Summer Break

Summer Break

 

By Shorngirl

 

         It was a bit of an awkward situation. During my junior year at college, my parents split up, my mother choosing to move quite some distance away from my hometown. I’m sure it was more out of wanting to distance herself from the battle that had ensued since I was a teenager.

         Although I loved my father, we had never been all that close. He was a strict sort who always took the disciplinary role in their marriage. Hence, I went in fear of pissing him off or getting on his bad side. I was an only child, so the brunt of his anger was often misdirected toward me.

         So, when it came time for summer break, it was home to a new place, a new town, and a few surprises. It seemed that my mother was not one for being the fastidious divorcee, as it were. She had spoken to me about her new ‘romantic’ interest, and I began to wonder if things had been brewing since before she and my father had parted company.

         I watched as the Uber pulled away, leaving me on the curb with my footlocker and shoulder bag, staring at the neat little townhouse that was apparently my new home. I had grown up in a large country-style house with a wraparound porch and a large well-treed yard. This was going to be different.

         Dragging my case behind me, I made my way to the front door and rang the bell. In the old days, I would have just walked right in, but I wasn’t quite sure how things stood. Heavy footsteps cross the floor inside, not like my mother’s ginger way of moving. When the door opened, I was right about that, at least.

         He was a tall man, with gaunt features that seemed almost carved out of wood. If I were younger, I might have been frightened by him, but as it was, I was too tired to worry about it.

         “You must be Samantha. My name is Roger, and I’m staying with your mother. She’ll be right out.” He grabbed my footlocker and lifted it as if it weighed nothing, setting it to the side of the small entryway. As promised, my mother appeared around the corner, at least I thought it was her.

         Gone were the long brunette locks she had always been so proud of; in their stead was what could only be described as a crewcut. “Hey, sweetie.” She pulled me in for a hug, the stubble on the side of her head brushing my cheek.

         “Mom.” I managed as she pulled back. “You cut your hair?” I asked.

         “Oh, yes, some time ago. It was your father who insisted I keep it long, so when… well, it’s so much easier this way.” She moved to stand next to Roger, who slid his arm behind her back. “Quite a bit has changed, Sam.”

         “Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay? Dad said…”

         “It’ll be fine, dear. No need to bother your father.” Her tone shifted, and I could see there was some serious animosity brewing beneath her calm expression.

         Roger stepped forward. “I’ll take your things up to your room.” He said, grabbing my trunk and running it up the stairs.

         “I brought all your old things and put them in the back bedroom. I know how you hate the sun beating in on you in the morning.” My mother sighed.

         I followed Roger up the stairs, finding him emerging from the short hallway. My ‘new’ room was quite a bit smaller than my old one, but then, this was a townhouse. Still, it was good to see my old things arranged in a similar fashion as they had been. My mother had even gone to the trouble of hanging some of my old posters.

         My mother stepped in behind me as I began unloading my clothes into the relatively empty drawers. “We thought we’d go out to eat, if you’re up for it, Sam.” She suggested. I was still having trouble seeing my mother, whom I always thought of as beautiful, opting for such a brutal haircut.

         “I’m still getting used to… this,” I said, mockingly rubbing my hand over the top of my head, mussing my part.

         “It was a shock at first, but I really don’t miss my hair anymore.” She mused, following my motion with an actual rub. “The barber thought it would suit me, so I… went for it, I guess you’d say.”

         “So, you actually had it cut in a barbershop?” I asked, knowing she’d never set foot in one while I was growing up. “That must have been different.”

         “To be honest with you, Roger cut for me.” She admitted.

         “Roger? I thought you went to a…”

         “Roger is a barber, Sam. That’s what he does.” My mother offered freely. “If you ever get sick of those blonde curls, I’m sure he’d be happy to cut it for you.”

         I’d had waist-length hair since high school, and I’d never even considered anything more than a trim. “That’s okay, Mom. I think I’ll keep things as they are.” I was a little weirded out that she would even suggest letting her lover cut my hair for me.

