Pick Me Up at the Airport (a Sequel to Fresh Start)

—Part 1—

I can’t wait to see Ivy again. I’m downright giddy as I drive to the airport. She’s been gone for months. The long separation has been hard on our burgeoning relationship.

It was just a little over a year ago, that I walked into the bar where I met her. I had thought I would just have a single celebratory drink and go home, but it had led to (at the risk of sounding cliched) a night of unbridled passion. The actual relationship followed. We dated for just a couple of months, before she moved in.

Everything was going great. My divorce papers got finalized, the kids loved Ivy, we were perfectly happy. I was really happy, probably for the first time ever. That’s when the call came.
Ivy’s uncle, Marvin, had had a stroke. Ivy’s cousin Jim, Uncle Marv’s son, needed help taking care of him. Jim and Ivy are both only children, so grew up closer to each other than cousins usually do, almost like siblings. So, Ivy flew back to Kansas where she grew up. Where she has been all winter.

We skyped and texted and talked on the phone, but that was a sorry substitute for getting to actually be with each other. Not to mention the special things we do together. I’ve been missing her terribly.
Finally a couple of weeks ago, Jim realized that he didn’t really need Ivy anymore. Uncle Marv’s rehabilitation was going well enough that he could get himself up and walk around with just a cane. They had the visiting nurse all set up. They were down to only going to physical therapy once a week. It was time for Ivy to come home.

I almost miss the exits for Newark, I’m so distracted thinking about seeing Ivy again. I get off the turnpike, and somehow end up in Ikea’s parking lot. I try to focus as I follow the very complicated signs more carefully this time. By the time I make it to the right terminal, Ivy has her luggage and is waiting for me. She smiles at me almost like the cheshire cat as I walk up.

I wrap my arms around her and we kiss. After the kiss, I nuzzle against her neck and into her hair. Ivy has a lot more of her soft brown hair than she did before she left. It’s grown out to brushing her shoulders in shaggy layers. She has it pushed back off her face with a headband. It’s just so not her.

I put my lips right up against her ear, and whisper as softly as possible, so only Ivy can hear. “You need a haircut.”
I feel Ivy’s body react ever so slightly in my arms. I release the embrace, and pick up a couple of her bags. We start chatting normally as we head to the car.

Ivy’s obviously just been letting her hair grow since she left. I wonder at the possibilities. Was she just so busy with her uncle she didn’t have time to get it cut? Was winter in Kansas just so freaking cold she needed the insulation? Bad as it gets here, I’ve heard Kansas is worse. Once I did get a bob in the middle of winter, and how much colder my neck had been was really surprising. Did she just not want to trust anyone but her own stylist here? If it’s that one she’s probably not going to go along with the plans for tonight that are suddenly forming in my head. I kind of got the impression that the pixie had been a coming out cut for her, was she uncomfortable being so out in Kansas? Or, had she been thinking of this moment, when she got home?

I’d sort of noticed her hair was getting a bit shaggy on skype the first few times, but then we had settled into a routine of skyping only late at night after Ivy took her shower, so her head was always wrapped in a towel.

Ivy leans against the car watching me clear off the passenger seat chuckling. The car is basically my office, so it gets a bit messy. I should have thought to clear out my paperwork and samples earlier before I left for the airport. I’m rushing it a bit, hoping to be off the turnpike before rush hour starts. I know Ivy hardly cares, but I’m still always embarrassed when she catches me being this disorganized. I suspect she enjoys my discomfort.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” I say as I buckle my seatbelt. “We have the house all to ourselves till Sunday. Dave took the kids camping.”

“So tonight, we get take out and head to bed early?” Ivy suggests.

“Definitely we get takeout, the only question is whether we go to bed early, or maybe just head to the bedroom early.” I tease back.

“Oh, was there something you thought we should be doing in the bedroom?” Ivy reaches across and starts playing with the lock of hair on my neck that has escaped from the french twist I have my hair up in. “Or, maybe the bathroom?”

