Rebellion

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Foreword: This is a special one. A great friend and I co-wrote this based on an idea we had from imagining fun scenarios, and now you all get to see the beautiful result. They’re a phenomenal writer, though they haven’t published on this site. We hope you enjoy reading this as much as we did writing it <3

“Just left work! Meet you at the usual place before my appointment?”

The sent message whooshed as I tapped into the station. Leaving work on a Friday was always a good feeling, but a Friday with a hair appointment was a bigger cherry on top. While it definitely is a rather ‘mundane’ thing to be doing about once a month, it was always special to me— well, to both me and Roxanne. Being married to someone who had a thing for hair meant I was never going to get my haircut alone. Without fail, she would be there for every routine trim, gleefully watching from the waiting bench as I got my blonde pixie neatened up. And just nice for her, she’d usually schedule her own colour session about once every three months to get her gorgeous red hair touched up, and then we’d both take turns in the chair.

Was her fascination with my short hair weird? Intriguing, perhaps. But I wouldn’t say ‘weird’. Hell, I wasn’t going to complain when the sex that we’d always have after my haircuts was the most divine. If she got off on me getting my hair cut, that’s just one more button for me to press.

But as I was walking towards the cafe that Roxanne and I typically had a drink at before my appointments, things felt off when I realised she hadn’t replied. Strange— she was never late. In fact, most of the time I’d already be seeing her through the cafe window, nestled comfortably in one of the side tables waiting for me. Ding. Speak of the devil.

I slid open the message. And frowned.

<Roxie>
Hey babe, I’m so so sorry, but I might have to rain check. Something just came up at work and I really can’t get out of this one. I think I’m gonna have to stay really late to clear this up. God, I’m so fucking sorry. Could you reschedule for another time? 

 

I sighed, feeling my heart sink. All that excitement building up the whole day at work. And then it just drops.

I can’t reschedule, Roxie. Fran’s fully booked for the whole weekend, and I told you I was gonna be super busy with my production for the next few weeks. Today’s the only day I can get it done. And you know how I feel about letting it grow too long.” Send.

I typed with a certain fury I didn’t realise I had, but pressing the ‘send’ button had an odd feeling of catharsis to it. Although, everything I did say in there was true— this was the one day I had to get it done. Thinking of letting anyone else do it over the weekend was just not an option. I trusted Fran, and only Fran with my hair. And now the last thing I wanted to do was to let it grow out into an unbearable length especially with a hectic set of work weeks up ahead. Ding

<Roxie>
🙁

 

I stared at the message for a good minute, waiting for her to say something more— to tell me she was gonna be here, but maybe just a little late. That wouldn’t have been so bad. But nothing. And so I typed.

“Well, I’m getting my haircut today. I know you always want to be there to watch, but I just can’t reschedule this time. I already told you how busy I’m gonna be, and that today’s the only time I could do it. So whether you’re there or not, I’m gonna be getting my haircut. Okay?” Send 

Again, there was something inside of me just burning as I realised what might just come to be. My first haircut appointment ‘alone’, in a way. Ironic that it’s her who so desperately wants to watch all the time, yet I’m the one feeling upset about not having her with me this time. Well I guess I couldn’t help but feel awful knowing our little fun tradition was going to be disrupted today. Ding 

<Roxie>
Okay 🙁

 

And that was it. The reality of a haircut appointment alone kicked in, and it was… a weird feeling. The last time this ever happened was way before I met Roxanne— when blonde tresses were still flowing down my back. Yet, in a way this felt… liberating. For so long she’d always be there, watching me get my haircut, and always pestering me to make sure I kept it at the ‘correct’ length that she always wanted— soft and fuzzy undercut with the top much longer so that she could ruffle through my blonde waves and push them back off my face anytime she wanted. But today, there wasn’t anyone exactly going to police that. I won’t lie— there were some naughty thoughts playing in my head.

Just as I picked up my latte and had a seat at one of the booth seats we’d usually settle into at the cafe, there was another notification on my phone.

<Roxie>
I know I’m not really in a position to ask but… could you record the haircut? That way I can watch it later before we get into bed 😉 

 

Oh, the absolute gall of her to ask for a video when she couldn’t make it. She doesn’t have the time for me, but of course I’d have to be the one bending a little just for her pleasure. Granted, haircut day sex was always the best sex, but it still felt like shit knowing she wasn’t going to be there.

“Okay :)” I had to make sure it didn’t seem like I was frustrated. She didn’t need to know what devious things were going to happen— she’ll find out eventually. The thoughts were cementing in my head now, and I think I knew just the way to punish her for this. I was gonna give her a video, alright. One that she won’t ever forget.

*

“Hey Joanna!” I heard Fran call out to me cheerily from her chair as I closed the door behind me. “Roxanne gonna be late?” she asked when she realised I was alone.

“Hey Fran! Just me today, actually,” I replied, heading for the waiting bench just opposite her chair. The place was bustling with colours, where I’ve never seen so many well-dressed barbers in one area at a time. Being one of the few queer and gender neutral barbershops in the area, it definitely was a beacon for most of our community. There were three barber chairs that were always occupied, and today was no different. Walk-ins were almost impossible unless you had the greatest luck finding out someone had a sudden cancellation.

Oh,” there was genuine surprise in Fran’s voice. “That’s a first.”

“Quite literally, yeah,” I added, still feeling a little disoriented knowing Roxie wasn’t going to be here for any of this. Yet… oddly excited.

“We’ll just be a few more minutes then we can get you sorted, yeah?” Fran assured me as she continued with her precision snips on her customer’s long mane.

“Sweet.”

Fran’s a beautiful and handsome charmer, all at once. She kept her hair short in a sort of slicked back, greasy look with that single piecey strand of hair twirling forward. Today she was sporting a cream-coloured blouse with the top button loose, and a comfy pair of black jeans that went with her leather boots. Don’t tell Roxanne, but if I hadn’t met her before meeting Fran for the first time, I definitely would’ve tried my luck with this adorable greaser.

It didn’t take long for Fran to finish up, and only after a few minutes of me scrolling through Twitter I’d realised her chair was empty already— being dusted and ready for her next customer of the day. “All yours, Joanna,” she turned the chair to face me, giving it a pat on the back.

