Little Clit, Big Clit

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Little Clit, Big Clit

 

By Dreadlocks

 

Prologue

 

Okay, girls. Let’s have a serious little chat here. My name is Cameron Till. As a woman, born into this world with all of the accoutrements so associated with being female, I have to ask you all a question: Why is it that every single part of my body seems to have a direct link to my clitoris? :}

Now, for you guys out there that are struggling with that single glans that sits atop your penis, you may find this difficult to understand. When you go down on a girl, what you’re seeing is this tiny little nub that responds so well to your tongue or your finger, or whatever else you seem to want to stimulate us with.

What you are actually seeing is just the tip of the iceberg. The clitoris is so much more than what you see. Picture a wishbone, you know, the kind you snap after a turkey dinner. The legs of that wishbone wrap delicately around our vaginal opening but do seem to be interconnected with just about every other nerve ending in our bodies.

Let me give you some examples that seem to have a direct link to that most precious of all female possessions. Behind the ear, along the sides of the neck, inside of the wrist, nipples, navel, etc, etc. the list goes on. We seem to be wired for arousal, and that can sometimes be a problem. Here is where my story begins…

 

The Bliss of a Brush

 

I remember as a child, my mother brushing my hair. Now, for some, this was an arduous task, with snarls and tangles giving both mother and child fits. For me, it was a very different affair.

Yes, I’ll admit, like every child, we struggled with tangles, but what followed as she ran the brush through my jet straight blonde hair, was hard to describe as a small child. Each time the brush would meet my part and its bristles would run through the hair and across my scalp, little electric charges seemed to travel through my body, all centering somewhere in my belly; a ticklish sort of feeling.

Now, I could get into the whole ticklish in a child vs arousal in an adult, but that might be better left to the criminologists. Needless to say, I enjoyed having my hair brushed, and would even begin brushing it myself just to elicit these feelings.

As I grew older, the feelings became much more centered, concentrated lower in my belly, until I entered puberty, and they connected once and for all, to my clitoris.

I began to wonder if I was the only girl in the world that could have these feelings simply by brushing my hair. Of course, the subject was far too personal to ever broach with any of my teenage friends. I worried they might think I was weird or something. God forbid, you got labeled as weird, because that was a fate worse than death.

Each morning, and each evening I would spend twenty minutes or so brushing my hair. The sensations that would course through my body were beyond visceral. It was almost an out-of-body experience. Slowly, as I reached a certain point, I could feel the throbbing evolve into a hollow beam of something bordering on pain and pleasure, all centered between my legs.

I was never quite certain whether I actually experienced an orgasm strictly by brushing my hair. I knew it was a different sensation than that experienced from direct stimulation. It was more subtle, but certainly longer lasting. Often the glow of arousal would stay with me for nearly an hour after a long session of brushing.

As I grew older, the idea of trying to elicit such a response through something as time-consuming as brushing my hair seemed to fall by the wayside. It was far easier to simply masturbate, or allow my girlfriend to stimulate me with her fingers or tongue. I suppose I should have prefaced this piece by explaining that I am and have always known I was gay.

High school came and went, along with a few different relationships, some serious, and some more friends with benefits as it were. College was upon me, and I knew that I needed to make some changes before I left home.

 

A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

 

One thing was certain. I didn’t want to be in a new environment and be seen as anything other than a lesbian. I knew what I had to do, I just hated the idea of it. Looking in my bedroom mirror, I brushed my long blonde hair for the last time, before taking the plunge.

The plunge, as I called it, was going to be a trip to Art’s barbershop. It was your typical barbershop, catering almost exclusively to men. There was one exception. That exception was a woman named Janet.

Janet was the only female barber in town, and she just happened to do her business at Art’s. Everyone knew she was a lesbian, but most especially those of us with a similar ilk. I’d seen her around town with her girl, and it gave me some reassurance that it was okay to be gay.

She saw me walk in and waved, shaking her head as I went to grab a number off the rack. Opting to follow her advice I sat down, emptyhanded. A little time went by and I watched as a few men and boys got their hair clipped, but I seemed to be the only girl.

“You ready, honey?” I remember hearing. She stood there with her cape draped over her left arm, the right steadying the large barber chair for me. Nervously, I climbed in, wondering if this was actually what I wanted to do.

“I was wondering when I would see you in here. Cameron, is it?” She supposed.

“Cam.” I corrected, shakily. “Everyone calls me Cam.”

“Alright, Cam. I’m thinking you want to get rid of all this.” She ran her fingers down through the length of my hair, and almost annoyingly, I felt that tingle of electricity in my loins.

