Pulling the Strings

“Afternoon! Couple’s haircut day?”

An enticing idea, but today’s not for me. “Just for handsome here today,” I ruffle up Sol’s mess of curls that bounce around the top of their head.

“Of course! Come and hop in, sir. No wait this afternoon,” the barber invited with a hearty pat on the cushion of the chair, swiveling it around to receive her newest customer.

Sol and I make a brief glance at each other, and I notice that little smile playing on their face. It’s an honorific they love to hear, even if it’s not the most accurate. Seems like I’m not going to be the only one enjoying this. “Great!” Sol gives me a quick kiss before pulling away, all ready to march into the fray. “Have a seat by the side, beautiful. I shouldn’t be too long.”

I giggle as I watch them head for the chair. “Take your time, darling, we’re in no rush today,” I say loud enough that the barber hears. It’s probably a quiet day for her in the shop by the looks of it, and I hope it means she can go a little slow— be a bit more meticulous. Give me a show.

It’s a simple two-chair shop— each workstation with its countertop against the wall, and a large mirror mounted above. Sol hops eagerly into the chair further away from the door, sinking into that comfy-looking padding before the barber spins the chair for them to face the mirror. There’s a row of waiting chairs against the wall opposite to the workstations, where I amble towards to get to my position for the show. I quickly pick the right seat: one that’s close enough to the action, but at a slight, off-angle so that I can look at Sol’s reflection (and them at mine) through the mirror. All while making sure I minimise the amount of ‘blind spots’ for when the barber manoeuvres around.

By the time I make myself comfortable, the barber’s already fixed the strip of tissue right around Sol’s neck. She unhooks a classic white cape with thin, black pinstripes from the wall hook, then expertly flicks it above the chair. She followed that one clean motion through to pull the ends over her client’s shoulders, then snapping the collar of the cape securely behind Sol’s neck. It’s already a tantalising sight: seeing how that large cape now amply drapes their figure in that chair, leaving just their head poking out and their shoes on the footrest

“What’ll it be for today, sir? Something short?” The barber pops the question as a detangling brush is brought out to carefully run through Sol’s ample curls.

“Yes!” Sol gets a bit excited now— both at the salutation, and also realising the barber’s given them a boost in the right direction. A good start for sure. But they’ve still got to take the reins to make sure this goes to the right destination. “Nice and short for the heat. For the sides and back, a number two, tapered up to the top,” they slow down a bit, making sure to not stumble on the words.

“Classic short back and sides, yeah?” The barber sounds as if she’s been keen to do such a cut. “We can totally do that,” the barber stops brushing for a bit as she starts feeling the weight of the curls on the sides, gauging the bounty to be claimed. The curls have certainly been growing, and are crowding around Sol’s ears now, though not quite long enough that it’s entirely enveloping it. “And then leave it longer on top? Nice length to style the curls?”

She’s probably reading a bit of a script herself— suggesting the typical men’s cut. But I quickly meet Sol’s eyes through the reflection for just a moment, giving them a knowing look. They know very well we’re not here for a typical cut. I see a little gulp in their throat before they speak up. I shift in my seat once I hear the words that leave their mouth. “Shorter, actually.”

The barber jumps back in before Sol can elaborate. “Ooh, what’re we thinking? Something like a little quiff in front? Still short, but leaving enough that you can push it up and style it around with some movement.” She pushes up some of the curls in front, vaguely gesturing how the length might turn out.

I can see a pinch of hesitation on Sol’s face as the barber insists on her own vision. It would be so easy to just say yes and go with it. But that would be disappointing. And I know Sol wouldn’t dream of disappointing me. “Shorter,” Sol says yet again, this time with some more determination. There’s a shift under the cape as their hand slips out, and I’m on the edge of my seat anticipating this part that we’ve rehearsed. Their fingers reach up to their forehead where the hairline begins, laying flat against the scalp before clamping a hefty curl between the forefingers. “This short. Finger-length.”

“Oh.” I catch a clear surprise on the barber’s face through the reflection, though the one-word reply is enough to tell me everything. “One of those.”

“Yes. Really short.” I can hear that slight apprehension in Sol’s voice as they push the envelope here— the tiniest speck of nervousness that the barber probably isn’t registering. I can’t imagine the bundle of nerves they’re wrangling, but god Sol’s doing so well. They’re saying all the right words, and now it’s time for us to sit pretty and watch those words come to fruition.

“Of course, we can totally do it that short.” The brief shock leaves the barber faster than it came. She immediately sets down the detangling brush— probably realising there wasn’t going to be any need for it based on the where things are headed. “So,” the barber’s hands return to the sides of Sol’s head, “we do a tight number two on the sides, taper it up nicely. Then for the top, we go real short with the scissors.” Now it’s her turn to mimic it— gripping a curl with forefingers snugly against Sol’s scalp. “Just like that. Finger-length, you said?”

“Mhm.” Sol gently nods, their lips a thin line.