I undid my bomber jacket to reveal my green tank top underneath, then placed it beside my tote bag on the waiting bench before heading for Fran’s workstation. I sank myself in the comfortable leather padding, heaving a hefty sigh. She turned me around to face the mirror, and lo behold my dishevelled mop was clear for all to see. The undercut was getting way overgrown now, practically touching my ears which I just couldn’t stand. And the top… boy, was it so much harder to control so much thickness and waviness when it gets unruly. But alas, Fran was here to relieve me of this mess.

“You’re not having a fight with Roxie, are you?” Fran probed softly as she was gathering her apparatus.

“No no, nothing like that,” I assured her with a chuckle. “She’s just stuck at work today, and I really can’t reschedule cos I’m gonna be super busy with my production these next few weeks. Today’s literally the only day I’ve got to clean up this mop,” I said as I ruffled a hand through my blonde waves a little sentimentally, realising those last few words I said were going to mean something quite different today. Wow, was I really going to do this?

“Ahh, I see. Still, it’s just odd seeing you here alone. You two have always seemed so inseparable ever since that first time you got in my chair,” Fran reminisced as she tore a piece of neck tissue from a roll.

“Oh, speaking of which,” I took this as a segue, “you don’t mind if I record the haircut? Roxie’s feeling a little FOMO that she’s not here, so she just wants something to see when she gets home later,” I asked.

“Go ahead! Poor girl should at least get a nice video of it if she’s not gonna have the full live experience,” Fran gave the green light.

“Thanks, she’ll really appreciate this,” I said as I got out my phone, turning on the front facing camera to make sure I’d positioned it at a good angle on the countertop before pressing the red record button.

Once it was all set up, Fran took it as her cue to return behind me with her neck tissue in hand. I craned my head upwards instinctively to let her wrap it easily around my neck. She then unhooked the black nylon cape off the wall, giving it a soft flick before flinging it gracefully over me. She smoothened out the cape so that it covered my figure completely, save for my Doc Martens that were firmly set on the footrest.

“Just the usual trim today?” Fran eventually broached the fateful question as she ran her fingers through my wavy mess on top.

“You know, I was thinking,” I started, my mouth starting to feel dry realising I was going to say something so different for once, “could you cut the top shorter than usual?”

“Ooh, that’s new,” Fran’s eyes were lighting up— a fire in her eyes I hadn’t seen since I first took the plunge with her a long while ago. “What did you have in mind? Maybe just about an inch shorter so the bangs don’t really sweep the brows?” she was quick to suggest, using a hand to shift my bangs back, trying to emulate what it would look like.

“Actually,” it was wild to think that what she’d suggested wasn’t short enough— but alas, this was all a personal scheme in motion, “I was thinking much shorter,” again, my mouth just starting parching up having to say those words. “Like, so short that I wouldn’t really have to worry about styling it, kinda thing.”

Oh,” Fran’s surprise hit a new level now, but she still had that pleasant outlook to her. “We talking short short, then? Something like a crop? Super short, fuss-free?” she was getting closer to my vision.

“Yeah, fuss-free,” I liked that term. Not having to fuss about my hair. Not having my hair being fussed about by somebody. “I mean I love how you usually do it, don’t get me wrong. But some days the waviness gets a little out of hand, and I gotta take so much time trying to keep it presentable. I kind of don’t wanna worry about it too much while I’m gonna be busy with the production. Just want it to all be in place without doing anything to it,” I spun the yarn. Well, part of the sentiment was true— I was going to have a lot on my plate in the coming weeks, and the thought of having less hair to worry about while that was going on was definitely appealing. But as I glanced back into the camera, I knew a big part of me was not just doing this for ‘practical’ reasons.

Ah, I see. Did you want it to look more masc? Or did you want it to look feminine?” she inquired.

“Feminine, if it’s not impossible,” I realised how challenging this must be for her— asking her to rid me of so much hair yet wanting it to still be pretty for me.

She spent a moment flicking my hair this way and that, probably trying to envision how it was gonna look. “Alright, let’s do something kinda Jean Seberg,” she started, and the image of that stunning woman flashed through my mind. I remembered the time when Roxie had shown me pictures of her as part of her short hair fascination, and it was so bizarre to think she was going to be the blueprint for me today. Some things really come full circle. “I’ll keep it soft and feminine, but it’ll be short enough you won’t even have to worry about combing it,” she suggested, trailing off for a moment, “or have the length to properly run your fingers through it.”

Fuck. Short enough I won’t have to comb it? And with so little length that I couldn’t even run my fingers through it? That was… stark. But somehow also so fucking thrilling. Just the thought of waking up and being ready to head out the door without doing anything to my hair? And that nothing— or rather, no one— could even mess it up? The perfect vengeance.

“Yeah,” I weakly agreed, still coming to terms with a decision so rash. “Sounds good.”

“Alright then. One tight crop, coming right up!” she enthusiastically announced, and only when I heard those words so happily coming out of her mouth did it really start to sink in what I was signing myself up for. Suddenly that image of me in the mirror with such unruly waves didn’t seem so bad— because if I didn’t do anything to stop this in the next few minutes, I wasn’t going to see any of my waves for at least a good month or so.

I absentmindedly got a hand out from under the cape, sinking my fingers into my golden waves above. They felt soft as always, and just feeling the texture gracing my palms was such a fun, tactile experience. Although, if there was anyone that was going to miss it more than me, it was definitely poor Roxie. My eyes glanced back down to the camera at the thought of her, a soft smirk playing on my lips. One last time, I gave my head of hair a good ruffle, trying to look as charmingly in the camera as I could to perform for Roxie in this solo act of mine. Poor Roxie— little did she know that this morning was unsuspectingly the last time she was going to get to mess up my hair before work. And now, I get to have the last laugh.

“Feeling a bit sentimental?” Fran turned to ask as she gathered up her tools, probably realising that my hand was still on its own journey.

“A little,” I admitted. “It’s just been a while since I’ve had something drastic done, I guess.”

“Getting flashbacks to that first time?” Fran brought up with a smile.

“Oh, nothing could compare to that time. I mean, it’s just a few extra inches I’m losing today. The first time was, what, a whole foot-length?” I reminisced with her as I slunk my hand back down under the cape.