I know exactly what she’s thinking, and I’m not taking the bait that easily. Last time, I was drunk and had years and years of pent up frustration and suppressed desires. She’s going to have to do a lot more than hint to get me to let her do that again. I’m looking forward to what she’s going to come up with to talk me into it, but I’m not going to make it easy for her. We had a talk about safewords and agreed on one, so she can do a lot more than drop hints. Not tonight though, tonight I have plans of my own.

“We’ll see,” I say as I try to figure out which side of the ramp after the tolls goes north and which side goes south, which makes a good excuse to evade the subject. “Try not to distract me while I’m driving.”

A couple of hours later, we are sitting on the sofa, drinking a couple of beers, and eating our takeout straight from the containers it came in, while watching a bit of classic “Doctor Who.” Ivy’s a fan of both the reboot and classic TV, so it wasn’t hard to talk her into the classics. I’m not sure she quite gets how Tom Baker will always be the yardstick that all the other Doctors get measured against for me, since he was The Doctor when I first started watching it on PBS as a kid.

Ivy’s hair is long enough that it brushes against me softly where she rests her weight. I’ve mostly finished my food, so I put the container down and start running my fingers through her hair gently working out any tangles. It feels incredibly soft in my hand, all smooth and silky. I half pay attention to the show while fantasizing over what I am thinking of doing with Ivy’s light brown locks. I’m enjoying the feel of it so much, I briefly think of trying to talk her into growing it out for a bit instead of talking her into letting me cut it tonight. I know she will probably go off to her regular stylist soon though, if I don’t. I’ll just leave it long enough in the front that I have something to run my fingers through.

Ivy finishes her food and puts her container down on the coffee table next to mine. She settles more decidedly onto my lap. I become totally content as I run my fingers through her hair while she pets the cat that has come over to sniff the empty containers. We snuggle like this till the end of the episode.

“Want to watch another episode?” Ivy asks not sounding that enthused about the idea as she sits up to face me.

“Nah, let’s go upstairs.” I start gathering takeout containers to put in the garbage.

Ivy looks a lot more interested in that idea as she starts clearing things also.

In our room, I pull us together close pelvis to pelvis. We kiss for a moment while I run my hands up and down her back. Then finally I run my hands all the way back up into her hair and pull back from the kiss so I can see her face.

“This hair is a mess, it’s got to go.” I say with mock sternness.

“I’ll call and make an appointment tomorrow,” Ivy says with a smile as I feel her body press against mine. “When are you available so we can go together?”

Then she reaches up and releases the claw clip holding my own hair back, so it falls in an uneven mess. One side is past my shoulder, the other just grazing it. The back simply shaggy. A flush of embarrassment goes through me, wishing she hadn’t seen it in such a ridiculous state.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who needs a haircut. I can take care of yours tonight.”

“I’m growing mine out,” I say as I twist the red locks back up and secure them. “I want to go back to long hair.”

From the way Ivy looks at me, I’m not sure she believes me. I may be projecting, since I know I only sort of mean it, but I’m not taking the bait that easily. Before she left for Kansas, I’d simply gone along with her maintaining the short asymmetrical cut she’d given me. Cute as it was, I was beginning to get bored with it and maintenance lacks the drama I crave.

“Want me to just even it out so that it looks better while it grows out?” Well, maybe she does believe me if she’s offering to make the grow out easier.

“Nah, eventually it will reach its terminal length and then the different lengths will work themselves out. We can sort yours out though.” I start walking to the bathroom without giving her time to answer. “Let’s hop in the bath and I’ll wash your hair.”

In the bathroom, I start filling the tub, adding a few drops of lavender oil and some bath salts to the hot running water. At the sink, I fill a pitcher with plain water to use for rinsing. Ivy comes in wearing her silky black bathrobe. I smile, she obviously approves of the bath idea. I walk over and kiss her, taking the opportunity to give her ass a quick squeeze.

“I’ll be right back,” I promise before I step back out to our bedroom to change.