         “Suit yourself. It’s a long, hot summer.” She smirked. “Anyway, we’ll be leaving in about twenty minutes. It’s not fancy, so your jeans will be fine.”

         Before their split, my parents had been talking about buying me a car. I supposed that was out of the question now. I imagined I’d be hoofing it, or riding my bike if it even made it over here. It seemed like a very small town, much smaller than where I grew up. I was a good fifty miles from there, so I couldn’t even catch up with my old friends. That made me sad.

         As we sat around the table in the country-kitchen restaurant, the subject did come up, and it wasn’t my doing. “I know we’d been talking about getting you a car, Samantha, before the divorce. I’m not one for going back on my promises. Your Dad did give me some money for that, but it’s not coming without a few strings attached.” My mother warned.

         I was just overjoyed that it wasn’t entirely off the table. “That’s great, Mom. Thanks.” I hesitated. “What kind of strings are we talking about?”

         “Roger needs some help in his shop, and you’d work there a few days a week.” She looked over at Roger.

         “Yeah, it’s not like you’ll be cutting hair or anything, just doing things like manicures, sweeping up, maybe the occasional shoeshine,” Roger explained.

         So, I was going to be his ‘shoeshine’ girl? I asked myself. It seemed a bit of a stoop, but if I was getting a car out of the deal, I had better get over myself. “That sounds fine.” I answered, reticently.

         “Good. Then you can start tomorrow. I’ll show you the ropes, and off you go.” He mused. “Maybe I’ll even talk you into having your hair cut like your mother’s.”

         “Um… No thanks.” I muttered, running my fingers through my pride and joy.

         “Just kidding.” He chuckled.

         A week later, I was well into my new ‘job’ at Roger’s barbershop, but the good news was, I had wheels. We had gone out and purchased a rather beat-up Nissan Sentra, but since it was better than walking, I never complained about it. I doubted it would reliably make it back to college, but it got me around town and even over to visit a few old friends in Haile, my old stomping grounds.

         Roger was nice enough, and even though I was scraping minimum wage, it was money I didn’t have. I was mostly sweeping hair and doing manicures, but the occasional guy would come in and ask for a shoeshine. I wasn’t sure whether they got off on a young college girl being at their feet, or if they actually wanted the service. Either way, I get to keep any tips.

         It was around this time that a young guy came strolling in, greeting Roger and taking a seat in the row of five chairs that lined the one wall of the shop. I was busy with a broom in my hands, of course, and blushed a little as he gave me the up and down.

         “Who’s your new helper, Rog?” The guy asked, smiling in my direction.

         “This is Samantha, Peter, my girlfriend’s daughter,” Roger announced.

         “Sam,” I insisted. “Nobody calls me Samantha.”

         “Hey, Sam. It’s Pete, by the way.” He chuckled. Apparently, Roger liked calling everybody by their formal names. He even referred to my mother as Lillian, even though everyone always called her Lilly. Strange quirk, but not an annoying one, at least.

         Roger finished up with the older guy in the chair and Pete took his place on the throne, as I liked to call it. It must have been older than me, with an oversized chrome frame and burgundy leather upholstery. I’d sat in it once, even though I felt uneasy with Roger around. “I wouldn’t sit there too long, Samantha.” He’d mused, opening and closing his scissors menacingly. I jumped out almost immediately, to his amusement.

         “In for your summer cut, Peter?” Roger asked, raising an eyebrow. Pete looked over at me almost self-consciously, and then back at Roger. He did have a nice head of hair, that had obviously grown to long for Roger’s liking.

         “Maybe just a trim?” He asked, as if he had to.

         “It’s almost June. Why don’t we give you your usual flat top.” Roger seemed to insist.

         “It’s his hair, Roger.” I offered. In return, I got the ugliest glance, as though I was interfering in something I shouldn’t.

         “Go ahead then.” Pete relented with a sigh. I almost felt like saying something else, but didn’t dare.

         I watched from the corner of the room as Roger grabbed his clippers and started peeling the hair from the back and sides of Pete’s head, baring his pale scalp underneath.