“Great!” The barber spares a glance my way before she heads to her workstation, as if trying to suss out if I’d been hearing any of it. But I do my best to look distracted— staring at my phone for a bit, as if I’d been texting somebody. Showing a clear obliviousness to that entire conversation that I’d actually been savouring. For now, I’ll let the spotlight be on Sol.

As the barber starts organising her tools, I can’t help but notice some movement from the chair, only to see a preening Sol with one hand still sticking out of the cape. Seems like they’re getting in one last hurrah— mussing and fluffing their curls about as they turned their head from side to side. You can say it’s been a while since their last cut. The length is definitely reaching ‘unmanageable’, at least in their book. Too much length crowding around their ears, which brings about an obvious annoyance from them. Curls covering most of their forehead, threatening to start touching the eyes even. I’ve always loved the deceptive length of their curls— the way the texture makes it seem it’s still rather short, but when it’s all damp and flat down especially after a shower, there’s a fair bit more that seems to just appear out of nowhere. Technically their hair could already be creeping over their eyes if they wanted it to. Sol loves keeping it short, and it’s not primarily for my benefit. A scissor cut every couple months keeps the curls in check, and they’ll look charming as ever after each trim. Then out of the blue, they’d come around to a harmless suggestion I’d made a while back. I steal a glance at them from the mirror, giving a devious wink that gets them a little shy. Maybe the hairplay’s for my benefit, or maybe they just needed that last feeling of the curls before it’s gone for a while. Probably both.

Pop. Bzzzz. 

The second Sol hears that momentous sound, they quickly slide their hand back under the cape and smooth it back out over the chair exactly the way the barber did it, knowing it’s time. She retakes her position behind her client with the large, corded clippers in hand, guard already snapped onto its head. With a few pumps of the chair, Sol rises, getting to that perfect height where the barber can do her work on that curly mop. She swivels the chair about 45 degrees to the left so she’s got a bit more room to manoeuvre without tugging and tangling the clipper’s cord. And from this angle, I have a hell of a view. She wordlessly pushes down Sol’s head, and they relent like a lamb. With her other hand, she runs a large comb through that nape of curls— giving it one last bit of movement before it has to go.

Bzzzaaaa.

My ears perk up to the singing of the clippers, to that gleeful clashing of blades against curls as she makes a long pass up the back of Sol’s head. The clippers are powerful enough that it takes every curl with them as it makes its ascent, clumping onto the head of the blades. All before the barber effortlessly flicks it away once she reaches the crown. The curls trickle down onto the space of the cape covering the back of the chair, with some of them falling right to the floor. A lone path of short, light brown fuzz is left in the centre of Sol’s nape, surrounded by other teeming curls that await their turn. After the first slow pass, the barber starts picking up speed now that she’s got the rhythm down.

Bzzaaa. Bzzzzaaa. Bzzzaaa.

The clippers make short work of the curls on the back of Sol’s head, taking every bit of flowy locks with almost no resistance. From the off-angle they’re facing, they definitely can’t see the result of it yet, but they certainly can see that mass of loose curls already forming on their shoulders, with some of them starting to tumble down the cape in front of them once the pile gets too much. The barber makes quick passes up the nape, running it across the now-fuzzy landscape over and over again to make sure it’s all evenly cut. She soon swivels the chair 90 degrees to the left, now fully keeping Sol’s vision away from the mirror. She keeps Sol’s head tilted straight down, positioning the clippers behind their left ear before pushing them forward towards the temple.

Bzzaaa. Bzzzaaa. 

I watch with pure bliss as light brown curls are shorn so efficiently by those potent clippers, being pushed forward so it falls onto the cape in front of Sol. As each pass is made, the messy scatter of brown curls just grows larger. In its place, a neater pelt of hair so close to the head is left behind— just long enough of a fuzz that it looks soft, but short enough that you could see the tiniest peeks at Sol’s scalp. Once the left side is mowed down, the chair swivels around once more, this time in a full 180 around while the barber stays rooted. There’s a brief movement in Sol’s brows upon seeing their reflection— now able to assess that deficit in curls on the left side of their head. And what a contrast it stands to that more bountiful right side. But not for much longer, as the barber tilts their head back down.

Bzzaaa. Bzzzaa.

The right side gets the exact same treatment, with the clippers starting from behind the ears, which she propels forward to the temple. The shorn, thick curls are deposited in front of Sol, where they now get to see both the result and the length that’s being taken off. And with a few more passes of the clippers, the curls that’ve been bugging their ears for are now a strewn flock across the cape and the floor.

“Feels better already, huh? Nothing touching your ears anymore,” the barber teases, rubbing a finger across the top of Sol’s exposed ear. No lock long enough to be close to tickling their ear— all kept in check now that it’s just brown fuzz.