As I slip out of my own clothing and grab my seersucker robe I suddenly remember Ivy might not approve of my current state. I’m not sure how Ivy feels about body hair, which I have a fair amount of right now. Between it having been winter and Ivy not being around, I have returned to my natural state. I don’t know how Ivy is going to react to it. I abandoned earlier attempts to grow it out when Ivy would give me funny looks. I never actually asked her about it though. Maybe it was just the whole color thing, that made her give me curious looks when it started to grow out. I hope she just objected to the stubble, which I get, it’s pretty scratchy.

The first time we were together, was actually also the first time I’d gone totally bare down below. It was one of those wild experiments that one does when life hits crossroads. I had been planning to let it grow out after that, because although the process was not without its charms, I hadn’t liked the way things chafed with no hair.

Eventually I’d gotten used to the friction, and it started chafing less, so I’d just kept it up. But then with her not here, it seemed like a good opportunity to grow it back. Growing it back had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now doubts are making me nervous. I hoped she only objected to the scratchy growing out stage, and now that I’d made it to the soft fluffy stage she’ll be happy with it. I pull my robe shut, wondering what Ivy is going to think when I open it to au natural me.

I then spend a moment fixing the clip holding my hair up in a messy bun. I can’t quite get it all secured so a few loose bits hang around my neck and face.

I walk back into the bathroom. Ivy is sitting on the side of the tub swirling the water with her fingers. The tub is pretty close to full, so I let my robe slide down thinking I’ll be getting straight in the tub.
The look on Ivy’s face when she looks me up and down though makes me suddenly doubt I’ll be hopping into the tub right away. She looks like she’s trying not to laugh. She bends forward and shuts off the water before standing up and grasping me around my waist.

“Oh Stacy, what am I going to do with you?” Her tone is thrillingly stern. She pulls off stern better than I do, possibly because she really means it. Then she kisses me.

After she releases me, she slides past me grabbing a towel off the shelf and flipping down the seat of the toilet. She spreads the towel out on the seat.

“Come on, sit down,” she orders reaching for my arm to guide me to the toilet.

Once I’m seated she opens the drawer I obviously hadn’t touched since she’d left. She pulls out my personal trimmer and a fresh safety razor. I guess I was right to worry and the natural look didn’t work for Ivy.

“Not into the hippie thing?” I ask as dryly as I can manage, while raising up my arms and putting my hands behind my head in a comfortable stretch. It works and Ivy laughs while simultaneously shaking her head at my suddenly revealed under arm hair. Ok, the bush was a deliberate grow out, the underarm hair is just winter laziness, it would have been gone as soon as swimsuit and tank top weather came back, but since I have it I’m using it.

“Just hold still” She says once she’s composed herself.

She picks up my trimmer and flicks it on. The soft familiar hum making Ivy smile. I suddenly realize she is going to be enjoying this on a different level than simply being amused with me and my slightly flakey habits.

She firmly grasps one of my arms and starts running the trimmer down over the hairs. I can’t help but giggle and squirm at the tickling sensation as the light hair falls away leaving behind just pale stubble.

“Now how am I going to prove I’m a real redhead.” I say with mock indignation.

“Do you really want me laughing when I’m about to be using a very sharp blade around a very sensitive part of you anatomy?” Ivy’s voice was not just stern still, but breathy in a way that makes me suddenly feel weak in the knees. I can’t help myself as a coy smile spreads across my face.

Ivy grasps my other arm and this time I only giggle and squirm for a brief second as the trimmer glides through the soft hair. I try not to, but really underarms are ticklish. The light red stubble it leaves behind is pale and fine enough to be invisible and velvety soft, so I wonder if Ivy will just let it be.

“Just relax,” Ivy says as she starts spreading apart my knees. She kneels in front of me. Relaxing is so not going to actually happen, but I do let my legs fall open. I’m sure I don’t look relaxed with my arms now wrapped tightly around myself.

