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“How close are you?” I asked. My heart felt like it didn’t know how hard to beat.

Simon sounded distracted over the hum of his caravan, surely hauling ass. “I should be there in about thirty minutes.”

I had been practicing sexy faces in the mirror, making sure my cat eyes were painted with subtle taste. My hair had grown back into its normal style, a highly textured, shoulder-length cut with side-swept bangs. I used to dye it black with a bleached-blonde streak. It’s natural color was close enough to black for anyone to notice.

“Okay. I’m so excited,” I cooed. “Anyway, I’ll let you go. Be safe. I love you.”

His voice went deep and brassy, like Harrison Ford’s. “I love you too. I’ll see you soon.”

After a brief exchange of kissy noises, I pressed the cancel button on my Cingular flip phone.

It had been almost a year since Simon and I first met at a local punk show. He was a friend of the touring band and caught a ride with them. He stood by the merch table and charmed the pants off everyone who stopped by. I already knew who he was, however I was too shy to add him on myspace. At time time, Cassie and I had a shared profile. We were called Katsie, half Katy and half Cassie. Our intention was to keep each other in check, especially regarding boy drama.

When Simon and I first met eyes, he leapt over the table and introduced himself. I didn’t expect him to be so tall, or so fit. We chatted between every band, ignoring Cassie. He wouldn’t let me leave before exchanging numbers. He seemed so genuine… less aloof than other guys who had been especially friendly to me. No wonder he was so popular.

But it made sense for him to know so many more people than me. He was nineteen and I had just finished 11th grade. I’d have a chance to spread my wings, once I was legally allowed to go where I wanted, whenever I wanted.

Over the next few weeks, Simon and I talked on the phone a lot. He was such a dream boat. Apparently he’d always wanted to know someone like me. Wow. Every day we emailed each other pictures of ourselves.

“What did you do today?” he would ask, exhaling his cigarette.

“Well, I got my hair cut,” I said, one time.

He spoke quickly. “Woah, really? How did you get it cut?”

“Just the same as I always do.”

He never got tired of telling me I was beautiful but I didn’t think I was anything special. I’m five foot five and wear size zero jeans. As you might expect, I don’t have much in the way of tits. Cassie was built like a real woman. Before school started, she cut her hair into a reverse mullet and all the guys were suddenly into her. Good for Cassie. I hadn’t had much time for her anymore. Simon was pretty much all I ever thought about.

It was around then, we confessed our love to each other. Then we started having phone sex every night. I’d bite down on my Aladdin pillow case and cum, gazing into a photo of him I’d printed at the library.

We made plans to see each other over my christmas break. He was going to drive up and we were just going to hang out during the day for a couple days. We decided not to go all the way until I was 18. We weren’t even going to hang out in his hotel room. Not alone.

That was only a few months away. I could wait. A few months was nothing compared to the rest of our lives, which I had been privately planning. Simon was the love of my life.

Out of the blue, he asked me, “Do you like Cassie’s haircut?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged, doodling in my journal. “Do you like it?”


“All the guys seem to like it. Why are you asking about this?”

“I just don’t want you to think I won’t like it if you cut-your-hair-short.”

“Okay…” I chewed my pen. “Are you trying to say something about my hair?” I always thought I had nice hair, at least nicely styled.

He exhaled into the receiver a couple times and I wondered what the fuck he was mustering the courage to tell me.

“Yes,” he said, and sighed again. “I just thought you should know sooner than later. I have a real thing for short hair cuts. Pretty girls getting really short hair cuts.”

“I see.” I didn’t know what to do with that information. “Do you think about cutting my hair?”

“Yes. There’s like an emotion that I feel when I think of a girl cutting her long hair very short. It really gets me off. It’s a fetish.”

Aside from my stupid dye job, I had only ever worn my hair the same way. Presumably, he had hopes of cutting my hair in real life. How could I say no? He had just shared something so intimate with me. More intimate than sex.

After that, our phone sex included talks of cutting, buzzing, and shaving my hair. We decided that when we saw each other, Simon would cut my hair into a short bob, very short without altering my identity. Then I would grow my hair out. Once we were at a point where we could see each other and have real sex every day, Simon would cut my hair short all the way.

We definitely did hands stuff during his December visit, even in his car. He was always hard. I ended up getting my short bob haircut in my usual salon. Wearing a red beret, I looked like Adrian from the first Rocky movie. Amazingly, Simon hit it off with my parents. It reminded me of the first time we met. It seemed like everyone loved him, no matter where he was.

We still had a few months to work out our plans for fall. Whether or not either of us were taking classes, we were going to live together. By mail, Simon signed a lease on a studio apartment downtown and had his job transfered to the Hot Topic here.

I tapped my fingers on my phone, sitting at my old desk, knowing if I left my room I’d just be pacing around the house-or the yard. Today he was picking me up and we were going to our very own apartment. We were going to have sex for the first time and Simon was going to cut off all my hair.

