Rising & Falling, Part 2 – Samantha Forces a Balance of Power

Explaining Change

It had proved tricky to explain to my circle of friends why I had cut off my signature ponytail. My girlfriend, Samantha, had taken me to a hair salon and instructed the stylist to give me a clippered wedge haircut that had a distinctly feminine air about it.

I mumbled something about wanting to try a fresh stage look when playing guitar in my rock band, vaguely relating it to inspiration from a non-existent guitar hero of mine. Using products to make my hair look less girly when away from Samantha, my mates still found my convoluted explanation lame. But they shrugged it off by accepting that it was just me being arty, eccentric, and typically “Michael”.

Demanding Change

On my next visit to Samantha’s flat, she had laid out what had quickly become one of my favourite outfits, comprising a tartan miniskirt and a white lacey camisole top. Once I had changed out of my tight jeans, I felt much more comfortable. Furthermore, I was delighted to find that my short new hairstyle worked far better with the more casual separates than with the polka-dot dress that Samantha had preferred. Even with my long curly locks replaced by a severe short haircut, I still had the appearance of a musician from the eighties … albeit a female one from a vocal girl group!

We settled down on the sofa with a cup of coffee in the manner of a familiar couple, albeit an odd one. But then Samatha confronted me with the next stage in her curious game. ‘Michaela, I need to change my appearance,’ she said abruptly.

I was aghast. I loved her incredible long hair, her elaborate dark clothes, her whole aesthetic. It was what had drawn me to her initially, and what continued to hold my attention and my affection, as well as fuelling my lust. ‘But … er … why?’ I whined, almost choking on the words.

‘I am tired of being a Goth,’ she shrugged, as if it were nothing of great consequence. ‘I want to try something different, something more …’ she took a deep breath, ‘something more masculine.’

‘What?’ I squealed, feeling my entire world tilting irrevocably. ‘Why?’

‘Because I want to,’ she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. ‘And if you don’t help me, then it is all over between us.’

Samantha had trapped me. Again.

Supporting Change

Once I had accepted Samantha’s ultimatum, she cheered up immediately. She put on a light grey suit with slightly flared trousers that I had never seen before. One that I would never have thought she would even possess. She wore it over a striped plain shirt with the collar spread wide over the lapels. It was the first time I had seen her legs covered in anything other than tall leather boots or fishnet stockings.

She encouraged me to bundle all her gorgeous hair into a tight bun at the nape, a struggle given its length and thickness. Strangely, I had never even seen it in a ponytail before. A strong gel helped to hold it firmly in place. Using a comb, along with copious quantities of the same greasy gel, I slicked back her signature face-framing blunt fringe from her forehead.

Aided by the flared trousers and the slick hair, she had, like me, also channelled the musician vibe of yesteryear. Unfortunately, from my perspective, she resembled a male crooner from the seventies.

She looked so different to the women I had fallen for. The object of my affection. With her makeup lighter than her Goth persona, she still looked feminine … but, and I hated thinking it, only just.

For the first time, I made an excuse to leave her flat early that day, not knowing or wishing to find out how my body would react to her emasculated appearance.

Samantha knew I was lying about my desperate need to leave. So, before my departure, the only moment of lightness came when she reminded me that I might want to change out of the tartan miniskirt before “meeting my mates in the pub”.

Sadly, I felt Samantha’s hook loosening.

Forcing Change

Following our difference of opinion and our gloomy parting, the subsequent days had proved tough. I did not know where we stood. We had exchanged no messages, as I did not know what to say and I had to assume that Samantha felt the same. And despite her latest bizarre declaration, I continued to have extremely strong feelings towards her. Although I recognised that the situation was far more complicated than I could imagine, I simply missed our unique intimacy and the thrill that came from us being together.

One morning, after a sleepless night, I sent her a bland message to say I would like to meet her. I had drafted so many versions of that message conveying all manner of emotions. But I finally abbreviated it to suggesting we meet in the college’s cafeteria for coffee … the place where it had all begun for us!

