Rejection

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His gaze was intense. His face was flushed, just inches away from mine. I returned his gaze, contracting my muscles to squeeze his cock as much as I could. I saw the flash of a smile and felt him thrust against the increased resistance. There was an unspoken truce as I relaxed and he eased into a gentler rhythm. His right hand went to my throat, squeezed a little, demonstrated the power that he had over me. He squeezed a bit harder, not enough to choke me, but hard enough to excite me. He brought his other hand up, supporting his weight on his elbows. His hands framed my face, eased my hair backwards. I imagined what he was looking at, just my face, the flesh of the backs of his hands forming a cowl out of his skin. I was a nun, my hair covered, removing temptation from any man. The one problem with this scenario was the man lying on top of me, each thrust of his hips making me gasp. It was anything but a rejection of temptation.

‘You look good like that’ he said.

‘With you on top of me?’

‘With your hair off your face’ he replied. He thrust into me a little harder.

‘I can tie it back if you like’ I said, thinking that this wasn’t the best time to be talking fashion. I was moments away from cumming and wanted to be concentrating on that. I wanted to savour the first time with him. He’d put a lot of effort in. I knew it was going to be good. My breath was coming more rapidly, his thrusts starting to drive me into the mattress.

‘You should cut it’ he said, the effort starting to show on his face. He was really going for it now. I was getting louder and louder. I didn’t care. He was good, wave after wave of wondrousness was coursing through me. It had been a while since that had happened, not that various suitors hadn’t tried in recent times, they just hadn’t excited me the way that Mick had. His hands were away from my head, his body went taut and he froze, his cock deep inside me. I hoped that the condom had held, but if it hadn’t, there was the prospect of us having just conceived the most vigorous baby ever!

He rolled off me and caught his breath, a hand resting on my stomach. That was what “afterglow” was all about, I thought as I wallowed in the aftermath. The sound of our laboured breathing filled the room, relenting progressively as we recovered and then slipped into the oblivion of sleep. We seemed to wake around the same time.

Mick got out of bed and headed for the shower, not enquiring whether I wanted to go in first. Despite my mild annoyance at his lack of manners, I was glad of the chance of a few extra minutes to lie quietly and revisit the previous evening. I lay there, serene, peaceful, listening to the cascading water and then Mick was back, picking his jeans up off the floor, getting a fresh shirt out of the wardrobe. I watched him get dressed, apparently oblivious to my presence in his bed.

‘I’ve got to go out. Make sure you give the door a good pull when you leave’ he said coldly.

That was it. He left. Not even a “thanks for the fuck”. Mick had started as a one night stand and it looked like he was going to end as a one night stand. I couldn’t really complain, I had had a good time, way better than I could remember, but I had no idea why he shut me out like that. I would have loved to do it again, but he was clearly in the “treat ’em mean” school of thought and I didn’t really appreciate that. He wasn’t the only guy with a cock, even if he was better at doing things with it than every guy that I had encountered so far in my life.

I showered and dressed, looking round the room before I left. I didn’t leave a note, I didn’t even feel the need to make the bed. I walked down the street, the spring in my step tempered by a distinct feeling of rejection. I looked at myself in the shop windows as I went past. I was wearing a simple dress that projected a modest image to the world, while still showing that I was trim with a firm backside and a good pair of boobs. I hadn’t had a chance to ask Mick what it was about me that attracted him most. Maybe it was my legs, I had a decent pair of pins I’d always thought. It certainly wasn’t my long, dark hair from what he’d said while we were going at it. I’d taken good care of it, was proud of it and there he was saying that I should cut it. I’d tied it back after my shower this morning, so I was able to see reasonably well what he had been looking at when his hands were framing my face. I looked different than when it was loose, obviously, but that’s all it was. I didn’t think it was better or worse, it was just the same picture in a different frame.

My last boyfriend had had a thing about my hair. He’d liked to be whipped with it while I knelt over him. That did nothing for me at all and just gave me a headache.

It was probably the main reason for us splitting up after three months, even though he was kind and funny and everything that I should be looking for. On the other hand, Mick said I had too much and turned out to be a bit of a shit. In typical fashion, the sex was way better with the shit.

I hadn’t realised that I had stopped and was essentially preening in front of a shop window. A wolf-whistle brought me back into the room and for once I was grateful for the interest shown.

I went and found a coffee shop to get some breakfast, surprising myself with how hungry I was. I must have burned up a good bit of energy last night and intended to replace every last calorie. I mused over my dilemma while I ate my croissant. The nice guy liked my long hair, the mean guy didn’t. As for me, I wasn’t really bothered one way or the other. I’d had worn long hair since I was at school and just never really thought about it too much. It was there, I had it trimmed, I fed it every now and again to keep it looking healthy, but was now starting to wonder why. I stepped back through the past few boyfriends and realised that there was very little to choose between them. In fact, the only thing that differentiated them was the interest shown in my long hair by the last one. Apart from that they were kind and gentle and attentive and boring. None of them put a hand on my throat, none of them made me cum like I had last night. I might not be too happy about being discarded along with the used condom, but I did want to experience the same sort of intensity again. The honey trap that I was setting out was attracting too many of the wrong sort, so the obvious thing to do was to change the bait. I finished my breakfast and went to the bathroom.

I stood in front of the mirror and positioned my hands the way that Mick had, covering all traces of my tied-back hair. It did look different from the reflection that I had been looking at in the shop windows. I could get used to it, I decided. Somebody tried the handle. That was the downside of mall coffee shops, only one toilet. I wafted my hands under the dryer and went out.

I thought about going home to get changed into something more casual. The only preparation that I had made for not going home last night was the traditional fresh pair of knickers in the handbag, but I really felt like I would rather be in jeans and a shirt than a dress. I decided that it was too much effort and I probably wouldn’t want to come back out if I went home. I headed down the street, my mind whirling with memories that in some cases were best forgotten. It was rarely a good idea to rake over the embers of old relationships and I had certainly sparked some stuff back to life that should have stayed untouched. I told myself to stop it, to think no farther back than last night and what had probably been the “ride of my life”.

I smiled as I replayed the evening once again, from the moment that Mick struck up a conversation when I was buying a bottle of vodka to take to Carol’s house, to texting Carol to tell her that something had come up and that I wouldn’t be able to make it after all. Mick had taken me to a bar and his easy charm meant that I raised no real objection to the hand on my thigh within ten minutes of sitting down. He’d met my attempt at a stare of disapproval by slipping his fingertips under the hem of my dress as a declaration of intent. I’d told him to take his hand off me and to take me home. We didn’t speak again until we were in bed. It was wild, it was something I’d never done before and something that I would normally frown upon. I would always make a guy work for the prize, make him wait four or five dates at least, but for some reason, I just wanted Mick and was prepared to let my moral compass drop to the floor along with my knickers.

