I have times when I really want to cut my hair much shorter than normal. My boyfriend hates it when I do. But, I like it. Well, I like the actual cutting of my hair, as it is exciting and nervous to me, but I do not usually like the end result of my haircut, usually that is. There are a couple of stylists in town who have a reputation for cutting your hair shorter than you ask for. I think it’s scary to go to them, and I have not done that yet, but I know who they are, but at times I ‘want’ to go to them. I just want a short haircut and don’t dare ask for it, most of the time. Many times I think that I should try to get in to get my haircut by these “reputation for doing shorter haircuts than asked for people.”
I have a stylist that I almost always go to, her name is Lisa. She trims my hair every 4 weeks. There are times when I ask her for a slightly shorter cut, but it does not seem much different than her usual trims! I come away from the salon disappointed because I had built up this incredible amount of energy and courage to ask her for a slightly shorter cut, and it’s not really anything much more than the usual trim!
After my last haircut with Lisa, in which I had spent an enormous amount of energy building up courage asking her for a shorter haircut, and coming away with nothing more than an extra half inch of hair being cut off, I decided to make an appointment with Deanna, at the salon close to my work place. Deanna is well known for cutting your hair much shorter than you ask for. All my friends and co-workers know her reputation. She is a stylist who is not afraid to cut off some hair!
I decided to book an appointment with Deanna. I was somewhat afraid to do so, but I was tired of Lisa not cutting my hair shorter than I wanted. And I had an urge to go shorter.
I figured that if I asked Deanna for a trim, after having my hair trimmed by Lisa last week, that it would be a bit shorter than normal, because I expected Deanna to cut off a couple of inches, even if I asked for a trim. That was her reputation.
I was so afraid to ask Deanna for a shorter cut. I just knew that if I asked her for a trim, that it would be shorter anyway! She was known for short cuts.
I decided that I was going to have the courage to ask Deanna for a short haircut. I knew she would cut off 2-3 inches if I asked for a trim. Which was much shorter than if I ever asked Lisa for a trim, which was about an inch at most. I wondered what would happen if I asked Deanna to cut off 2-3 inches! She would probably cut off 4-6 inches! That would put my hair length at neck length, if she cut off 6 inches. I decided that I might ask for it.
I thought, how can I convince myself to ask Deanna to cut off 2-3 inches, knowing she would cut off 4-6, even though I was craving for a short cut. I wasn’t sure I could ask for it. I was too frightened to do that! I was sure I would chicken out once I got in the chair. I came up with a plan. I have a trinket that is nothing more than a smooth, brown stone that is sometimes called a ‘rubbing stone.” It’s very smooth, and supposed to relieve stress if you rub it. I put it in my glove box of my car. I was calling it, “I’m not going to chicken out of asking for a short haircut stone.”
I told myself, that if I ever went in to have Deanna cut my hair, that if I took the short haircut stone with me into the salon, that there was absolutely no backing out if I had the stone with me. I would ask for a short haircut of having at least 3 inches of hair cut off, knowing that Deanna, with her reputation of cutting hair shorter than one asked for, that she would probably cut 5-6 inches off. It was kind of a way to commit to the cut. If I took it with me, I was not backing out, it would be a short haircut no matter what. I left myself with the chance to leave it in my glove box and just ask for a trim. I could chicken out in the car before I entered the salon if I wanted. But, my pact with myself said that if I actually took the brown stone with me into the salon, I would without question ask for a short haircut.
When Deanna cut my hair, I left the brown stone in my glove box. She politely greeted me a a big smile and a ‘hello Andrea! Nice to see you here.” I’m not sure, but I wondered why she said that. Was it because she wanted me coming here to her all the time, instead of going to a competing stylist, Lisa, across town.
It was not much shorter than I usually have it cut, but a little bit. She cut off a couple of inches when I asked for a trim. That was double what Lisa would cut, but still, it was only a couple of inches gone. I was disappointed with myself again.
I kept the brown stone on the left side of my glove box for several weeks. I never dared bring it into the salon with me! I had a few haircut appointments but never dared to bring the stone with me. At least I was keeping my promise to myself!
I knew that the stone would always be there, and anytime I went for a haircut it would be my pact to myself to get my hair cut short if I brought it into the salon with me. But, I wondered, what if I wanted a super, super short haircut? That had also crossed my mind, as something to use after I had dared to use the brown stone! A super short haircut would be the ultimate fantasy, but one I knew would never happen.