The next five minutes were agony as I stared at my screen, waiting for her to reply. I do not know how long I would have waited, but even that brief time seemed endless. However, I suddenly drowned under the sea of delighted emojis that bounced back including, I was delighted to see, a collection of heart symbols. The message concluded with “in 20 mins!!!”

Although I rushed as quickly as I could, she was already in the cafeteria when I arrived, sitting at our “usual” table. Her face was devoid of makeup and barely recognisable. She looked pale and gaunt but, rather than being unwell, I grasped that had become her natural appearance. This was the “new” Samantha in the grey trouser suit, without the layers of Goth warpaint and with her hair drawn tightly back.

I had to believe her appearance was just a temporary phase she was going through. Someone like Samantha would never be satisfied with the dull façade she had adopted. For her to satisfy me, I wondered how best to sensitively propose that she reverts to my favoured persona. I knew she would in the end but, obviously, it was important for me to be diplomatic.

Accepting Change

Before leaving for the cafeteria, I had quickly changed into the red and white polka-dot dress that I knew Samantha liked to see me in. The only garment of hers that had found its way back to my place as I had needed to take the hem up a little. I was not prepared for anyone I knew to see me in the feminine clothes that Samantha foisted upon me, so this was an exception. Fortunately, I had a long summer coat that disguised what I was wearing, and I unbuttoned it to show her the dress underneath.

Samantha’s eyes widened at my disclosure, and she smiled broadly. ‘Ah, my brave, Michaela. It is so lovely to see you again.’

Yes, it worked, I complimented myself. I did not even mind her using the feminised version of my name around the college. Now we can get back to normal, I thought, feeling confident. I was about to suggest we go for a walk when she began bubbling with excitement, the gauntness disappearing from her features. Her eyes brightening. Things were going well, and I already anticipated the occasion that the ridiculous grey trouser suit would go on a bonfire.

‘Now, Michaela, you will come with me into town,’ she said, eagerly jumping to her feet and grabbing my hand. ‘You will accompany me to a gentlemen’s outfitters and help me refresh my complete wardrobe with a comprehensive selection of suits, shirts, and ties.’

It was all so wrong, so twisted, but what could I do. After all, Samantha had me hooked.

Witnessing Change

Samantha’s excitement was palpable as she skipped along the pavement on the way into town. She gabbled on about the sort of clothes she wanted to buy and, while I made all the right noises, I absorbed none of her words.

After insisting I remove my long coat to reveal the red and white polka-dot dress underneath, Samantha dragged me inside the old-fashioned premises she had earmarked.

Given that Samantha walked in wearing an unremarkable man’s suit, and accompanied by me in a smart dress, the sales assistant who stepped forward to greet us looked understandably confused.

‘Good morning … er, good people,’ he said, fudging the gender labels. ‘I am Kenneth, and I am here to serve you today.’

It was a dismal session, only brightened by witnessing the delight in Samantha’s eyes as the overtly gay assistant helped her into a drab selection of men’s attire. With each outfit, Kenneth would stand back to regard Samantha’s appearance before swooning dramatically in admiration. Invariably, he then sidled up to me, seeking Michaela’s approval of their selection. Each time he added a conspiratorial wink, suggesting I shared similar preferences to himself. More than once, he had commented favourably on my polka-dot dress and how well it suited me.

‘I am not gay,’ I wanted to shout … but, if not, what was it that I had become?

As we walked back to Samantha’s flat, I had donned my long raincoat and ensured I had fastened all my buttons to hide my dress underneath. By contrast, she pranced along in a black pinstripe suit, a crisp white shirt, a colourful striped tie, with the whole ensemble topped off with an unwavering broad smile. With me holding her hand, we made an interesting couple that drew curious and confused glances from passersby.