I walked through the mall, glancing in at the sterile-looking hair salon as I went past. It was glossy, it was empty. It was going to stay that way as far as I was concerned. It just wasn’t enticing in any way. I detoured into a couple of clothes shops, the sort of shops that I wouldn’t normally go in. I looked at clothes that I thought were a little bolder than I would normally wear, lower cut, tighter fitting. I looked at the lingerie section, smiling as it got progressively naughtier the farther back you went. By the time I got to the far wall, I was looking at split-crotch this, split-crotch that, sex toys, all manner of things that I wouldn’t have expected to see in a High Street shop. I retraced my steps back to respectability.

I exhausted everything that the mall had to offer and went back out to the street. After a couple of minutes, I came to a hair salon that looked interesting, unlike the antiseptic place in the mall. It wasn’t somewhere that I knew, my usual salon was the other side of town, which let me think of this salon as being on the dark side. It was quite small, but appeared to be perfectly formed. I went in.

The woman at reception smiled at me, flashing a generous side-cut in an otherwise perfect blonde bob.

‘Hi’ I said.

‘Hi’ she replied with a smile. Who was going to blink first, I wondered. I smiled at her.

‘Do I need an appointment?’ I asked.

‘Not very often’ she replied, smiling at me again. Either she was simple-minded or she had a quirky sense of humour. I really hoped that it was the latter.

‘Is now one of the times when I don’t need an appointment?’ I asked.

‘Maybe’ she replied, her smile broadening. I matched her smile, starting to think about leaving.

‘It’s a spur of the moment thing, so if you can’t do it, the moment might pass’ I said.

‘In that case, come on in’ she said. ‘I’m Mel, by the way’ she said.

‘Chrissie’ I replied, walking past the reception desk and into the salon proper. There was a row of four chairs, but she was the only stylist that I could see.

‘It’s very quiet, isn’t it?’ I said, trying to work out where she wanted me.

‘It’s a bit early yet. It’ll pick up just before lunch’ she said, standing behind the far chair. I put my bag down and took a seat. I could see her looking at me in the way that hairdressers do. She removed the band that was holding my hair and fanned it out over my shoulders.

‘So what’s this urge that’s come over you?’ she asked, running her hands through my hair before resting them on my shoulders.

‘I was thinking that it might be time to go short’ I replied.

‘What’s made you think that?’ she asked.

‘I realised that I couldn’t remember when I did anything different with my hair. People expect to see me with long dark hair. I expect to see me with long dark hair. I was thinking that maybe it’s time to shake everyone up, myself included.’ I saw her nodding as I spoke.

‘It’s beautiful hair, but I know what you mean’ she replied, her hands back in my tresses once more.

‘I was wondering if you had any suggestions’ I said.

‘We need to decide how brave you are first. “Short” means different things to different people. We cut men’s hair here too, so you need to be careful what you ask for’

she counselled.

‘I definitely want it off my face’ I said, thinking of Mick’s hands framing my head, obscuring any trace of my hair from his sight.

‘You could do that with a ponytail’ she said, gathering my hair in her hand to illustrate the suggestion, ignoring the fact that I had walked in with a ponytail.

‘That’s too easy. I need to feel different’ I said.

‘Okay, I can do that’ she said. She moved away and came back almost immediately holding a shiny grey gown which she swirled over me expertly. Although we’d got off to a slightly quirky start, I liked her. She was probably in her early forties, attractive without being a stunner and clearly had a good sense of humour. I saw her watching me in the mirror, could see her weighing up her options.

‘Right, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do’ she said. She was more animated than she had appeared up until now. ‘I’m going to cut this off and then we’ll get creative,

how does that sound?’ she said, holding my ponytail in her hand.

‘Interesting. Exciting. Scary’ I replied.

‘You can close your eyes if you want’ she said. ‘I’m going to cut your ponytail with electric clippers. It makes it easier and it let’s you know I’m serious’ she said

with a smile. She squeezed my shoulder and picked up an elastic band from the ledge in front of me. She twisted my hair into a ponytail again. I felt it pull. It was

tighter than I would do it myself, the band close to my head. It would sort out any budding wrinkles in my face, that was for sure. She looked at me in the mirror and

then plucked her clippers from the hook where they had been taunting me ever since she had mentioned them. I smiled nervously. Why was I doing this? Just because a guy that I’d never see again said that I should? Possibly, but it was something else too. It was a way of climbing out of the rut that I’d slipped into. That was why I was going out with cookie-cutter guys, who differed only by name and not always then. I’d gone out with two Peters in the past three years, although at this distance, I’d struggle to know which was which. That wasn’t good. I needed to do this.

I heard an electrical hum from behind me, felt a tug and then a sort of twisting, pulling, tugging sensation. Then I felt nothing. I saw Mel in the mirror, clippers in one hand, my ponytail in the other. She swished it in front of me. I tried to work out what I felt, seeing it there on its own, free from me. I looked at my reflection, looked at the way my hair tried to pretend that nothing had happened. It had fallen into a sort of rough bob around my face. It was me, just with shorter hair.

‘No tears?’ Mel asked.

‘No it’s fine. It needed to be done.’

‘That’s good, you wouldn’t believe some of the wailing I hear when I do that sometimes.’

‘I’m relieved that it’s done’ I said.

‘Now what do you want to do?’ she asked.

‘I thought you had a plan’ I replied.

‘I’ve got ideas, but I don’t think you’d like them’ she replied.

‘Try me’ I challenged.

‘Well, you know I said we do men’s hair. I’ve been looking at you and I really think you should consider going that short.’

‘That’s funny. Someone suggested that to me yesterday. It’s what made me think about coming in.’

‘I don’t think they would have meant as short as I’m thinking’ she countered.

‘I wouldn’t bet on it’ I replied, the thought of Mick’s hands round my face coming back to my mind.

‘And you still came in?’ she said.

‘YOLO, as the young people say’ I said. She looked at me, baffled. ‘You only live once’ I clarified. She nodded.

