Leaving the Big City
My name is Elizabeth, and I admit freely to having a hair fetish, or rather a fetish about cutting my hair. I am not completely oblivious to the notion that to some, having their hair cut shorter than they want ignites certain fantasies. This particular fantasy involves control, or to be more precise, the loss of control to another.
I live in a small town, so there are only a couple of choices when it comes to hair. There’s Val’s Hair Emporium, but I always found the atmosphere in the place stifling. Most of the clientele and stylists were seniors, so I really didn’t fit in. The other choice is Michael’s. This is where I choose to go.
Michaels is one of those, Salon/Barbershop combinations, where one side of the place is geared more towards women and commensurately, the other is for men. Now, there are always exceptions. I’ve seen men with longer hair visit the salon side, and I’ve seen women with much shorter styles visit the barbershop. With only a temporary partition separating the two, it was a short walk from one to the other.
Five years ago, when I moved to Springhouse, I had just turned twenty-six. I needed peace and quiet, away from the bustle of the big city. When the opportunity arose at a local greeting card company, I jumped at the chance. Yes, I design and write greeting cards. I know you’re all thinking; oh no, she’s all prose and poetry. Nothing could be further from the truth. When I’m not working, I tend to run to the wild side of eccentricity.
In contrast to my current appearance, my hair was long; really long. I had never dyed it, and the color was closest to what most people refer to as strawberry blonde. I almost always wore it in a ponytail or some sort of updo, just to keep it out of my face. Until I met Michael, I had never even considered cutting it short.
Michael’s Salon and Olde Tyme Barbershop
I still remember my first foray into his shop. At first, the idea of a salon, slash, barbershop, was a little too weird for me. Even so, I managed to sit through the waiting room experience, which was combined. It was a bit weird sitting with men, waiting to have their hair pared shorter than it already was. There I was, with my waist-length hair, spread out over my shoulders, and I could feel the eyes upon me as I sat. Finally, I was introduced to Michael, the owner.
“My goodness, you do have a head of hair there.” He exclaimed, louder than I was comfortable with.
Out of sheer nervousness, I quickly explained, “I only want a trim.”
“Well, let me have a look at the condition of your hair, and I’ll decide how much of it you can keep.” He instructed, petulantly.
“AS I said, I really only want a trim.” A little less authoritatively than my first declaration. He led me over to his station, and it was not what I would call conventional. Rather than the neat, tidy workspace, I was used to seeing in the city, his station was a mess of scissors, brushes, and clippers, all just thrown haphazardly on the counter.
Before my rear end had completely depressed the cushion on his chair, he had spread a cape around my shoulders. He artfully snapped it closed beneath my voluminous hair. “Okay. Let us assess the damage.” It sounded like a line from a movie I’d seen, but I struggled with which one.
I sat nervously, as Michael ran a comb through my hair, the whine of clippers filtered in from the other side of the shop. The sound was not annoying, but almost relaxing as the cycling of the clipper strokes changed pitch. I imagined all that hair succumbing to those vicious blades, but was quickly brought back to reality as Michael leaned back against the counter before me.
“You’ve got a lot of split ends, young lady.” His arms crossed.
“Really? I’m quite careful with the products I use. I’m surprised.” I said, honestly.
“The hair is just too old. This hair, down here,” He tugged at the wispy ends that hung precipitously past the arms of his chair. “it’s totally dead and buried.”
“What are you saying?” Of course, I knew precisely what he was saying, I just didn’t want to hear it.
“I’m taking off eight inches.” Without so much as a by your leave, he hoisted a pair of menacingly long scissors from the counter and moved behind me.
“Wait!” I cried out. “Eight inches? Why so much?” I argued.
“Trust, Lizzy, trust. You’ll love it when I’m done.” I cannot tell you how many times I have heard that phrase. And, I hated when people called me Lizzy. For whatever reason, I allowed it from him. I heard, and felt him begin, the scissors pulling slightly at the roots as he pulled my natural wave straight. I swear I could feel the hair screaming as it was severed. With each crunch of the things, I could feel my head become physically lighter. That wasn’t a good thing.
When he was done, I couldn’t help but look down around my feet. What he originally described as eight inches had somehow grown to twelve.
“You cut off a foot of my hair!” I complained.
“If I’d told you a foot, you would have balked, and run out of my shop. As it is, your ends are now healthy and thick. You’ll thank me in the end, Lizzy.”