“Mmm,” Sol hums with a thin smile, and I wonder how much of a shiver they got from that teasing finger of the barber. I can’t wait to have my turn fondling those naked ears. With the bulk of the curls now gone, the barber starts running the clippers over those same sections with a bit more diligence, making sure she doesn’t miss any spots. Just watching those clippers glide across this new, fuzzy expanse is such a thrill. To think there used to be this vibrance of curls all over the sides and back before they sat in that chair. And now I can see the gentle curve of their skull, especially on that nape area.

The clippers are soon shut off, but for the briefest moment— a split-second respite of quiet in the shop save for the quick snapping of a different guard onto the clippers. Sol doesn’t even have a moment to perk their head up to have a closer look before the clippers roar back to life, and the barber jumps right back in. With Sol’s head still bowed down, the barber gets back into the groove with the clippers, starting again from the right side.

This time, the clippers only creep about halfway up the sides, taking that already-short fuzz even shorter. With each swipe the barber makes, the littlest clippings of hair come right off. A lot less dramatic than the mass of curls that were being lopped off just a second ago. But the spectacle of precision is no less mesmerising, especially as I get to watch the taper come into shape.

The barber slowly swivels the chair around as she works, moving from the right side towards the left. Her feet are firmly planted while she moves Sol’s head around to her liking, and they relent so obediently to her touch. She goes a lot more carefully here all around the sides and back, shaping those buzzed sections into that number two taper that Sol so forwardly asked for. The fuzziness starts nice and short near the neckline, then gets gradually longer up the nape, and then much longer towards the crown where a wealth of Sol’s brown curls are still intact. For the time being.

This image isn’t too foreign for either of us. We’ve dabbled quite a bit with undercuts for them— having it short with the clippers on the sides, all while the top stays disconnected and still brimming with bountiful texture. Most of it was my work while we were still having some fun with home haircuts, and it wasn’t the hardest style for me to cut on them given how straightforward it was with just the short sides. But the shortest they’d ever gone is a number 3 on the sides. Right there in that chair, they’re finally getting a good ol’ number 2, and it’s nice to see a professional really take their time to craft a lovely taper that suits them. Seeing the contours of their head with all that fuzziness on the back is so sexy.

Before I know it, the clippers come to a complete halt, and the silence fills the shop again. But it’s quickly disturbed by the howl of the hairdryer, which the barber directs right at those freshly clipped sides and back of Sol’s head. Unprepared, they close their eyes with some surprise as the sudden gust blows across, sending some of those clumps of hair that had been strewn around their shoulders off to the ground.

“Gotta love all that wind on the head, eh?” the barber comments after replacing the hairdryer on its hook. She seems to be having a ball with her work so far, and it’s amusing to watch her exuberance in cutting Sol’s hair.

“So breezy,” Sol says, now safe for them to open their eyes. They finally lift their head back up now that the clippers are all done, eager to see what’s left of the hair around their head.

“Well you’ll get to feel the air on top soon too, don’t worry,” the barber cheekily adds before heading back to the dresser to start picking out her next set of tools. Sol takes that time to whip their head from side to side, getting a sense of this number 2 taper that’s been requested. There’s definitely some surprise mixed with curiosity— grappling with the fact that it’s the shortest their sides have ever been cut, yet they probably can’t deny how great it must feel to have it so cool and liberating around the ears. Well, I think it looks so sexy without all those locks swarming their ears anymore. But what I’m really staying on the edge seat for is to see those curls on top come tumbling down.

The barber returns to her place behind the chair, this time with a spray bottle and her comb. She goes to town on those plentiful curls atop Sol’s head, generously spritzing it while the comb runs through the hair to distribute it well all over. “Ooh,” Sol lets out, squinting as some of the water drips down their face.

“Whoops, sorry if I’m drenching you a bit there. Gotta get it all wet so it’s easier to cut,” the barber apologises before dabbing a paper towel briefly around Sol’s eyes.

“It’s fine,” they chuckle. “Nice and cooling.”

“With how scorching it is out there, I’d savour it,” she says before setting down the spray bottle, then begins raking the hair straight back and off the forehead with her comb. And I finally see my opening to join the fun.

“Tell me about it,” I finally speak up. “The heat’s been mad, huh?”

“It’s a nightmare,” the barber half-turns to regard me, a smile on her face seeing that I’ve joined in. “I’ll step outside for barely a minute, and I just start sweating all over.”

“Oh yeah, that’s the worst. Especially when the hair gets all sticky and sweaty,” I add, to which she hums in great agreement.

The butterflies are going berserk in my tummy as I watch the barber finally pick up the shears. She combs through the wet, flattened locks on top of the head, then lifts up a section near the crown. “Though it seems like your handsome chap here’s got it all figured out, huh?” she says as her forefingers clamp on those locks, tight and close to Sol’s cute head. “Not gonna need to worry about all that sticky, sweaty hair.”

Snip snip snip. I cross my legs tight, witnessing those first few victims of the scissors being flicked away onto the floor. She wastes no time in combing the hair back and picking up another section, following that simple guide with her fingers before the click of the shears go again.