Ivy begins her attack on the short curls that I’ve let get wild. She starts at the top, stroking downward slowly. The vibration fills the whole area as she goes over the pelvic bone. As she works down towards the more intricate parts of my anatomy, her fingers protect the very fragile parts that are already hairless, which is another amazing sensation. With her fingers down there, there is no way Ivy is missing how turned on I am. The wetness and swollen clit are dead giveaways.

Too soon Ivy is finished and turning off the trimmer. There is a small pile of dark red curls on the towel, and I’m covered in scratchy stubble. Ivy gets up and goes to the sink. She cups her hand under the running water then pours the warm water over my stubbly mound. Then she takes the soap and works up a lather in her hand. She comes back to me and spreads the lather all over the stubble. I moan slightly as she massages the area working it in. She rinses her hands off and picks up the razor and returns to kneeling in front of me.

She once again places her fingers protectively over my clitoris and the folds below it. As the razor starts scraping down, taking away the hair with it, Ivy presses down keeping my clitoris well away from the blade, but also causing me to orgasm. It takes every fiber of my being not to move as I feel my insides spasm in pleasure.

Ivy smiles up at me devilishly as she finishes the task at hand.

—Part 2—

“Ready to hop into the tub?” Ivy asks after she puts down the razor and waits for me to catch my breath.

I climb in first, while Ivy shakes the red curls into the trash then throws the towel into the hamper. Ivy gets in across from me, then slides up between my legs, finally resting her back between my floating breasts. I pour just enough of the water from the pitcher over her crown to wet her hair a little bit. Then I grab the shampoo bottle and squirt a generous dollop in my hand. More than I would need simply to get Ivy’s hair clean, enough to make it extra sudsy so that my hands can slide around easily.

I start massaging it through Ivy’s hair, working the lather up with my fingertips against her scalp. I concentrate on working the tense muscles behind her ears then move down to her nape and her neck. I continue and work down to her shoulders and back, massaging them deeply. By the time I start pouring more water over her head to rinse her, she is like putty in my hands.

After I put down the pitcher, I reach for the conditioner. I gently work it into the hair, combing through with my fingers. Then I use the last of the water in the pitcher to do a final rinse.

We linger in the tub for a while. My hands sliding over Ivy’s slick body. I rub her toned but graceful arms. Twining my fingers with hers. Thinking about how they feel inside me. My chin rests on her shoulder, her damp hair brushing my cheek. I could stay like this forever, if the water would just stop gradually losing its warmth.

Ivy gets up first. She steps out of the tub wordlessly, the only sound the sloshing of water. I watch her as she dries herself off and then slips her robe back on. Then she kneels next to the tub and brushes back a few loose strands of my hair with her fingertips.

“Are you ever getting out, or have you turned into a fish while I was away?” Ivy teases.

I take the opportunity of her being so close to kiss her before I answer. “I’m coming out.”

As I dry myself off, Ivy stands in front of the mirror combing her damp hair. Combed smooth, it stretches to just below her shoulders. I slip into my own robe.

I roll out the new stool that we started keeping in the bathroom a couple of months before Ivy had to go. It’s a really cool funky piece, the casters are actually wheels from old roller skates. It was the first piece of furniture we’d worked on together. I did the upholstery, she did the soldering.

“Sit down and I’ll do that.” I offer as I reach out for the comb. Ivy looks a bit wary as she sits down, I think she suspects I have more in mind than just combing out her hair.
I notice Ivy’s soft hair has already dried a fair amount as I comb through it. It’s just damp enough to make it easier to work with. I contemplate what to do with it as I look at her through the mirror. I can see she’s nervous and a bit confused.

“Hang on one sec,” I say and then reach around her to the drawer underneath the one she’d pulled my personal trimmer and the razor out of.

I can see out of the corner of my eye that Ivy is looking much more nervous now. It had been her idea to move what is now in that drawer from the bottom of the linen closet. It had also been her idea to get rid of the bulky shoe box and put my scissors and shears and whatnot into a rollup case. Her own tools in a similar case next to mine. I take out my case and place it on the counter, then take out the clippers.