“14 inches, if I estimated right,” she corrected me. “All went snip snip, and you were dubbed a pixie.”’

“Well, more snip snip today, and dub me a crop, o’ mighty Fran,” I tried to keep the momentum going, partially as a way of overcoming my own nerves. As little as ‘a few extra inches’ might sound when I’d said it, I knew this was still going to feel major.

“Roxanne’s gonna have quite the show to watch tonight, isn’t she?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” God, it just felt so liberating realising how Roxie genuinely had no power here— how this was all going to be a huge spectacle that she could only watch from behind a glass wall.

“Alright,” Fran returned to my side with an air of commencement, but curiously without her clippers that she always began with, “so we’re gonna start with the top this time. I wanna get the length sorted out first, so that way I can see how it’ll look before I decide on what number to blend in the sides.”

Oh, well then. Here I was thinking I might just get a few more minutes of enjoying seeing my waves in the mirror, but I guess that dream was going to get cut off real quick. Literally. “Cool.” She began with the spray bottle, taking her time to dampen my thick tresses as she tried to keep the waves flowing in a general direction. Once it felt sufficiently damp, she set down the spray bottle, then fished out the pair of scissors from her apron. Here you go, Roxie— the best show you never asked for.

Fran stood directly behind me now, and she began combing up a generous section of my hair that was right at my forehead. Unlike how she’d usually trace her forefingers about a few inches away from my head to decide on the length, this time her fingers sat comfortably on my scalp— with her palm resting on the shape of my skull. I half-prepared to wince when I saw the steel blades immediately open, taking its aim just above those fingers resting on my scalp.

SNIP SNIP SNIP 

I watched as my golden locks zipped right past my face, landing right onto my lap where they appeared so glossy and bright against the black cloth. Seeing the way it splayed across my lap made it look so long— at least a couple inches just laying there so lifelessly, when just a moment ago it was still stuck to my head. Fran’s palm left my head to reveal the poor victim left behind on my scalp— a soft bristle of blonde that jutted out of my scalp.

“Is that short enough?” she asked as she flicked that tiniest tuft with a finger.

Terrified yet curious, I got a hand out from under the cape. I stifled a gasp as I felt the length that remained, just softly prickling against my fingers. There was no chance in hell that was going to be twirling around my finger anymore— let alone Roxie’s fingers. “Mhm,” I quickly slid my hand back under as I agreed with my mouth shut, afraid to actually say anything in case my voice cracked.

“Great! So it’ll basically be that short all over the top,” she starts gesturing with her hand over my head, and it sends a shiver down my spine just trying to visualise it, “and then I’ll blend it in towards the bottom later once we’ve got the length sorted for the sides too.”

All I could physically do was give a lipless smile back and a weak nod, which she took as her cue to get back to work. She went for a section right beside the first victims, doing that same motion of combing the hefty length all upwards before resting her fingers snugly on my scalp. The scissors opened, and then-

SNIP SNIP SNIP 

I wasn’t going to lie— seeing such chunks of my blonde waves just raining down past my eyes was sending jitters into me. But Fran kept going, and she operated like clockwork. After every snip I’d grimace a little less, but seeing those short tufts left behind was just disorienting. With how there was still some significant length over my head, it still wasn’t kicking in that those bristles were going to be the longest locks left on my scalp.

Fran worked methodically, starting with those front sections of my crown and then going roughly row by row towards the back of my head. At this point hair was starting to litter all over my shoulders, with some unlucky waves instead diving head-first for the floor. The black cape was starting to feel apt with how my shorn locks were adorning it— like scattered, twinkly stars across a night sky.

“God, my WASPy parents are going to freak when I show up like this at Thanksgiving. It was already bad enough after the first time I cut it all off,” I found myself musing out loud.

Fran actually stopped snipping midway to pout at me in the mirror. “What, you mean your family didn’t like my work when they first saw it?”

“They can barely tolerate my being a lesbian, so me looking like one? They were probably just thinking ‘our daughter’s too far gone’ when I rocked up with the buzzed sides and another dyke in hand,” I recounted. “Although, come to think of it, when I was always in lacrosse gear with my hair in a sloppy ponytail during high school, that looked so dykey. Probably more dykey than this.”

“Nah, this one’s gonna be peak dyke, trust me. A good crop can be the sign of a bold lesbian,” she assured as she went back to snipping off my blonde waves so nonchalantly. “Although, it must help your parents tolerate it that the woman you bring home with you is so gorgeous, can’t imagine any family wouldn’t be proud to add her into their family photos.”

I smiled, thinking about how for the first time ever last year after all our years together, they actually, finally, used a picture of us as a couple on their annual Christmas card that has shots of all the Forrester kids and their respective spouses, instead of an awkward solo photo of me amongst all the couple photos yet again. And it had my short hair on display—no hiding the dyke daughter anymore. And it seems like this year it was gonna be ever dykier— who would’ve known?

“Fran,” I told her, “we both know that no one is a bolder lesbian than Roxanne. It’s not about short versus long hair— it’s the aura. She’s always going to be a bigger dyke than anyone, even with that mermaid hair. Especially with that mermaid hair. That completes the Big Strap Energy.”

Fran chuckles. “Your puppy love for her would make me want to vomit if you weren’t so damn cute together.”

“Well, you make us look cute, technically,” I credited. And now, all I could think about was that photo of us from the Christmas card: me in an ugly green Christmas sweater to fit the theme and be playful, and her in a sexy red dress because, well, it’s Roxanne after all, so of course she wore that for a family-friendly card— her profile in view as she nuzzled my bare neck with her nose, and me with a dorky grin on my face from the pleasure it gave me (and of course, our lazy little grouch of a cat Oscar nestled in my arms).

My eyes were slowly glued back to the mirror, watching as my voluminous yet unruly mane of gold was shrinking down so gradually, leaving behind only a tender pelt in the wake of those steel blades. Fran worked so rhythmically— as if cropping her clients so short was a norm. It seemed like an easier cut to do: nothing to measure too closely, just using her fingers as the rough guide for how short the hair was going to be.