         Just then, the strangest thing happened, and I had no explanation. I began feeling incredibly aroused. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Pete as Roger flayed his winter mane into a military style that I’d only ever seen on a boot marine. I had the craziest urge to run over and see how it might feel under my fingertips.

         When Roger finished up, Pete seemed incredibly embarrassed, avoiding my curious attention as he fled the shop. I watched as he climbed into his car, and tore out of the parking lot.

         “You, young lady, need to keep your nose out of places it doesn’t belong.” Roger almost scolded, as I began to sweep up the copious ring of curls piled beneath the chair.

         “You forced him to get that cut.” I accused.

         “He needed that cut. He only had second thoughts because he wanted to impress you.” Roger insisted. “Now he’s skinned tight, so it’s no longer an issue.”

         The thing was, just the opposite was true. Although I thought Pete’s curly hair was attractive, I found his next to bald head even more so. “Sorry.” I managed. “It won’t happen again.”

         “See that it doesn’t.” It was close to five, so he started to close up the shop. “You can head out, if you want.” And I did just that.

         Later that week, I had the day off and was heading into the small town to pick up some makeup. As I pulled up in front of the only pharmacy in town, I happened to notice Pete’s car parked in the parking lot. I’d remembered the bright red colour and the distinctive wheels on the sports car.

         As I wandered around, I kept looking for him, but it wasn’t until I glanced back behind the druggist’s counter that I saw him. He was wearing the classic white lab coat, examining a bottle he was filling. His hair hadn’t grown in at all, and that same feeling spread over me like a wave.

         “Hi, Pete.” I said, as I looked over the shoulder-high counter.

         “Oh, Hi. Sam, right?” He self-consciously took a swipe at his scalp, and I wished it were my hand instead of his own.

         “Sam, yes,” I answered. “You took off so quickly the other day, I…”

         “Oh, sorry.” He muttered, looking back at what he was doing.

         “You don’t have to feel that way. I think it looks hot like that.” I couldn’t believe those words had just fallen out of my mouth. I had to physically shut it from the embarrassment that left it gaping.

         Pete forgot what he was doing and stared at me like I had lobsters crawling out of my ears. Then, a small smile curled the corner of his mouth. “Is that right?”

         I nodded, my voice suddenly deserting me. Pete walked over so only the counter separated us. “How about I take you to the movies tonight, Sam?”

         His proposition caught me a little off guard, but I wasn’t about to say no. “That would be nice.” I smiled. “I live at…”

         “It’s a small town. I know where you live.” He mused. “Seven?”

         Again, I nodded, returning his smile with my own as I made my way out of the shop, totally forgetting to pay for the handful of cosmetics I was holding.

         “You look nice.” My mother commented as I cleared the dishes from the table. “Got a date?” She asked, jokingly.

         I debated whether to answer, but seeing as Pete was picking me up, I didn’t really have a choice. “Actually, I do.”

         “Is it someone from Haile?” She asked, presuming I hadn’t had time to meet anyone local.

         “No, someone local. He was a customer in the shop.” I answered her, before she asked.

         “Not that Peter Knowles.” Roger cut in, laughing under his breath.

         “As a matter of fact, it is Pete.” I rebutted, giving him a look and questioning why it was even his business to question who I was dating. He raised an eyebrow and let it be. I’d have to talk to my mother about boundaries later.

         “I thought I took care of that issue back at the shop.” Roger presumed.

         “If that was your intention, to stifle any attraction I might have had, then I’m sorry to disappoint.” I sniped. “It had quite the opposite effect.”

         Roger huffed, as if he knew something I didn’t. He went back to reading the evening paper, while my mother looked on curiously.

         “What was that all about?” She asked.

         “It’s nothing, Mother. Just a little disagreement I had with Roger the other day.” I explained. I heard the unmistakable sound of a car pulling up out front, so I waved and slipped through the door without another sound.

         The movie was just that, a movie, which had nothing to do with why I’d accepted his invitation. I’d never been one for necking in a theatre, and I wasn’t about to start then. Much to Pete’s chagrin, I was unable to keep my right hand from caressing his head, where the clippers had shorn him nearly to the skin. The sensation was even more arousing than watching it happen.

