Secret Santa

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First, a word of explanation: For those who have had the good fortune to have never encountered it, “Secret Santa” refers to an office tradition where staff buy a Christmas gift for a colleague whose name has been drawn from a hat. The recipient does not know who bought the gift that they receive.
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‘Can you go through that pile of stuff and see what you want to keep’ I called out as soon as I heard Ian come through the door.

‘Give me a chance, Dawn’ he replied, exasperation clear in his voice.

‘Sorry. I’ve been spring cleaning, it’s taken all day and I’ve had enough.’

‘I’ve been slaving over a hot secretary all day and I’ve had enough too’ he retorted.

‘Careful matey, otherwise you can turn right round and go straight back out.’

‘You don’t mean that’ he said, giving me his customary peck on the cheek before putting his laptop down.

‘Not there. That’s stuff for the bin’ I chided.

‘Wouldn’t it be better if you did this in your own time and had the house tidy for when I come home’ he said. I could see the smile start to form on his face and then disappear just as quickly when he realised that his balls were in danger.

‘Only joking’ he said, hands raised in surrender.

‘Not even funny. I should send you back for re-programming’ I replied. If only it were so simple. Find a man, get him programmed just the way you want. Live happy ever after. In my dreams.

‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?’ he asked, realising that a peace offering was needed.

He went into the kitchen, leaving me surrounded by the fruits of the day’s labour. Maybe I’d been a bit sharp with him, but after five years of marriage, I doubted that it would’ve even registered with him.

By the time that I made it to the kitchen, a mug of tea was waiting for me on the breakfast bar.

‘Thank you’ I said, looking at him. No matter how often I did it, I still enjoyed it.

Yes, we’d been married for five years, and I still get a thrill out of looking at him. He’s thirty-four and hasn’t aged a bit since that memorable day. We go to the gym together, which ensures that I stay trim for him (and for me) and whilst I tease him about getting old, I’m only a year younger than he is. So, that’s us. A pair of thirty-somethings, who each thinks that the other is the person of their dreams, with everything ahead of us.

We sat in silence for a while, recovering from our respective exertions.

‘I didn’t mean to be a nag’ I said. ‘I just want to get that stuff in the bin if you don’t want it.’

‘I know, I’ll have a look.’

‘There’s stuff there that you never use. There’s even a Christmas present that you didn’t bother to unwrap properly.’

‘I saw that. It’s my Secret Santa from last year. Who knows which fuckwit bought me that’ he said.

‘I didn’t look properly. It’s a male grooming kit or something.’

‘Something like that. Who in their right mind could think that I need extra grooming?’ he laughed.

‘I dunno. Anyway, if you don’t want it, chuck it out.’

Ian got up and went back into the hall where I’d created a budding landfill site with the stuff that came out from under the stairs. He came back in, with his half-unwrapped Christmas gift.

‘I bet it was that little fucker in Accounts. Not content with querying every single thing on my expenses form, he gives me these.’

‘Let’s have a look then’ I urged, holding out my hand. ‘I meant the box, not the wrapping paper’ I exclaimed, throwing the balled-up paper back at him. He handed me the box and I looked at the description on the back.

‘They’re hair clippers’ I said.

‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ he said sarcastically.

‘If you don’t watch your tone, I’ll be using them on you’ I warned, returning to my reading.

Ian returned to his tea.

‘They cut different lengths’ I observed.

‘My woman uses scissors’ he commented.

I looked at his glossy dark hair, looked at the way that it was immaculate, just touching his collar, neat around his ears. All part of the complete sales professional image that he tried to cultivate.

‘I’m sure your “woman” has a name’ I chided.

‘I just call her “love” when I need to’ he replied.

‘You’re such a caveman sometimes’ I said, putting the box on the breakfast bar.

I looked at him.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Just trying to picture you with shorter hair, that’s all’ I replied, tapping the top of the box.

‘You wouldn’t know how’ he challenged.

‘How hard can it be? Anyway, food for thought’ I said.

‘Talking about food, what’s for dinner?’

‘Anything you like as long as you go and fetch it’ I replied, with my best sarcastic smile.

‘So it’s like that?’

I shrugged. ‘Last chance to keep anything on that pile…’

‘It can all go, those too’ he replied.

‘They’re mine now’ I said, picking the box up and hugging it. ‘Ah, Precious’ I said in my best Gollum voice.

‘Have you any idea how shit that was?’ he said on his way out of the kitchen.

The next time I saw him, he was coming back into the house with dinner, having popped to the Chinese place in the village.

‘My hero’ I said, when I saw what he’d got.

We watched television for a while and then I went upstairs for a shower after my exertions, leaving Ian to clear up. I took my time, soaping myself slowly, enjoying the hot water coursing over me. All manner of ideas popped into my head while I was washing my hair, triggered by thoughts of Ian with shorter hair. He’d always had the same style since we met, all part of his image. I loved him for it, but finding that box had made me think that maybe I’d like him to do something else for a change.

My own hair had been various lengths and various different shades during our relationship. Never longer than my bra-strap or shorter than my collar, but it had had a more interesting existence that Ian’s. Its current incarnation was dark blonde, cut into a longish crop, which I know is sort of a contradiction in terms. My stylist recently suggested chopping the bob that I’d had for a couple of years and this is what I ended up with. I’m not 100% sure about it, and when I go back, I’ll ask her to have another think and see if she can do something different. It’s not that it’s shorter than I’m used to that bothers me, it’s just that the shape doesn’t seem quite right. It’ll do for the next three or four weeks though.

A soapy finger strayed and that’s when I knew that my evening wasn’t yet done. I was so tempted to linger in the shower, but I kept telling myself that (almost) instant gratification wouldn’t be anywhere near as satisfying as what could be. The caveat was that instant gratification was within my control, the alternative depended on external factors, such as Chinese food consumption, beer consumption and a sense of adventure that may be difficult to locate. I gave myself a quick rub where it mattered and returned to the mundane task of getting rinsed and dried off.