Before I knew it, I was watching that last, wavy lock getting combed up near the back of my crown, and snip snip went the shears. And that was all she wrote— my thick waves were almost virtually no more. All that was left was a pelt of tiny golden tufts, almost blending into the colour of my skin as it seemed to magnify my face.

“How’s that?” Fran rubbed a hand across my cropped crown, and the shivers it sent through me were paralysing. “Nice n’ neat isn’t it?” I took that as my chance to get my own hand out, cautiously making its way up to where my golden crown once was.

Fuck, I wanted to exclaim right there and then. Feeling one tuft at the start was a shock, but feeling my entire head just cropped so close? There was literally nothing to get tangled in— my fingers quite literally just brushed across everything. “Wow,” I gasped as I explored it all, this new playground that was now on my head. There was something so deceptive about the length— how every time I ran my fingers through it, I swear I was just about to grab enough to try to twirl it in my fingers. But it fell just short every time. Roxie was going to absolutely hate it. And that was making me love it even more. “Can’t even tousle or mess it up,” I observed, almost sounding like I was trying to come to terms with it too.

“Not at all!” Fran seemed rather amused, as if she enjoyed shearing me so short. “Run your hands over it a million times, and it all just stays in place. No more tousling. You can stash the comb for at least a couple weeks.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Now it was really sinking in— when I could actually feel what I’d specifically asked for right in my hands. This was going to be way more practical than just tying up my hair back in the lacrosse days.

“Okay, so I was thinking, since the top’s a lot shorter now, how about we go a bit shorter for the sides too?” Fran was shifting back to her ‘artistic vision’ talk. “I usually do like a #4 all around, but I think this time we could do a #2 so that it’ll took less ‘heavy’, in a sense, and then it’ll go it to a #1 towards the bottom,” she starts explaining with her hands now, gesturing to just around my ears. “And then I’ll taper it up and blend it in so it comes off really chic,” she rounds it off as she slides the fingers up.

“Fran, even if you told me shaving the sides to skin was the best idea, I think I’d believe you,” I joked, though the sentiment was quite true. “I think it sounds great. I trust you,” I gave her a warm smile, making sure she could see how I felt about it.

“I’ll skin fade you another day, maybe,” Fran played along. “But yeah, a soft taper would be a nice start for now. I’ll go get the clippers!” she excitedly announced, heading straight for the counter.

While she fiddled around with the clippers and the guards, I took that brief respite to just inspect how the top looked from different angles. From a glance it certainly seemed like the sides and the top were about the same length, though when you really looked at it the sides were definitely a little more uneven, where the hint of waviness was more visible. But it was all gonna be buzzed off soon, anyway. Much shorter than before, if I had heard Fran’s suggestion correctly.

Fran only took a moment before she was back at my side, looking chipper as ever with her favourite implement in hand. I remembered the first time I was in her chair— how I was mortified to see those loud, menacing clippers being wielded by her. The way they just mowed off so much of my blonde locks in such a short amount of time was petrifying. But oddly, the more she’d used it, the more it grew on me. Now, it’s practically my favourite part of every haircut— it always felt like a free massage.

Pop. Bzzzz. 

She wasn’t wasting any time as she took her position, using her free hand to tilt my head slightly to the left as she held it firmly in place. I realised that this time, she didn’t have to clip up my hair on top like she usually did— none of my hair was long enough to get in the way anymore. What a thought. She placed the roaring clippers right at my cheekbones, then manoeuvred them up through the sideburns and into my overgrown locks.

Just hearing those clippers clash against my hair was like music to my ears, and I sank into the feeling of those warm blades. With every pass she made she gave a flick as she reached the top, sending shorter tufts of my hair down to join that sea of blonde that had already amassed on the cape. In the mirror I could see the path that the clippers wrought— how neat fuzz was just left behind, standing so contrastingly to the messy, blonde lawn around it that was still to be cleaned up. She folded down my ear as she ran the clippers over it, and now I realised there was virtually nothing going to be touching my ears at all. Ever. Can’t mess my hair too much to the point that it’ll touch it or irritate it at all, no. My ears were just… free. Free for someone’s devilish tongue and teeth to indulge in without impediment. Okay, I guess I was doing Roxie one small favour with this haircut.

Much like the top, Fran was very rhythmic with her process. She had a sort of flow to her, doing steady passes with the clippers as she cleaned up my right side of its golden mess. She eventually transitioned to the back, tilting my head forward this time as she began at the base of my nape. This part was always fun when Roxie was around— specifically when she’d told me how she saw it.

“Every time she tilts your head down while you’re in that chair,” she whispered to me once while we were making out in bed, all while her hands were claiming the realm that was my head, “and she starts doing the back with the clippers? Oh my god, you look so fucking vulnerable and submissive, I just wanna pounce on you.”

After that night, anytime we went for a haircut and Fran was doing my back, I was sure to make solid eye contact with Roxanne in the mirror, giving her my brattiest look as she’ll usually start crossing her legs a little tighter. I wasn’t given that privilege this time, but I could at least stare into the camera for her with the most smug look on my face as Fran went to town on my nape.

This was typically the more ticklish part of the haircut— while I couldn’t really see any of the process, everything else was more magnified as I felt tiny clippings just dropping on the back of my neck. Every once in a while Fran would casually sweep it off with the back of her hand, and I’d get a slight tingle as she hit that sensitive spot.

Before long she was already starting on the left side, and I’d instinctively tilted my head to the right for her so she could continue seamlessly. It’s wild to think how my first experience was so different: I remember Fran had to pull a stool over just so Roxie could sit beside me and hold my hand the entire time, and especially during the clippers. I probably winced every time Fran had buzzed off a few inches of hair, and she’d dramatically flick it off for me to see it rain down. I felt like I was squeezing the life out of Roxie’s hand the whole time, and all she could really do was rub the back of my hand as Fran turned me into the new person I needed to be. Suffice to say, the first sex right after that most dramatic haircut was the most insane sex I’d ever had.

There was a fiery passion in Roxanne when we made love that night, and her hands were just permanently glued to my head of hair, alternating between the fuzzy sides and the sumptuous waves. But she was also so tender— she knew that first haircut was a big deal, and she could tell I was still really disoriented even in bed. “You were such a big girl in that chair today,” she said so sweetly, and it made my heart melt how she just fed into my praise kink. “I’m so proud of you. I know it was scary, but you were so so brave. My strong, beautiful girl.”