“I’m heading for university in a few weeks, and…” I stuttered.

“You want to look the part.” Janet finished for me. I looked up at her, the stark flat-top-style haircut she wore so indicative of who she was.

“Yes. Exactly.” I sighed, relieved to be understood.

“I get it. The last thing you want is a bunch of college boys sniffing after you.” She chuckled. I joined her, nervously. “It’s alright to be nervous, Cam. You get attached to a thing like this, and sometimes, even though it’s what you want more than anything, it’s hard to let go.”

“I’m so glad I came to you for this,” I admitted.

“Well, me too, Cam, me too.” She ran a comb down the length of my hair, and I struggled to keep a straight face. I know she noticed but thankfully said nothing. She wrapped a cape around my neck and smoothed it down. “I guess I have to ask, are you donating this. It’d be a shame not to.” She suggested.

“To be honest, I never even thought about it. I think, yes. Can you…”

“We have a charity that we send the hair to, Cam. I’ll take care of it.” Janet smiled, and it was as though I felt at ease suddenly. She wouldn’t let anything happen to me, somehow, I knew that.

I felt her wrap my hair with a rubber band over and over, so it was super tight. I could feel it tugging at the back of my head. “Now, this is the hard part. I’m going to cut off the length. You go ahead and cry, if that’s what you want to do. It’s alright.”

But, I didn’t cry. As the scissors crunched through strand after strand of my hair, all I felt was elation. It was almost as if I was severing a tie that so desperately need to be cut.

All of a sudden, I felt an enormous weight lift from the back of my head, so much so that I felt like it might float right off my neck if it weren’t attached. Janet held the three-foot ponytail up so that I could see it, one last time, before she deposited it into a plastic bag.

I reached back, feeling the drastically shorter hair that seemed to sprout from my nape. I looked over at Janet. “It’s short.”

“Ha. Not nearly as short as it’s going to be, honey.” She swung the chair towards her and looked me straight in the eye. “Now, I’m going to ask you one time. When you hit that campus, do you want everyone to know who you are, without question?”

I met her stare and nodded my head. “Absolutely.”

“Do you trust me?” She asked, raising one eyebrow, inquisitively.

“Janet, yes, implicitly,” I assured her.

“Okay, then, here we go.” She spun me back, so I was staring at myself in the mirror, my severed hair flying every which way. I saw her lift the clippers from the counter and flip the switch at their base, the blades whirring against one another.

 

A Little Privacy, Please.

 

It was when the metal touched my neck that I knew I was in serious trouble. The pitch of the machine lowered as the teeth bit into my hair, and I felt the cold of the steel against my virgin scalp. I did everything in my power to stifle it, but it was almost involuntary. I gasped, audibly.

The clippers fell silent, and Janet swung around to look at me. “Are you okay? Did I nip you?” Right about then, a huge smile crept in, as she saw my face. She leaned in and whispered in my ear. “You’re one of those lucky girls with two clits, aren’t you?”

I tried to assume what she meant and had a pretty good idea, so I simply nodded. I must have turned six shades of red.

“Well. We can’t very well have you whooping and hollering in here now, can we?” She looked up at the other barber. “Art, I’m taking my break, and I’m bringing her with me.”

I looked over and saw him shrug, but a certain smile seemed to indicate he knew more than he was letting on. Janet grabbed a few things from the counter, including the clippers, and led me into the back of the shop. Opening a door, she pointed inside.

There, in its own private space was another barber chair. “We use this to cut clients after hours, by appointment. I think it will serve our purposes just fine.” She laid all her tools on the smaller counter, and spun me to face the rather modest mirror; only just large enough for me to see my head and shoulders.

“Please don’t say I’m weird or anything,” I begged. I quickly went on to tell her about my experiences with the brush and how it had become so important to me.

“Oh, Cam, you’re not weird, you’re blessed,” Janet assured me. “My Penny is the same way.” She leaned in. “She is so bad I have to cut her hair at home, and only when the neighbors are out.” She chuckled.

“Thank you for not… for sharing that with me.” I stuttered.

“Now, don’t think I’m being fresh or anything, I’m a married woman. I’m sure you want to wear those clothes home, so why don’t you slip out of your jeans and undies?”

The idea seemed ludicrous at first. Then as I saw her lay down a clean towel over the leather seat, I realized why. Tentatively, I lowered my jeans, revealing the boxers I insisted on wearing. Suddenly embarrassed, I quickly disposed of those and took my seat on the towel.

“Why, aren’t you a wolf in sheep’s clothing?” Janet chortled, eying the boxer shorts that lay on top of my jeans.