As I ‘assessed the damage’ I realized that my hair barely hung to my bra strap. It hadn’t been this short since I was a teenager. I allowed him to point cut the ends, as it was a bit blunt for my liking, but then I was out of there.
It took a full three months for me to garner the courage to return, but return I did. In that time, I realized that Michael was correct. I did love it. It was easier to care for, and looked so much more healthy.
The Birth of a Fetish
I found myself browsing hairstyles online, something I had never done. It was also about the time I began associating shorter styles with a strange arousal that tingled in my sex. I mean, it wasn’t like looking at porn, and I’d done my fair share of that, but it was indeed, similar.
The styles that really got me going were the ultra-short ones, where a clipper had obviously been used to peel away the back and sides. I remembered the sounds emanating from the barbershop next to the salon, and I tried to imagine what that sensation was like. That was starting to affect me in much the same way as looking at a man, in all his naked glory, erection bobbing and ready for action.
Speaking of which, it had been an absolute age since I had gotten any. I wasn’t ugly, perse, but I wasn’t a knockout either. I think, if it wasn’t for my long silken mane, I might never have gotten laid at all. So it was with some relief that a young man had asked me out from the office. I know, I know, don’t shit where you eat, and all, but he was fairly cute, and I was desperate.
Our first date was on a Friday evening, and I had stupidly set up a hair appointment for that afternoon. I tried to cancel, but Michael was very persistent on the phone, insisting that he was booked out, and that he’d be disappointed in me if I didn’t show.
The date was for dinner and a movie, somewhat cliché, but whatever. Peter was understanding when I explained that I might be delayed, saying that he appreciated my going to the trouble of having my hair done. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the appointment was set up weeks before he asked me out.
With my newfound interest in haircutting, call it a fetish if you must, I was a bit nervous as I sat and waited for Michael to finish with his previous appointment. I had thought of doing something a bit radical, but knew that I was never going to have the nerve to ask for it. I couldn’t keep my eyes away from the barber side of the shop, however. My sex start to moisten as I watched one young man have all his hair methodically stripped from his scalp.
I realized that Michael had been watching me curiously, as I watched the other side, and I knew he knew. That thought alone scared the pants off me. “Lizzy. How are you? Come on back, sweetie.”
Once again, I was confronted with the messy workstation, but I couldn’t for the life of me get the image of the young man out of my mind. His hair had been a decent length when he sat down, but now it was all gone.
“So, what are we doing today?” Michael asked, bringing me back from my haze of arousal. I was surprised that he was giving me a choice. “I saw you looking.” He joked, with a bemused smirk. “Maybe someday we’ll get you over there, huh?” He added.
Feeling bold suddenly, I was in serious danger of asking for something short. “I was thinking… shorter. Something with an undercut?”
“Now we’re talking.” Michael smiled. “Time to grow up a little, right?”
“I guess.” Was all I managed.
“How about a nice A-line bob. I can shave up the back nice and high underneath for you. That’ll give you a bit of a thrill, won’t it, Lizzy.” He was officially onto me, and I wasn’t sure if I liked that idea. I felt a little exposed, but at the same time, relieved that he didn’t think it was weird or anything.
“Sure.” As nonchalantly as my nervous energy permitted, I gave him permission. Now, I knew that he would undoubtedly take liberties that I was unprepared for, but what I walked out of that shop with was beyond anything I had realistically imagined for myself.
Shockingly, Michael began by hacking off another foot of my hair, and not carefully either. “Just getting rid of the bulk.” He explained, as my mouth must have been forming a perfect O. What was I doing? I knew there was no back out now, and for the first time, I began to feel aroused by my own haircut. That had never happened before.
Slowly, Michael snipped away at the length. The front was still nearly to my collar, but the back… the back was short. When he fired up the clippers, I worried that I might not survive this cut. When they slowly crept up my neck, sans any guard, I nearly had an orgasm right there, in his chair.
“Feels nice, yeah?” Michael observed. Was my arousal that obvious to him? It must have been, because he really drew out the process, going over areas he had already shaved three and four times. Moving back to the scissors I could feel where he was cutting in the back, and it was well up onto my head. So much for hiding my undercut.
It was when he returned to the clippers, and ran them nearly to my crown in the back that I thought I actually did come. He laughed at my reaction, saying that it happened all the time.