I decided to put a black rubbing stone on the right side of my glove box. If I were to ever bring that into a salon with me, I would tell the stylist to cut my hair as short as she thought it would look good. I knew that this would be something I would want to do at some point in my life, maybe, eventually, maybe in a year or two or many more. The thought of giving the power to someone to cut my hair as short as they wanted was an idea that was a real fantasy to me, but only in my mind. I would never actually act upon it, to give someone that sense of control and power over me. But the stone in my glove box gave me a fantasy. And, the fantasy was good enough to keep me excited! The stone made my life interesting, just knowing it was there in my glove box and that I could use it at anytime!
I started going to Deanna more than Lisa to get my trims. She at least would cut a couple inches each time, instead of the measly half inch or so that Lisa would cut. It had been about 10 or 11 weeks since my last haircut with Deanna and I was ready for another trim.
I began looking at haircut pictures almost every night recently, looking at hairstyles. It did not occur to me that I should have been bringing pictures to Lisa, to show her the shorter cuts that I was asking for. I felt stupid. I had been asking Lisa to cut my hair shorter than normal, and she’d cut an extra half inch, but what I should have been doing was bringing her pictures of how I wanted cut! I have no idea why I did not think of that. Everyone in the world does that! I was just asking for a shorter cut. The pictures of shorter haircuts on the internet began to turn me on and give me courage! Some of the pictures I liked the most involved the neck area being shorn short with clippers. I started saving hundreds of pictures! Mostly because they turned me on. I realized I’d never get my haircut that short, but the thought of it turned me on. And seeing these beautiful short clipper cuts on women was exciting to me! I had saved a couple hundred pictures of hairstyles on my phone!
There was one picture in particular that I always came back to looking at. Actually, I had created a folder of pictures of the ones that I really liked the most, all short. There were 4 pictures in my ‘favorites’ file. The one I liked the most was very short, the cut was above the ears, and obviously clipper cut in the back, about half way up the back of the head, nearly shaved really, probably about an eighth of an inch! The woman in the picture still had the cape on and was sitting in the chair. With the cape on, snapped tightly around her neck, she looked as if she was strapped into the chair itself! I realized that she kind of was strapped there, by the invisible force and desire she had to sit there and let someone use electric clippers to shave up the back of her head! I’d look at it when I was drinking and fantasize about getting my haircut that short, making myself sit in the chair. The other cuts in my favorites folder were short, but they still had hair covering the ears, even though the back was short, even clipper cut short, but to a half inch or so, not buzzed down to 1/8th of an inch.
On a Thursday that I had off from work, I got up with the intention of just staying home and relaxing. The heavy rain outside reinforced that this was a good day to stay inside. I started checking messages on my phone and looking at social media. As usual, while on my phone I started checking haircut pictures and looking at the ones I had saved. It started to arouse me seeing all these pictures. One in particular even showed the clippers in action running up the back of a woman’s head whose hair was about my length, her dark hair like mine being zipped away by the clipper’s teeth, her head being held down by the stylist to get a good full view of the woman’s nape.
The thought came instantly, and it put my body in motion equally as quickly. I nearly jumped out of my recliner and headed to the shower to be ready for the day. The thought was that I would go to Lisa’s and show her one of the 4 cuts I liked the most, the one that was about the longest style of the 4, and see if she could take me in as a walk-in. If she could not, that’d be ok too, but I the inspiration. I was going to do it. This was an exhilarating feeling I had. My heart was pounding in my chest, and the anxiety was making my fingers shake as I buttoned my blouse. I found myself hurrying. I’m not sure if I was hurrying to get to the salon before the feeling passed, or if I was hurrying because I just wanted to be sitting in the chair right now in this very moment having it cut.
I drove directly to Lisa’s salon. As I turned the corner I was deflated. Her car was not at the salon, and I could see that there was a paper taped to the window of the door. I wondered if it might say, ‘be back in 10 minutes,” or something. But when I got out and braved the heavy rain, I saw that it said, “sorry, closed today.”