“What do you mean?” I asked, curiously.

“Hell, Cam, you’re as butch as me.” She smiled. “It’s alright, we’ll take care of that little problem right now.”

She was right, of course. I had always taken the upper hand in all my sexual relationships. I’d just never had the courage to take on the physical attributes.

“You feel free to do whatever you want under that cape.” I knew she was serious, but couldn’t imagine needing to go to those lengths in front of another person, lesbian or not. “Okay, let’s pick up where we left off, shall we…” She mused, “ …with a few modifications to account for your newly revealed secret.”

As soon as the blades began peeling the hair from the back of my head, all bets were off. Unbelievable sensations were coursing through my body, and I just couldn’t. As hard as I tried to stop it, I could not keep my fingers away from my sex.

I knew that Janet had stripped the entire back of my head of its blonde covering, but somehow that fact escaped me, as the sensations just kept coming. She moved to the sides, first the left then the right. I watched as deep divots were carved out around my ears, right down to my pale white scalp underneath.

The clippers once again fell silent as Janet changed blades, the only sound in the room was my uncontrolled panting, as I tried desperately to catch my breath. Then it started all over again. The clippers climbed higher this time, almost to the top of my head and for a fleeting second, I wondered if I was going to have any hair left at all. It didn’t matter. Just then, she could have shaved me bald, and I wouldn’t have objected.

Once again, I felt the silence in the room envelope me, as she slipped a plastic comb over the front of the blades. “Here’s the little modification.” She informed me. I felt my loins catch fire once again as the clippers wound up, only this time she brought them right to the top of my forehead.

I quite literally exploded. As the blades drove over the top of my head, I felt my entire body arch upwards, my hand frantically working my little clit, while Janet did her best to expose the big one. Swath after swath, blonde rain falling everywhere, until it was over.

The only sound was the soft music playing on the stereo, and my labored breathing as I floated somewhere above the room. It took a few minutes for me to come back down to earth, but when I finally did, Janet just smiled.

“All done, Cam. What do you think?” Clearing my eyes with screwed-up fists, I stared into the mirror. The girl looking back was a totally different Cameron Till. The hair on top of my head was only just long enough to almost lay down, but not quite. The sides and back were shaved down to the skin, except for an inch wide border where it had been blended into the top. If there was any doubt about my being butch, it was long gone now.

I cleared my throat. “It looks great.” I grinned, running my fingertips over the denuded skin. I could sense the tremor again, but I was so satiated that it just rippled down my skin. “Janet, about what…”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I won’t say anything if you won’t.” She chuckled.

“Right.” And with that, she whisked the cape from around my half-naked form and left me to get dressed. Looking down at the towel, I was embarrassed by the patch of my own juices that had soaked a six-inch circle at its center. If it weren’t for Janet’s suggestion, I would have been walking out with a sopping wet crotch. Using the towel, I cleaned up as best I could and got dressed.

I paid Janet and offered her a generous tip, which she refused, instead offering me a piece of sage advice. “Watch out where you get your hair cut, honey. You could land yourself in a world of trouble.”

Realizing what she meant, I nodded and wished her and Penny well. She said to stop in any time when I was home, but be sure and make an after-hours appointment. I smiled, running a hand over my head before slipping through the door.

Of course, my mother practically wigged out when she saw me without my hair for the first time, but she soon learned to accept it as part of who I am. Over the next few days, I learned to cope with having two clits.

Orgasms were a breeze, a simple caress of my shaven pate, and a few strokes between my legs, had me writhing in ecstasy. Convenient, and at the same time, dangerous. Accidental stimulation was all too easy, having the potential of being overtly humiliating. So far, there’s only been one close call.

As I pen this story, I’m packing my footlocker for school, confident that I will be seen for exactly who I am. I only hope that I don’t reveal too much, and at the wrong time.

5 responses to “Little Clit, Big Clit

  1. Thank you all for your gracious comments. I am actually considering a sequel to this story, although I haven’t formulated where I might take our lucky Cameron as she experiences college. I think she may be in for an interesting time.
    Claire

  2. This illustrates a very intriguing interpretation of the hair fetish phenomenon. The idea that the skin of the head is an erogenous zone isn’t new. I’ve seen writings by Buddhist monks attesting to the intense erotic dreams following their taking of vows. But Claire, your story pretty much puts the point on the ‘i’ in this regard.

    The only thing that bothers me is that if we follow this logic all the way to the end, ‘little clit-big clit’, we boys then have ‘little dicks-big dicks’ when our heads are shorn and become effectively ‘dick-heads’.

    There must be a better way of phrasing that…
    Stan

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