Mel laid my ponytail on the counter in front of the next styling station. Out of my direct line of sight, but I could still look at it if I wanted. I wasn’t sure that I did. It was the past, it was gone. I hadn’t seen her put the clippers down and tried to second guess her vision for me as she leant in closer and picked up a small plastic comb from the shelf in front of me, one of several that had been sitting there. I stared at the clippers when she brought them up and fixed the comb on the front. She wasn’t finished with them yet. What did I think about that?

‘Have you ever had a boyfriend who had his hair cut with these?’ she asked, holding the clippers higher so that I could be in doubt as to what she meant.

‘I’ve been out with them all, long hair, short hair, no hair’ I admitted. I waited for a look of disapproval, but none came.

‘Forget the long-haired ones. Were any of them bristly?

‘A couple.’

‘What did you think?’

‘I’m not with either of them anymore, that says it all’ I replied with a conspiratorial smile.

‘What did you think about their hair?’

‘I didn’t give it much thought. I’d only ever known them with their hair like that, so I don’t know if I’d have preferred them with different hair.’

‘And you’ve nothing against bald guys?’

‘Only when they screw my best friend at a wedding’ I replied.

‘That does tend to colour your judgement a bit, I suppose’ she replied. She was still holding the clippers. She was waiting.

‘Do you want to give it a go?’ she asked eventually.

I looked at her, my eyes wide.

‘That’s surprised you, hasn’t it?’ she asked.

‘No. Yes, I’ve never thought about it’ I stammered, even though the sight of her standing there with clippers at the ready had already made me think that it was a possibility. I just hadn’t had time to form an opinion on the prospect of having them run over my head. What would that attachment leave me with?

‘Think about it. It’ll definitely keep your hair off your face, it’ll create a totally new “you”, you’ll surprise people, you’ll surprise yourself. YOLO’ she said, smiling at her use of her new acronym.

‘You really think so?’ I asked. Mick was in my mind, his hands cupping my head. My ponytail was several feet from me. I wasn’t the same Chrissie that had walked in. I was already a shorter-haired version of that Chrissie, closer to the one that Mick pictured. Mick the piston, Mick the bastard, Mick who made me cum like no-one ever had.

She flicked the switch on the clippers to signal her intent. I put a hand to my face, while I thought. I could see Mick’s face inches from my own, see his intensity, feel his intensity.

‘YOLO’ I said.

There was no need to send out an invitation. Mel replied immediately, touching the clippers to the back of my neck in almost the same instant that she lightly pushed my head down. They sounded different than when they had gnawed through the rope of my ponytail. They sounded more relaxed now, more at ease. They slid up the back of my head, hugging the contours as they went.

‘How short is this, just so I can work out which boyfriend I’m going to look like?’ I asked.

‘Don’t worry, you won’t look like any of your exes. You’ll be stunning, which I doubt any of them were, if you don’t mind me saying.’

‘None of my men have been stunning, you don’t need to worry about that’ I replied, trying to concentrate on where the clippers were going.

‘You’re going to do that all over?’ I asked, sensing them high up on my head.

‘Don’t you want me to?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know what I want. I trust you and if I hate it, I’ll wear a hat while it grows back.’

‘I don’t think you’ll be doing that’ she replied. I was looking straight ahead now. I was looking at confirmation that she would be using the clippers all over. They were marching confidently over my crown, laying waste to the hair that had been there. Hair that was tumbling lazily to my lap. I had a lot of it. I used to have a lot of it. I looked at the precision-cut bristles that were there. I wasn’t in the habit of thinking in millimetres, but that seemed an appropriate unit of measure for what was left. A quarter of an inch, five or six millimetres? Did it matter. It was fucking short!

‘You don’t mess about, do you?’ I commented.

‘You should have done this long ago. You’ve been hiding away under that for years’ she said with a dismissive glance towards the pile in my lap. ‘You’re glowing and we haven’t finished yet’ she said.

I was probably still glowing from Mick last night, I thought. I watched her mow some more of my hair, the movement of her arm reminding me of having watched a plasterer that I once went out with. Smooth, controlled movements, knowing exactly where they would end before they had begun. Only she wasn’t making me smooth the way that the plasterer had done for the wall, she was making me bristly. She was going over my head in different directions now, trying to trap any hairs that had managed to evade her the first time around.

It was different, I had to give her that. I was grateful that I didn’t look like any of the men that I had been out with. I could appreciate that my eyes looked bigger and that my ears didn’t stick out. The studs that I had in my ears looked a bit underwhelming. I’d have to be a bit bolder with my jewellery in future. It was neat, it wouldn’t take forever to wash, it wouldn’t take more than a spot of shampoo, it wouldn’t get tangled. There was a lot to be said for it. I wanted to rub my hand over it, but had to wait until Mel had finished. She beat me to it and rubbed her hand briskly over the crown.

‘That’s more like it’ she said. I reached up and felt someone else’s head. It wasn’t mine. Mine was silky, this was prickly, it was rough, it was so weird. I managed to find just the right range where the palm of my hand would bounce off the upright hairs.

‘Does that remind you of any of your young men?’ she asked.

‘Not really. I think both of them must have been shorter than this. More sandpapery than this feels, but maybe that was just the texture of their hair’ I replied. She nodded and left me sitting like that, hand on head.

‘Head down for me’ she said. I did as I was told and was rewarded with the sensation of the clippers at my nape again.

‘I thought we’d finished’ I said, staring at the discarded hair in my lap. It looked unwanted. It was unwanted.

‘Do you want it to be finished?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know. It’s pretty short as it is’ I observed. I didn’t win any prizes for observation.

‘I’ve started’ she said. Didn’t I know! I carried on staring as she worked her way round the side of my head. By the time I got to look into the mirror she had paused.

‘I’ve blended this in with the top, but I can do the top this length, too, whatever you want’ she said.

I turned my head from side to side to see what it looked like. I sneaked a hand from under the cape to see what it felt like.

‘If you do that on the top, would you need to take the sides shorter?’ I asked.

‘Do you want it shorter?’

‘I think so, but I’m not sure’ I replied. I was looking at my reflection. At least that was what I had to tell myself that it was. It was a version of me with extremely short hair, but I hadn’t accepted it as me yet.

‘What about if I told you that you should go the whole hog?’ she said. I played her words back a couple of times.

‘You mean bald?’ I laughed.

‘I mean bald’ she confirmed.

‘You’re not serious? I couldn’t. I’d look like an old man.’

‘I’m sure that there are a lot of old, bald men who would love to look like you. I don’t think there’s any danger of you ever looking like an old man’ she said.

