goods to trade with the local tribes for passage, food, supplies, and whatever else they needed. She remembered what the professor had said. That the Amazonians used razors provided by travelers to shave their heads.

Quickly, she picked up the bag and rifled through it until she found what she was looking for. One of many folded up straight razors. She remembered packing them. They weren’t of the highest quality, but they were sharp. She had accidentally nicked her finger while packing them.

She lifted it up and looked at it in the orange light, folding open the blade. The flame danced on the shining metal of the razor. Then she looked at herself. Her hair was ruined. And the Amazonians looked so comfortable. But what would everybody say? What would the professor think? Did it even matter?

Hesitantly, she folded the razor back up and set it down on her cot. There was work to do first. Using her scissors, she snipped off as much hair from her head as she could, opening and closing them right against her scalp. By the time she was done, the grass floor of her tent was piled high with her once beautiful blonde hair.

She looked at herself in the mirror yet again. Her hair was almost completely gone and she looked hideous. Like some porcelain doll whose owner had been let loose with scissors. She had to get rid of that.

Using the pitcher of water that the workers had fetched for her from the river, she wet her head, making sure every inch of her head was thoroughly soaked. Then she held her razor. She had shaved someone before. Her brother, the one who had gotten her the job as the professor’s assistant.

The reason that the professor felt like he owed him was simple. Rose’s brother had lost his right arm above the elbow in the war. And he lost it while shoving the professor to safety. Her brother had been right handed and had struggled shaving. As soon as she was old enough to handle a razor, Rose shaved him every day. This would be no different.

Except it would be. It was her head. Her whole head. She would look like the English botanist whose bald head shined in the sunlight whenever he removed his hat. But she finally decided she didn’t care. It was too late to care.

Cautiously, she began at the front of her head, dragging the razor back into her hairline. The blade was sharp and easily cut through the hair. Making small strokes, she worked her way back. Hair built up on the blade and she shook it off. She sat back at it again, the small bald patch at the front slowly growing. When shaking the razor off didn’t work, she used an old blanket to wipe it.

Scraping off more hair a few bits at a time, she soon had her crown shaved smooth. There was a little irritation and one minor nick that she was able to dab with her blanket, but otherwise that part had gone smoothly. As smooth as her head would soon be, she thought to herself with a little snort of laughter.

She then started to shave back on the right side of her head. It was a little bit more difficult than the top and going around her ears was difficult, but she made it work. The same happened with the left side of her head, and she found that working based off of sight with her tiny mirror was hard work.

”Rose! Hey Rose, it’s time for dinner,” she heard the professor call from outside of her tent.

Quickly, she snatched up the blanket and covered her chest, hugely embarrassed at the whole situation. She felt her whole face and head flush red and hot.

”I’m in here professor, you can come in,” she was able to peep.

The professor ducked his head and stepped into the tent, closing the flap behind him. He didn’t notice right away as he ducked his head and pulled off his wide brimmed fedora hat. Then he lifted his eyes and gasped.

”My god, Rose. What have you done?” he asked, holding his hat in both hands.

Rose hid behind her bare chest behind her blanket and bowed her head in shame.

”I tried cutting my hair and messed up. And then I remembered the Amazonian women. They seemed so happy,” she began before breaking out into tears.

She sat down on her cot, the back of her head still unshaven and dropped the razor. Covering her face with her hand, she mumbled, “I’m so stupid.”

The professor laughed as he set his hat on her cot and sat next to her. He put an arm around her shoulders and rubbed the one opposite him with his thumb.

“Rose, you are anything but stupid. Maybe a little impulsive. But not stupid. I could tell you’ve been uncomfortable. This is a little extreme, but I understand. I’d be miserable too if I had as much hair as you have. Or well, used to have,” he said with a little chuckle.

Rose lifted her head, tears in her eyes, “It was horrible. The clothes too. I just want to undo a couple of buttons.”

The professor laughed, “Rose, you do whatever it is that makes you comfortable. You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had. I wish you’d just apply for the graduate program already.”

Rose tilted her mostly bald head to the side, “What?”

”You heard me! You’re wasting your time as my assistant. You should be here doing field studies for a degree. Not taking my notes and organizing my things,” the professor said.

”Do you mean it?” Rose asked, half crying, half laughing.

”Of course I do! You’re brilliant! That’s why I hired you as my assistant. I hoped I could convince you to study under me,” he said, smiling the crooked smile that threw every woman, Rose included, absolutely crazy.

Something flipped in Rose’s mind. She smiled back at him, wiping her eyes. What came out of her mouth surprised even her.

”Studying isn’t the only thing I’d like to do under you,” she said in a sultry whisper.

”Is that so? Wouldn’t that be unprofessional?” the professor asked, lifting her chin with his hand and pulling her mouth close to his.

”Aren’t we anthropologists? Don’t we study people and societies? Perhaps this could be a study of jungle romantic practices,” Rose said, the edge of her mouth curling up.

”Don’t you think we should finish your shave first?” the professor asked.

”Would you help me? It’s so hard to reach back there,” Rose complained, leaning her bare back into him and looking up into his eyes.

”I certainly can. But you’ll have to lose the blanket, I fear it could only get in the way,” the professor said.

Rose stood up in front of the professor. Slowly and seductively, she slid the blanket down her chest, exposing her bare breasts. No man had ever seen this much of her before, but the professor was a worthy first.

He stood and slowly kissed her on the lips, wrapping one hand around her lower back, the other cupping her chin. She loved the way his prickly beard felt against her lips and face. Leaning in, she kissed him harder, moving a hand and feeling his throbbing manhood under his pants.