I walked naked into the bedroom, practicing my version of a seductive walk. Anyone seeing it would know that I was on the hunt. I opened my “special” drawer in the wardrobe, the one where I keep things for occasions when I want to treat either Ian or myself. It did contain my little battery-powered companion for those nights when Ian is away on business, but mostly it’s underwear of varying degrees of sluttiness. I set my selector to “stun”.

By the time I was going back downstairs, I was almost modest in a thigh-length robe. Underneath, it was a different story. I went into the kitchen for a couple of minutes and then joined Ian in the lounge.

‘You were a long time’ Ian said as I went through the door.

‘Was I? Did you miss me?’

He tore his attention away from the television news report of some political row and glanced at me. The glance lingered long enough for me to be aware of cogs turning and possibilities being processed.

‘What?’ I asked, perching on the arm of the sofa. I could see him looking at my stocking-clad legs, telling himself that I normally came out of the shower with bare legs.

‘I thought you were going to bed’ he said.

‘That depends.’

‘On?’

I stood up again and held out one end of the belt.

‘You unwrapped a present earlier on. Here’s a second one, to go with the first’ I said, tugging lightly at the belt to encourage him.

‘What do you mean? Those clipper things? They’re for the bin’ he said.

The front of my gown had parted slightly, giving him a glimpse of what was underneath. He looked up at me, eyes widening as I slipped out of the gown. I stood before him in stockings and a basque that only had quarter cups, which supported my boobs tantalisingly, but left them essentially uncovered. Not massive, but a nice handful, Ian once said. My nipples were impressively erect.

‘Looks like you forgot to put you knickers on’ he said. I could always rely on Ian to be inappropriate on any occasion.

‘Maybe you’ll get to enjoy the benefits, but first you have an appointment in Sonia’s salon’ I said.

He looked at me, trying to process what I’d just said. Poor lamb!

‘Sonia? Where did that come from?’

‘Yes sir, I am Sonia, if you’d like to come this way’ I said, gesturing with my hand. I too wondered why I’d suddenly invented “Sonia”. Was I trying to distance myself from what was going on?

He gave me a wry smile, not sure what to do, but then stood up and headed for the door.

‘Take a seat please’ I said, looking at my make-shift salon. It was a chair and a towel, so a fairly basic set-up in the hairdressing world. There was that look again.

‘Please, make yourself comfortable’ I said, trying not to sound like me. Ian sat down gamely and even held the two sides of the towel together so that it didn’t slip off his shoulders. I ran my hand across the top of his head before moving round to stand in front of him to let him contemplate what was on offer.

‘It’s high time you came to see me. It’s been a while, hasn’t it’ I said, feeling my way into my “hairdresser persona”.

I watched his eyes wander, trying to take in the sight of his wife dressed in something that he’d not seen before and wondering why. If he asked, I’d have told him that it was something that I’d bought for when we went away the next month, but I didn’t want to volunteer information that Sonia wouldn’t have been privy to.

‘Maybe I am due for a tidy-up’ he admitted.

That wasn’t so hard, was it, I thought. Speaking of which…

‘My salon is very informal, so feel free to loosen you clothes if it helps’ I suggested, all too aware of the tightening at the front of his jeans. He popped the button and drew down the zip with his free hand.

‘That’s better. Now then…’ I started to say, but finding myself doing a neat body swerve to avoid his wandering hand.

‘Naughty, naughty’ I chided.

‘As I was about to say, how short do you want it?’ I asked, picking up the clippers.

‘Look’ he said. ‘How about we adjourn upstairs?’

‘I’m flattered. Let me do my job and then maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement’ I said, moving slightly closer to him, but still outside the range of his wandering hands.

‘Seriously?’

‘You’ve come for a haircut, so that’s what we’ll do. After that, well, we can talk.’

‘But what are you going to do? You’re not actually going to use those things, are you?’

‘What else would I use? I can see that you’re a little nervous, so maybe I will let you touch me while I work after all. Sound good?’ I said, running my fingers through my trimmed bush to distract him from what I held in my other hand. I reached out and took his free hand, placing it on my lower belly at first and then guiding it lower.

‘Ooh, that’s nice!’ I said, exaggerating the effect of his disinterested hand. I moved his hand in a circle, trying to get him to pick up on the idea. Now that he realised that there was a danger of something happening to his precious hair, he wasn’t as enthusiastic as he had been when he thought that it was just a little fantasy thing.

‘I have other customers due in soon. We need to get started’ I said, holding the clippers up.

‘You don’t even know how to use them.’

‘Oh, yes I do. I’m an expert. Let me show you’ I said, checking the attachment that I’d put on. There was quite a selection in the box and I’d decided to use one of the bigger ones just to see what it did.

‘What number’s that?’ he asked.

I looked at the clippers, turning them over in search of a clue.

‘Number four’ I said confidently. ‘That’s long enough for any man’ I added.

‘No’ he said defiantly.

‘I’ll just do the sides so that you can see’ I said, starting to move behind him.

‘No Dawn, I don’t want to’ he protested.

I came back round to the front and looked at him.

‘I want to. Do this. For me. Please?’ I said, myself once more, rather than my alter ego.

He looked at me, recognising the puppy-dog expression that I deployed when I really wanted something.

‘Why? What’s brought this on?’ he asked.

‘It’s fun. I want to make myself a new man’ I said, reaching down to slip a hand inside his unfastened jeans. He wasn’t fully hard, but he was clearly thinking about it.

‘What about work?’

‘What about it? You’re allowed to cut your hair, surely? You’ve had it like that for ever. Why wouldn’t you want to do something different?’

‘People won’t recognise me.’

‘You’ll still be “you”. Just a bit different, that’s all.’

‘Men don’t change their hair like women do’ he protested.

‘Of course they do’ I countered.

He watched me go over to the breakfast bar.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Changing the attachment thingy’ I said, flicking through the plastic combs in the box. I picked up one that looked smaller, but didn’t pay too much attention to it. I only intended to tease him into agreeing to let me do it.

‘Why?’

‘Because I want to. Would you prefer me to use the first one or this other one?’ I asked, struggling to get the current off. It was obviously called an “attachment” because it liked to stay attached. I got there in the end and replaced it with the new one.

‘Was it longer?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘What does it say on it?’