I stared in the mirror. I looked round at her. Me? Bald? No way! Right now, I was firmly in “Mick territory” with my hair off my face. I was sure that he wouldn’t relish the idea of screwing a bald woman, even if I were to ever give him the chance of a second helping.

‘You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?’ she said.

‘I’m just trying to decide if I want to go shorter on the top’ I said.

‘If you don’t like it, it’ll grow back in a few days and with hair as dark as yours, you’ll have a full covering in no time’ she said.

I rubbed my head again, looking at myself in the mirror.

Mel switched the clippers on and touched them to the nape of my neck. I felt them move upwards.

‘Is this just the “going shorter” part?’ I asked.

‘This is the part where you just need to close your eyes and let it happen’ she said quietly.

‘Oh God!’ I said.

‘You’ll love it, I promise’ she said.

I could feel the clippers climbing up my head. I thought of “bald Barry”, the charity case that I should have left where I found him. I’d viewed him as a challenge, but he was beyond me. He’s married now with a kid, but the first few dates with him had told me that I would die of boredom if I’d stayed with him. Now I was on the cusp of something else. I was sitting here with the mad barber woman running her clippers through my stubble. It was my stubble, stubble that I hadn’t even got to enjoy yet, and she was taking it away. At least I could tell myself that I was adventurous. In the past 24 hours, I’d been to bed with someone that I’d only met minutes before and here I was shaving my hair off. It suggested a new lease of life and hopefully some new experiences.

The clippers had gone high enough at the back that I was probably past the point of no return. Mel got me to straighten my head and I looked at my shorn head once more. I looked at the frame of bristles and then watched as they started to disappear. She was in front of my right ear and eased the clippers upwards and then backwards, condemning me to baldness whether I liked it or not. I could feel excitement that wasn’t normal excitement. She was making me look like a man and I was melting into my gusset. How weird was that? My eyes couldn’t possibly have got any bigger, but I tried to tell myself that they were more prominent, certainly my eyebrows were coming to the fore as competing hair receded.

“Receded”, there’s a word that I didn’t ever think I would associate with myself. It would grow back, but I would be going home bald. Hairless. Bald. I tried to get used to the idea and the more I thought about it, the more enticing I found it. How many women would do what I was doing? Not many. I would stand out in a crowd. Now let’s see what I can reel in and whether it has more prospects than I managed when I had a more conventional appearance.

Mel had cleared my head of stubble. That was it. I really was bald. My exploratory hand sneaked out from undercover to make first contact with the alien that was staring back at me from the mirror. It was so strange. There was the slightest resistance as I moved my hand, but the clippers couldn’t be expected to be as good as a proper razor. I rubbed backwards and forwards, slowly and then quickly. It was so different, but I told myself that it was all me, and not “bald Barry” at all. I felt a little surge down below.

Mel was standing next to me with a can of shaving foam and a straight razor.

‘I think I’ll stick with this’ I said.

‘You’ll like it more if you let me do this’ she said, without being pushy.

‘What difference will that make?’

‘It’ll make you smooth for a start. You’ll really notice the difference when you feel it, it won’t rasp or anything.’

‘It’ll take longer to grow back’ I observed.

‘Is that what you want, to grow it back before you’re even out of the chair?’

‘I haven’t decided’ I replied.

‘Your choice’ she said. She put the can down. I leaned in closer to the mirror, rubbing a hand over my head again. I was all eyes and eyebrows. I rubbed the back of my forefinger over my right eyebrow to get a stray hair that had been caught on the way down.

‘I can do those for you, if you want’ Mel offered.

‘Do what?’ I asked, ready to go now.

‘Shape them, thin them out’ whatever you want’ she offered.

My eyebrows were my friends. But then my hair had been my friend when I woke up this morning and look what I’d just done to that! I was tempted by the idea of my scalp being smooth, wanted to see what that felt like, but had to accept that it would slow down my return to some semblance of normality. It was way too soon for me to be remotely confident about being bald. I was still at the stage where I expected people to point at me and laugh when I left the shop, but there was something enticing about the idea of putting my fingertips to my scalp and not feeling a trace of hair. There was another flutter. I really would need to go home as soon as I was finished here.

‘As long as it won’t add more than a couple of days to my hair growing again, I think I may as well feel what it’s like to be completely smooth. I’m so close after all and this might be the only time that I’ll do it’ I said. I wasn’t sure that it would be the only time, but I wasn’t sure that it wasn’t either. I settled back in the chair and Mel reached for her can of foam again. I closed my eyes and tried to think of anything but how erotic I was finding this whole thing. I would switch those thoughts on once I reached the sanctuary of my own home.

‘Tilt your head back for me’ she said, closer than I had expected her to be in such a short space of time.

I heard the squirt, I felt the light touch as she started to distribute the foam. I didn’t want it to end, but knew that there could be implications for my modesty if it didn’t.

‘Don’t you want to see yourself before I start?’ she asked.

I opened my eyes and straightened my head, looking at my reflection in the mirror. Now my head really was covered in the way that I had imagined the previous night when Mick did his thing with his hands.

‘It looks so silly!’ I said, laughing.

‘You never know, it might be a regular thing for you’ Mel said.

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ I said.

‘Aren’t you?’ she asked.

‘Yes, but I didn’t know that it would be fun for you too’ I said.

‘It’s more interesting that doing trims, I can tell you that’ she said. I could see the razor poised in her hand. I was about to have my head shaved clean. She reached up and touched my scalp with her free hand, smudging the foam with her index finger. I thought that she’d missed a bit and was just making a minor adjustment. In a way she had missed a bit. She touched her finger to my right eyebrow and drew it the length of the brow.

I was just about to ask her what she was doing when she said: “Shhh, just let me.’

I closed my eyes. I felt the touch of the razor, braced myself for pain, but felt only the slightest stroking movement. It was another “Oh God!” moment. I could sense her progress across my brow. Had I just gone too far? Had I let her do something that I didn’t really want? Maybe, but that was where the thrill had come from.

I felt the touch of her finger again, the stroke of my brow as she applied foam to the other one. I felt the kiss of the razor, which barely paused between the end of my eyebrow and the larger task above. I was sitting there being shaved with a straight razor and enjoying it. I opened my eyes to watch what she was doing, telling myself that it wasn’t to see whether I looked freakish without eyebrows. I stared at myself. I looked freakish without eyebrows!

‘You wouldn’t believe what a difference your eyebrows make’ I said.

‘You get used to it. I haven’t had eyebrows for years’ she said. I hadn’t noticed. She was obviously good with an eyebrow pencil.