“What are you doing?” Ivy asks with the same voice she uses when she thinks the kids are up to something.

“Taking care of that mess you’re calling hair these days of course.” I respond struggling to sound stern. Funny thing is, I have an easier time keeping a straight face when I’m telling a joke than when I’m trying to be serious.

“I don’t know Stacy.” Ivy sounds really nervous now.

“I used to cut Dave’s hair all the time.” I remind her.

“Dave’s hair looks awful.”

“Now it does, but it used to look great when I did it.”

Well, except that last time when I was just done with the whole situation and just popped a ¼ inch guard on the clippers and ran them over his whole head. The haircuts had gone from being part of a fun intimate evening to being something we did out of habit, and he was complaining that I was slow. So I did what was fast. Worst part was that he claimed to be perfectly happy with the fast haircut, and didn’t care that no sex came after it. I’d just locked myself alone in my bathroom with my handheld massaging showerhead and replayed the black locks tumbling off his head in my mind. Of course, that’s not something I’m telling Ivy about.

“I’ve cut other people’s hair too, back when I was in highschool and punk was a thing we would just all have fun with each other. I gave the first girl who ever kissed me a really cool mohawk.” I sigh remembering the feel of Alexa’s lips on mine, if only I hadn’t been so heavily indoctrinated to be a good Catholic girl that might have gone somewhere. I push it from my mind, it doesn’t matter, I’m happy with Ivy now.

“And remember, I let you cut mine the first night I met you,” I continue, “when I had no idea whether or not you could even cut a straight line.”

“You were really drunk” Ivy laughs as she cups my face in her hands “and I still question your judgment on that one.”

“I’m not drunk now, and you know me.” I say gently, then I remember I was doing the stern thing and switch back to that tone. “Now stop making a fuss and sit up straight.”
I step behind her and start spreading the towel over her shoulders. I fluff her hair up over the towel briefly then start combing it again, this time with sectioning in mind.

“I was thinking of maybe just getting a bob, instead of going back to the pixie.” There’s something about Ivy’s tone that makes me think she just came up with that, I suspect she’s going for damage control and figures a bob is harder to mess up. I consider insisting on her usual pixie, but don’t know if I really want to push her that far, sure we have a safe word, but I don’t want to make her feel like she has to use it if I can help it. Besides, maybe she really does want a bob and isn’t just worried I’ll screw up the pixie. It does leave me with more hair to run my fingers through, so I have an idea for a compromise.

“Ok, Earlobe length with a shaved undercut.”

“Jaw length and a number 3 for the undercut.” Ivy is looking more relaxed with the idea.

“Number 3 is ⅜ of an inch, right?” And the relaxed expression disappears and she’s back to looking nervous as hell at the reminder that I’m not a professional.

Ivy sucks in her breath sharply, then nods and says, “Yeah, the number 3 is the ⅜.”

“Ok, ⅜ and I’ll taper it.”

Ivy scrunches up her face at the mention of my tapering it. I wish she’d relax though, I really can do a damned good taper, better than an awful lot of so called professionals. Certainly better than any of the ones at the chain salon Dave’s been going to. I take my time and am really careful about it.

I can see Ivy is thinking of saying no, but she eventually just nods. So, I start combing her hair again. It doesn’t really need it, but I figure a few minutes of just combing before I start sectioning it will calm her a bit.

“If you can cut hair, why did you become a closet designer instead of going to beauty school?” Ivy asks. “You’d make a lot more and the income would be steadier.”

I know the steady income is one of the many aspects of having given up hairdressing Ivy misses, though I assure her I don’t care that she can’t contribute as much as I do to the upside down mortgage on this McMansion Dave insisted he loved years ago when we bought it, but left me to deal with. As much as she loves her artisan furniture business and doesn’t mind her part time job at Home Depot too much, I suspect she’d go back to hairdressing in a heartbeat if there was a miracle cure for tendonitis. She gets away with doing hair a couple of times a month, but more than that and the pain returns.