I looked at the clippers as I’d done before. ‘It says that this is the one I’m using’ I told him.

‘Seriously Em, what is it?’

‘Em? Who’s that? I’m Sonia and I need to get you finished before my next customer comes in.’

He looked at me, exasperated. I slipped my hand back down his jeans.

‘If we’re quick, I’ll have time to give you our special offer’ I said, giving him a squeeze.

He looked at me. I could see that I’d won. I gave him another quick squeeze.

‘I think you’ll like it. I know I will’ I said, standing up.

I checked that the cord wasn’t tangled up on anything and positioned myself behind him. I tried to work out how best to do it. Getting the clippers out of the box was one thing, knowing what to do with them was quite another. I thought back to when I’d seen them used on television and in films. Start at the back. As good a place as any, I decided. I flicked the switch. Quieter than I expected. Did that mean that they weren’t very good? Were they going to be up to the job? For all I knew they were cheap ones off a market stall that wouldn’t actually cut anything.

I placed them with the teeth or whatever you call them just at the hairline on his nape. I took a deep breath and moved them upwards tentatively. The teeth seemed to slide under his hair, working, remarkably enough, just like a comb. A strip of hair was marshalled in the attachment and I watched it, thinking that nothing much was happening, except that I was combing hair that was so well-styled that it didn’t need to be combed. My suspicion that they were no good seemed correct. I moved the clippers up the back of his head, fascinated and disappointed in equal measure. We’d never done role play before and even though this one looked like being a damp squib, maybe it would open us both up to future possibilities.

I lifted the clippers away. I’d been wrong. They did work. There was a clump of dark hair in the comb-collector thing. Hair that once covered the stubbly-strip that now ran up the back of his head. He wasn’t going to be happy! I couldn’t put it back on, so I tilted the clippers and let the clump fall to the floor behind him.

‘Let me feel’ he said.

‘Not yet. Wait until I’ve done’ I said, catching his hand before it had made it up very far.

‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

‘Did you ask your last hairdresser that question?’ I countered, positioning the clippers alongside the first strip that I’d mown. I was going to have to put in a top-notch performance later on, to go even some way to make it up to him. The world’s longest blowjob was on the horizon! I moved the clippers up again, trying to increase my confidence. I looked at the dark stubble that I was creating, looked at the gathering clump of cherished hair, trying to work out whether I was doing the right thing. It was too late in any event. I carried on clearing the back of his head, while trying to think ahead about what to do with the rest. I went up and around his right ear, trying to manipulate the clippers as efficiently as possible. I paused and flicked the latest part of the harvest to the floor.

‘Still with me?’ I asked, moving around to stand in front of Ian.

‘I dread to think what you’re doing to me’ he said.

‘Think about what I’m going to do to you in a few minutes’ I said as seductively as I could. ‘Head up for me’ I said.

‘Why?’

‘Just checking’ I replied.

I looked at him, trying to picture what he’d look like without the dark mop. Trying to work out my next step. Keep it simple, I decided, taking a step closer to him.

‘You may want to hold on’ I urged, wiggling my hips. His free hand ran up my stockinged thigh until it reached the familiarity of my bare backside. I reached up with my clipper-hand and slid the magic comb underneath his fringe. I was thinking of it as a magic comb, because of the transformation that it was bringing about. My conventional salesman was morphing before my eyes. The comb slid across the top of his head, pushing a clump of hair with it. I’d been unfair to the clippers. They were quiet because they were good, not the opposite.

‘Fuck!’ Ian said.

‘In a minute’ I replied, trying not to be distracted. I was getting into a rhythm now, eager to finish what I’d started. The old, familiar Ian was well and truly gone now. I straddled him, deciding that it was the obvious thing to do while I worked. I felt his fingers enter into the spirit of things and then enter me gently.

‘At least somebody’s enjoying this’ he observed, sliding through my wetness.

‘That’s all down to you’ I replied.

‘Jeez. Maybe I should let you go all the way then’ he joked.

‘Maybe I will’ I replied swiftly.

I sat back a little to appreciate what I’d done. It was short, shorter than I’d intended to go, shorter than I’d dared go. Half an inch? I wasn’t sure. I’ve never been very good at estimating things. I placed a hand on the top of his head while I stripped the remaining long hair from the side of his head. I was trying to ignore the gentle finger-fucking that Ian was administering in a bid to take his mind off what I was doing. I went over his head again in different directions to make sure that I’ wouldn’t let my adopted fantasy-profession down. I found the switch on the side of the clippers and turned them off, easing back to look at my new man from a better distance. Ian’s fingers were still working.

‘If you keep doing that, I’m going to keep doing this’ I said breathily. The towel slid off his shoulders, as he’d decided that his other hand was more useful squeezing my arse-cheek than holding a towel round him. The fingers of his other hand were still plumbing my depths.

I kissed his forehead and then leant back to look at him. I moved back in and put my arms round him. His fingers were busy in me, my fingers were busy taking the plastic guard off the clippers. I told myself that they would cut shorter without the guard and that was a good thing. I surmised that the guards were there to provide styling options and variety, but if you didn’t use one, there would be a default length, a sort of factory setting, which would be acceptable to people. I decided to give that a go.

Clippers in one hand, guard in the other, I leant back from the embrace. Ian’s fingers were still gentle, but insistent. Almost polite. I flicked the switch.

‘Almost done’ I said. ‘Both of us’ I added, relishing the sounds and sensations that Ian was working up.

I put the clippers to his forehead, the forehead where his floppy hair used to be. I’d created bristles and now I was going to make shorter bristles. I slid the clippers quickly backwards with my new-found confidence. Curiosity and anticipation turned to something approaching horror when the blades left nothing in their wake. Shit! I’d just shaved a bald strip across the top of Ian’s head. His fingers didn’t miss a stroke, oblivious to the carnage that I’d just wreaked.

There was nothing that I could do. I could hardly leave it like it was and ask him to tell people that he was trying to create a new trend. I had to finish it. I had to shave my husband’s head for real! I ran the clippers again and widened the strip.