The question of “what had I become?” continued to bounce around my mind.

Progressing Change

For the next week or so, Samantha appeared satisfied, clearly revelling in her new persona. With each visit to her flat I prayed that it would be the one where she had seen the error of her ways, and she would greet me with her long hair loose and wearing one of her elaborate, feminine Goth outfits.

But it never happened. What happened was the final descent into madness.

‘I want you to take me to a gentlemen’s barber,’ she said, her voice cold and devoid of emotion. ‘I do not need all this hair,’ she declared, jabbing at her tight bun. ‘It is unnecessary and spoils the sharp line of my shirt collars. I want you to tell the barber to cut my hair extremely short.’

I burst into tears. ‘No, I can’t do it,’ I sobbed, feeling pushed to the limit. ‘It’s just too much.’

‘No, Michael, it is absolutely necessary,’ she insisted, her voice implacable, looming over my snivelling form like a stern, black-suited headmaster. Folding her arms defiantly across her chest, she added, ‘That is if we are going to stay together …’

Samantha had trapped me yet again.

Enabling Change

That afternoon we strolled down the street towards The Dapper Gent, a traditional barbershop that loomed ahead. It resided in the same parade of shops as Brenda’s salon where I received my haircut. During the journey, I reiterated every argument that I had previously put forward to prevent this madness but, by that stage, I knew it was too late. We walked on in silence.

Samantha strode confidently beside me in a dark grey suit, white shirt, and drab patterned tie, looking every inch the successful business executive. She had scrubbed her face of makeup, and she wore no jewellery. Her hair was loose for the first time in a while. Not in a ponytail, but combed straight back, flowing down her back rather than framing her face. She had a disconcertingly satisfied glint in her eye.

In complete contrast, I was wearing a brand new black-and-white checked two-piece suit. I had paired it with a crisp white blouse that had a pretty bow at the neck. Samantha had carefully applied my makeup and blow-dried my wedge hairstyle to perfection. I found it difficult to keep pace with Samantha as she strutted along in comfortable trousers and sensible shoes. I teetered on unfamiliar heels, my first time walking in them outside, and my ridiculously short skirt did not help by constraining my movement.

Although the contrast between us was jarring, it was also extremely arousing, in a way I was desperately trying to ignore.

‘Remember,’ Samantha hissed just before entering the barbershop, firmly grabbing my arm. ‘Be assertive. You are in charge. Tell them “Sam” needs a proper short haircut, and you are going to make sure that Sam gets exactly that.’

I swallowed, with my throat suddenly dry. The scent of musky products and masculine expectation wafted out from The Dapper Gent as I pushed open the door and eased Samantha inside with a gentle hand to her back.

The barber, a smartly dressed young man with a neatly trimmed beard, greeted us with a polite smile. His eyes widened slightly as he took in my attire. ‘Good afternoon,’ he managed, keeping his tone neutral, a testament to years of dealing with eccentric customers.

We chorused an acknowledgement of his welcome.

‘My name is Jason, and what can I do for you two … er, today?’ he asked, his eyes flitting between each of us, clearly unsure who his customer would be.

Facilitating Change

I was disappointed that Jason would consider that I, with my stylish hair and wearing an attractive skirt suit, would be a suitable victim for his dastardly barber’s chair!

However, I remembered my place – the “place” where Samantha had put me – so, swallowing hard, I tried to find my voice. ‘Sam … er, here …’ I said hesitantly, using her contracted name for the first time. ‘Sam has hair that has grown far too long,’ I said, my voice trembling slightly. ‘I need you to cut it short. Very short indeed. It is long overdue.’ I glanced at Samantha, who gave me a small, encouraging nod.

‘Long overdue?’ Samantha grumbled, her voice a low rumble. She even managed a convincing scowl to add authenticity to her bizarre game.