“Ooh, babe,” I give an audible gasp this time after seeing the next set of locks getting snipped, ready to have some fun, “she’s cutting a lot off. You sure you wanted it that short?”

The barber slows down for a bit to look at Sol with a smirk, waiting for the expected confirmation. “Yeah,” they say, “just a little shorter for the summer.” God what a tease they are.

A vivacious laugh leaves the barber’s chest. “Handsome here’s very serious about it. Had to show me up close with his fingers how short he wanted it.”

“Really?” I ask, happily feigning my cluelessness.

“Yeah, look.” The barber swivels the chair around slightly so that I can clearly see the part of the head she’s working on. She runs the comb through a section on the left side of the crown, angling her body to make sure her fingers on their scalp are in plain sight for me. She combs up an ample section of those wet locks, clamping her fingers right against the scalp just like Sol showed her. Just like I instructed Sol last night. “He said he wants it this short. Finger-length,” the barber gestures with her scissors for me to see that long curl that sticks out from between her forefingers, then snip snip snip.

“Oh my god,” the words leave my lips deliciously right as that wet curl plopped right down onto their shoulder. “That’s so much hair, babe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair that short .”

“You ever seen him without the curls?” the barber asks, keeping her steady rhythm with the shears in between our passing words.

“Never. Curls are all I’ve known,” I admit— and it’s actually the truth. I may have only ever known them while their hair’s short, but even then, the curls have always been long enough to be a handsome adornment. This will genuinely be the first time I’ll see them with a dearth of it. And I can’t wait.

“Oh, my dear, you’d better get a good last look while you can,” she sounds almost concerned at my words, “cos he wants all these curls off.”

“When I asked you this morning, you said you were gonna just get ‘a little trim’!” I playfully go along with the yarn we’re spinning.

“The weather today must’ve gotten him real bad.” The barber’s clearly enjoying the amusing exchange happening, all while she’s merrily snipping along.

“I guess I can’t say I’m too surprised. Been noticing a lot more ruffling and fiddling about with the curls. Can never keep those hands off the hair,” I observe.

“I mean, I gotta tame it somehow. The curls get so crazy— they have a mind of their own,” Sol says, face still keeping up a show of confidence despite the uncertainty that’s cutting above their head. With how the barber’s giving me a show of this (and much to my gratefulness), poor Sol’s left facing away from the mirror. Seems they’re in for a big reveal once the barber’s done.

“And then he must’ve thought ‘why bother going through all that trouble when there’s a much easier way to tame them?’” the barber posits. “No need to worry about hair if the curls aren’t long enough to give you trouble. Just clip it so short that it can’t even get messed up anymore.”

And I watch with rapt attention as she does exactly that. The barber works from the back of the crown, inching closer to the front of Sol’s head with every few snips. It’s a simple, yet engrossing pattern she does— pulling up a hefty section of brown locks with a comb before clamping them between her forefingers, all while her palm is resting on the shape of Sol’s skull. Leaving it close and tight to the scalp, to get that desired finger-length as the shears go snip snip. 

The scissorwork’s mesmerising, and I’m half-jealous that I couldn’t get to be the one doing this cut for them. Back when they’d prefer just lightly trimming the curls during our home cuts, it was always the biggest headache I had while trying to trim the top of their hair— trying to divide sections neatly and making sure everything’s even. I’d already had massive respect for anyone in the barbering profession, but that respect doubled when I finally tried my hand with Sol’s hair. All the hairclips I needed to slot in everywhere to keep the curls down and neat while I cut. But for this cut? God, it looks so simple. No fancy, meticulous sectioning to be done here. Just comb up a section, make sure the fingers are snug against the head. Then cut right across. Any lock that dares rear its head above the forefingers doesn’t get spared.

Wet curls rain down in a constant flow, and with every few snips that wavy silhouette around Sol’s head is slowly sculpted down, forming just a simple, rounded outline with hair that’s too short to curl. The barber’s fingers soon start reaching Sol’s forehead, where the last bastion of curls still hold on dearly before their inevitable fall. She starts from the left side of the bangs, smoothly raising an ample section before taking it off without a hitch. With each set of snips she moves right across the forehead, and it’s exhilarating just watching that final bit of curls coming right off in front of Sol’s face.

“And there you go!” she announces after the last click of the shears goes above her fingers that’re flat against Sol’s forehead. The loose lock of hair falls onto her forefingers, which she flicks forward to discard that last curl down onto Sol’s lap. “Rid of all the curls, nice and short finger-length. Just like you want it.”

“It’s all gone,” I say in disbelief— and some awe. The hair’s all still wet so the curls would still be dampened anyway, but once it’s all dried up, I’m not going to see a single defined curl on that adorable head.

“All gone, but still not quite done yet,” she says while her fingers physically survey that cropped landscape. “I’m gonna go a teeny bit shorter here,” she announces, though it seems more like she was looking for some implicit permission from me rather than Sol before continuing her shearing. “Want to make sure it’s really finger-length. As short as I can get it with the scissors, just like handsome here wants it.”