‘I’ll be finished in just a mo and then I’ll show you just how grateful I am’ I said, not even having to pretend to be excited. For some reason, my initial shock had become intense curiosity and excitement at seeing his hair fall away. I was shaving Ian’s head and it was turning me on. Or was that just down to being frigged while I did the deed? No, it was the act of shaving him that was turning me on. From wanting a different looking husband, I now wanted a bald husband. Where has that come from?

‘I’m so horny, I just want you to fuck me’ I whispered.

‘Stop messing with my hair and I’ll see what I can do’ he replied.

I wondered just how many milli-seconds it would take for his dick to wilt, once he realised what I’d done.

I did as much as I could from that position, but then had to get up to do the back properly. I stood in front of Ian and did a little hip thrust for him as a little teaser to take his mind away from any notion of reaching up to feel his head. Then it was round the other side to finish off. I’d actually done more than I’d thought from where I’d been on his lap, so in a matter of a few runs, I’d cleared his head. A dark shadow remained, but to all intents and purposes, I now had my bald husband. I was excited.

‘Finished?’ he asked, the sound of the clippers suddenly gone.

‘Don’t touch yet’ I urged, a distraction coming to mind. I went round and stood in front of him again.

‘Do you like me like this?’ I asked, hips off to one side, boobs stuck out.

He nodded.

I pointed to my dark bush. Well, more of a manicured strip than a bush. I liked having hair down there, although I did shave my pussy lips as a concession to Ian, who would happily ban pubic hair on women if he could. I sported a landing strip, which I did myself, shaving the sides and trimming it down with scissors. I’d got quite good at it.

‘How about I use the clippers on this?’ I said. ‘Would you like that?’

‘You know I’d rather have nothing there’ he replied cautiously.

I was torn between watching his expression and paying attention to using a cutting implement on my nether region. The blades touched the top edge of my handiwork and moved downwards purposefully. It only took a moment for Ian to make the connection between the rapidly revealed skin of my mound and what had just happened to his head.

‘You took the fucking guard off?’ he exclaimed.

I concentrated on what I was doing and let his fingers tell him the bad news.

‘Fuck! I can’t believe you did that.’

‘Neither can I. Honestly, I didn’t know they’d do that’ I said, pausing momentarily from devastating my pussy rug. ‘I like it though. Makes you look like a bad boy’ I added.

‘What am I going to say to my customers when a gangster appears at the door rather than the suave, sophisticated salesman that they’re used to.’

‘Tell them that they’re behind the times and everyone does business on the internet these days’ I said, trying to lighten his mood. It didn’t work.

He stood up and went to look in the hall mirror while I finished off my big reveal. I was sad to see my fur go, but it was a small concession when compared to what Ian had just lost.

‘Look at us, two bald cunts’ Ian said as he came back into the kitchen. He unbuttoned his shirt to shake it free of the little bits of hair that the clippers had sent flying about.

‘Don’t be so crude’ I chided.

‘Says you, standing in the kitchen with your tits and fanny out.’

‘Mmmm, the bad boy speaks. My hairy salesman never talked dirty like that’ I said, caressing his face and then his scalp. I ran a finger over my mound. Not perfectly smooth, but good enough. For now there were more pressing matters to attend to, starting with getting Ian free from his jeans. I tugged them down, crouching to kiss his belly and to give him a quick lick where it mattered. When I say a “quick lick”, that would’ve been ungrateful. I took him into my mouth, looking up at him as I closed my lips around his cock.

We weren’t in the habit of coupling around the house, even though there was no reason why we shouldn’t. We’d had a couple of quickies in the lounge before, but never anything in the kitchen. Things had changed.

I’d swallowed him whole. He wasn’t small by any means, but thankfully not one of those monsters that you stumble across on the internet occasionally, when you hadn’t really meant to be looking. He was a mouthful and I savoured him, as I’d promised myself, but didn’t want to waste him. I eased back slowly, giving him the opportunity to watch his cock being reborn. It also gave me the opportunity to relieve the pressure on my knees. I gripped him gently, looking deep into his eyes.

‘My bald cunt wants to be fucked by my other bald cunt’ I said slowly, patting him on the head, uttering a sentence that I couldn’t have imagined when I’d got out of bed today. Particularly as it contained a word that I’ve never knowingly used. Twice!

His palm covered my mound briefly, scouting out the changed landscape. He turned me round and before I knew it, I was braced against the breakfast bar with balls slapping against my backside. This wasn’t restrained or polite. The bad boy was well and truly out to play. I shuddered with each thrust, wanting it to last all night, but knowing that the storm would pass almost as soon as it started. It was just as well really, because Ian had severe reservations about the quality of workmanship in our house and I didn’t want to be hanging on to the breakfast bar when it came free from the wall.

I tried to get my breath back, still draped over the worktop. Ian had slid out and was standing next to me, a hand on my back. He knew that I didn’t like him pressing down on me once his work was done. I looked round at him.

‘Am I forgiven?’ I asked.

‘Not yet’ he smiled.

‘Good’ I replied.

We adjourned upstairs, out of sight of inquisitive readers.

I could see at breakfast that Ian was nervous about going to work. There was nothing that I could say that would make him feel better. He’d asked me to run the clippers over his head again this morning, just to make the finish as good as I could. I took that as a good sign. I shaved myself properly in the shower this morning, determined to play down the loss of my pubes. It was less of a faff to just shave the whole thing, rather than having to try to shave a straight edge, so I had to be grateful that my life had got just that little bit easier.

‘You’ll be fine’ I said as Ian headed out of the door.

I finished my coffee, trying to decide whether I could be bothered to do any work today or whether I’d be best to think on it and do it tomorrow. I sat back and thought about last night. Work could wait.

When I’d thought of using the clippers, I wasn’t really serious. Then I’d thought that it would be harmless fun to get Ian to try something different. Then “Sonia” came into the picture and it was freefall from there. I honestly hadn’t intended to shave his head. I’m so glad that I did though. Without realising it, we’d become predictable for each other and we’re too young for that. We need to surprise each other. We need to surprise ourselves. That Saturday night “screw by numbers” had to be a thing of the past. I spent a few minutes trying to think of other things that I could do to surprise my man.