“Two reasons.” I explain. “First, I don’t want to do something I find intimate day after day. It would just be…overwhelming. Second, to get through beauty school you have to pass the part that involves chemistry not just cutting. There is no way anyone wants me handling perm solution.”

“You said you got straight A pluses on all your science tests in high school.”

“I did fine on the tests, I totally understand all the theory. My overall chemistry grade may have been dragged down by my lab grade though.”

“Ok, how did you manage that Stacy?”
Keeping Ivy talking is working she’s fairly relaxed as I’m sectioning the hair.

“My teacher took off points for the scorch marks and acid holes on my lab reports. I was really annoyed about that. Usually most of the data was legible, though some of it didn’t really make sense. Mrs. Stewart, my chemistry teacher, ranted for ten minutes about how I was the only person alive who could mix together 3 grams of one substance with 4 grams of another and end up with 10 grams at the end of it. She did not buy my theory that it must have been condensed moisture from the air. It made me miss the honor roll by just a few points.”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised.” Ivy says with a raised eyebrow. I have had to ask Ivy to pick up a new fire extinguisher on her way home from work to replace used ones a couple of time. Then Ivy notices what I’m doing. “Why are you including the hair above my ear in the section you’ve left down? The section for the undercut is supposed to go straight across the back.”

I have sectioned it so the undercut will start at the same level as the corners of her eyes in the front. Then it arches around her ears not exactly paralleling her natural hair line, but following the basic curve gracefully as it swoops down in the back so it includes the hair about 3 inches above her nape.

“Only if you want it to look like you got it cut in 1988.” I really do have a vision here and I’m not going for basics. “This will be much more interesting. An updated version of an ‘80s cut instead of an ‘80s cut.”

As we were talking, I had picked up the clippers and put on the guard.

“Now, head down and stop fussing.” I say as I flick the switch to turn the clippers on.

Ivy looks pretty nervous again, but does as she is told and bends her head forward exposing the nape. I lift the hair up with my free hand, then place the humming clippers on her exposed neck. I pause like that for just a second to let the vibrations ease her tense neck muscles.

Slowly, I guide the clippers up into Ivy’s hair. The soft tufts come loose from her head and I am holding about 3 or 4 inches of Ivy’s soft hair in my hand. I drop the hair deliberately onto the bare knee sticking out of Ivy’s robe.

“No turning back now.” I tease into Ivy’s ear as I bend forward and pet the patch of plush short hairs. She lets out a rueful chuckle.

I straighten and start a second pass with the clippers. This time I just let the severed locks tumble down to the towel over Ivy’s shoulders. Most of it stays on the towel, just a few locks flutter to the floor. On the third pass, I flick the hair off and most of it drops to the floor, just a few strands catching on the towel. Some of it lands softly on my toes. I wiggle my toes enjoying the feel of the tresses as I guide the clippers around her ear.

As I work my way forward Ivy’s shoulders become covered in a thick layer of hair. When I get to the front of her ear, the loose locks tumble forward into her lap. I hear her take a sharp breath as she sees them.

As I start buzzing down the hair around her other ear, I use tilting her head as an excuse to brush my fingers along her delicate jawline. I turn off the clippers and Ivy lets out a very relieved sounding sigh.

The hair of the undercut is now all ⅜ inch. I pluck some of the longer and thicker clumps of hair off the towel on Ivy’s shoulders and drop them to the floor. I’m ready to start tapering, so I put the next guard down on the clippers. Ivy’s big amber eyes follow my every move.

“Are you sure you can manage the taper?” Ivy sounds so worried. “It can be kind of tricky.”

The devilish side of me wants to toy with Ivy and make her more nervous, but my other side wins out.

I look into Ivy’s eyes. “You know I love you, right?” Ivy nods. “So you know I would never do something I thought would make you unhappy?” She nods again. “I wouldn’t start this if I wasn’t confident I could do a decent job of it, because I know you’d be unhappy if I screwed it up. Relax, I’ve got this.”

