hairlove81
The sealed envelope in her clutch makes her purse feel a hundred times heavier. Her shoulders are back, her head held high, her long dark hair flows down her back as she approaches the rotating red and white pole. On the outside she looks confident, well put together – beautiful dark green summer dress, three inch heels, gold bracelets bedeck each wrist. On the inside, she’s shaking … she’s been disobedient, naughty. And as punishment, he’s sent her to the barbershop to get a haircut.
She steps over the threshold and gives the elderly barber a smile.
“Was told you were coming,” the barber says, dusting off his chair. “Come on, take a seat.”
She slips the sealed envelope out of her clutch and passes it to the barber before slowly sinking into the barberchair, sliding back and feeling the leather almost envelop her. She jumps when she feels the barber wrap a strip of paper around her neck and snap the cape tightly around her.
“Sure about this?” the barber asks.
“Yes,” she says. “Do it.” It will put her back in his good graces, will show how sorry she is … that she’ll be better.
“All right,” the barber says.
Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the barber reach for the scissors, and she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She can feel the barber shift her head ever so slightly so she’s facing forward, then hears the scissors just by her right ear and barely resists the urge to flinch.
“Hold still,” the barber says sternly as he snips at her hair, creating a rough bob sitting just below her ears.
She opens her eyes and bites her lip. She can’t recall a time her hair has ever been this short.
“Don’t normally cut woman’s hair,” the barber says as he combs through her rough bob. “But your man’s one of my best customers – comes every six weeks like clockwork.”
She blinks and gives the barber a quivering smile in the mirror. “You do good work,” she says softly.
“You like his hair, then?” the barber asks as he sprays her hair with water. “It’s a good, sharp cut for him.”
“It’s a classic look,” she agrees quietly.
The barber just grunts and goes back to his work. He reaches into the pocket of his smock and pulls out a hairholder, then takes out his comb. He readjusts her head and creates a part high above her ears, using the hairholder to tie the hair up. She glances at her reflection and thinks she looks silly, a floppy ponytail sitting on top of her head, the rest of the hair hanging down. She grips the armrests tighter, knowing that any sign of resistance will earn her a punishment when she gets home. She’s going to be a good girl.
The clippers scare her though, and she has to fight every instinct to put her hands to the back of her head … to protect her hair. She bites her lip harder and closes her eyes as the barber nudges her head down. The clippers sound so loud in her ears and the clippers feel hot against her scalp. Again and again the run up the back of her head and above her ears. She shivers as she feels the air conditioning on her bare scalp. When the clippers finally turn off and she feels the barber’s hand on the back of her head, she gasps out loud.
“Nice and short,” the barber says. “Don’t lift your head up.”
“I won’t,” she whispers. She can hear the barber wander away, and the urge to touch the back of her head is so intense she almost gives in. Almost. She hears him come back and flinches when she feels the hot towel on the back of her head. A few minutes later the towel is removed and she then feels the barber spreading something across the back of her head and over her ears. ‘Oh my god,’ she thinks to herself. ‘He’s shaving me.’
“Stay very still,” the barber says. “He won’t be happy if I cut you.” He’s quick and efficient, but very careful. Short strokes remove the shaving cream as well as what little hair was left. He gently wipes the skin clean and then applies another coat of shaving cream. “Do not move.” He starts to shave again, but this time against the grain, and she winces as she feels the razor tug at her skin.
She releases the breath she’s been holding as she feels the barber gently cleaning her bared scalp. His fingers are calloused and feel strange as they rub moisturizer and dust powder across the back of her head. He tilts her head up and she catches barely a glimpse of her bare skin before the barber is releasing the ponytail on top of her head, and combing her hair down all around her head, creating a veil of hair in front of her face.
She gives another gasp when she sees the scissors snip across her forehead, creating at thick fringe about an inch above her eyebrows. “He was very particular,” the barber says as he begins to comb and snip, comb and snip. He’s angled down from the bangs over her ears and along the back of her head, making the back sit even with the middle of her ears. When he’s done, he dusts the stray hairs away and blows her hair dry with a blowdryer.
She watches as her hair settles back into the perfect and precise shape he’s created. She gives her head a shake and watches as every hair falls right back into place. “Thank you,” she murmurs softly as the barber removes the cape and paperstrip.
“She’ll be back soon for a touch up.”
She looks up and sees him standing in the doorway. “Sir,” she whispers as she climbs out of the chair.
He beckons her over with a finger and a small smile. “I’m proud of you,” he says. As soon as she’s close enough, he pulls her close, exploring her denuded scalp and tousling her hair.
She gasps and leans into his touch. “Sir,” she breathes.
He smiles wider, passing some money over to the barber before ushering her out of the barbershop. He keeps a hand on the back of her head, his fingers dipping under the cap of hair to stroke her scalp as they walk. “I’m proud of you,” he whispers.
“Thank you, sir,” she whispers back, her knees a bit weak under all the attention he’s giving her.
“You’ve proved yourself to me,” he says as he helps her into the back of the limo. He sits down and seats her on his lap facing forward. He leans in and licks the back of her head, smiling at her gasp. “I’ve got a lovely treat for you at home.”
She feels a warmth spread through her. She’s proved herself. He’s proud of her. “Thank you, sir.”