I decided to go to the supermarket. That wouldn’t be a surprise, just something that I needed to do.

Once I’d tidied up, I got in the car and headed for town, not entirely sure which supermarket I’d go to. I hit traffic. I crawled along. Wrong choice, but committed, so I turned the radio up and decided to make the best of it. I looked out of the window, watching people straggle past. I looked at the shop fronts, wondering how many mobile phone shops the world needed. I turned the radio off. Something caught my eye. I saw a side road coming up and decided to turn into it when I could. Five minutes later, I’d travelled the few yards to turn off and parked the car. I walked back to the main road and the row of shops.

The shop that had caught my eye wasn’t one that I’d noticed before. I wasn’t sure whether it was new, it just hadn’t registered with me. I liked the name. I went in.

‘Hi, I don’t suppose you could fit me in for a cut, could you? I was just passing and saw you’ I said, conscious of not really making sense.

‘Good morning’ the receptionist replied.

I don’t know why, but I instantly liked the vibe of the place, liked the receptionist. Mature, well-groomed, well-preserved, probably fifty plus, but still attractive and sexy. Her silver hair was expertly cropped and immaculate. I hope that I’ll be like that when I reach her age.

‘What’s it for, may I ask?’

‘Anything you feel like’ I replied, surprising myself and her too, probably.

‘It’s like that, is it?’ she smiled.

‘Your professional eye has probably told you that I need to be rescued’ I replied.

‘We could take you for a cut now. A colour wouldn’t be until tomorrow, I’m afraid.’

‘A cut it is then’ I said cheerily.

‘Can I take your name please?’

‘Sonia’ I replied, without knowing why.

We completed the formalities and made it to the coffee-offering stage. I declined, just as a second, younger woman appeared. Younger than me. Predictably casual. My stylist by the looks of it. My good mood dropped a notch.

‘Would you like to follow me’ the older woman said. I didn’t react.

‘I thought…’ I began. She looked at me expectantly and then at the newcomer.

‘Oh, Katrina’s got a client due. She likes to be here to greet them. I’ll be doing your hair for you. Is that alright?’

‘Yes, perfect, thank you’ I said with some relief.

My mood went back to its “pre-younger girl” level.

I followed Frances, as I now knew her to be, into the salon, taking in my new surroundings as I walked. It was much nicer than my usual salon.

‘Has the salon been open long? I don’t remember seeing it before’ I asked, trying to steady my nerves.

‘It’s been nearly three months now. A friend and I joined forces when we saw this empty unit. It’s going well so far.’

‘That explains it. I don’t come to this side of town that often.’

‘Do you have a regular stylist?’ she asked when we reached her styling station.

‘Yes. Well, I did’ I said, taking a seat as indicated. ‘I’ve been going to her for years, but we decided to take it shorter the last time I was in and I’m not sure about what she did. Whatever I try with it, it just looks odd.’

Frances didn’t comment, which told me all that I needed to know.

‘What were you thinking of doing today’ she asked professionally.

I took a deep breath.

‘I’ve an idea, but I’d be interested to hear what you think.’

‘It depends on you. Your lifestyle, whether you want to stay with a short style or you’ve decided that short isn’t for you and want to grow it out.’

‘Lifestyle? No issues. I’m self-employed, so no corporate image to worry about. I go to the gym, swim occasionally. I like the easier maintenance of short hair, particularly if I’m at the pool. I don’t plan on growing it out.’

‘That covers most things. What about your husband? Some have very definite ideas about how their wife wears her hair.’

‘He’ll be fine, whatever I do’ I chuckled.

‘Good man’ she replied. ‘There’s nothing worse than an irate husband storming in to a salon when he doesn’t like his wife’s new “do”. So that just leaves it down to you. I can work with this, re-shape it a little, if you want to keep the length’ she said, tweaking the ends with her fingers.

‘I sense that you’re not a fan of that idea.’

‘The client is always right’ she said, her knowing smile reflected in the mirror in front of me.

‘How about we agree that what I have isn’t good.’

She nodded knowingly.

‘I can work with that’ she confirmed, that smile appearing again. I sensed that Frances could be a bit of a girl in the right circumstances. There seemed to be a fire still smouldering within her. Her fingers went to the ends of my hair again.

‘You said that you have style in mind? Shall we talk about that?’

‘It’s nothing definite, just shorter’ I replied.

‘Okay. How short were you thinking?’

I took another deep breath. ‘I was rather hoping that you’d be the one to make that decision.’

‘I see’ she said. ‘That way you can go to another salon and tell them what a horrible job I did’ she chuckled.

‘Absolutely not’ I said, not quite sure whether she was serious or not. ‘Whatever you do will be better than this.’

‘Thank you for your vote of confidence.’ There was that smile again.

‘Seriously. As short as you think’ I said, hoping to get into her good books again, if indeed I’d fallen out of them.

‘Be careful what you wish for’ she warned.

‘Honestly. Now I’m sitting here with you, I think shaving it off would be the kindest thing to do to it’ I said. Had I gone too far?

‘That’s not a request I get every day’ she replied, turning my chair ninety degrees. She came round to the side, so that she could look at me directly without the mirror.

‘Are you that unhappy with what she did?’

‘It would be a fresh start.’

‘I can give you a fresh start without going that far.’

‘Do you think I could get away with it?’

‘With what?’

‘Shaving my head’ I clarified. No room for doubt there.

‘Would you want to?’

‘I’m curious to see what I’d look like. Let’s say that if you did it, I’d be fine with it.’

‘You wouldn’t run out of here screaming about what I’d done to you?’

‘Honest. I’ll sign something if you want, but if you want to do it, be my guest.’

‘I think we should try something shorter first’ she suggested.

‘I’d feel bad for wasting your time if you spend ages on a style and then I tell you to cut it all off.’

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘Only one way to find out’ I replied with a shrug of my shoulders.

