Mom’s hair chop.
I’m 16. My mom’s 38 years old. She is gorgeous. My mom rarely works out, but she does a lot of activity around the house and she’s always in perfect shape. Her dressing style’s not bad. Me and my mom are close and great friends too. But there’s always been one thing I’ve always hid from everyone who knows me- my hair fetish. I have a secret liking, or rather weakness, to extremely long, thick and straight black or brown hair. I love seeing pictures on the internet of girls and young women who are just like Rapunzel. But I like cutting such hair even more. I like seeing long haired girls getting massive haircuts or even head shaves (though a rare number of girls do that). Until I was 4 years old or so, my mom had a pixie cut. That was when my father left her for some woman “with long hair.” And from then on, she started growing it long, extremely long. She took special medicines to grow it, saved a significant portion of money just for hair products, and really was obsessed with her rapidly growing hair. Today, her hair reaches her way below her calves, almost till her feet. As most people might expect, it is probably the most well-maintained hair in the whole world. For my mom, it’s her most prized possession ever. For the past 12 years, my mom’s never been to the salon even once, nor has she ever let scissors come even close to her hair. Surprisingly, even though she hasn’t been to the salon even once, her hair doesn’t have any damage whatsoever. It’s extremely thick, very straight (my mom hates curls and split ends) and is black. My mom usually keeps her hair either long and flowy or she ties it like a tight (and very thick) braid, which hangs below her knees. And as you might have guessed it already, it’s the perfect kind of hair to suit my fetish. And indeed, it is. Me and my mom still co-sleep, which means we sleep together on the same bed even though I’m 16. My mom is always very tired when she comes home, and she immediately falls asleep when her head touches the pillow. I, however, am reminded of my fetish as soon as I see her hair, and I can barely fall asleep. I usually play with her hair when she’s asleep. I touch it, stroke it, pull it gently and sometimes even lick and chew her hair. Since the hair is so long, she usually doesn’t feel me doing anything to her hair. At this point, you might be wondering, if me and my mom are so close, why couldn’t I just go and tell her about my hair fetish? I have tried to, but I just can’t muster enough courage to tell her I have a fetish. I usually start off with something like, “Mom, your hair is so beautiful!” and then she just changes the topic to something about school. I dared not mention to her that I wanted to cut her hair, because I knew she’d be furious and that she’d feel really uncomfortable. Anyway, this was how it went for months, me playing with her hair, but never telling her how I felt. But the fetish in me was growing. Growing uncontrollable. One night before sleeping, I happened to use her bathroom, and then I saw something that terrified me and gave me a huge burst of joy at the same time- a pair of scissors. Seriously, scissors. Then it struck me. My mom kept those scissors just for miscellaneous purposes like cutting tags and covers (there was no other place to keep it, our house is too small). I couldn’t control myself anymore. There were scissors I could sneak to the bed and cut my mom’s hair with! What else could I hope for? So that night, when she asked me to come and sleep, I told her I had a school project and that I would sleep once I finished it. She agreed and went off to the bedroom. Even though I told her I had a project, what I was actually doing was devising a plan on how to cut her hair. I decided I would cut little because my mom examined her hair extremely carefully. But she never measured her hair’s length as centimetres or inches. So that night, when I went to sleep, I sneaked with me a measuring tape and the scissors. She was fast asleep and was turned away from me, with her hair lying behind her, about to be attacked by me. Lucky for me, that night she kept her hair as a tight braid, which when I measured it using the tape, was 72 inches long, which is 182 centimetres long. 72 inches! I figured that chopping off a couple of inches would not do any harm, because my mom’s hair was so long, it would be barely noticeable. Then I did it. The scissors crunched through her soft mane. I had done it! I cut my mom’s long hair! With 3 inches of silk like hair in my hands, I crept out of bed, went to my cupboard and stored it inside. Feeling content and happy, I got a good night’s sleep. The next day, as I expected, my mom did not see that 3 inches of her pride were missing. It all went fine. However, that night, I could not control myself at all. Once again, I took the scissors, and crunched them through her hair. That’s when it went slightly wrong. I tugged her braid a little too much, and she turned a little. I had to hide immediately, and in the scramble, I chopped of 4 more inches! When I measured the chopped silk, it was 7 inches. I hated myself for doing it. The next morning, I was eating my breakfast, and my mom was combing her long hair. Suddenly, she shrieked and called me. When I asked her what happened, she said,
“Jake, can you see my hair? I think it has lost a little length, maybe 6-7 inches!!”