I don’t think that’s the exact instruction given, but I’m not complaining that she’s making her own conclusions like that. “Take your time, we’re in no rush. Make it look as handsome as you can.”

“Oh I will. Need to make sure the girlfriend likes it too,” she promises.

“I’m already in love, don’t worry. Anything you do will probably just make it even better,” I assure, keeping up a sly smile for Sol.

“Well credit goes to him. He chose a great cut,” she says before taking her position at the back of Sol’s head again. “Was a little shocked when I heard him say he wanted it that short, especially with all the curls he walked in with. But now that I’m looking at it, I’m wondering why he hasn’t done it sooner! And who knows? Maybe he likes it so much, this might be his new, regular cut.”

“Ouh, I like that idea.” I tilt my head seductively to look at Sol, who’s still positioned to face me.

“I thought you loved my curls, babe,” Sol pouts.

“I do, darling. But you also look so handsome with it this short. Kinda takes a bit of that distraction away, and I get to see more of your charming face now,” I’m already loaded up with compliments to fire away, and I mean every word. “Not a lot of people can look good with such little hair. Good to know that you have options.”

“You’ve got the best of both worlds, really. When you feel like growing it out, embrace the curls. But when you get annoyed with them, just come sit in my chair again and we’ll snip ’em right off. Either way, looks good,” the barber suggests as she goes back to snipping. “You’ll love these types of cuts. So short that you won’t need to worry about any of the length at all,” she assures before ruffling a few fingers over a short pelt of hair near the crown. Fingers I’m so envious of right now. “Not gonna be a single curl to have to style. It’ll just stay short and neat.”

“Mmm, I think you’ll like that very much, babe. Won’t keep seeing you trying to ruffle and fix it up all the time. Just fuss-free for a while, huh?” I tease, which Sol only gives a shy look in return.

The barber takes a much more meticulous approach at this stage of the cut. With the length on top being a lot less plentiful now, she’s really got to take her time in combing up each tiny lock of hair. The comb and fingers are almost digging in, and Sol’s head gets tugged on ever so slightly with each section that’s getting cut. This time, it’s the smallest tufts that probably jut out between her forefingers— way too short for me really see from where I’m sitting— which the barber chips in with the scissors, going for a point-cutting technique to really texturise while taking the length even shorter.

Unlike the earlier parts of the cut where she’s staying rooted in one place and swiveling Sol around to do her work, she’s now a lot more active. Her work shoes trample over the littered curls surrounding the base of the chair to manoeuvre herself, making little snips here and there all around the head. With every click of the shears, she makes sure the length’s just the way Sol’s asked for it, and adds that extra bit of texture to the already short crop of hair. Makes it feel like that first bit she did with the scissors treated ‘finger-length’ like a general guide. But at this point, she’s treating it like a strict instruction to be followed to the letter, and then some more.

After a while, she switches gears, opting for a scissor-over-comb technique as she’s blending the short sides into the length on top that’s only that much longer. She says very little this time, with her eyes now laser focused as the tiniest clippings come off with every vigorous snip she makes. While I thought the sides being blended in probably marks the end of the cut, she clearly still wanted to do more to perfect the cut. Still keeping that same scissor-over-comb technique, she goes for a pass across the top of the head, with that comb probably mere millimetres away from the scalp as the scissors snip across the meagre length that pokes through the comb’s teeth. Then she reaches the front, combing down whatever’s left of what could be called Sol’s bangs. It’s a scant length compared to the vivid shape of the curls that used to grace their forehead— strands that end so high above the brows, deprived of its full-bodied curl. She starts by combing up the tiny fringe, taking a few careful snips to reduce them little by little. Then without the help of the comb, she simply aims the shears right on their forehead, making decisive snips to really shape the way it frames their face, all while they’re squinting so delightfully.

Her work with the scissors ends quietly, and she immediately starts the next part when she opens up a small compartment beside her workstation. She fetches a hot towel from it, opening it up to spread across Sol’s neck and sides, making sure it’s touching around the ears too. Sol’s eyes seem to close gently, clearly enjoying that warm sensation across their skin. It’s been a while since I’ve given them a towel shave, and now they get to experience it from a professional.

While the towel’s left on their neck, the barber dispenses some cream into a tiny bowl, then begins lathering it with a brush. Once she’s returned to Sol’s side, she removes the towel to lay it on their right shoulder. With the lathered brush, she starts painting away— around the neckline where Sol’s baby hairs always grew wild, going up around the ears, and all the way to the sideburns. She sets the bowl of shaving cream down, then fetches a fresh blade to fix on the straight razor.

“Be real still for me,” the barber simply instructs, and Sol softly hums in agreement before surrendering to the barber’s touch.

She carefully tilts the head down first, starting her sharp work on the back of the neck. While I can’t quite see the result of it, I can hear the firm scrapes of the razor against skin. With every few strokes, she wipes the blade on the towel, keeping her implement before continuing on. Of all the tableaux I’m privy to in watching this magnificent cut, this is probably one of the sexiest— just seeing Sol be so vulnerable while the barber carves away.