I snapped back into reality when I heard the clippers shut off, and I realised Fran had finished with the first round of the clippers. I cocked my head from side to side, beaming as I realised those little tufts weren’t at risk of touching my ears anymore. At that point I’d say the cut looked quite alright already: the sides were a shorter, velvety fuzz that I couldn’t wait to rub all over, and it was subtly contrasted with the cropped locks above that were just a little longer with the slightest hint of waviness.

Fran returned to my side in no time, the clippers head now attached to another coloured guard. She flicked it back on and started on my right side, though this time only going so high with it. I could see the tiniest dustings of my golden hair being shorn off as they began littering the cape, joining its other lost brethren. Fran was a lot more meticulous at this stage: making sure every pass of the clipper was deliberate at just the right length. She did this all around the sides and back, practising utmost care with this stage.

She soon flicked off the guard and then inverted the clippers so she could start shaping up the hairline on the sides and back to really complete the look. Once it was all to her liking, she shut off the clippers for the last time before placing them back on the hook. “Nice, isn’t it? The way it just tapers up so smoothly?” she pointed out as she picked up her comb and scissors once more.

“Looks really good.” I was impressed— the lower part of the sides were now just slightly shorter that it almost blended into my skin, but it looked really smooth how it just sloped up into the longer bits of hair towards the top. My faith in Fran was never misplaced.

“Now, I’m just gonna blend in the sides and the top so it’s a little neater, and you’ll be all set,” she said as she jumped right back into action.

She used a scissor-over-comb technique here, making very precise snips between the crown and the sides to make sure the length was just right. I kept my head steady as a rock the whole time, though still feeling so giddy just seeing the cut fully taking its shape in the mirror. Ponytail Joanna felt so far away— today, I felt like a different, but much stronger woman than before. I went from needing my hand held by Roxie during the first big haircut, to this act of rebellion against Roxie herself. I could only wonder what ‘punishment’ she might have in store for me once she’s seen what I’d done. It’s funny how she’d playfully threatened me once with hair rules— telling me how she was going to get cross if my hair grew way too long, and that she’d march me herself into this chair to make sure it was cut to an appropriate length. I was enthralled by it: the concept of her having control over my hair. It was safe to say I’d been obeying her faithfully; initially out of respect for the rules, but eventually I’d just gotten so used to having it short that anytime it was too long, even I couldn’t stand it.

But what would happen if I went too short for her liking? Ooh, I couldn’t wait to find out what she was going to pull out of the bag this time.

It wasn’t long before Fran had stopped snipping, and I guess the cut was just about completed. She unhooked the hairdryer, then turned it on a low setting as she began blow drying the top. Usually she would run a good amount of mousse or some product through my hair before blow drying it so that she could dictate the waves in a certain way. This time though, there just wasn’t a single lock that was long enough to be blown out of place.

“And we’re all done!” she announced as she turned off the dryer. “Come, let me turn you around and give you the mirror so you can see it all for yourself,” she added as she turned the chair for me to face the waiting bench. I got a hand out from under the cape so I could accept the hand mirror, then raised it right in front of my face so I could see every inch of the cut clearly.

It was definitely the shortest cut I’d had to date, not just for the top that was now super cropped, but for the sides and back as well. Just like the sides, the back was very neatly tapered up in a beautiful fuzz, and she even added a cheeky little V on the neckline that really made it so chic. Once the visual inspection was done, it was time for the most important part. I got out my other hand from under the cape, then went straight for my neck. “Wow,” the exhilaration left my lips as I felt the back. The shorter fuzz towards the bottom felt so good, and the way that it slowly tapered upwards to even longer fuzz was a thrill I couldn’t really describe. And of course I had to feel the top one more time— indulging in every bit of that softness that just wasn’t getting messed up at all no matter how many times I ruffled it over and over. In terms of practicality, this was going to be a hard haircut to beat. I spent a bit of time caressing my head all over, though I tried focusing a bit more towards the nape area as I remembered that I had an audience to record for on that counter behind me. I’m sure Roxie would love seeing me fondle this freshly-shorn head over and over— where her majesty’s golden waves no longer resided.

“You’re phenomenal, Fran. I fucking love it,” I looked up to my almighty barber, who was beaming from ear to ear just seeing me enjoy myself. “Thank you so much for this.”

“Thank you for trusting me with this! Such a short pixie is no easy cut to do let alone pull off, but you’ve got all the right features just for it,” she complimented as I handed her back the mirror. “Now, let me get all of this off of you,” she continued as she started undoing the neck tissue and cape. Just before whisking it off, she made sure to dust the nape and hairline with the little neck brush— and I’d always have to hold in my giggles feeling how ticklish it was on such a sensitive area. “And you don’t mind if we do a few photos for the Insta account? Gorgeous woman like you with a soft blonde crop would be the best addition to my lookbook too.”

“On one condition,” I forewarned as she whisked the cape off of me, flicking it to the side as I watched my golden waves tumble forth onto the floor. The last time I was going to see them for at least a month or so. “Only post it tomorrow.” She gave me a bemused look. “Roxie has no idea I did this. She thinks I’m here just for a trim, and not for this lovely plot twist. She’s going to freak when she comes home later, and I want every bit of surprise I can get from it,” I spilled the beans.

Oh,” Fran’s eyes widened now, realising what she’d just done. “I was complicit in this.”

Very. You were the architect of this, Fran,” I joked as I slowly got out of the chair, feeling a tad woozy with that airiness that was all over my head now. I stepped right in front of the counter where the mirror and my phone was, having my time in the sun just turning from side to side with my hands all over my head feeling and seeing myself in this newfound glory. “Someone’s going to be so pissed that they can’t ruffle their hands through my hair anymore,” I tried to sound as dramatic as I could for the camera to hear. ‘“No more blonde waves for the greedy girl.”

“Roxie, if you’re listening, I had no idea about this,” Fran butted into view of the camera, a concerned look on her face.

“Oh, don’t worry, Fran. It’s way too late, now,” I said as I picked up the phone to let it get a close-up of my crop all around. “You’ve already snipped it all off,” I teased with a seductive rub across the top of my head, “my beautiful, golden waves are now,” I tapped on the screen, switching from the front camera to the back one to show the messy floor around the chair, “all gone.” End recording.