‘Yes, it certainly does need cutting,’ Jason agreed, nodding wisely, although he remained looking confused by our dynamic. His eyes flittered between us, unsure who he should be addressing. He gestured towards one of the leather chairs. ‘Okay, Sam, have a seat.’

By virtue of me having spoken first, the barber directed his attention back to me, judging that I was in charge. ‘So, how short … er, sir?’ Jason asked. Having committed himself to a gender, his eyes still nervously flitted between each of us. ‘That is, how short should it be?’ he amended, playing safe.

Samantha aimed a resigned half-smile in my direction, as if indicating to the barber she had no choice in the matter and that it was my decision.

I hesitated. Samantha had not given me any details on precisely how she wanted her hair cut. But through occasional comments and remarks on the hair of men we saw on TV or magazines, I had built up a picture of what Samantha might be yearning for.

‘Well,’ I began, my mind racing, ‘Sam’s hair is unruly and far too long. We need to get it under control.’ A pang of regret shot through me as my words surfaced.

‘Under control?’ Samantha hissed theatrically, grimacing once more.

‘Give Sam a flattop, please, Jason,’ I said abruptly, cutting across her pantomime, my voice gaining confidence. ‘Cut short on the crown so that it stands erect like a brush,’ I explained, Samantha’s eyes widening, ‘and the back and sides shaved to the bone,’ I added with a bold firmness that surprised even me. ‘To. The. Bone!’

Samantha beamed at me briefly, her eyes sparkling with approval. But then she reverted to her assumed role, acting subservient to my strong, power-suited character. She whined, ‘Whoa, Michaela! No, that is far too drastic!’

My heart hammered against my ribs. I met her gaze, faking the icy indifference she often displayed towards me. I stood my ground. ‘It is what you need, Sam,’ I said firmly, unconsciously wagging a finger in her direction for emphasis, leaving me surprised as to where the threatening digit had come from. ‘And, more importantly, it is what I want.’

‘But, Michaela, it is so unfair,’ Samantha whined, pouting.

The barber, ignoring Samantha, was delighted. ‘Excellent choice, madam,’ Jason said brightly, directing his words openly towards me without a trace of sarcasm in his voice. After briefly examining the long hair trailing down Samantha’s back, he began enthusiastically rubbing his hands together. ‘A flattop it will be for Sam. Smart, neat, and severe … and shaved to the bone,’ he confirmed unequivocally, leaving no room for doubt.

Initiating Change

Jason draped a cape around Samantha’s shoulders, transforming her from a smart-looking executive in a sharp suit, into a generic vulnerable customer, ripe for the plucking. Staring straight ahead in the mirror, the object of my affection looked composed and expressionless, but I was confident that a veritable flood of emotions was bubbling just under the surface.

Jason combed all her hair straight back, revealing her forehead and neckline. ‘Ready?’ he asked, taking a firm hold of her hair at the back of her head.

‘We’re quite ready, thank you, Jason,’ I nodded, answering for Samantha as well. With my stomach churning, I added, ‘Go ahead.’

The menacing electric hairclippers, that had appeared in his other hand, buzzed to life causing Samantha to wince, her head flinching to one side.

Jason chuckled. ‘No need to worry, Sam. These do not hurt … well, not physically, he chuckled again, ‘they only hurt emotionally especially with the loss of such lovely hair,’ he said, unnecessarily cruelly.

I suspected he had gained an inkling of the rules of Samantha’s bizarre game. I wondered if he may have even experienced something similar with other couples in the past. However, I concluded that if he did have knowledge of the rules, then I would have been extremely grateful if he could have explained them to me.

‘Sit still, Sam!’ I cautioned, and Samantha obediently sat bolt upright once more, staring straight ahead, completely impassive.