She goes slowly, transitioning towards Sol’s right side which is out of my sight for now. She tilts the head to Sol’s left, then works the razor around the ear, eventually moving to those sideburns. Once satisfied, she starts on the opposite side, tilting Sol’s head accordingly while I can now get a bit of a glimpse. She carefully carves the curved line around the ears, then gets to work on the area near the cheekbone. With one decisive stroke, she rids Sol of their sideburn, and they’re left with a straight line that’s aligned slightly below the top of the ear.

She makes one last inspection across the back and sides, and when she’s satisfied she sets the razor back down on the counter. She picks up the towel, giving the freshly shaved areas a good wipe down before tossing the towel into a laundry bin. The hairdryer comes back out, but this time she’s also got a scalp brush in hand. As the hot air roars to life, she directs right on top of the head where she’s also running the scalp brush too. She goes in a bit of a forward motion, as if trying to coax those short locks to lay naturally forward towards the forehead. Such a peculiar sight— watching that furious blast of air running over Sol’s head, yet not a single lock is long enough to be moved by it. The only movement that’s happening is the stray locks getting blown away onto the floor, along with the gentle fluttering of the cape. Everything soon comes to a standstill with the dryer turning off, and the barber setting it back on its hook. She takes one last look at Sol, smiles, then happily swivels them back around to face the mirror.

“There we go! Short back and sides, tapered up nicely,” she starts showing off her work to Sol. “Cut the curls off so it’s tight and short on top too— finger-length, just like you wanted it.” Sol’s face is a lovely mix of wonder and apprehension staring back at their reflection— eyes wide in awe at the shortest their hair’s ever been, and in a sobering realisation that all those curls are just gone. And still looking so handsome. “Here, have a closer look. Lemme know what you think,” she says before handing Sol the hand mirror, then swiveling them so they’re backfacing the wall mirror again.

“Wow,” the surprise in their voice is bright as their head starts cocking to either side, getting a much closer look at the perimeter of the cut that’s been shaped so neatly. Sharp, straight lines that accentuate their face and head so masculinely, in what I’d hope makes them a bit more euphoric.

“Now don’t get me wrong: I think your curls are great. But personally? I think it looks better on you when it’s too short for curls.”

“Mm, too short for curls,” Sol echoes the barber’s words (which definitely sends a flutter through me) as their other hand comes out the cape, eager to tactilely inspect that statement. I see their lips become a thin line once their curious touch gets that irrefutable confirmation— the way their fingers so eagerly try and fail to wrap around a lock that’s far too short for such romanticism. Not a single curl to play and muss with. Just short, cropped locks that elude a tangle. Then comes an invitation.

“Wanna have a closer look, babe?”

“Sure!” I’m a little taken aback, not expecting this part of the script at all. But it’s all the more thrilling for me. I get to my feet, and I’m desperately trying to keep my excitement from breaking my composure as I march towards the main attraction of the scene. I carefully step over the loose curls on the floor, getting close enough to inspect my brave darling’s new ‘do.

I start by going side-to-side to examine the cut up-close, keeping myself to the visual realm first to slowly drink it in. To the inattentive eye, it’ll just look like Sol’s got a simple, cropped head of hair with how straight those tufts look, especially without the length to define its shape. But the more scrutinising eyes will notice it— the way there’s a subtle wave pattern even with how short those locks are, making one wonder if it’s meant to be part of something greater. Then there’s those that know Sol. The ones that know how plentiful Sol’s curls are. And then wonder where it all went.

Well, I know where it all went. Scattered all over that pinstriped cape and with even more littered on the floor. Soft, brown curls that’ve been such a signature part of them, soon to be swept off by this lovely barber, and then forgotten. And I can’t wait to see how everyone’s going to react to that iconic part of them that’s just gone.

Now it’s time for something a bit more physical. My teasing fingers start with the sides, tracing the way the barber had expertly carved the sides all the way to the crisp neckline. “Oooh, I like how fuzzy that is,” I say as my fingers feast on the sides and gloss over the razor-shaved bits. But they desire more. Slowly but surely, my hands finally reach up to the crown, where the extreme delight is to be had. And it’s everything I’d dreamed of. That soft pelt of hair that’s too short to get caught in my fingers. Locks that were so long and curly but a moment ago, now without enough length to call themselves a curl. My palm gets in for a touch too, and I’m almost just ruffling his head as I feel it touching the scalp with how short everything is. It takes a lot of willpower for me to not go berserk fondling their entire head. But I know I’m going to have a hell of a time once we leave the store and get back home.