         I was beginning to understand why my mother was content with her new hairstyle, and for a brief second imagined how it might feel if I were to submit to the clippers. It was a fleeting thought, but the rush of juice that penetrated my sex in that moment was eye-opening. I did my best to put it out of my head, but it seemed to linger there, relentlessly.

         Things seemed to progress with Pete, much to Roger’s chagrin, and we started dating regularly. He was a nice guy, and although I might not have been seeking anything long-term, especially since I was heading back to school, he was fun to be around.

         I’d held off on the sex thing for a while, but finally gave in to his patient persistence. I hadn’t been with a guy since before college, so it was a fun and almost eye-opening experience.

         I’d continued working at the barbershop and resisting Roger’s invitations to sit in his chair. He wasn’t annoying about it, but his joking around seemed almost contrived, especially considering my recent fetish-like fascination. I’d also gotten used to having my own car, even though what I was paid made it difficult to fill up and still have anything for fun.

         It had been about three weeks since Pete and I started seeing each other, and I found myself at the movies again, seeing another film that was starving for a plot. Pete seemed to like the local movie house, and I had to admit it was one of those charming, small-town theatres that oozed the 1930’s.

         “What’s on your mind?” Pete asked as he sipped at his milkshake. We’d gone to a local ice cream parlour after the movie, and I’d been in my own head. I could have gone for something stronger, but it was his idea.

         “Oh, nothing. Just a thought.” I sighed.

         “I’m all ears.” He flicked at the fleshy lobes, now exposed and ready for listening.

         Out of the blue, and I couldn’t tell you why, I’d decided to tell him. “What would you do if I got my haircut like yours?”

         I thought he was going to choke, and I readied myself for regurgitated milkshake to come spurting from his nose. When he pulled himself together, I was smirking at him. “You can’t be serious.” He managed.

         “Probably not, but you did ask what was on my mind.” I could see a modicum of relief spread over his face. “Don’t worry about it.”

         He’d taken me back to his place, and one thing led to another. All the time, I just couldn’t take my hands away from his head as he pumped in and out of me. The sharp bristles made my fingertips tingle, as I crashed through my first orgasm.

         It was getting toward the end of July, when I had that first serious thought about cutting my hair. Up until then, it was only a nagging thought in the back of my mind. That day, the thermometer had crashed through the ninety-degree mark and was pushing for one hundred.

         Pete had gone out of town with some friends on a camping trip, one of those ‘escape with guys’ things. That was fine, seeing as I’d never been all that keen on camping. Perhaps we needed a break. Things had been hot and heavy for a few weeks, and I swore I would get attached to anyone before heading back to school.

         What made things even more unbearable was that the air conditioning in the barbershop had gone out. Roger vowed to get it fixed by the weekend, but it still sat lifeless in the side window. It was Saturday morning, and the place was hopping. I could barely keep up with the sweeping, let alone my other responsibilities.

         By the time the morning rush was over, my long blonde hair was damp with sweat, even though I kept it tied back severely. Every time I’d see a man or a young boy come in and have their hair chopped or clippered, I felt almost jealous.

         There were only two guys in the shop over lunch, which I had no appetite for, one of whom was sitting in Roger’s chair. Without him noticing, I slipped a number from the rack at the front of the shop and stealthily put it in my back pocket. There was a sense of relief, to be honest. Relief, that I’d finally decided to act on what I’d been fantasizing about for a month.

         A few more men and a kid wandered in after that, and I knew I’d have an audience, which, for some reason, only heightened my excitement. When Roger called out my number, I let him stew for a minute before pulling the plastic card from my pocket and handing it to him.

         “Well, well. Looks like Samantha has had enough of her long blonde hair.” Roger announced to the men in the room. “Hop in.” He mused, turning the chair in my direction.

         I walked to the chair on wooden legs, before climbing onto the chrome footrest and settling into the warm leather. I hadn’t even thought about how I wanted it cut, certainly nothing as drastic as my mother’s.