Without waiting further or giving any warning, Jason drove the blade of the roaring clippers into Samantha’s hair, just above where he held it. In seconds, her long hair came away in his hand. He held it out from his side, and Samantha gasped. I was just rooted the spot, unable to process what I had just witnessed. He waggled the ponytail, gesturing towards me. ‘I believe you will be wanting this Michaela,’ he ventured with a cold smile. I was unsure whether I did want it, but I took it anyway. During a later pause in proceedings, I found an elastic band in my handbag, tied the hair together, and secreted bag in my bag. Although I was unsure why.

‘Good, that’s got rid of the worst of it, Sam,’ Jason proclaimed ominously, and Samantha’s eyes widened. ‘Always best to get that over with quickly,’ he chuckled, as the hairclippers continued to roar.

Without delay, the barber furiously and haphazardly drove the vibrating blade into the remnants of Samatha’s long hair, using a large comb to lift clumps of her hair before allowing the clippers to devour them. The sight of Jason systematically destroying Samantha’s hair was too unbearable to watch but, like being close to any tragic incident, I could not tear my eyes away from the unfolding disaster.

With practiced efficiency, the barber began peeling Samantha’s locks away from her scalp and, heartbroken, I saw her precious tresses tumble to the floor in clumps. I continued watching, both fascinated and horrified in equal measure, while Jason slowly, with a manic grin, completely erased Samantha’s femininity.

‘Looking good already, madam,’ Jason chirped, looking towards me for reassurance after he had silenced the hairclippers. I nodded hesitantly. ‘Now we are rid of all that, I can finally see what I am doing,’ he giggled, and I wanted to thump him.

‘Yes, Jason … er, much better,’ I lied, my voice hitching as I looked mournfully at Samantha’s denuded scalp, then down at the mountain of hair covering the floor. ‘Please continue.’

Finalising Change

The barber had reduced the patch of hair covering Samantha’s crown to no more than three centimetres at the most, even shorter on the top. The back and sides of her head only exhibited a pelt of fine bristles.

‘No more … please,’ Samantha murmured, and, in response, Jason and I shared a smile, mine more sheepish than his.

Then, using the large comb as a guide, Jason employed his hairclippers to painstakingly trim every single hair on top of Samantha’s head. Every time the bare clipper blade passed over the comb, it rattled loudly causing Samantha to blink nervously. Eventually, each strand stood erect. Observing them in their entirety, they formed an immaculate brush-like level surface. This was the “flat top” that gave its name to the hairstyle’s apt description.

Once Jason was satisfied with the hair on Samantha’s crown, he faded the edges into the fine pelt of hair on the back and sides. Then, exchanging the hairclippers for a scary-looking foil shaver, the barber efficiently removed all traces of hair from the back and sides of Samantha’s head. All that remained was pristine white skin. It was surreal.

‘Shaved to the bone, as ordered, Michaela,’ he announced proudly and accurately.

He stepped back to admire his handiwork and invited me forward to inspect it more closely. I was unsure if I wanted to, but I felt compelled to do so. Approaching more closely, but I examined but held back from touching the alien bare skin or the brush-like top. I imagined Samantha could feel my hot breath on her uncovered nape. But I could not tell if she wanted me to explore her neck with either my fingers or my lips, so I elected to play safe.

‘Quite perfect,’ I praised, my breath hitching. ‘Extremely precise,’ I accurately concluded.

‘Thanks, Michaela,’ Jason simpered, clearly appreciating my admiration of his work.

I was surprised by the quietness of my girlfriend, and I felt a desperate need to fill the silence. ‘That white skin will demonstrate to people that an experienced barber has expertly raised Sam’s hairline,’ I judged, ‘or, should I say, that he has lowered Sam’s prominent ears.’

It was not that her ears were large or even out of proportion, but they stuck out notably from the side of her head now there was an absence of hair to disguise them.

Jason dutifully chuckled at my little quip. ‘Well, you may wish to disguise the whiteness with makeup, reducing the contrast with the darker skin of Sam’s neck,’ Jason suggested, ‘so she will look less barbered.’

