I think I inadvertently gave away my fetish for having my hair cut short. But, the worst part is that I gave it away to my hairstylist.
This was about 6 months ago. I sat looking at short haircut pictures one evening and while drinking I sent a text to my hairstylist. I said, “Theresa, next time I am in I think I want to try something quite short. Don’t ask, just do it, or else I will chicken out. And if I do ask for a trim don’t listen to me.”
she texted back immediately, and said, “ok, no problem, will do.”
The thing is, my hair was already quite short. She had scissor cut it very short in the back, probably not much more than a half in long, which she probably could have done with clippers, but didn’t.
The next week I was actually due for a trim. However, I didn’t dare to make an appointment based on my most recent drunk text to Theresa! I was afraid she’d actually just take it upon herself to cut my hair super short, as I’d suggested in my drunken text. I decided to wait awhile. We would be talking to each other soon at the restaurant all of us girls went to about once a month. I would gauge how she reacted to me, and see if she said anything about me needing a haircut.
She did not say a thing about my hair at the dinner we all went to! There was no reaction at all from her about my hair. We did talk casually about things going on in our lives, and in the town, etc. But, no talk about my hair and it being longer than usual!
I was beginning to like my hair a bit longer as it grew over the next 3-4 weeks. I’d not let it get this long in quite some time. Although, it was not long, just long for me. Maybe two inches long or a bit longer in back, and down to the bottom of my ears on the sides. So, I held off on making an appointment with Theresa.
At the next month’s scheduled dinner with the girls I never thought much about seeing Theresa this time, or if she’d ask me about my hair, since I’d not been in for 8 weeks or so. And, it so happened that in my growing out stage I had a difficult time making my hair look good for the dinner that night. But, I did the best I could and went with it.
At the dinner Theresa and I made small talk again during the meal. I was relieved she didn’t say anything about my hair and. I thought what a disaster turned out to be that evening. We all left the restaurant and as I was parked right next to Theresa’s car, she said, “Jenn, you need a freaking haircut!” I just laughed and said, “yeah, I know, I need to get in to your salon and see you.” At that point we just said good night and left.
A couple more weeks went by and I was having more trouble getting my hair to look good before going to work. Some of my co-workers even commented that I had this piece of hair that stood straight up at the crown, and I should pat it down with water or hairspray. I’d cringe every time I went to the bathroom and saw it in the mirror. I was getting frustrated and beginning to think I needed to have a trim.
It had been about 11 weeks, maybe 12 since my last cut, the longest I’d gone in a couple of years. On my way home from work I saw Theresa’s car at the salon. It was the only one in the parking lot of her small shop. On a whim, with my heart beating hard, I pulled into the parking lot, almost out of an outside force telling me to do it. I was so nervous that she would be in and would cut my hair. I’d not felt this in a long time. I looked at her car, I noticed a small decal from a local tattoo shop that we had both gotten a tattoo together last year. I noticed her license plate numbers. I don’t know why I was so entranced in small details.
I decided I would go in and ask for a trim. Anything was better than this mess of a hairstyle I had now.
Theresa was sitting in one of the waiting chairs looking at her phone when I entered. We had been friends for years, but I felt as if she was an absolute stranger for some reason when I said, “do you have time to trim my hair?”
She just kept looking at her phone when she answered me and said, “sure.” I stood there for what seemed like a really long 60 seconds, it was probably about 20 or 30 before she stood up and put her phone on the counter in front of the cutting chair. She never made eye contact with me or said anything else!
I took my jacket off and sat down in the chair when she turned it toward me. She turned the chair so that I could see myself in the mirror and put a black and white stripped cape around me and tightened it to a position that I thought might keep me from breathing it was so tight! She still didn’t say anything. I wondered if she was upset with me because it had been so long since i’d been in for a trim. She said, “Jenn, you need a freaking haircut!” “I know,” I said, “I should have come in sooner.”
At that moment I realized, that although I’d been super focused on details, that I just noticed that she had her haircut recently. Not really short, but she had at least 5 inches cut off the back, and was cut at neck length in back. I said, “Oh my word Steph, I love your hair!” She thanked me and said that she’d had it done last week and was still getting used to how to style it. She said she “kinda liked getting it cut, but was still getting used to it, but wished she’d kept it a bit longer.”
I began to think about details again. She would be using a spray bottle to water my hair before the cut. This time she turned the chair around so that I was 180 degrees away from the mirror, and through the big picture window to the outside I could see traffic going by and the big flashing sign of the bank next door flashing the temperature then the time. 55 degrees, at 412 pm. Flashed over and over while I waited for her to spray my hair.
Only this time she was combing my hair on my left side over and over. No spray. Then, she lifted the comb with hair and I heard the clippers start. She quickly did a “zing” of clippers over comb on the left side of my head, and I could see the hair slide down my cape onto my lap. Other quick ‘zing’s of the clipper over comb on the left side of my head. I didn’t know what was happening. I realized, ‘oh no, this is an above the ear cut.”
I wondered why the shorter cut as my heart began to beat harder and my brain strained to figure out what was going on. Then she turned the chair. This time another 90 degrees. I was not facing the mirror, but the right side of my head was. Then, she put both hands on the top of my head and firmly pushed my head down. I then felt the clippers over comb cutting the hair at my nape. At this point, I knew I’d been had. I was getting a short haircut, and I remembered the last time I texted her to say “cut my hair short no matter what I say.”
She obviously remembered, even though it had been nearly 3 months ago!
I heard the clippers stop for a moment and felt her reaching toward the counter. She obviously put on a clipper guard and the clippers started and began to run up the back of my head. I just let it happen. At this point I knew i’d been had. Then, as she turned me toward the mirror to face it, I saw the clippers run up over the top of my right ear. Again, noticing the details, I saw that the clippers were maroon, with a green clipper guard. I saw her fingers wrapped around the clippers, and I saw her smiling as she ran the clippers up over my ear.
The details stopped there, for the most part. And she eventually took the cape off. We talked about the next dinner coming up soon at the restaurant, and of some small talk about things going on in town. I did not let on that I was both super aroused seeing myself in the mirror, and excited to go home and feel my hair, or even run my fingers through my hair when I got out to my car, nor did I let on that I really didn’t like the cut much.
I got home and ran my fingers over my head. I loved the short haircut feeling. It was clippered really short in the back. I loved that it happened. But especially, I loved that she did it without asking. She rememberd my text about wanting it short and not letting her let me chicken out. She knew I had a fetish. I felt like she really enjoyed ‘scalping” me, based on the smiles she had that I could see in the mirror. I felt like I wanted to ask her to let me cut her hair sometime. If she said yes, she would be in for the surprise of her life. Maybe she had a fetish too? Did she? If so, look for part 2 of “Stephanie shears me.”