All this nervous energy for nothing. I was keyed up, and began thinking that I was going to get my haircut at all costs if I could, so I thought about going somewhere else. I realized I should drive over to Deanna’s salon and see if she might have an opening today. The thought of waiting even an hour or so made me nervous. What if I lost the urge to get it cut in that hour or more. No, this was something that had to happen now.
To my relief, Deanna’s shop was open as indicated by the lights through the windows making the dark, rainy day brighten a little. I’m not sure seeing the lights on was a relief or something that made me even more anxious as the thought of the cut might actually happen. I saw Deanna’s blue car parked near the entrance, and there was a pick-up truck next to it. I realized that she probably had a current customer.
My adrenaline really pumped in when I got out of the car to go in to see if she had an opening. I knew that I could not stand being this pumped up for long, and told myself that I’d wait 2 hours for an opening, not more, because I knew I would not be able to stand waiting more than that all keyed up like this. My preference would be to go back home and let it all go as a not meant to be moment if I had to wait more than that.
Rain pelted my face as I ran to the entrance of the salon, and now I understood why Deanna was parked so close to the entrance! I could feel my nervousness everywhere in my body as I entered, I don’t know if I was afraid I would get it cut, or if I’d be nervous that I’d not get it cut. “Hey Andrea,” she said, with her beautiful smile. You are out and about on a miserable rainy day.”
“Yes, I said,” thinking that I was surprising myself that I could actually talk given all the adrenaline I had pumping through me. There were a uneasy seconds of no conversation. I concluded that it was my time to say something, as she had already greeted me and was busy snapping a cape onto a young man of about 20. She is just getting started on a cut, I thought. It is going to be at least awhile before I could get it cut. I wanted so much just to walk into a place and directly sit down in the chair.
Deanna again turned to me with a smile waiting for me to say something. I could not. I was not in my regular state of mind. I was in my “absolutely craving a short haircut” state of mind. She broke the silence and said, “how can I help you Andrea?”
I’m sure my voice wavered when I asked her if she had any openings this morning for a cut. I would be devastated if she didn’t.
“Yeah, I absolutely do, at 10. Mrs. Sanders did not want to venture out in the rain.”
I looked at the clock, it was 930. I finally said, “Oh that’d be great.” “Can I wait here? I asked.” Deanna said of course I could. I actually wanted to see the young man getting his haircut! I always enjoyed watching when my boyfriend got his hair cut with the clippers. Then I thought, oh no, what will he think when he sees me with a short haircut. At that moment I didn’t care. It was my hair, and nothing was going to stop me now. Except time, If I had to wait too long I’d back out. I even thought it quite possible I might back out in the next half hour before I would be in the chair.
My daydream was interrupted when I heard Deanna ask the young man, “the usual,” she said to him. I heard him confirm and then I heard the clippers start wit a loud click. I watched as she turned them off, put them back on the counter, and then went to his back and tightened the cape a bit more. “That ok?” she asked. He again confirmed by nodding his head this time.
The clippers clicked to life again, and I watched as she used her left hand to put on his crown and push his head down. “Chin on your chest please,” she directed at him. He complied but I saw that she kept her hand right on his crown holding it firmly. I was entranced watching his hair being buzzed off the back of his head. I found myself wondering what he was thinking as Deanna was doing this to him. And, I thought, I cannot do this. I will have to get a trim.
I was going to check my phone for a haircut picture that was shorter, but not too short. In my rush to get into the salon I left my phone in the car. I told Deanna I needed to run out the the car for a moment, and when I reached for my phone in the console I saw the glove box. Oh my word, I have my haircut stone! Impulsively, without thinking, as I knew that was the enemy of giving into the short haircut, I reached in. I took a very deep breath. Then another. Don’t think about it I said to myself. On purpose, I grabbed the black stone, leaving the brown one. This would be the clipper cut.
Once back in the salon, I noticed the clock said 9:45. Only one other customer probably then my turn I thought. Maybe the other customer won’t show and I’ll get right to the chair. No backing out now, I had the haircut stone with me. I looked at the young man again. Deanna had lathered up his neck with shaving cream. I watched as she slowly, but with quick, short swipes, shave his neck with a straight razor. I’d never seen that done in person before.
The young man ran his hand up the back of his head, and as he stood up said, “it’s perfect as always, thank you!” Deanna smiled at the compliment and said, no problem.