‘You’ll have to show me how you do them’ I said, still stunned that I had just lost my eyebrows with barely a whimper.

She carried on shaving, I carried on being grateful that the salon was so quiet. I don’t know if I could have done it if someone else had been there, but maybe that would have been my salvation. I could have escaped with a nice crop that someone could ruffle with his hand, enough to pull a little if the mood took him while he was doing me. Now what would happen? Maybe I could find a man who would give me a firm stroking when he screwed me. That’s if I could find a man who liked bald women of course. I needed to find someone, I knew that!

Mel carried on shaving, I carried on sitting there motionless, afraid of being cut if I moved. I was relaxing now that the shock of losing my eyebrows had started to pass. The white foam was getting less and less, and my scalp was being exposed again. I wanted to touch it to see what the difference was, but knew that I had to wait.

Quicker than I thought, Mel put the razor down and led me to the basin to rinse my head. The spray felt so powerful with no hair to cushion it. In contrast, Mel’s touch was perfect as she guided the water, helped the excess foam on its way with her spare hand. The water stopped, the rub with a soft towel began and then I was finished. Mel led me to a full length mirror and stood by my side while I looked at what I had become. I was bald, I had no eyebrows. Mel squeezed my hand lightly.

‘Look at you’ she said ‘you’re beautiful.’

‘I’m not sure about that. I look like an alien.’

‘Take a seat and I’ll do your brows for you’ she said. She’d done them once already and now look at them!

I sat down and it took her several minutes to replace what she had taken only seconds to remove. I wasn’t sure. There was more chance of my shaving my head again than there was of re-shaving my eyebrows. It just felt like a right pain in the arse to have to have the patience and time to draw something on that should have been there in the first place. She unfastened my gown and led me back to the mirror to examine her artistry. My own brows had been full, these substitutes were pencil thin. They were a statement. They were sexy.

‘What do you think?’ she asked, standing next to me.

‘I can’t believe I let you do that’ I said, smiling.

‘But you’re pleased you did?’

‘I think so. It’ll take some getting used to, but I think I’ll get there eventually’ I replied.

I felt a squeeze of my hand again. She didn’t let go. I looked at her. She looked at me.

‘Really?’ I asked.

‘I’ll give you my number. Think about it’ she said.

‘Let me guess…you like bald women with no eyebrows?’ I said.

She smiled.

‘I like men’ I said weakly.

‘So do I’ she replied, ‘but I like beautiful things too’ she added.

I lifted my hand, so that hers came with it. I kissed it gently.

‘You’re very sweet, and I’m flattered, but I don’t think that I could.’

‘I think that you’re as wet as me’ she said.

I would have raised my eyebrows, if I’d had any.

‘I don’t know what to say to that, Mel’ I said.

‘I can lock the door and we can see if I can change your mind.’

I let go of her hand. She looked at me. Uncertain, questioning. She went and locked the door, drawing down the shutter. I stood there wondering what I was doing.

‘Haven’t you got appointments?’ I asked.

‘Not for an hour or so’ she replied. She held out her hand and led me to a rest area at the back of the shop. ‘Tea?’ she offered, calm as you like. I had been drawn into a lesbian’s lair and I was being offered tea!

She came closer when I didn’t respond. She put her hands on my hips and leaned in to kiss me, tenderly, almost respectfully. The hands that were gathering the material of my dress weren’t as respectful. I could feel the hem going higher and higher. I wondered what I was doing standing in a back room having a fumble with another woman. My dress was high, she was holding it up with one hand while the other went exploring. It seemed that we had done the foreplay thing and now we were at the “stroking the pussy through the knickers” stage.

‘I knew it’ she said, breaking the kiss. So did I, I wanted to say, but wanted to kiss her some more. I felt her fingers slide through me with embarrassing ease, or should I be proud of the fact that she had made me as wet as I was, with just the clippers and the razor. I was in no position to complain about what she had done to me, because she knew first hand exactly what I thought of it. The customary way to check customer satisfaction is to ask them, but at that moment, I was overjoyed to participate in her very personal survey.

She had me reclined on a sofa, my spare knickers going the way of the originals. I half lay there with my dress up around my waist while she was doing what no man had ever done for me, not even Mick, who had given me such pleasure, but hadn’t had his head anywhere near where Mel’s was just then. I was in a different world; it was a hard masculine world last night, this morning I was being introduced to a soft, feminine one. I wasn’t sure which I preferred. I was gasping as Mel teased me with her tongue. I suspected that she was more than just an amateur, she was a real enthusiast.

I knew that it had to happen, it would have been rude not to, but the first time that you are faced with another woman’s pussy in such a context gives you pause for thought. This wasn’t right, this isn’t what you should be staring at. It should be a cock that challenges your reflexes, not the soft dampness that I had just run my tongue over. It didn’t bite, it was okay. I explored some more, pleased that Mel was in a similar state as me. I looked along her torso, saw that she was squeezing her boobs for all she was worth. Did that mean that I wasn’t trying hard enough? I applied myself a bit more. Today was going to go down in history for two main reasons: I shaved my head and I made another woman cum by the simple process of eating her pussy.

When we eventually untangled ourselves, I wasn’t sure what to do. In the end, my knickers joined the pair already in my handbag from the previous night and I stood in reception the same as any other customer. Except that I had no knickers on and I could still taste my hairdresser.

‘Ring me if you want to do it in comfort next time’ Mel said, handing me her card as promised.

‘You mean it?’

‘We can make a night of it. I promise I’ll shave you again though, so if you’re thinking about growing it out, you’ll be disappointed.’

‘You’re determined to make a bald woman out of me, aren’t you?’

‘If I can!’ she admitted.

I left salon, recent memories of Mick almost over-written by the fresher experience with Mel. I had surprised myself in so many ways during the past twenty-four hours and really needed time to sit back and take stock of where I was. I had gone “off piste”, for me anyway. My expectations of finding a man, having kids and all that entails had been turned upside down. I had experienced things that I hadn’t expected to experience, had better sex than ever before, shaved my head, been with another woman and it would all take time to process.

I carried on walking, hyper-aware of the breeze under my dress.

The coming weeks saw my world adjust to me. People stopped commenting on what I’d done to my hair, stopped asking why. My world had caught up with me. I watched my hair start to fight back, uncertain at first, unsure whether it would be cut back down if it tried to raise itself from its hiding place. It was still there and little by little it started to come back, gaining confidence by the day. I was just getting used to not having hair, when I had to start getting used to having sandpaper and then velvet. I ventured to a pub with a girlfriend who could barely disguise her astonishment that I had consigned my hair to the bin. I sat back while guys tried to chat her up, wondering whether any would be interested in the skinhead at her side. They weren’t. She told me that it was because I wasn’t sending the right signals.