My heart stopped for a second. But I quickly stammered,
“Yes mom, I’ll see it. Mom, I don’t think it has shrunk in length at all. You must be imagining it.”
“Maybe, Jake. But what if someone’s cutting it without my knowledge?”
“I really don’t think anybody would be doing that. I mean, who would want to cut Rapunzel’s hair like yours?”
Though I sounded confident, inside I was terrified. However, even the discussion we had earlier could not stop my fetish from bounding me to cut my mom’s hair that night too. I followed the usual procedure, crept up and was about to start cutting the silk, when she turned around. In the dark, she was staring at me, angry but also terrified at the sight of me holding scissors, ready to cut her hair.
“So it was you, Jake?”
“I’m sorry mom.”
“You are the worst son ever!”
Saying so, she asked me to sleep in the couch. I felt terrible. This was probably the worst thing that could happen. I could barely sleep the whole night. The next morning was obviously awkward. My mom did not speak to me. I went to school and came back, only to find mom sitting on the couch. She was holding the pieces of hair I cut over the past 2 days. She had looked into my cupboard.
“Can you explain this, Jake? Precisely, 9 inches of my hair was cut off in two days. And all along, you were the culprit.”
Now, I had no other option but to tell her about my fetish.
“Mom, I’m sorry, but I have a fetish for long, thick, straight and silky black hair like yours. I like cutting such hair. It’s something that I can’t overcome no matter how hard I try. Your hair is just gorgeous. You are a real Rapunzel. And that’s exactly what my fetish is about. I am apologizing.”
Saying so, I looked at her. She had mixed emotions in her eyes, full of anger and fury but also empathy.
“You could have just told me so, Jake. You could have told me so.”
Saying this, she went into the bedroom. I wasn’t happy. Nor was my mom. She became softer emotionally. For the next few weeks, I used to see her daily, combing her lustrous, luxuriant hair, and no matter how much I was turned on, I had to control myself.
And then, I lost it. I just couldn’t hold it in me anymore. I went to the supermarket and brought clippers. Once I reached home, I took the clippers and the scissors and went to her when she just finished braiding her mane.
“Mom. I’ve had enough. Today, I’m chopping your braid, and you can’t stop me from doing it. Your braid will get reduced to a smooth bald head today. Your pride will be shattered to a chopped braid and some smooth hair lying on the floor. You did not even try to help me with my fetish. Was it so hard to let me play with your hair every night? You have never understood me or talked to me about my fetish, and today I’ll pay you back. Forget 9 inches, I will chop all 72 inches off! Be prepared!”
“Jake? B…B…But w…w…why? What is wrong with my braid? Is it so hard to control yourself from a simple woman’s defining feature? My hair is my pride and all I ever hoped for. I worked 12 years, slogging just to grow it this long. And you just want to chop it off so simply? That… that isn’t f…f…fair at all!”
“You will be bald now.”
Saying so, I dragged her by her braid painfully, almost ripping her hair out, threw her onto a chair, and caped her, a woman sobbing uncontrollably, very much distressed at the thought that in a few minutes, she would be reduced to nothing but a bald mess.
I chopped her braid. 50 inches of it and held it in my hands and showed it to a distraught woman. That thick braid, which I dreamt of chopping every night, now lay chopped in my hand. I was rejoicing like a mad boy! But I was far from done. I plugged in the clippers, switched them on, to the terror of my mother and shaved her head, starting right from the middle. Then I completed the rest of her head. I had done it! I had fulfilled my dream of chopping my mom’s braid and shaving her head! I picked up the hair and tied it into a ponytail. My mom was in hysterics. Her face was red, her eyes were swollen, all from the crying. And I don’t know why, but I just laughed at her bald face.
Since then on, I have forced her to continue taking the medicines she took earlier to grow her hair. In addition, I’m giving her medicines like minoxidil and finasteride. Using these, she could grow silky, smooth and thick straight hair up to her ass in just one month. At the end of one month, I shaved her head bald again, and donated the mane. I do this every month. I force her to grow her hair till her ass and then shave it off into a smooth bald head with her crying all the time. Donating such long and thick silk every month earns me a steady income now. Mom still has a curvy body, but without her mane and braid, she is a mere shadow of her former glorious self because a bald head lies where once stood a magnificent braid, a woman’s pride.
This is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Thank you so much for reading! This is my first ever story! A lot of time and effort went into this one. I sincerely hope you enjoy it! Thanks!