Working her hand up to his stomach, she unfastened the buttons of his shirt one at a time. She slipped his shirt off of his shoulders one at a time and dropped it onto her cot. Moving her hand back down to his belt, she was stopped by his strong hand.

“Not so fast missy. Shave first, remove pants later,” he said, cupping her breast and then twirling her around.

He used some more water from her pitcher and re-wet the hair on the back of her head. With gentle, practiced hands that had shaved his face likely thousands of times, he made short delicate strokes on her nape. He used the same blanket she had to wipe it clean as short hair accumulated along its length.

Leaning her head forward, the professor carefully shaved around the curves of her head and neck. He was so cautious yet confident. The man only ever exuded confidence which was part of what made him so sexy.

Soon, he used the pitcher to rinse her head and she was finished. Rose reached her hands up to feel her bare head and turned to face him.

”Oh, it feels so good,” she moaned.

”I have something else for you that will feel even better,” the professor said, stepping into her and kissing her as he unfastened the buckle on her belt.

She opened his as well and they both stepped out of their pants, kissing and touching one another the whole time. Both of their pants off, Rose pounded on him, wrapping her legs around him. She felt his flesh against hers and cared not at how sweaty they both were. All she wanted was to feel him inside of her.

When she did get to feel him, she let out a soft moan. The professor put a finger to her lips, “Quiet, we can’t let the others hear.”

Rose slipped her lips around his finger and sucked on it, sliding her lips off and nodding, “Yes professor.”

Still standing, he thrust his hips into hers. She moved here against his until he gently lowered her cot. There, now underneath him, she looked up at him and smiled.

“Are you sure you like me? Even with a bald head?” Rose asked sweetly.

The professor chuckled, “Rose, I’d like you even if you never had another hair on your head ever again.”

Rose felt her head, “Well I don’t know about that, shaving seems pretty tedious. But I appreciate the sentiment. Now make love to me darling.”

The professor rode her like someone who clearly knew what he was doing. Rose had heard of his reputation with women, and instead of making her jealous, it made her glad to get a taste of his experience. She felt wave after wave of orgasms until finally, they reached climax together. His hot seed entered her body and she shuddered with pleasure. If she had any hair on her head it would have stood straight up.

He kissed her again as they laid tangled together on the small cot.

”So what about dinner? I was hungry before, but now I’m starving,” the professor said.

”Oh lord, I have to be seen by people,” Rose said, sitting up and clapping a hand to her head.

Rose hurried to pull her pants back on and tried to pick up her blouse but the professor stopped her. Instead he picked it up and held her fabric scissors. The blouse was a simple one, a light tan with buttons up the front that somewhat followed her womanly figure.

”What are you doing professor? We need to get to dinner,” Rose whispered with a giggle.

“Your hair is more comfortable, now it’s time to make your clothes more comfortable,” he said, immediately beginning to cut one of the sleeves off right at the shoulder.

Rose gasped, a smile on her face, “Professor! What will people think of me? Coming out with a bald head and no sleeves?”

”They’ll think you’re finally comfortable is what they’ll think. And you can forget about wearing that brazier of yours. And don’t even think about buttoning this thing up all of the way. That’s far too hot,” the professor said, tossing her the now sleeveless shirt.

Rose smiled at the professor, her chin tucked in with embarrassment. She pulled the now significantly lighter shirt back on and buttoned it up, now stopping mid sternum. Looking down, she could see the top of the crack made by her bosom. Her breasts weren’t of impressive size but she could tell her nipples could be seen through the shirt. But, considering the fact that the Amazonian women didn’t cover their breasts at all, she felt safe. At least for jungle life.

”You have another shirt right? You can wear that one and the brazier when we get back to civilization. But out here, as the head of the expedition, I’m ordering you to forget about being proper,” the professor said.

Rose pulled her wide brimmed hat on, one that was now significantly looser, and saluted, “Yes sir.”

”Now let’s get that bald head of yours to dinner,” he said, smacking her on the rear as she passed him.

The others in the party had been thoroughly shocked by her appearance, but after some words at her defense delivered by the professor, along with the hearty welcome she received from the women in the village, the party quickly got over it.

After that night, the adventure improved for Rose. The professor began to treat her more like a student, or even an equal, and much less like an assistant, although she still had to carry out some of those duties.

Although being truly bald had only lasted about a week, her now vastly shorter hair was significantly more comfortable. As it grew in and begun to hang down, she took to slicking it back like the men of the party did. It was easy considering how grimy she was in the dense jungle.

The Amazonian women also welcomed her as one of their own, and because of that, the party was introduced to new peoples and places. Rose’s transformation led to connections and new discoveries, all of which Rose’s name had been attached to as a contributor.

When they finally emerged from the jungle, dirty and disheveled, yet wealthy in knowledge, Rose and the professor were engaged to be married and she even had enough hair to style with pin curls.

Out of the jungle and headed back by ship to the United States, Rose and the professor traveled in style. He had bought her a dress and everything the young woman needed to style her short hair so when they joined the captain for dinner, she was able to look her best.

That night, he had surprised her with a Diamond ring to signify their engagement. Little did the professor know that, inside Rose’s belly, a new life was growing.

Surrounded by friends who had once been her betters, with a head of short, curled, blonde hair, Rose laughed with her fiancé. All that she had could be traced back to one thing. A bald head. Perhaps the jungle wasn’t so bad after all.

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