I’m thoroughly impressed. With such a simple cut, she could’ve easily done a chop job and we could have been on our way in maybe 15 minutes or so. But she took her time, and I’m more than impressed with her work. Even though it’s only really Sol and I that knows this has all been a big plan in the making, the barber herself really stepped up. It’s the little details that really do it for me— the lovely taper that goes up their sides, the texture that’s left in those short tufts on top, and the way the front’s chipped away to leave those tiny, piecey bits to embellish the top of the forehead. She takes pride in her work, and it shows remarkably well. I’d be more than happy for Sol to have return trips to her chair. And maybe even a possibility of having her for my own personal escapades. But for now, this has been a magnificent show. One that I’m more than glad I’d been able to pull the strings for.

“Very handsome. Love this cut on you my darling.” I made sure they can hear how proud I am of them, and that the barber can hear how delightful this has been for me. A stellar performance from both of them. Sol gives their wide smile, so precious and clear to see now without all that hair possibly distracting. “Hold on, I need to get a picture,” I say before getting my phone out. My fingers find Sol’s jaw, holding their head from below as if I’m about to go in for an assertive kiss, then snap the photo. “This way I can show off my new nails, and your new cut.”

“Those are gorgeous nails,” the barber compliments.

“Thank you. And you did a gorgeous job with the cut,” I return the compliment as I step back, having had enough of an inspection lest I get too sensuous with Sol.

“It’s my pleasure.” She takes it as her cue to get back to Sol’s side to spin them back around to face the mirror when I start walking back to the bench. “Now, like I said: best part about this cut is that you don’t even need to style it— it’s gonna stay in place no matter what you do,” she flaunts with a bit of a ruffle at the front of the hairline, and true to her word, it moves back into position without a hitch. “But it doesn’t mean you can’t have fun with it. If you want a bit more texture, just throw in a bit of pomade and get your hands in there,” she demonstrates with some of the product she’s scooped out of a tub, working it through that short crop of hair to spruce up the texture.

“Mm, I like that,” Sol nods along.

“But really, it’s just a nice wash n’ go. You’ll love how quick it dries and how much less work you’ll need to do,” she concludes.

To end it off, the barber gets out the neck brush and hairdryer— giving a prompt gust of wind as she dusts off the neck and sides of any tiny, stray locks that are still persistently stuck to the skin. With the hairdryer off and back on its hook, the dusting continues, and not just on the edges, but even on that little head of hair on top. The bristles on that brush probably now able to get in to touch with the scalp with the locks so short. The ends of the cape are unclipped, the neck gets one final dusting with a sprinkle of talcum powder, and it’s all whisked off.

Those curls that were on the cape join their fallen brethren on the floor. All that fanciness that gave Sol’s head such a distinct character. Now just another pile for the barber to sweep off her floor. While what’s left behind on that head is much less lavish, it’s still a perfectly crafted silhouette that gives the rest of their face the attention it deserves. While Sol’s busy doing some physical self-reflection, I quickly head over to the cash register where the barber’s prepared to ring them up. “Here you are: keep the change,” I quickly palm the cash into her hand before Sol could even think about paying.

“Oh, thank you!” surprised I’m the one to step up first.

“Wait, no, darling you didn’t have to!” Sol finally gets to their feet, flustered at how I managed to sneak yet another one under them.

“It’s all good darling— happy to pay for something so handsome,” I proudly say before giving them a peck on the cheek, then creep up to their ear for a whisper, “and if you behave, maybe I’ll let you pay for dinner.” They go silent. Biting down that tongue while we’re still in the shop.

“Have a lovely summer, you two!” The barber bids us farewell as we slowly head for the door.

“Oh, we will,” I give a wink back as Sol holds the door open.

“Thank you!” Sol waves before we leave.

**

And of course we have to take the scenic route home. Even if it does make me have to wait that much longer to get my hands all over them. But for now, I’ll leave it to marinate a bit more as I let them get that feeling of just being in the sun with their lighter head of hair, giving them every chance to feel the airy breeze and basking in that newfound freedom of theirs. My handsomely cropped darling, a walking radiance that rivals the sun.

“You did amazing, my darling,” I praise as we walk, hand clutched in each other’s while I hold back the urge to make a mess of each other. And their cheeks take no time to flush. “You did everything perfectly, and I’m so proud of you. Not to mention of course, how handsome you look with your hair this short.” I feel their warm grip on my hand tighten lovingly as they can’t stop themself from smiling now. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” they say with some confidence. “I mean, I knew it was gonna be short when we were talking about it. But it’s only after she cut the top that I was like ‘oh wait, that’s really short’.”

I giggle. “It is, and it looks so good on you,” I reach up to give it a ruffle, still absolutely thrilled at the way those short locks feel on my hand. Not a single curl in sight or touch.

“Sol?”

I hear that familiar voice call out while we’re absentmindedly walking, and I’m already all smiles anticipating what’s to come. “Gina!” I’m the first to respond while Sol’s still getting their bearings. “How’re you?”

“I’m good, but oh, Sol!” She’s a little more excited now as her eyes finally catch onto it. “Your hair…”

“Ah, right,” Sol’s finally facing the music— realising they weren’t gonna have to just present the new version of themself already. No time to mentally prepare. “Yeah, got a haircut today,” they keep it short and sweet. Just like their hair.