I was in a trance looking at the pictures on my phone as he left. Then I heard Deanna say, “ready?” I looked at her and she had turned the chair toward me, and standing behind it waiting for me, she patted the back of the chair a few times, as if to say, come sit here, your turn.
I stuttered, ‘oh yes,” but was wondering why I was getting in before 10. I didn’t care. This was it. I sat down and found myself quickly caped, I felt her put a neck strip on and button the cape once again, tightly. It must be a habit of hers, I thought, to snap the cape twice each time, as she had done with the young man.
“What are we doing today?” she asked. She turned me toward the mirror. I rubbed the black haircut stone in my hand. “I was thinking of a big change,” I said.
“Ohhhhhhh,” Deanna said. “Nice!” “How short?”
“Well, I have a picture on my phone,” I said. Then, I remembered, damn, the reason I went to my car was to get my phone, and I got into the glove box and forgot all about it.
“Oh crap,” I said. “My phone is in my car.”
“Well just describe it to me Andrea, no need to go out in that rain again.”
I gulped. I really had wanted to just show her the picture. Now I have to actually put it into words which makes it even more real. At this point I was literally shaking. My heart was beating so fast and so hard I could feel it beating against the neck strip. I was worried Deanna might see it. Deanna did see how nervous I was. She put her hands on my shoulders and said, “A short cut will look great, Andrea.” “You will love a new look.”
I calmed enough to e able to tell her what the haircut looked like. “Well, it’s pretty short,” I said. It is extremely short in the back, even cut with the clippers up a bit in the back.” I felt the haircut stone in my hand. I needed to be truthful to my pact to myself to get it cut short. “Actually, I said, it’s clipper cut quite high in the back, and quite short, almost, no, not almost, as short as the young man that just left.
I saw Deanna quietly mouth the word ‘wow.” “Really, she said.” And what about the sides?”
“Up over the ears,” I said. And the picture has the top left about 3 inches long with some side swept bangs,” I said. That was true.
“Ok, she said, I can do that!” I saw her smile. Yes I’m sure you can I thought. I saw how you were smiling at that young man buzzing the back of his head.
She started sectioning out my hair, which seemed to take forever. I wanted this over with now that the commitment had been made. And, my nervousness had quieted down some, but not much.
She turned the chair so I could face the mirror and began pumping the chair so I was at an optimal height for her. Even this felt arousing for some reason. “I can’t put it back on once I cut it,” she said. I just simply nodded my head quickly a few times to confirm, much like the young man had done earlier.
“Ok,” she said, even though I didn’t even actually say anything. She was acknowledging my nod of the head. All I could see was my head, sticking out of maroon colored cape, with my hair sectioned and clipped at different areas. I saw about 8 clipper guards in a tray on the counter. All lined up by length of the cut I assumed. She picked the one on the end, a red one and snapped it on the clippers that had black and white stripes on them. She stepped behind me, and I knew this was it. I had about one second to back out now. I rubbed the black haircut stone at the same time the clippers clicked to life. She used both hands, clippers running in one of them, to tilt my head down. I expected her to say, ‘chin down on chest,” as she had to the young man, but she didn’t.
I felt the clipper guard on my neck. She held it there for about 5 seconds before doing anything. I wondered what she was doing. I realized, she was giving me a last chance to back out. I rubbed the stone again and said nothing. This was it I told myself, this is going to happen. Enjoy it. I heard the clippers more than felt them. The sound changed as it got higher up my neck. The thick hair was making them work harder, I realized.
She had started right square in the back of my head, but now was starting to run the clippers up the right hand side of the back of my head. As it finished a pass the hair it zipped off slid onto my right shoulder and down into my lap. Deanna’s left hand was still on the crown of my head, holding it down. I tried to look up a little, just to catch a glimpse of what was happening in the mirror, but she felt it and put more firm pressure on my head, indicating I should keep it down.
She let go of my head and I could see she was moving to the left side of the back side of my head. I took the opportunity to put my head up to check out the mirror. I could not see any difference yet, as all the hair that had been cut so far was in the back. But, I could see long strands of hair on my right shoulder. I was transfixed on looking at it. I looked at Deanna, she had turned the clippers off. She moved again to my right side and used her comb to brush the long strands of dark hair onto my cape, as if to keep the shoulder area of the cape clean, for some reason. Then she said, “I can’t believe this rain! We need it though,” she said. I guess she thought it would be polite to engage in casual conversation. I thought, just cut my damn hair. But, I stumbled out a “I know, it’s raining really hard!”