Frances turned my chair back to the mirror again and swirled a gown around me. It was slightly too tight at the neck, but it gave me little thrill when she fastened it, so I didn’t object. An image sprang to mind of Ian clutching a sad little towel around his neck yesterday, while I used the clippers on him. This was altogether more professional. In a way, I thought that it was sexier, with Frances’ tight tunic hinting at what it concealed, rather than my brazen “nothing left to the imagination” approach. I watched her trim haunches strain the tight fabric when she bent down to get something out of the little cupboard at the next work station. She certainly wasn’t wearing big pants! I’d struggle to say that she was wearing any at all, based on the usual tell-tale signs. Dirty cow!

When she stood up, she was holding a set of clippers. Not unlike the ones that I’d used, which again supported the notion that whoever had bought them for Ian hadn’t done so as a joke. They were meant to be used. Who else thought that he should have shorter hair? Was he joking about his hot secretary? He didn’t have one as far as I knew. Was it the office baldy who coveted Ian’s luxurious hair? He certainly wouldn’t be doing that any more.

Frances opened the drawer and flicked through the attachments that were in there, just as I’d done when I’d rummaged in the clipper box. I was intrigued to see what she’d choose, to see how daring she was.

My thoughts went to the tightness of the gown at my neck, how the gown enclosed me, held me captive. I’d never had someone use furry handcuffs on me, but right then, I began to see the attraction of being restrained while someone made choices for me. Before those thoughts could develop, the clippers were on.

‘Head down for me’ Frances said.

Where had the hairdresser chat gone? She was straight down to business. I fixed my gaze on the shiny crimson material of the gown at my lap and tried to still my beating heart.

I felt what Ian felt. Maybe her touch was more practiced than mine, but I still felt the caress of plastic moving up the back of my head, felt it lose contact and then come again and again, its appetite not sated. It stopped.

‘Have a feel of that, see what you think’ Frances said.

I reached up, feeling a pelt of longish bristles where I’d only ever felt proper hair before.

‘How exciting’ I said, which probably wasn’t the sort of comment that she expected. I doubt that she’d interpret it as reference to the sort of excitement that I was feeling where it mattered.

‘Do you want me to do that all over?’

‘You could go shorter though?’

‘If you want me to.’

‘I’ll leave it up to you’ I said.

‘You say you’ll leave it up to me, but you don’t seem happy with my choice.’

‘I’m sorry Frances. I should’ve thought this through before I came in. I was stuck in traffic and came in on a whim. You’ve got caught up in my decision making process and that’s never a good place to be!’ I chuckled.

‘It’s not too late. I can blend this in and it’ll still look great. It’s no problem really. It’s just good that you caught me before I went too far down that road.’

‘I would’ve been wasting your time, because I want you to go shorter.’

‘Oh! That’s not what I expected at all. I was thinking you’d had second thoughts, instant regret, that sort of thing.’

‘The only regret will be if I walk out of here without doing what I want to do.’

‘And you’re going to tell me what that is, so that we’re both on the same page, I hope.’

‘I want you to go all the way. Make me bald. Is that definite enough?’

‘Very. I won’t bother asking if you’re sure?’ she laughed.

‘I’d feel that I’ve cheated myself if I go home bristly.’

‘Head down for me’ she said, the discussion clearly at an end.

The sensation was slightly different this time. There was a warmth to it. The back of my head was being stroked and I could picture what was happening, memories of peeling the hair off Ian’s scalp and revealing his scalp, however unintentional. It was my turn now. I mused about Ian doing this for me, but decided that Frances was exactly who should be doing it. There’d have been no mystery with Ian, whereas Frances was igniting things that I didn’t know existed. Who knew that I’d find a fifty-something woman attractive? Who knew that I’d find any woman attractive in that way? Who knew that I’m submissive in certain situations and like the idea of being tied up while things are done to me? How much of this could I let slip over the dinner table?

A gentle touch from Frances re-positioned my head so that I could see myself in the mirror rather than just stare at my lap. I still looked like me. Still had the same haircut that I’d walked in with, the one that became more awful, the more I looked at it. How could I have walked around like that for the past month? The clippers were at the side of my head and now I saw what they were doing. A nondescript blonde clump tumbled into oblivion, where it belonged, leaving an expanse of scalp. This was very real now.

I looked a little strange with a new hairline on the right-hand side of my head, like a tide-mark half-way up the side. Frances soon put paid to that; another sweep of the clippers stripping the remaining hair from that side. I was interested to see the path that she took, to compare it with the one that I’d adopted with Ian. She was quick, she was sure of her movements. The first strip of hair sloping on to my crown was eased away, the next strip certain to confirm that there was no possibility of rescuing the situation, even with some sort of extreme style. I was past the point of no return and felt a sense of calm come over me. Whatever I looked like without hair, it was the right thing to do. Ian was an accidental baldie, but I was pulling in to the same station very deliberately.

Yesterday morning Ian and I had hair. I had a respectable, well-tended growth of pubes. My malicious streak kicked in. Something else to add a new dimension to our lives. I’d probably give it a few days to let Ian get used to losing his hair before I turned my attention and clippers lower down. Something for the weekend perhaps.

Frances had been ruthless, stripping away path after path of hair that had been disappointed by my regular stylist, now my ex-stylist. Frances was most certainly the new incumbent, if she wanted the role. I watched the final clearance of the hair on the left-hand side of my head and was finally able to see myself without hair for the first time. Frances wasn’t quite finished, but there was nothing left to argue about. I was bald. Me. Bald. I wondered what Ian would say, although it was too late to bring him into the equation. It was done. We both had to live with it, or without it to be more accurate.

The clippers went quiet. Frances ran her hand over my scalp. I chose to interpret it as a caress, but it was probably no more than a professional assessment of her work.

‘Happy?’ she asked.

‘Very’ I replied, staring at my reflection. How weird! I was pleased to be rid of the haircut that I’d come to loath, but it was so strange to see myself like this. Had I needed to be so drastic? Frances looked perfectly capable of creating a style for me that I’m sure would’ve suited me and looked great. Asking her just to run the clippers over my head was demeaning her talent and experience. I turned my attention to her again as she bent down to put the clippers back in the cupboard.

My stomach did a little flip when she stood up. Not because I was admiring her curves, I was, but because she was holding a can of shaving cream and a razor.