“I can see that,” Gina’s clearly fighting back the incredulousness. “It’s really short. I had to double take cos I couldn’t recognise you without all the curls. Almost thought Helena was cheating on you!”

We all share a hearty laugh. “No no, it is me. Just felt like a trim for the heat, y’know?” Sol undersells it, and I get all tingly knowing how much they’re playing along. Even though the show may be over, there’s still a bit of performance to give. This may have all been my grand idea, but I’d told him one very important thing to remember from the moment he steps in the chair: No one must know this was my idea.

There’s just something so sexy about it— the way Sol’s gonna be walking around now with that tight crop of hair that’s so different from their short curls, and I’m gonna be staring at it every day knowing it was me that willed something like that to happen. That it was my idea for those curls to be snipped off good. Everyone’s going to be so astounded when they see Sol, missing that defining part of them that people know well. And Sol’s got to pretend it’s their idea the entire time. I pull the strings, and they dance along for me.

“Your curls are gone and you’re saying it was just a trim?” Gina’s half-laughing at this point.

“Oh tell me about it!” I cut in. “I thought I was just accompanying them to the barbers to get it trimmed. They sat in the chair and next thing I knew, the barber goes snip snip snip,” I playfully mimic a pair of scissors running across their scalp, where the length is so scant now that my fingers are never at risk of tangling their hair, “and all the curls are on the floor!” The flustering on Sol gets even more intense.

“Can’t imagine the shock that must’ve been. But hey, it looks really good. Will probably take some time getting used to seeing you without the curls, but I like it,” Gina says in earnest.

“Thanks,” Sol coyly replies, probably feeling a bit more relieved now that the first pair of eyes to see the cut actually likes it. This is how they probably want to conquer it— slowly meeting a couple people at a time to make their debut, taking in the reactions and questions little by little. And then Gina decides to drop a little bomb.

“I’m gonna see you two at the party later, right?”

I feel Sol tense up a bit. So I answer for us. “Yes, we’re definitely gonna be there.”

“Great! And thank god I bumped into you two, I needed to ask: would you be cool to handle the barbeque grill, Sol?” Gina asks. “Cillian was supposed to do it, but he’s been a little ill and I don’t want him anywhere near handling the food. I know you’ve got a bit of experience with it, so I thought I’d ask before springing it on you out of the blue when you arrive.”

Well this is just perfect. The thought of Sol having to debut their cut so suddenly at the party is already so exciting. But now they have to debut it and be all sexy manning the grill? Where all the eyes couldn’t ignore? I bite my tongue to not immediately volunteer them— god it would so easy to push them into this— and instead just squeeze their hand a bit to encourage.

“Uhm… yeah, sure,” they eventually relent.

“You’re a lifesaver— thanks, Sol. I’ll see you two later!”

We wave Gina goodbye before continuing the walk back home. “Fuck, I totally forgot about the party,” Sol whispers, still aware we might be in earshot.

Of course they did. A part of me knew this could happen. A bigger part of me wanted this to happen. We’d been building up to this day for a bit, getting all excited about this big haircut— rehearsing the words, mustering up the courage, . Of course the thought of a party could slip their mind. I didn’t, though. And I’d very deliberately not reminded them whenever it crossed my mind.

“Perfect timing, isn’t it?” I impishly say. “Fresh haircut, and you get to show it off so soon.”

They turn to me with that anxious look on their face, though it quickly turns to one of realisation. “You remembered.” They’re connecting the dots. “And you didn’t remind me.” My impeccable smile already tells the whole story, and I can sense all the emotions coming to them.

It’s just like how I scripted it all up. A dramatic shearing of a performance in the afternoon, and an excellent opportunity in the night to show off my handsomely shorn lamb. “I didn’t think you’d forget,” I lie so blatantly that they can’t help but show that exasperation.

The next thing I know I’m pulled off the path, and I follow so gingerly knowing. Away from prying eyes they push me up against a tree, and our lips are finally reacquainted. My hands find every inch of their head from the back— where it’s that much more skin for me to caress, for me to love. All without the stubborn curls to get in my way. My lips find their neck, kissing it all the way up as I drink in that floral scent of the talc from the barber. Intoxicating.

A hand starts creeping up my skirt, and I instinctively catch the attempted trespass. “Uh-uh,” I whisper. “What did I say about being naughty? We can wait till we’re home.”

“We’re having dinner at the party, aren’t we?” they retort, as if they’ve been planning to touché me since the moment they’d whisk me away. “Someone’s little threat backfired.”

“Ah, fuck.” All I can do is giggle as I surrender to their touch, letting them fondle me while my own hands and lips just feast on the rest of their head. As the momentum builds, the thought of them getting to show off their new look later tonight gets a rise in me. All those eyes on Sol, getting to see the strings I pulled. It gets hard to keep in the moans as I yearn to surrender— something I hadn’t factored in at all in the grand plan, but I’m happy to give it to Sol.