She was probably right.

I went home alone, grateful for my new best friend, whose interest was sparked the moment I flicked the switch. I realised that I was getting more pleasure from him than I was from stroking my shorn head. For the first few days, it was quite the opposite and I had barely bothered to open the drawer to let him out to play. Stroking my head was enough stimulation to get me off. Now, at just over half an inch, my hair was too long. I went to the mirror and looked at myself.

I still wasn’t used to this version of me, the bristly version. I liked the bald version, I had fond memories of the long-haired version, but this “sprouting” version just didn’t look right. I went to my bedside table and took out the card that Mel had given me. I went back and stood in front of the mirror. looking at myself. I held the card between thumb and forefinger, running its edge tentatively over the skin on my belly. I closed my eyes, wishing myself back to Mel’s salon. I scraped the pretend-blade over my shaven mound, drawing it upwards over my body, pausing to tease my nipples with its hardness. My other hand gravitated to my pussy, unable to resist unseen forces. I opened my eyes and placed the card at my forehead, wishing that its useless, dull edge was Mel’s gleaming cut-throat blade. I squatted down, head resting against the mirror to prevent myself from falling over. My fingers went to work, unhindered. In my mind, I was in Mel’s chair again, I was bald again, her fingers were in me, two, three, surely no more. I looked down, surprised to see that much of own hand had been consumed. It was something that you might encounter by chance on a porn-site, but nothing that I had ever tried. It appeared that I had a natural talent for it!

The following day, I sat at the kitchen table looking at Mel’s slightly-creased business card, lying invitingly next to my phone.

‘Mel?’ I said tentatively.

‘This is Mel’ the voice replied.

‘Hi Mel, it’s Jenny. ‘You shaved my head, remember?’

‘You’re going to have to be more specific than that’ she replied.

‘You shaved my eyebrows off.’

‘Can you narrow it down any more’ she replied.

‘We, er, you know, afterwards.’

‘No, still no good’ she said.

‘You know damn well who it is, don’t you?’ I said, starting to be exasperated.

‘Just teasing, you know what I’m like. I didn’t think I’d hear from you again. Thought I’d frightened you off’ she said.

‘I just needed to decide if I wanted to do it again’ I replied.

‘Do what again?’

‘Shave my head.’

‘And do you?’

I paused for a moment.

‘If you want me to’ I replied.

‘There’s plenty that I’d want to do to you’ she said.

‘I hope there’s no-one else there!’ I said.

‘What if there was?’

‘It probably wouldn’t stop you, would it?’

‘Possibly not.’

‘Never mind. I’ve got hair and I don’t like it.’

‘I’m sure you’ve got quite a bit by now.’

‘I hate it’ I said.

‘Pleased to hear it’ she replied.

After a couple of minutes verbal jousting, we arranged to meet at the salon in the evening. I couldn’t wait.

I was transported back to being a teenager, excited by the prospect of a quick fumble behind the bus shelter. It was like waiting for the school bell to ring, releasing me and my teenage hormones onto the unsuspecting world. I was older now and wiser. I liked to think that I had matured, had more self-control, but wasn’t convinced. I had better underwear, though, I knew that. Well, I did once I’d popped into town and done some shopping.

Enough of the day had slipped by unnoticed for me to be standing expectantly outside the salon. I was confident in my appearance, but nervous about seeing Mel again. I

wanted to see her, but I knew that it was one more step off the path that I had expected to tread. You could be forgiven a one-off mis-step, but this was deliberate now. Very deliberate.

I saw Mel’s shadow through the frosted glass of the salon door. My stomach jumped. The door opened. Mel smiled a welcome and stood aside to let me enter. She was professional and distant as I went in. She closed the door behind me. The hand on my buttock wasn’t professional. I stood there, facing away from her, closing my eyes as her hand roamed. I felt the zip on my dress being drawn down. I hadn’t even spoken.

‘It’s a shame to hide this away’ she said.

‘It was a surprise for later’ I replied.

‘I never did have much patience’ she replied. My dress was on the floor and I was standing in the salon reception in my new underwear: quarter-cup bra, tiny knickers,

suspenders and stockings. All mauve and lacey and expensive. She turned me to look at her, holding on to my hands as she took a small step back. It gave me a chance to look at her.

‘I like your hair’ I said.

She’d tied her hair back into what must be the world’s smallest ponytail. She’d clearly done it to expose the new part of her style. What had been a stubbly, side-cut had become a full-blown undercut. The hair on the lower part of her head had gone. It was as smooth as mine had been when she first shaved me.

‘Glad you like it. Bit of a half-way house, but it means I can hide it away during the day and have it like this just for me. And selected friends, of course.

‘It’s sexy’ I said, still feeling uncomfortable at standing in front of another woman being admired like that. I wouldn’t say that I’d be totally comfortable in front of most men, but at least there would be something more natural about that.

‘Not half as sexy as you, my dear’ she replied. She traced the edge of my bra cup with her finger, looking deep into my eyes as she explored. She leant in to kiss me, her tongue eager to meet mine. Her hands wandered like a teenage boy’s, cupping my backside, fingers burrowing inside the elastic. She broke the embrace and held a hand out to me.

‘Come on, there’s someone I’d like you to meet’ she said.

I looked at her, wide-eyed. I started to bend to pick my dress up, but her grip told me that she didn’t want me to. I looked down at myself, even though I knew what I would see: boobs barely covered, skimpy knickers doing a similarly futile task, frilly suspenders and stockings. I was ready to fuck, not ready to meet a stranger.

I let her lead me through to the salon, feeling like a maiden in a 1960’s Hammer Horror film.

‘Hi’ he said.

‘Hi’ I replied, feeling foolish.

“He” was a guy of indeterminate age, possibly 20, possibly 30, possibly 40. It was difficult to tell given all of his tattoos. It wasn’t the first time that I’d seen someone with a tattoo on their face, but it was the first time that I’d actually met someone who’d done it. It wasn’t all of his face, more in the temple area, but even so, it was a face tattoo.

‘Jenny, this is Robert’ Mel said.

‘Hi Robert, excuse the informality. I wasn’t expecting company’ I said, trying to make light of my semi-nudity.