‘Something for special occasions’ she said.

‘I hadn’t expected that’ I said.

‘We’re leaving it up to me, remember?’ she said, with a smile that I wanted to kiss. There I go again! I’d never kissed another woman in that way and here I was, wanting to put my tongue down her throat! Ian had clearly made me watch too many of his little films!

‘That’ll take everything off?’

‘That’s the idea’ she replied.

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

‘That’s what you want, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose so, yes’ I conceded, acknowledging my new-found desire.

‘Don’t worry, if you don’t re-shave it, you’ll be seeing hair in a few days. This’ll just show you what you could have, if you want.’

She squirted foam into her hand and then the foreplay started. At least that’s what it felt like. Fingertips sliding across my scalp, making it tingle, making me tingle somewhere else. I watched the look of concentration on her face as she spread it over my head, returning to areas that she’d already covered, completely unnecessarily in my opinion. I wasn’t going to argue. I was going to come though, if she kept it up for too much longer. This probably wasn’t the time or the place, but with everything that had happened to turn my world upside down, it was going to happen as soon as I was somewhere suitable.

Thankfully she picked up the razor and started to trail it over my scalp. I’d have to remember that sentence. What were the chances of me ever uttering those words during my lifetime? The razor caressed me, the occasional finger stroked me, checking up on the razor. I was mesmerised by the movement, not caring for a moment that it was taking the last hope for hair for the foreseeable future. I had stopped at the clipper stage with Ian, not even thinking to do this for him. Think what fun we could have doing this! I resolved to pick up supplies when I made it to the supermarket. There was a thought. I’d have to go into the supermarket with no hair. I’d have to go everywhere with no hair, at least for a while. It was becoming very real. Frances stroked away.

Just when I thought that she was finished, she picked up the can again.

‘I want you to have the best possible finish’ she said, noticing my curiosity in the mirror.

‘Thank you, I think’ I replied. A second shave meant a repeat of the shaving foam foreplay. I wasn’t sure if I was up for that. Well, I was, but not in public.

I watched her watching me in the mirror as she picked up the can. She squirted some into the palm of her hand again and put the can down. She patted her hands together gently and then patted both onto my scalp at the same time. Then the performance started. More slowly than before, more deliberately. It was wonderful. I was torn between closing my eyes to enjoy it or keeping them open to watch Frances while she played.

‘I’m starting to think about someone doing this for me’ she said out of the blue.

‘Really. But you’ve got gorgeous hair’ I said.

‘Having someone do this to me would make it worth the sacrifice’ she said.

‘It is pretty nice’ I agreed.

I closed my eyes, interlacing my fingers to keep them from mischief. The light stroking of the razor was like a metronome, the pace and length of stroke unwavering. It would’ve been so easy just to drift off to sleep, but thankfully I didn’t need to be prodded awake. I opened my eyes when I felt the towel making contact. Frances was gently wiping away any residue, obscuring the result of her work for a few moments.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll rinse it off for you before I let you go’ she promised.

What was she waiting for?

‘Have a good look and tell me what you think’ she said.

I did as she urged, assessing the slopes and curves of my head, often felt, but never previously seen. I nodded my appreciation.

‘Glad you did it?’ she asked.

‘I’m glad that you did it’ I said. I couldn’t have wished for a more understanding, more considerate person to have done the deed.

‘Just before we go over to the basin, I’d recommend that we thin your eyebrows. They’re a bit bushy, now that they’re not balanced by anything else.’

I’d been so preoccupied by not having any hair on my head that I hadn’t actually noticed my eyebrows. They looked weird now, defiantly sitting there, so close to the wasteland of what had so recently been their fellow hairy expanse.

‘I’ve never really done anything with my eyebrows, apart from plucking the occasional stray’ I replied.

‘You haven’t lived! she said enthusiastically.

‘Is that something that you can do here?’

‘I can, if you want me to.’

‘I think you’re still covered by the previous blessing, to do what you think needs to be done’ I replied.

With that, Frances introduced me to another friend of hers, a rather menacing-looking cut-throat razor, which previously I’d only ever seen in films. In the hands of the bad-guy, at that.

In Frances’ hand, the razor was more like a caress of steel. She was in no rush and made barely perceptible flicks of the blade. I’d always been wary of having anyone do my brows; I think I must’ve had a bad experience at school at some point and the memory of discomfort and pain lurked just under the surface. This was painless however. I was intrigued to see what she was doing. She worked in silence, concentrating on the task before her, I was pleased to say.

Eventually she stood back and invited me to see what she’d done. It was immediately obvious that I couldn’t be accused of having “bushy” eyebrows anymore.

‘Wow! I never thought they’d look so different’ I exclaimed as I stared at the dramatic, thinned arches that had replaced what I’d walked in with. I wasn’t sure how she’d managed to fashion such curves out of unremarkable eyebrows, but she’d indeed managed it.

‘Is that really me?’ I asked.

‘It’s what was being hidden underneath. All I’ve done is bring out what was there all along.’

I took another long look at myself before Frances led me to the basin. In no time, I was back in the chair, resuming that lingering examination of myself with a bald head and eyebrows fit for a model.

‘Thank you so much, Frances’ I said, getting out of the chair for the last time.

‘I hope you like it and I hope I see you again.’

‘You most definitely will’ I replied.

I left the salon, having lost my hair, but gained a new stylist and potentially a friend into the bargain. I walked back to my car, self-conscious, excited, pondering whether to go straight home or to complete the objective of my trip which was the weekly grocery shopping.

The stroll around the supermarket was interesting, more for the looks that I thought I was getting, rather then the actual looks that I got. I was on heightened alert, but everyone else was probably in their own little world and not interested in me in the slightest.

I went home, got into the shower and experienced for the first time what it really means to have no hair. At one point, I reached up automatically to wash my hair, which resulted in the wonderful surprise of feeling completely smooth skin. The shock of being bald had been short-lived once I’d left the salon and found myself amongst the people in the supermarket. It would take some getting used to, but I already knew that it wasn’t the disaster that I’d had concerns about. I looked different, I’d simplified my life, it wasn’t the end of the world as I knew it. All I had to do now was face Ian for the first time.