*

I thought I’d understood what it felt like to feel the wind over your head after the first time I’d cut it all off— but after I’d left the barbershop that day, that experience was taken to a whole new level. It was one thing to have your head just permanently being cooled off, but to not have to worry about your hair swinging all over the place and getting messed up by the wind? Sweeping my hair out of my eyes was always such a huge pain, but now I could just walk freely without worrying about any of that. Wow, and another thought: no more bad hair days for a while.

While this was all a prolonged game of trying to mess with Roxanne, I couldn’t help but feel good about myself knowing I’d done myself a big favour. Managing props and sets all across stage next week was going to be a breeze knowing I didn’t have to keep worrying about my hair. Sure, there was going to be a bit of a shock when I came in with much less blonde than before, but who really gives two shits about how the stage manager looks? Well, someone who was still at work does.

I reached our apartment after I’d taken one of the loveliest strolls I’ve ever had in a while— honestly, I was just finding any excuse to be able to enjoy this new airiness over my head. As I unlocked the door I heard that familiar jingling getting closer, and our fluffy grump of a cat Oscar was there waiting by the time the door was open.

“Oscar! How’s my precious little boy?!” I squatted down to give him a pet on his head, but all he did was look ahead at that open door. “Aww, you looking for Roxie? She’s gonna be home late tonight. I know, I’m sad too,” I locked the door with a click, then proceeded to pick up the little fluff ball who always seemed annoyed to be carried. “Do you like my new haircut, Oscar? I got it cut really short this time!”

He just blankly stared at me like he always did when I tried to pick him up, giving that same look of ‘could you just put me down already?’. I gave him a kiss on the forehead before setting him back down, and he immediately ran off towards his little hidey corner. I set down my things and undid my jacket, then peeked at my phone clock. 6.20 p.m. If Roxie’s last text was true, then that meant I only had about an hour to prepare for the big reveal. Plenty of time to get things in motion.

I headed for the shower first, fizzing with excitement as I just wanted to know what it was like feeling the water running through my scalp with such little hair left. Oh, it was wonderful. Feeling all that warmth washing over my head so easily was indescribable. And don’t get me started on the world’s quickest shampoo session— not a single tangle to worry about running my fingers through. It was a heavenly experience, but I knew I couldn’t overindulge. There were still things to do, and this was only a small bit of the fun to be had tonight.

I stepped out of the shower, standing a little awkwardly in front of the sink counter as I was still getting used to that freshly-shorn woman in the mirror. I reached for my hair towel, and holy shit I literally just had to run it across my head once and it was practically dry. No more towel turbans for a while I guess. I wiped the rest of my body before heading for the bedroom, ready to pick out the attire for the evening.

There were plenty of alluring options, but I think there was one that would’ve been way too fitting to pass up. I picked out the familiar short, floral dress from my wardrobe, remembering that exciting day after the first haircut. I had asked her to pick out my outfit for that day, back when I was still so disoriented about losing my hair I felt like I wouldn’t ever know what to wear. This was one of the two options she gave me, and I remember just wanting to look extra pretty. And extra pretty I was going to look tonight too. I slipped into the silk green bra and panties I usually save for the nights after haircuts before getting into my dress, then went back out to check my phone clock. 6.45 p.m. Less than an hour to go, but still making good time.

I got out my laptop, then plugged my phone into it to upload the video into my drive. I was still planning on honouring my promise to her with the video, but I wasn’t going to give it to her so soon. I was gonna start with a teaser first, obviously. I opened up the video software, then hooked up the video. I ripped the audio on its own, then checked to make sure it sounded alright. Everything was perfect: the bold request at the start, the slight apprehension, and of course those haunting snips that come in the middle. This would absolutely kill Roxie. 7.00 p.m. She was probably getting on the train soon, and what better train ride to have than with a fun little audiobook of sorts to keep her occupied? The audio recording whooshed as it sent, and now all that was really left to do was wait.

I went back into the bedroom, looking for the last piece of the plan. It was right there at the top of the wardrobe— my lacrosse team cap from high school. I put it on firmly on my head, making sure it covered as much of the sides as I could while the top of my head was completely hidden. I then took my position on the couch, setting my phone on the coffee table as I braced myself.

Ding. Ding. Ding. 

I smiled like an idiot before I even picked up the phone, knowing full well the panic she must be in to hear such rebellious things in that recording.

<Roxie> 

Jo

What was that??

Jo what did you do 

 

I made sure she could see that I was online on the messaging app, but I just never replied. I left my phone unlocked on the coffee table and waited, knowing a bigger onslaught was coming when she realised I’d left her on read.

<Roxie> 

Jo why aren’t you saying anything 

JO PLEASE

This is all a joke, right? You were just messing with Fran the whole time?

 

I stayed in my lounging position on the couch, just trying to imagine the hysteria she must’ve gotten into while on the train. Oh god I wanted to see the look on her face when she was listening to me saying how short I’d wanted it cut— how I’d wanted it so short I wouldn’t need to style it or fuss over it. I was already getting excited below, but I had to wait a bit more. 7.20 p.m. She was probably storming home right now, ready to punish her bratty girl for defying her and playing games about it.

<Roxie> 

Joanna if I come home and see that you’ve done what I think you’ve done

You’re going to be in big trouble

 

I tried to sit myself up straight now, facing the door to wait for my majesty to get home to deal with me. But I was so giddy— I hadn’t ever tried anything this bold with her before. Little bouts of brattiness in bed were one thing, but open defiance? This was intoxicating.

It wasn’t long before I heard the jingling of the keys behind the door, and I sat as prim and proper as I could for her royal sexual frustration. The door swung open, and there she was— standing in the glory of her ravishing red mermaid locks that would’ve been flowing in the air so dramatically right now if this was an action sequence in a film. Especially with her witchy vibe I could picture it perfectly, what with her floaty Stevie Nicks-esque black dress falling to the floor, high-heeled red velvet lace-up boots underneath ready to stomp on mere mortals.