It’s just a blur of emotion from this point until we got to the apartment, somehow.

We decided to practice having sex a few times before I got my serious haircut. The first night we did it twice, and considered ourselves pretty good at sex. We moved both of the bathroom mirrors into the bedroom/living room, facing the mattress on the floor. We also did it in the shower.

It was after we moved in the table and folding chairs, so it must have been the 2nd morning. We had just had one of those shower sessions and I sat in my bathrobe, running a comb through my wet hair, while Simon made pop tarts. We both prefered maple and brown sugar.

“You know. Since you’re hair’s wet, it might be convenient to cut it now. I didn’t bring a spray bottle,” Simon said. I was so caught up everything else, the big haircut didn’t seem like such a big deal anymore. It was just another part of my new life.

“Yeah. Let’s do it.” We shared a smile and I remembered how much this haircut had meant to him. We talked about it almost every night, for so many months.

He pinned our checkered tablecloth around my neck and ran his fingers through my hair. It felt so good. Just yesterday I’d woken up to him coiling one of my locks tightly around his thick finger. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to do that anymore. Simon attached a guard to his clippers and gently placed them on the counter. I licked my lips and stared off, suddenly feeling anxious in the face of all this change in my life. Suddenly it was all going to have… lasting, visible, consequences. There will be no pretending to anyone that nothing happened. What if this whole shacking-up thing didn’t work out? It didn’t matter. I had decided to do this months ago and I had all that time to change my mind.

“Let’s do it.” I smiled and pulled Simon in for a kiss.

We propped a mirror on one of the kitchen windows and Simon took a ‘before’ picture before giving me my first real haircut.

He started at my sides, angling his scissors up and cutting just about as short as he could. My little ears poked out, pale against the shortly cropped hair surrounding them. I made a devil horns in the mirror, for a minute feeling cool with my wet hair in what looked like a grown out fashion hawk.

As instructed, I put my head down, surprised at how long some of my clumps of hair were, sprawling on the floor. Before, I figured my hair probably wasn’t long enough to donate. My head began to feel very cool, under the ceiling fan. I began to feel dizzy in its spinning shadows.

“How do you feel babe?” I spoke in a practiced near-whisper. It was my sexy voice.

“I feel amazing. Thank you for letting me do this. I don’t know how I got to be so lucky.”

I shivered a bit, putting my cool hand on my cool neck. It used to get so hot, back when I had hair.

He started at the crown and worked his way forward, still cutting just as short as he could, not even leaving me bangs. I looked so pale in all the spots my hair used to cover. I could see a lot more of myself, that was sure. I never knew I had a jaw before. My eyes weren’t 100% straight, either. They were just slightly crossed. Not one piece of my hair was longer than an inch. I ran a hand through it and outlined my ear and jaw. My hair was beginning to dry and it felt so soft and full. It curled a bit, not knowing where to fall.

Simon, who had also just been looking at me for a bit, nuzzled the soft hair on the side of my head. Gently, he kissed my ear and with his tongue, poked at my helix piercing. I tasted my lip and felt for his cock. It was so hard it could have ripped right through his shorts.

I sat straight, figuring I should go ahead and let him finish.

The clippers were loud, zoning in behind my ear. They mowed through my hair, leaving what seemed to be nothing until I saw myself in the mirror. There was still a darkness to the buzzed area of my hair. Months ago, we’d decided on the cut. It was going to be this 3/8” buzzed length for most of it and faded to bald on the sides and the back.

Simon pulled off the guard and I got light headed, feeling the soft fuzz on my head. I thought this cut would make me feel more like a boy, but it didn’t. Instead, I looked like a model or something. A short model, I guess.

“You look fucking amazing,” Simon groaned, sounding hungry.

At first he trembled, shaving higher up the back than he’d intended to. Oh well, the fade would just go higher than expected. He was an amateur after all. Part of me hoped none of my old friends would recognize me around town, with such a drastic, uncharacteristic haircut. Since when did Katy ever change anything about herself? What did it matter? It was summer after graduation. We were all moving on, toward the things we’d been wanting.

The clippers clicked off and dropped to the floor. Then I felt his lips on my scalp, as he breathed into the back of my ear. I stood up and, skipping, pulled him away from the big pile of hair. I yanked off the tablecloth and let my bathrobe fall. Fom the far wall, my shadow watched with the poise of a goddess. No more hair. Just fuzz. Fearless in my love. I tasted my lip and blushed, catching Simon’s lustful gaze.

He hugged me from behind and kissed along my neck. His eyelashes tickled the scalp near my temple. I pulled his body into mine and his wavy hair brushed at my forehead and hairline.

“I love you,” Simon whispered. I stared into his eyes, feeling his hot breath on my nose. Simon put both hands on my head, as if he meant to pull back my hair to kiss my face.

I pressed my bare chest into his and pulled down his shorts. Then we got really busy.

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