‘Don’t mind me’ he said with a smile and a pull on one of those electronic cigarette things. I looked at Mel.

‘I was going to take you to Robert’s studio, but I thought that it was probably easier for him to come here’ Mel said, still not telling me what Robert was for. I could feel his eyes trying to remove what little I was wearing. Mel led me closer to him, clearly concerned that he might strain his eyes. She took up a position behind me and put her arms round me, clasping her hands loosely in front of me. I was’exhibit A’, by the looks of things. I felt Mel’s breath on my ear lobe.

‘Robert’s going to make you prettier for me’ she said. I tried to look round at her. ‘He’s going to put some pretty rings in those gorgeous nipples of yours’ she said

quietly. ‘Would you like that?’

‘I’m happy to talk about it, but it’s not something I’ve thought about doing’ I replied. Her hands separated, moved up to cup my boobs fleetingly and then moved behind me to unhook my bra. I watched it twist through the air and was so glad that I had spent so much on it! She pinched my nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.

‘Just think what you’ll look like with gold rings here’ she said. I looked at Robert. I wasn’t sure if Robert was looking at a half-naked woman or at a target for his piercing gun.

‘Can we talk about this?’ I said, not wanting to upset her.

‘I want one down here too, something for my tongue to play with’ she said, her roving hands leaving no doubt about where she meant. I turned to face her, ignoring the gentle grasp of her arms.

‘I don’t want to waste Robert’s time, but this is going too fast for me’ I said.

She looked at me with what might have been compassion.

‘Okay, we’ll just do the nipples for now’ she said with a tweak. She leaned in to kiss me again, either ignoring Robert’s presence or putting on a display for him. I felt her hand guide one of mine to her head to explore the shaven area, pressing my fingers against the bare skin. She broke off momentarily.

‘Robert did it for me. For you’ she said before pressing her lips to mine again. She broke off once more. ‘I want him to shave you too. I want to watch’ she said

breathlessly. This was so not turning out the way that I expected. It was my turn to break the embrace.

‘Have you got some wine or something?’ I asked.

‘Gosh, I’m sorry’ she said, turning suddenly from fetishist to caught-out hostess. She hurried off to the side room, leaving me with my intended torturer. He smiled at me.

‘Sorry, it’s nothing personal. It’s just a big step for me’ I said, folding my arms to cover my boobs before realising how silly I must have looked. I went over to a chair.

‘It’s your decision, but if you’re not going to do it, I’ll head off’ he said. He looked down at his bag of tricks on the floor beside him and started to make moves to pack away his e-cigarette.

‘No, I mean, I don’t know. Maybe if you’ve got a card. I can think about it and give you a call.’

‘Mel knows where I am’ he said, just as Mel came back with a bottle of wine and glasses.

I saw her look of disappointment when she heard the end of what I said and could see that Robert wasn’t as settled as he had been. She stopped in her tracks.

‘At least give me a chance to persuade you’ she said.

‘I don’t want to waste Robert’s time’ I replied.

‘Don’t worry about that. I’m sure he’d love to watch me convince you, wouldn’t you Robert?’ she said. She put the glasses down and poured a generous glass for each of

us. She put Robert’s on the floor beside him and turned her back, still crouching. Uninvited, he undid the zip on her dress, which she slid out of as she was standing back up. She turned to me, knickerless and bra-less, smiling as she touched the gold ring through each nipple. She came over to me, standing directly in front of me, her feet set apart. She teased her pussy lips apart so that I could see the other ring that nestled in her folds.

‘Robert did them a couple of weeks ago. I want us to match’ she said, holding out her index finger for me to taste. She watched as I took her finger into my mouth. I looked up at her, asking silent permission to touch. Permission was granted with a slight widening of her stance. There was something so strange about feeling metal where there should only be delicate flesh. Maybe that was what made me want to touch it more. I became entranced by the contrast and only had my concentration broken by the sound of Robert’s bag being placed on the floor beside my chair. I looked up at him. I looked up at Mel. I touched her stud for luck.

I really don’t want to dwell on the next few minutes. Suffice it to say that the next time I was conscious of taking a breath, I had a ring through each of my nipples and had lost count of the number of times that Mel had told me that I’d be glad that I’d done it in a couple of days. I asked for a time-out before going any further, time to drink some wine and to catch my breath. Mel knelt at my feet, reaching up to help me off with my knickers. She stayed there, looking up at me as if to ask permission. I slid my backside forward in the chair to make things easier for her to kiss goodbye to my pussy in its natural state before it got spiked. I had no idea what Robert was doing and didn’t care. The old me would have cared. The old me had felt awkward about having a dream in which I was ravished by two gentlemen in 19th century costumes. The new me was really spreading her legs to be licked out by another woman while there was a surplus man in the room.

Robert had touched me professionally, doing what he needed to, but there was no hint that he was copping a feel. I was a part of his work, not a part of his play. I wasn’t even sure that he was still in the room as all I could think of was the pleasure of Mel’s tongue and the pain in my boobs. I tried to focus as low down as I could.

My focus was disturbed by Robert trying out one of his gizmos in preparation for planting his stake in my pussy. Whatever it was, buzzed just like the clippers that Mel had used on me. I looked down at Mel, smiling at the sight of her lapping at me, stroking the bare skin at the side of her head. I felt a hand on my shoulder, too high to have anything to do with Mel. It had to be “Silent Bob”. The hand on my shoulder became a hand on the top of my head, which became clippers. It was almost too much. I was having my head shaved while I was being expertly eaten out. I clasped the back of Mel’s head, urging her to even greater efforts. I closed my eyes and let everything happen. I wondered what Mel would say about Robert just going ahead and shaving me. She’d said that she wanted to watch, but she’d have to console herself with watching another time. I’d found an exquisite way to have my head shaved and I wasn’t sure that sitting in an ordinary salon setting would ever come close. I had to hand it to Robert, he was good. Maybe it’s something that he finds relaxing after poking holes in people. After all, hair will grow back, it’s harder to rectify potential mistakes that he could make in his day job. I closed my eyes, waiting for the dam to burst.

I heard the clippers go quiet and felt Robert’s surprisingly feminine touch on my scalp. For one so scary looking, he had a really good chair-side manner. He came into view as he moved around the side of me. I saw him looking at me, examining his handiwork, appreciating a job well-done. He smiled. I smiled. He looked down at my lap, looking at the source of the slurping sounds and smiled. I looked at him and motioned with my head. He looked puzzled. I looked at his hand, motioned again at the activity between my legs. He raised his eyebrows. I nodded. He turned the clippers on.