Hopefully she isn’t questioning whether I have the same definition of “decent job” as she does. She still looks pretty nervous but doesn’t say anything more as I tilt her head back down. Her face tenses slightly at the pop of the clippers turning on.

I place the vibrating machine once again on her neck. As I guide it into her hair the fine clippings pile up on top till I tilt them off, a few sticking to my hand, most getting caught by the towel. I make pass after pass with the clippers pivoting them gradually away before I reach the top. I’m careful to not be abrupt so no line shows between the different lengths.

Soon about ⅔ of the under cut is reduced to just the ¼ inch, and it feels divine as I rub my fingers over it. Ivy finally smiles as my fingers linger over her nape.

While I switch guards, Ivy strains to see in the mirror how I did with the last one and runs her hand over the back of her head. I guess she approves because she shows no major concern when the clippers pop back to life again.

I take my time as I reduce the bottom third of the undercut to a mere ⅛ inch of velvet. I am once again careful to leave no line at the transition. Ivy only looks a bit nervous again when I slip off the guard to use the bare blades. I work around the edges till the transition from smooth skin to stubble to velvet is so gradual it’s nearly impossible to say where one ends and the next begins.

I’m pretty pleased with myself as I run my hand over the results. Ivy’s stylist is good, but so am I. I’m sure when he does her hair it takes half the time, but the results are indistinguishable. There are just a few little hairs that didn’t get caught by the blades.

Ivy looks very relieved as I put down the clippers and pick up my scissors. Though then she looks a bit surprised when I tilt her head back down instead of releasing the top.

I run the comb up through the under cut snipping anything that isn’t quite perfect. It’s just one or two hairs at a time, so barely anything is being added to the clippings on Ivy’s shoulders. When I’m done though, it’s completely perfect.

I can’t resist bending down and kissing Ivy’s bare neck while I have the chance. While I’m kissing it Ivy turns slightly then reaches back and pulls me forward to kiss fully on the lips. It is a firm kiss, the pressure against me delicious before I open slightly to feel a slight flick from her tongue. It takes me a moment to clear my head after we finish.

I take out the clip holding up the uncut portion of Ivy’s hair while I smile at her through the mirror. The hair tumbles down to just brushing her shoulders, since I’ve already cut off everything that hung to below them. Ivy finally looks totally relaxed as I smooth down the hair.

When it’s all in place I comb down carefully stopping just about at jaw level. I want the line to be soft and not too blunt, so instead of snipping against the comb, I cut up towards it parallel to the hair. With each little snip, two inch tufts of hair fall away landing on her shoulders or drifting to the floor. The sound of the scissor clicking fills my ears. As I work towards the back Ivy’s graceful neck is once again exposed. When I get to her spine I go around to start from the front on the other side.

After it’s all cut to jaw length, I ellavate the hair ever so slightly and take a few more snips up into it. The clippings that fall away are barely more than what I got when I started tapering the undercut. I’m not really trying to layer it, just soften it up even more, and get it to lay the way I want. When I’m done it does exactly what I planned, it lays smoothly turning under ever so slightly. All that’s missing is the bangs.

I walk around to the front of Ivy and she looks up at me curiously. I decide to get cosy and sit on her lap as I do them. She instinctively grabs my hips to keep me in place as I lean back against the vanity. I start sectioning the front for the bangs.

“What makes you think I want bangs?” Ivy asks as it becomes obvious what I’m doing.

“You said you wanted a jaw length bob, so I figured we were aiming for Taylor Swift at the Grammys.” Having kids means I end up listening to a lot of pop. “Was there some other reason you wanted a bob instead of going back to your pixie?”

Now if she wants to get out of the bangs she either has to admit that she said bob because she didn’t trust me to do the pixie, or she’s going to have to come up with something really fast. I’ve got the front sectioned and am putting in clips to hold the rest back. It’s dry enough by now that I don’t have to worry about them shrinking.

“I guess Taylor Swift was kind of in the back of my mind when I decided it.”