Her eyes fixed right onto me, and stayed glued as she shut the door firmly behind her, clicking the lock. Her gaze was searching— trying so hard to decipher what my hair might’ve looked like under the cap, but she wasn’t going to know until she got a lot closer. A painful suspense to have to play. “Joanna May Forrester,” her voice was stern, and oh, I just get weak every time she just calls out my full name like that.

“Roxie, darling,” I playfully called out.

“You didn’t reply to my texts,” she remarked as she tossed her leather jacket aside so powerfully, that air of frustration sizzling around her.  All I did was smile back at her, not really having to say a word. “I don’t know what game you think you were playing, but I did not find any of that funny. You know how I feel about your hair,” Roxanne reminded as she started ambling towards me.

“Do I?” I innocently asked. “What about it? The fact that you like the top long and wavy so you can grab it with your greedy hands?” I enunciated those words mockingly. “It’s just so sad someone was so busy at work that she couldn’t be there to make sure my hair was cut exactly the way she always wanted it.”

There was visible panic on her face now— realising that what she’d feared the most seemed truer by the moment. And I drank up every ounce of surprise on that face. How thrilling it was to see the cracks in her majesty’s armour.  “Take off that cap, Forrester,” she ordered as her face gathered back its sternness, “now.”

Ooh, only using my last name now? This was all of the buttons pushed at once, and I hadn’t even shown her what it looked like. “No,” I impishly declined.

Her eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry? Did you just defy me, Forrester?” she was getting closer now, where all of my vision was just her beautifully furious figure in her diaphanous black dress. Oh, darling, I did way more than just defy you today.

“I assure you, it’s for your own good,” I said as I looked up at her now— her sharp eyes peering down onto me, wishing they could penetrate that cap to see what horrors I’d done to the golden waves that were once hers. “Now,” I patted my lap like I always did when I wanted her to get on.

She stared for a long moment, probably contemplating just ripping that cap off my head to get it over and done with. But she knew I was stronger— I would’ve easily caught her grabby, entitled hands any day. With a frustrated sigh, she slowly hopped onto my lap so that she was straddling me like she always loved to, only this time she was clearly not looking forward to it. “Good,” I commended, though it did nothing to puncture that stone face she was wearing. “Now, close your eyes.”

Again, she stared— eyes like knives that were just piercing through me, scheming the ways she was going to torture me for this ruse she was forced to put up with. In the most begrudging way possible, she shut her eyes. “Promise me you’re not going to peek,” I toyed with her even more, and the annoyance on her face only grew as she grunted. “Say it. Say ‘I promise I won’t peek’. Otherwise I won’t take this cap off.”

She heaved a hot breath of air, the forge inside of her brewing with torment. “I promise I won’t peek,” she commited draggingly.

With that assurance, I slowly reached up to take off the cap, revealing my neatly-cropped head for no one to see. I gently uncrossed her arms to lift her hands, then guided them towards my neck that she coveted so desperately. “Have fun exploring,” I whispered as I released her arms.

She took in a sharp gasp when she felt the bottom part, certainly realising how much shorter it was than usual. She scratched on my nape like she always did, and I surrendered to her touch and those red-painted nails. But the fuzzy sides were never enough— she always had to mix it in with the feeling of those luscious waves through her fingers. I felt as her hands traveled upwards, and I could feel her holding her breath as she carefully approached that one important section, her eyes still squeezed shut.

Through her lips came the most desperate yet softest moan that I’d ever heard from her. Her fingers had found their way to the tight crop on my crown, and she looked so lost when she realised. “Your waves,” she pleaded wistfully, cautiously running her fingers over the soft bristles for hair that were left on top. “Your beautiful waves… where are they?”

I bent my head slightly towards her ear. “All. Snipped. Off.”

Her face twisted into one of horror. Yet somehow, also one of pleasure. Through her lips came out the gravest gasp of disbelief, one that I’d never heard of even after so long with her. How many heartstrings of hers did I manage to snap there? Oh, poor Roxie. Every bit of pain coming out of her had been pure bliss, but perhaps I was actually starting to feel a little awful now. I’ve had my fun— I think it was time to end this torture.

I took a deep breath. “You can open your eyes, babe.”

Her gorgeous blue eyes shot open. Then widened. “Jo…” her hands slid down to my cheeks, taking in this foreign image of me that was right in her grasp. “What did you do?” she airily asked.

“I got a big girl haircut,” I proudly announced with the cutest expression I could make, giving my head a devilish rub. “Easy to manage now, no need to style it,” I made sure I looked right into her eyes, “and no more tousling.”

Delicious agony sprawled across her face when she heard that last line. “But babe…” she was almost pleading now, as if there was still some chance I could bring my waves back so easily, “the whole POINT of having your hair short was that you already didn’t have to style it that much!”

“You seem to have proven that false a lot with your hair ruffling,” I kept that mischievous smirk on my face as her desperate eyes continued scanning my crop.

Her fingers were almost clawing at my forehead, trying and failing to push down the tufts that stood up. “There’s not even a single lock hanging over your forehead!” She huffed with a pout, and all I could do was giggle at how cute her fussy majesty was.

“Mhm,” I girlishly hummed. “I practically have no more bangs now.”

“No more bangs…” she whispered, and it was hard to tell whether the tone was mournful or lustful. Her face started scrunching up, with the creases of fury forming. I was prepared to get the berating of my life from her, to feel her sexual rage lambasting me for this atrocious act I’d committed against her property.

Her hands found the sides of my head once more, almost squeezing my cheeks as she stared into my soul. “How?” there was a tinge of disbelief. “How the fuck are you still so pretty even with your hair so short?”

My heart melted. I had expected a flurry of fire, but instead it was only warmth. I pulled her in a little closer as my face lightened, even more in love with this gorgeous mermaid of a woman, whose thick hair spilled over her breasts onto her stomach, almost into her own lap. “You don’t hate it?”

“I want to hate it, Jo. I want to loathe it so much because I know you’ve blatantly defied me. I’m still cross that you’ve rid me of your beautifully short, yet bountiful hair that is mine— and you know how much I hate it when I can’t have my things,” she lectures me, oozing with wrath. “But I’d be the biggest fucking liar if I said I hated it. Because you are the sexiest woman alive right now— so fierce with your hair so perfectly cropped.”