I pressed my mound forward against Mel’s mouth as I watched the clippers slide across the top of her head. It seemed only right that I should do something that I wanted to do after the discomfort that I had been through and the discomfort that was imminent. Her interest in my pussy became less vigorous and I could have sworn that she had just cursed me. So difficult to tell what someone’s saying when they’ve got a mouth full of your pussy! Robert lifted the clippers away as she signalled that she wanted to change position. She looked up at me, reaching up to touch my fresh baldness.

‘Did you ask him to do that?’ she asked.

‘Didn’t say a word’ I replied, reaching out to touch the bald patch on the top of her head.

Robert and I both watched as she reached down between her legs. She wiped her fingers on the top of my head.

‘There, who needs shaving cream?’ she said, dipping in again for more.

I watched the amused expression on Robert’s face.

‘How about You take a breather and I finish what I came here for?’ he suggested.

‘Just a sec’ Mel said, leaning over me again. She slid fingers inside me and looked like she was trying to whip double cream. I knew what she was trying to do and didn’t want her to do it while Robert was there. It was bucking bronco time though and there was only one way that it would end.

‘Jeez’ Robert said, apparently concerned that the neighbours might have heard. I was secretly pleased, but knew that I should be embarrassed to have just orgasmed so spectacularly, with a front-row audience who wasn’t even an active participant.

‘I’ll be back in a second’ I said breathlessly. I hurried off across the salon to the ladies’.

I leaned against the door and took in a deep breath. What I had thought would be a wild evening with another woman was beyond my imagination. I looked in the mirror at my tender boobs, knowing that I would be pleased in a few days, just as Mel had said. I cleaned myself up in preparation for what was about to happen. When I got back out to the salon, I was met with a scene that could be seen in any salon, any day. Apart from the client being stark naked, of course. Mel was sitting in the styling chair, the remnants of her hair lying on the floor around her. Robert had already covered her head with shaving foam and made the first strokes with the razor. Mel’s casually folded hands moved and she slid a finger inside herself as I neared. We smiled at each other and I sat opposite to watch, wanting to play with myself, but eager not to get too excited before Robert did whatever he was going to do. Mel made a point of showing me her pierced clit, rubbing it lasciviously before mouthing “you next” at me. I tried to ignore her and just concentrate on her smooth scalp emerging from the foam the way that mine had. I started to wonder why any woman would want hair after seeing how much an appearance could be improved by taking it off. How much more productive would the world be without hair? Apart from cosmetic companies of course. Hairdressing salons would just become shave shops and would stay in business that way. A girl can dream!

Robert finished shaving Mel and I was able to look at her, unadorned by shaving foam or hair. It was just a bald, beautiful Mel sitting in the chair. I had been able to see even while she was in the chair that she had accepted the loss of her hair. Maybe that was her plan all along and the undershave wasn’t intended to be there as a permanent feature. I wanted to play, but I knew what had to come first.

After a discussion about practicalities, I found myself on a treatment table that had been used for waxing when the salon tried to diversify into a wider assortment of beauty treatments. That hadn’t lasted, but they still had the table. Lucky me!

Again, I don’t want to dwell on the process and the speed with which Robert packed his tools and left told me all that I needed to know. Mel made me a cup of tea, and I sat quietly, hoping for sympathy, but getting very little. Rather unwisely, I had let Mel direct operations and I now found myself with a metal rod through the hood of my clit. It could have been the girder for a bridge from the way I felt, but she assured me that it looked great. She was only too eager to sit opposite me and open her legs to show me how much she was enjoying things. It gave me a chance to look at her with her smooth scalp and to work on convincing myself that it was perfectly normal to be sitting opposite a naked woman while she ‘displayed’. I wanted to do what she was doing, but knew that it would be a while before I would be rubbing myself enthusiastically like that.

Mel stood up and went over to her styling station. When she turned back to me, she was holding the can of shaving foam. In all the fear and excitement of everything else that had been going on, I had forgotten that I hadn’t been “finished off”. I was clipper-shaved, but we both knew that that wasn’t acceptable. She came over to me and spread shaving foam over my scalp while I cradled my tea, an everyday scene, if ever there was one. She was gentle, taking her time with each stroke of the blade, creating a barrier between the harshness of the piercing process and whatever else was going to happen. I traced my fingers up her thighs whenever the opportunity arose, still finding myself comparing the silkiness of a woman with the hard, hairy thighs of a man. She paused in front of me, waiting patiently while I teased her clit, comparing her ring with the bar that she had gifted me. I liked her ring, but I think that mine was more interesting, the straightness of the bar capped by a ball at each end. More masculine maybe, but I was looking forward to confirming my suspicions. She carried on, caressing me back to perfect smoothness, unblemished by any nicks or razor burn.

After Mel had rinsed my head, we stood at arms length from each other, holding hands while we looked at the changes since I’d arrived. We smiled and kissed, Mel’s hands desperate to roam, but only too aware that they would have to wait a while. We got dressed and went for dinner, sitting there like two people on their first date, which is what we were as far as the world was concerned. They weren’t to know that we already knew every inch of each other.

That was two months ago. Where are we now, you may ask? Well, Mel and I effectively live together, although we’ve still got our own places. Most of my clothes just seem to have gravitated to her flat and I think of it as “home” now. We’re both still bald, although Mel wears a wig when she’s in the salon, just to save answering the same questions all the time. Once the discomfort subsided, I really loved being pierced. I got bigger rings in my nipples and I love going out in the evening when the shape of our rings can be seen through our clothes. There’s something so erotic about people knowing that you’ve got piercings there, but they try not to stare. You know they are and they know they are, but words rarely get exchanged. Just a smile. As for the ironmongery down below, it has provided extra interest and hours of enjoyment. I stopped thinking of it as an alien intruder and got to love it. That’s something that only the two of us know about, but I can still walk down the street and wonder what people would say if they knew. Maybe the bald head stuns them at first or maybe the hint of pierced nipple, but there’s nothing to give my most precious secret away.

Anyway, I need to go now. I’ve got to get Mel’s birthday present. She’s getting flowers. Nothing unusual or exciting about that, you may say. Maybe not, but Robert has helped me choose the designs. I’m getting one on my mound and a tiny one just behind my ear. He’s trying to get me to have one on one of my boobs, but I’ll see how much the other ones hurt before I decide. I’ve never been tempted by a tattoo before, but it just seems like the right thing to do. Wish me luck!

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