We smile at each other, the bangs are going to be adorable and I can’t wait to ruffle them playfully. I twist the section and pull it down towards her nose. Ivy closes her eyes.

With the tips of the scissors I start snipping up into the twisted section of hair just at the bridge of her nose. The hairs from her new bangs spring back into place as they are snipped free. They are ever so slightly too long, but I’ll adjust that once they are fully cut.

“Open your eyes so I can judge the length,” I say as I drop the twist of hair off to the side. “Ok, you can close again.”

“So does this mean I should go blond?” Ivy asks.

“If you want, you definitely could pull off blond.” I have her open and close a few more times as I work, here hands feel warm through my robe. The bare skin of our legs making contact in several places. “You could make the undercut periwinkle. It’s my favorite color.”

I take a few little snips at the hairs that are blocking her vision, being careful to keep everything well below her eyebrows. This is going to require really frequent trims, but it’s so flattering it will be worth it. It would be a lot more practical to take the bangs up to the brows, but not nearly so cute. With Ivy’s eyes open and no hair actually in them, I ruffle the soft bangs and smile before I remove the clips.

“So, are you happy?” I ask as I get out of her lap to let her see in the mirror.

Ivy smiles at the mirror as I carefully remove the hair filled towel. She runs one hand through her hair as she reaches for the hand mirror with the other. She lifts the back and examines the undercut, her smile never faltering.

Ivy puts down the mirror and wraps her arms around me. “You take forever, but you do manage professional results, so I’m very happy.”

—Part 3—

Ivy starts kissing me. Then she’s pulling me out to the bedroom. We stumble over to the bed together. Pausing our kissing just long enough to let our robes fall away. before we climb onto the bed.

Ivy lies back and I take her nipple into my mouth. I alternate between sucking and tickling the tip of it with my tongue. Her breasts aren’t huge, but they are enough to fill my mouth comfortably. I start to tweak the other side with my hand. My own breasts ache slightly with my own need to be fondled.

While I am on top of her, Ivy reaches up and releases the clip holding my hair up. It tumbles loose around my face. Crap, it looks like hell. Ivy doesn’t seem to mind that it looks terrible as she buries her fingers in the tangled locks.

I come up for air and look down at my beautiful Ivy. Her light brown hair is splayed around her head forming a halo, the undercut just revealed on the sides of her head. I shift my weight to one arm so the other can reach up and brush along the undercut. Then I lower myself to start kissing the spot just behind her ear. My lips feeling the slight prickle of the dark shadow of hair. The sensation is ten times stronger on my sensitive lips than it was against my hand. I push my mound against her firm thigh, and tense my own thigh muscles squeezing against her.

I reach down with my free hand to find Ivy’s clit, it is swollen and she is wet. I pinch it gently between two of my fingers and she shudders. I pet it rhythmically making the orgasm last longer and become more intense. Even once I stop it’s a while before Ivy is fully recovered.

Ivy holds the sides of my arms and flips me over onto my back while keeping her leg pressed against my mound. She starts twirling a lock of my loose hair in her finger with a devilish gleam in her eye. I know she’s plotting. It is both a huge turn on and really nerve racking.

To interrupt her plotting I reach up and pull her down into a kiss. The distraction seems to have worked, because she is nibbling down my neck and heading towards my breasts. Her leg has slipped away from my mound as she twirls her tongue around first one nipple then the other. She blows across the nipples as she smooshes my breasts together. The sensations making me feel really desperate.

My hand starts heading down below. Ivy notices and pulls it away before I can get started. She positions herself between my knees and soon her tongue is where my hand had been a moment before. I run my fingers through her hair as her head bobs up and down slightly. The silky longer hair on top runs over my knuckles while my fingertips find the velvety short hair of the undercut. All the while, Ivy is managing to hit all the good spots below. I am in exquisite ecstasy.

The orgasm ripples through me in waves.
Ivy falls asleep in my arms after I take her to climax one more time. I lay awake, for awhile just stroking her hair and thinking about how lucky I am. Finally I drift off too, feeling complete contentment. Ivy came home.

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