Piekje
Vacation time—one day too wet, the next too hot. Speaking of hot… During my last visit to Lizzie, she had a surprise for my birthday. Barely a few minutes in her room, there was a knock at the door. Her colleague Linda stepped inside. She congratulated me, looked me straight in the eyes with those big, mesmerizing pupils, and said, “I’m here to cut your hair.”
I froze. Sweat formed on my forehead. I asked if she was a hairdresser.
“No, but my daughter is.”
She gave me a kiss on the cheek, left the room, and called out, “Have fun, you two!”
Lizzie burst out laughing. She was nearly crying from it. A perfect prank in line with the hair-cutting fantasy I’d shared with her for so long, ever since I’d let my hair grow out.
“I hope you’re not sharing our little secret with all your coworkers?” I asked.
“Of course not,” she said. “But Linda is a good friend. I could trust her with it.”
We laughed, then quickly gave in to passion.
Lizzie’s now on an extended holiday. When she’ll be back? No one knows.
The last time I booked a session with someone else, it was a disaster on every level. I swore I’d only ever go to Lizzie again. But… when would that be?
The itch was back. Linda seemed like a lovely woman, though it also felt a little like cheating. Then again, Lizzie would probably just shrug if I told her.
Only thing is—let’s just say—Linda’s not exactly my type physically. Not like the girls I usually go for. But still, we’d had lots of little chats. There was something warm and kind about her. A sweetheart, really.
So… should I?
I started gathering courage. I blasted Satan by Orbital through my living room speakers.
“It’s better to regret something you have done than to regret something you haven’t done.”
With that in mind—and with lead in my shoes—I made an appointment with Linda.
She welcomed me warmly, and I practically drowned in those big eyes of hers. It was like she hypnotized me. Or maybe I was just half out of it from the nerves.
We joked a little. Shared a few kisses.
Then Linda ran her fingers through my hair and brought up the birthday joke.
“You really didn’t know what to do with yourself, did you?” she said. “I thought, ‘cheeky Lizzie’s actually going to give him a proper haircut.’”
I told her about how the fantasy had always been more of a foreplay thing. That Lizzie, in all that time, had only ever snipped two tiny locks—one of which already felt like a huge deal.
She always did it so casually.
A couple of times she teased me, asking if she could cut it all, and then said, “If it turns out horrible, you can always go to a real hairdresser afterward.”
“It still turns you on, doesn’t it? The idea of someone who’s not a pro cutting your hair? Or is it just a fantasy? Maybe it should stay that way. I mean, Lizzie’s lovely, but I’m not her.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
“Well, our dear Lizzie can tease like no one else—and then pull back. I totally get why you’re crazy about her.
But me? I’m wired differently. I’m always the first to step on the gas as soon as the light turns green.
If I were in her place, you wouldn’t have gotten away with just a little lock. The moment you said ‘yes’, half your hair would’ve been gone already.”
She laughed loudly.
“God, just thinking about it makes me hot.”
She wasn’t the only one. I sat there, mouth open, pulse rising.
My mind flashed to those videos where curvy—no, honestly, voluptuous—women give their partners drastic makeovers.
Even though I naturally go for what they call the “French whisper girls”—think Jane Birkin, Françoise Hardy, size 36 or even 34—those videos always sent a rush through me.
I was feeling that now.
Linda looked at me, those big eyes sparkling.
“So you’re warned. If you start talking about your hair again…”
“So trimming a little off the ends—that’s not really your thing, huh?”
“Oh, it is. In my way. First, the bulk. Then, the tips.
So what’s it gonna be? I actually brought some stuff from my daughter. Just in case.”
This was a now-or-never moment. The excitement, the tension—it was overwhelming.
But so was the fear of how I’d look afterward.
“In this room? That’s going to make a mess—hair everywhere. And no mirror.”
“Mirror? Why would you need a mirror? You don’t have to see it. Better to feel it.”
She smiled slyly.
“And the mess? I’ve got a solution.”
She took my hand and led me to the sliding door that opened to a small, secluded patio.
Just before we stepped out, she stopped.
“Know this: once you cross this threshold, there’s no turning back. The scissors come out immediately.
And I’ve also got—” she peeked into her daughter’s bag “—something for the finishing touch.”
I didn’t say a word. I just looked at her.
She stepped across the threshold.
My hand still in hers, arms stretched.
“I’ll let go… or are you coming?” she whispered.
My heart pounded. She started to let go—but I gripped her hand tighter.
She pulled me gently over the threshold. Her grin stretched wide.
There was a chair in the middle of the patio.
She pushed me down onto it with her hands on my shoulders. Then, slightly awkward but determined, she straddled my lap, facing me. The bag of tools wedged between us.
I tried to lift my hands to shield my eyes.
She pushed them down.
A deep breath—first from her, then from me.
She grabbed a large pair of scissors.
With one hand, she pulled up all the hair on my right side.
Snip.
The blades closed near my scalp.
She held up a massive clump of gray hair, paused to let me see, then slowly dropped it bit by bit onto her cleavage.
She repeated the same move on the left side.
Then she massaged the hair at the back and crown of my head.
“You’ve never gone all the way, have you?” she whispered.
“I’m going to give you that gift.”
She kissed me on the mouth.
I hadn’t even noticed her pulling a set of clippers from the bag.
She grabbed my long bangs, lifted them up and back—
Bzzzzzzz
—and set the buzzing clippers right in the middle of my forehead.
Laughing, wide-eyed, she drove them straight back.
If there’d been any chance of turning back, it was now almost completely gone.
With passionate precision, she buzzed me down to a few millimeters away too.
I whispered, stunned, “How am I ever going to explain this to Lizzie?”
Linda giggled. “I’ll tell her for you.”