‘Certainly not,’ I countered pompously. ‘We wish people to know she has been barbered, don’t we Sam?’

‘Yes, Michaela,’ she obediently whispered in agreement.

Samantha had been examining her reflection in the mirror before her. The barber had removed the cape and then held up a hand mirror so she could view her transformation from every angle. Sadly, from my perspective, the masculine haircut perfectly complemented her black suit, with the collar and tie. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought she was going to cry, especially when she observed the denuded back of her head. But then she risked a broad smile, aimed covertly in my direction, hidden from Jason’s view. She was still playing her game.

‘That’s so intense,’ Samantha said flatly, her tone hiding her true meaning from the barber. But I knew what she meant. ‘Thank you, Jason,’ she added politely in that same flat tone.

I opened my handbag and paid Jason for Samantha’s haircut, adding a large tip that he thanked me for profusely.

We left The Dapper Gent in silence, the snippets of Samantha’s hair swirling around our feet as we made our way to the door.

I gestured for Samantha to leave first in my usual chivalrous manner.

‘Ladies first, Michaela,’ she smirked, her eyes roving up and down my skirt suit.

I hesitated, unsure how to react. Then I nodded in appreciation and tottered outside, my heels clattering on the tiled floor.

Samantha had me thoroughly hooked … once again!

Encompassing Change

We walked back to Samantha’s flat in silence. While I was still apprehensive about my attire in public, she marched along in her smart suit, head held high. Unsurprisingly, as a couple, we attracted puzzled stares, but I acted oblivious. My furtive sideways glances at Samantha’s transformed hair, increased in frequency as we neared her flat. Furthermore, our pace quickened as we neared her door.

I could not explain why but, as we walked into Samantha’s flat, I began to tremble. Deep down, I was experiencing conflicting emotions. Having witnessed the barber destroying Samantha’s hair, I naturally expected that I would take a considerable time to accept it, let alone appreciate it like Samantha clearly did. However, the minute the door closed behind us, I found I could not keep my hands off her sheared head.

Samantha leaned into me, moaning with delight at my touch. The shaved skin felt so smooth and sensual. I delighted in running my hands through the prickliness of the bristles on her crown and, afterwards, marvelled at the short strands reasserting their erect stance. It was all so stimulating.

After nuzzling her nape for a considerable time, Samantha suddenly turned, looked at me hungrily, and grabbed my face, kissing me passionately. We helped each other out of smart clothes before we tumbled into her bed. I delicately touched the erect bristles on her crown with my palm. It felt like a jolt of electricity passed between us, and we both giggled, quivering with excitement. I caressed the bare skin along her neck and around her ears, marvelling at its glassy smoothness, and experienced a growing excitement that Samantha, flushed and greedy, clearly shared.

During a pause in our lovemaking as we relaxed with our heads back on the pillows, Samantha spoke quietly, bashfully. ‘Thank you so much for today … I did not think you would go through with it, I really did not … but you were brilliant …’

‘My pleasure,’ I replied and, to my great surprise, meaning it even though her drastic haircut made her look so different. ‘At least we both have short hair now, so there’s nothing more that can be done to change our appearance,’ I quipped.

She eased herself onto her elbow and stared into my eyes, her expression unreadable. The silence seemed longer than necessary. ‘We’ll see …’ she murmured, smiling enigmatically, before delicately running a fingernail along her bald nape. Her action grabbed my attention, and she began giggling as my fingers found her denuded head.

Although I felt confident that she was only joking about planning anything further, I felt uneasy. But briefly, the niggle kept surfacing that she may have been using the laughter to disguise her intentions. Eventually, I put aside such thoughts as afternoon moved into evening as we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Samantha was not the person who I had once longed to be with but, although I was confused, she had become the person who I needed to be with. Undoubtedly, she remained the object of my affection.

Although I felt we had achieved a balance of power in our complex relationship, Samantha still had me hooked … and trapped.

To be continued