         “All off, like your Mom?’ Roger almost insisted, as he wrapped the paper strip around my slender neck. I didn’t say anything, which worried me a little. Was I going to let him do that to me? As the satin cape settled over my shoulders and draped to my knees, I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” A subdued chuckle arose from my candid audience.

         “Go for it, Sam!” The young kid piped up. I wasn’t even certain how he even knew my name, or that I liked the foreshortened version. It was a small town, as I mentioned before.

         “Wait!” I suddenly called out. All eyes were on me as I cleared my throat, which was tight both from fear and a subdued arousal that lingered just under my skin. “Save the pony. I want to donate it.” I managed, wondering where all my resolve had disappeared to. A large part of me couldn’t believe I was doing this, but this little horny voice that seemed to run my life most of the time was in firm control.

         “That’s very generous of you, Samantha.” Roger sighed as he picked up a pair of shears from the counter. “Ready?”

         I nodded, the tight crepe strip stretching against the virgin skin of my nape. I felt the cold steel of the scissors against my neck before the sickening crunching began. It must have taken a full minute before I felt the scissors finish their job, my severed ponytail falling into Roger’s hand.

         “I’ll just set this over here, while I finish up.” I watched as three feet of my hair was laid carefully on the counter, no longer mine, no longer attached to me.

         In the mirror, I saw the ragged bob fall forward around my face, almost stylishly grazing my cheeks. That was all that remained, but this was only the beginning.

         “Your mother gets a number two all over.” Roger said with authority, slipping the appropriate blade onto the Oster clippers. I’d oiled those same clippers so many times, and now they were set to be used on me. As they whirred to life, I swear I felt my sex moisten, and knew there was nothing to be done but submit.

         I felt Roger’s hand press my chin down to my chest as the clippers effortlessly slipped from my nape all the way to the crown. A barely discernible shiver ran down my spine, as he carved a second path right next to the first. I could feel the oscillating fan, that struggled against the heat, caress my naked scalp, and it honestly felt wonderful, and erotic at the same time.

         Through what remained of my hair, I watched in the mirror as Roger worked his way around my head, stripping the sides to the prescribed quarter inch of length. He maneuvered my head with no less force than he did with the men, and I presumed with my mother. ‘Part of the process’ I thought as I allowed him to have his way with me. As light as my hair was, I could plainly see my scalp through the drastically clippered roots. It was going to be very short.

         Every eye in the place was glued to me, as well as the few that had stepped in after the cut began. They’d normally be buried in a Sports Illustrated or Field & Stream magazine. Not today, not with what was going on.

         So, when Roger raised the clippers to my forehead, he hesitated, looking up at the witnesses to my detressing, smiling just slightly as he ran them straight down the middle. A few seconds later, every hair that had once been attached to my head was gone, either in a puddle on the floor or draped over the counter in front of me. Being through, Roger ran the clippers this way and that, ensuring that not one hair escaped the tonsuring.

         I knew better than to think it was over. I’d witnessed too many cuts just like this one to think that. Roger changed the blade on the Osters and began clipping the edges, removing the sideburns that still lent any femininity to the cut, and then carving out my ears. Lastly, he stripped everything up to the occipital bone in the back. This was far shorter than my mother’s; I knew it, and he knew it, too.

         All this time, my pussy had been making a mess of my panties, and I worried that there might be outward evidence of my arousal. So, when he filled his hand with menthol lather from the dispenser, I thrilled for a moment as the cooling foam was spread around my head. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for the feel of the straight razor against my nape as it polished off the cut, leaving no doubt that I had been well and truly barbered.

         As I rose from the chair, there was a small round of applause, and it was only then that the embarrassment of what I’d done, in front of all these men, sank in. I was sure I turned every shade of red in the book, but after a nervous smile, I picked up the heavy ponytail and headed into the back.

         When I returned, life in the barbershop was back to normal, the usual banter, and nothing more said about the crewcut blonde. Dutifully, I picked up the broom and began sweeping around the chair, knowing full well that most of what I was sweeping was my own.