“You really think it’s pretty?” I asked, ironically now the one being riddled with disbelief. All this time, I’d just wanted a brief swipe of vengeance: to try and punish her for being busy on our most important date of the month. But that revenge seemed short-lived. Somehow, that frustration turned to adoration. There was definitely the small fear she’d hate it— well, maybe not hate hate it— but that fear seemed to be unfounded.

“Jo, you’re gorgeous,” she traced my cheekbone gently with a thumb. “Remember what I told you when you first chopped all your long hair off? You’re like a brilliant diamond that doesn’t need any adornments to shine. Now with all that gone,” Roxie rubbed my head longingly with a wistful look, “there’s nothing to distract from this face. It’s just all you.” She suddenly started giggling while her palms grazed the clipped top of my head. “Oh my god, it’s so short, but it feels so good,” she was starting to get onboard with this. “And you did this all yourself,” she pertinently observed, looking at me curiously. “You, Joanna May Forrester, sat down in Fran’s chair, and told her to crop it super short, all on your own,” Roxanne beamed proudly. “Granted,” she puts a finger on my nose sternly, “you were trying to get at me, and don’t think that’s not going to go unaddressed, you little delinquent. But credit where credit’s due: you were such a brave girl today,” she scratched my fluffy scalp playfully, and god, it filled me with the same joy that I’d feel whenever she’d ruffle my blonde waves. “What did you call this haircut, again?” she teasingly asked, probably wanting to hear it out of the horse’s mouth again.

“A big girl haircut,” I excitedly replied like a child.

“A big girl haircut,” she enunciated every word so deliciously. “And you’re absolutely right— only a big girl like you would’ve had the guts to do something so bold.” She pecked my forehead, and god those soft lips on my scalp were so soothing. “Do you know how long it’ll take before it grows back to its usual length again?” she sounded a little concerned now.

“I think Fran said it might be about an extra month, give or take? So probably about three months until I’m due for a trim,” I said, refreshed by the idea that it would be a long time before it got to an unbearable length. “Although, honestly? With how comfy this feels now,” I dipped my head down, using the slight fuzziness on my crown to tickle her exposed neck. “I’m not sure if I want it long and tousled again.”

“Ooooh,” she sighed. She picked up one of my hands that was still clinging to her back, then slid it underneath her dress towards her tender spot. Oh, fuck, she was absolutely soaked now. “I think that’s a great idea.”

“Really?” I couldn’t believe what my ears were hearing.

“Mhm,” she hummed as she directed my hands, inviting me into her clit. “I think it’s really sexy, you keeping your hair so short and neat. Puts that stunning face on full display for me to show off as being all mine, and such a short little haircut will necessitate ever stricter rules…oooh!” She gasped as I hit the g-spot and then, after a deep exhale, started to nibble on my ear. “Plus,” she whispered breathily into my ear in between nibbles, panting as I pulled my fingers out, “now I have more access than ever to all of you.” Still nestled in my lap with her lovely head perched above mine as I tightly grabbed the back of her soft, abundant hair—hard, the way she likes it— she swooped down upon me, an eager bird of prey devouring all the skin around my ears, both front and behind as she pushed my ears forward, with soft kisses, hooking my earring with her teeth and giving a tug before moving her warm lips all over the top of my forehead. No longer draped by my usual mop of waves, it was all hers to cherish, and that she did, kissing it all over before moving her lips to my eyebrows, my closed eyelids, my cheeks, all the way down my neck, planting big kisses on the ridge formed by my sharp collarbones…

Well, you can imagine where her mouth went next. And her strap went there too, as a punishment for my defiance. Even when she rode me in bed with it harder than ever, feeling her fingers only barely able to grasp the tufts of hair that covered my head to steady herself as she rode, we both knew it was no punishment.

After sex, we ended up in a common position for us: in front of the boudoir, her seated on her throne while I took out her comb—no longer our comb, since my hair was literally too short to need brushing with anything but Roxie’s red fingernails—to pamper her mane by gently combing it from the end all the way to her roots. “You know, Joanna,” she said, gazing dreamily at me in the mirror as I attended to my task, “I think this is my favourite haircut on you now.”

I pulled the curtain of her red hair all to one side and pulled it hard, which made her moan with pleasure as I swooped down and kissed all over the exposed side of her neck. “Really?” I added, gazing back into her eyes.

“Mhm,” she hummed serenely, raising a hand to pat my head that was nestled in her neck. “Such a sharp and neat haircut,” her fingers rustled across that blonde head of hair that belonged to her. “And so…” her eyes found mine in the mirror, a commanding tone in her voice, “we’re going to make sure it stays this short, understood?”

“Yes,” I whispered gleefully, enthralled by her presence and her attention to my hair. She was taking control of it again, but this time at a much shorter length. It was just electrifying thinking of her owning me.

“But of course, keeping your hair at this intoxicating length will take a lot of maintenance,” she continued, now grabbing my chin with her hands as she made me face the mirror directly. “I don’t think I want to see it with all that waviness for a while. Can you be a big girl and make sure it stays tightly cropped for me?”

“I promise I’ll be a big girl,” I assured, surrendering to her loving touch on my face.

“That’s my girl,” she pecked me on the cheek, and I saw a devilish grin forming in the mirror. “If it ever gets too messy, I’m not afraid to take things into my own hands,” she warned, and my heart jolted. “I think we should get a nice pair of clippers for security, don’t you think?”

Clippers? Our own pair to keep at home? Never in my life did I ever think she’d suggest something so brazen… yet so fucking hot. “Do you know how to use them?” I teased, knowing how foreign such a menacing instrument was to her own lioness mane.

“Oh, you needn’t worry yourself with that, darling,” she lightly patted my cheek. “Just keep your promise, and you won’t have to find that out at all. Besides,” there was a sinister glint in her eyes— one that made my heart stop for a moment, “how hard can it be to give a rebel a buzzcut?”

 

Joanna’s original pixie: https://www.instagram.com/p/BWiRANelvlJ/, https://www.instagram.com/p/BVkNKNnlk01/

Joanna with her new crop: https://www.instagram.com/p/CAfcr8dAvfs/ , https://www.instagram.com/p/CEpUf5ZJsKj/ , https://www.instagram.com/p/CD_WZe6pZu1/

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