I took a leaf out of Frances’s book and did a second shave of my mound to make sure it was as smooth as possible, even though I’d done it before I’d gone out. I took care to get every last stray to make sure that it was as perfect as I could get it, knowing that it would be called upon before too long. Rinsed off, it was time to get out and face rest of the day. I stood in front of the mirror, glowing from the last few minutes. My reflection was one that I couldn’t have imagined a couple of days ago. Bald, eyebrows that looked like they belonged to someone else, hairless mound with pouting pussy-lips. I’d become some sort of sexed-up version of myself. I only hoped that Ian agreed when he saw me.

I wracked my brain during the rest of the day, trying to work out how to do the “reveal”. It wasn’t until just before he was due back that I hit on the idea of pretending that I’d just got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my head, turban-style. I put on a simple button-through dress, but no underwear. Given that it would be hours before Ian got home, it was as much for my benefit as his. I wanted everything to be a thrill.

At long last, I heard the front door open and the customary sigh as he realised that he was out of the corporate jungle and back in a place of safety.

‘How did you get on?’ I called out from the kitchen.

‘You’ve got no idea’ he replied, coming in from the hall.

‘Did anyone notice?’

‘Of course they fucking noticed’ he snapped.

‘Surely someone said something nice?’

‘Not really’ he replied.

‘Poor dear. They’re probably just jealous that they’re not as handsome as you.’

‘I’m sure they’ll see it that way when the’ve finished laughing.’

‘That bad?’ I asked, giving him a welcome peck on the cheek. I was so eager to get serious and here I was with a chaste peck on his cheek, dragging things out.

‘Several beers bad’ he replied, heading for the fridge. ‘Anyway, odd time for a shower, isn’t it?’

‘I’ve been busy, only just got round to it.’

He didn’t seem to have noticed my eyebrows, or if he had, he hadn’t commented. I leant in to kiss him again, stroking his scalp as I did so. It felt so rough in comparison with my own expertly-shaved scalp.

‘I bought some shaving stuff when I was in the supermarket, so that we can do this properly’ I said, giving his scalp another exaggerated rub.

‘I wasn’t thinking of keeping it like this’ he said, easing away from me to get his can of beer.

‘Oh?’ I said.

‘The sooner it grows back, the better, as far as I’m concerned.’

‘And what happens if I like you bald?’

‘You don’t though, do you? We just got a bit carried away in the heat of the moment.’

‘Maybe. But I like it.’

That gave him pause for thought.

‘Really?’

‘There’s something about it that turns me on’ I said, deploying my “come hither” look.

‘Well, we’ll see’ he replied dismissively.

I went to the fridge and poured myself a glass from the winebox, taking a lengthy pull.

‘You haven’t asked what I did today’ I reminded him.

‘What did you do today?’ he asked without too much interest.

‘Got my eyebrows done’ I said, raising them several times to emphasise the change.

‘Very nice’ he said in a tone that indicated a complete lack of interest or understanding as to why anyone would do that.

‘Don’t you think I look sexier?’

‘Absolutely’ he replied, knowing that any other response would only result in a world of pain. ‘I’m just going up to get changed’ he added.

‘How about we shave you properly first and then you can jump in the shower.’

His reply came in the form of a pained expression.

‘Is this you talking or the dreaded Sonia again?’ he asked.

‘This is all me, so come on, get your shirt off’ I replied.

‘I’ve only just got in through the door’ he objected.

‘How about if I show you just how much nicer it feels when it’s done properly?’

‘You can’t exactly go back, if I decide I’d rather keep it as it is, can you?’

‘Maybe I don’t need to’ I replied with an air of mystery.

He looked at me quizically. I loved it when I confounded him. I smiled at him.

‘It wasn’t just my eyebrows that I got done’ I said.

I watched his attention move up to my towel-covered head.

‘So that’s why you washed your hair’ he said.

‘Something like that’ I replied.

‘Don’t I get to see?’

‘Would you like to?’

Another question that needed him to tread carefully.

‘Of course’ he replied.

‘Right answer. I’ll even let you do the ceremonial unveiling.’ I smiled.

I wondered what he’d say. I was more nervous about showing him, than I’d been while Frances chopped it off. I took a step closer to him, watching him intently as he reached to unfasten the towel.

The expression on his face will be with me for a long time. He didn’t know what to say.

‘Dawn, what have you done?’ he uttered eventually.

‘I felt bad about what I did to you. It started off as sort of a solidarity thing, but now I’ve done it, I actually really like it. Feel yours and feel mine’ I urged, only too aware of his uncertainty.

He touched his fingertips to my scalp. I took his other hand and gave it a little push to urge him to feel his own head.

‘See how much nicer mine feels than your rough man-head’ I said.

‘But your hair?’

‘That cut was just bad. I went to a new place and I could see the stylist struggling not to laugh at it. I hadn’t really realised just how it wasn’t right for me.’

‘But isn’t this a bit extreme?’ he asked. I noticed that he was still stroking my scalp, but had let his hand drop from his own head.

‘Maybe. But I really like it, so you’d better get used to it matey-boy’ I said.

‘It’s a shock, but it feels nice’ he replied.

I smiled at him.

‘I suspect that you’ll say that this is “nice” too’ I said, fixing his gaze while I undid the buttons on the front of my dress. I slid it off my shoulders and allowed him to look at his new wife in her almost hairless glory. His fingertips touched my glassy-smooth mound.

‘I did that properly too’ I smiled.

I closed my eyes while his fingers distracted me. Then I took a step back from him.

‘How about we agree that I won’t shave your head now. But…but, you give it some thought and if you want, we’ll do it. If not, we won’t. There’s two conditions though…’

‘Which are?’

‘Number one: I stay bald as long as I like.’

He made the tiniest shrug of his shoulders. It was enough.

‘And what’s the second?’ he asked.

I sat on the edge of one of the breakfast chairs and leaned back.

‘The second: I get your bristly head between my legs until I’m done’ I said.

I beckoned him towards me with my index finger. He started to unbutton his shirt.

It looked like I was going to get what I wanted.

 

 

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