I guess she realized I was not into casual conversation right now. She said, “alrighty then!” As if to say to me, ok, you want nothing but business, let’s keep to business. And as she cut the hair off the back of my head in the back on my left side, the clippers groaned, and she picked up the pace I thought. Then, the clippers ran up the back of my ear and up over the top toward the front of my temple, and hair spilled all over my cape.
After several of the hair clips had been removed and hair clippered off each time a clip came undone, I began to see a new me emerge in the mirror. Deanna never said another word during the entire haircut. She was making short work with the clippers of my hair. There were times when she wold quickly zip them up and down over the same area of a section of my head on the sides and especially in the back. I wondered if I would see white sections of my head as I had seen on the young man before me.
Thinning shears came out, then some small trimmers to go up over my ears and to clean up my nape. Then I wondered, would she put shaving cream on my neck? My heart again quickened. I thought that would be arousing. But, she did not. She spun the chair around a bit and unsnapped the cape and let me get out of the chair. She finally said something, “How do you like it?” I looked in the mirror and actually did not like it. I wanted my hair back now. “It’s great,” I said. Deanna smiled, just as she had when the young man ahead of me in the chair had complimented her.
I ran my fingers over my hair. Up and down the back of my head I felt. It did ‘feel’ incredible! Feeling the small bristles of hair on the entire back of my head, practically up to my crown!” That’s what turned me on the most. I kept feeling it. I caught Deanna looking at me. She said, “feels nice,huh? Before I could answer she said that she enjoyed running her fingers up the backs of the heads of the men she gave clipper haircuts too. “I think it feels amazing.” she said. Then asked, “can I feel yours?”
“Of course,” I said. Then I realized she was motioning for me to sit in the chair. I did so without question. She ran her hands all over my head, and her long nails up the back of my head, and then used a finger to run the entire length of my new hairline in the back. She did this three or four times, back and forth along the hairline. She then said, “Oh, I probably should trim these few hairs on your neck that I missed.”
She again put a cape on me, and a neck strip. I thought to myself, she is not going to cut my hair shorter is she? I was relieved when she picked up the small trimmers and started cleaning my hairline again in a specific area. She really was just trimming a few strays. She put the trimmers down, and put her hand under a dispenser. I could see that it was shaving cream! And before I even knew it she had lathered up the back of my neck and up along the sides to the ears. She is going to use the straight razor! I was about ready to have an orgasm.
I don’t want to forget this haircut, I thought. Then I asked her, “Would you take a picture of my new haircut right now with my phone, Deanna?” I really wished I’d done a before and after, but right now I just wanted a picture of me sitting there, completely in her control, about to have my neck shaved. “Oh no, I left my phone in the car,” I said.
Deanna reached for her own phone on the counter. She started taking some pictures from all angles. At one point she said, put your head all the way down so I can get a good pic of the back. I complied. The shaving of my neck was amazing. Short, quick strokes of the bare metal. And, the warmth of the cream.
Deanna told me she would send me the pictures from her phone of me after work. And at home that evening I kept checking my messages. Nothing. I kept looking at the clock, nearly 6, she must be done work, why isn’t she sending me pictures? About 7 I heard my phone ding. The first picture she sent was of me viewed from the back. My head was all the way down on my chest, my neck was lathered with cream. It was a view of a woman about to have the ultimate fantasy, or nightmare! Her head down, knowing that in seconds the steel of the straight razor would be on her nape.
Deanna said she had more pictures and would send later. I wondered if she was making me wait on purpose. She sent me another one taken after the neck shave. This one was viewed from the front, and I still have the cape on. It reminded me of the picture I had saved on my phone of the woman who just had her own ‘after” haircut taken. Deanna asked me if she could post it on her salon’s social media web page as an advertisement of a haircut. She told me that she really enjoys clipper cutting hair, but especially women’s hair, and did not have much chance to do so. She thought others might see my picture on her salon’s web page and decide to get short cuts like mine. She posted my picture online. I wondered how many people might save my haircut picture on their phone and take it to the salon.
After she sent me more pictures, she texted, “I think you have inspired me Andrea. I want my haircut like yours now! That story will wait until part 2.