“Maybe we’ll get over to the other side sooner than I thought, Lizzy.” He said as he held the mirror for me to see the back. The end of my hair was cut halfway up the back of my head, exposing a huge swath of shaved scalp. We both knew that there was a lot more to that story hidden underneath, though.
To look at me from the front, no one would ever realize how radical a cut I was sporting. From behind, my naked neck and scalp would scream wild and crazy.
All the way home, I couldn’t keep my fingers from exploring my new nakedness. The undercut was extreme, and there was ample room for my entire hand to rest against shorn scalp in the back. I was so wrapped up in what I had done, that I completely forgot about my date with Peter.
Looking at my watch, I knew that as much as I wanted desperately to masturbate, there just wasn’t time. I also knew that going on a date in as horny a state as I found myself, was a dangerous proposition. There was nothing to be done. I quickly donned my outfit and headed out the door.
As I approached the little Italian eatery, I began to realize just how much of a shock this was going to be to Peter. He had seen me only a few hours before, and I had hair cascading down my back. Now, I was sporting this radical bob, and I worried what he might think.
“Wow, that’s a pretty serious change.” Peter spouted as I sat down at the table with him.
“Do you like it?” I asked, tentatively.
“Like it, are you kidding me, I love it.” He exclaimed. “Is it as…” He leaned forward to catch what I have been so careful to hide as I sat down. “… yep, it is. Wow.”
Peter had seen my undercut, and seemed to be on board with it. In fact, he seemed over the moon with my new look. Maybe there was more to this guy than met the eye. “I’m so glad you like it. I was petrified that you might hate it, you know.”
“Well, I think you’ll find out that I am quite open-minded about that stuff,” Peter admitted. Was he covertly telling me that he shared my fetish for haircutting?
We talked about it for a little while, and he confirmed my suspicions. Dinner went well, and we were off to the movies, to see some banal romance that neither one of us was interested in seeing. We were lucky this town even had a movie theater, actually.
In the darkness of the theater, I couldn’t object when Peter put his arm around me and playfully toyed with the short bristles at the top of my nape. Feeling a bit naughty, and knowing there was no one behind us to see, I took his hand and pushed it up the back of my head.
A slight gasp escaped his lips, mirrored by my own. It took a little while before he was able to remove his fingers as they explored my shaven scalp. The tenting at the crotch of his trousers was evidence enough that he approved.
As the evening drew to a close, I was hoping that Peter might invite me to his place, but I think, as a gentleman, he refrained. So it was up to me, and I was just horny enough to take the initiative. “Do you want to come back to mine? Have a glass of wine or something?”
“Are you sure you’re okay with that? I would never…”
“I’m okay. I’d like you to come.” Realizing how provocative that sounded, but satisfied with the short uncomfortable giggle it elicited from him, I let it go.
We weren’t too far past the entryway before the clothes started to come off, and I had a firm grip on his rigid cock, throbbing in my hand. That’s when he took control, flipping me onto my hands and knees to impale me from behind.
The reason became all too evident as he brushed my hair forward exposing my shaved undercut. His cock swelled inside me as he got closer to coming, and worried that I might not be able to orgasm before he did. That was when his hands found my naked scalp and sent me flying over the edge. I wasn’t entirely certain, but I was convinced that we came together.
“That was, unexpected.” I sighed, gratefully.
“You didn’t enjoy…
“Oh my god, it was fantastic, Peter. I love it!” I bubbled.
We held each other and made small talk for a little while before we both decided that the evening was at an end. We weren’t ready to be spending the night, it being a first date. Well, a first date with an explosive end, anyway.
My new cut seemed to be turning heads at work too. All of a sudden, I was noticed, and I liked the attention. Of course, Peter was still my main object of affection. I doubted anyone else might be harboring a secret hair fetish. That was something we shared that I was certain to be unique.
After a while, Peter asked if I was planning to freshen up my undercut, as it was started to grow in. No longer smoothly shaved, it was more like a brush cut beneath my lengthening bob. I didn’t mind the question. In fact, it tweaked my clitoris in just the right way.
“I’ll be setting something up, then.” Was all I said, leaving the details to his imagination. He never asked if he could accompany me, but that might be something he wasn’t interested in. Maybe he just enjoyed the aftermath of the cut, like a pleasant surprise.
Taking the Plunge
My appointment was for a Thursday afternoon, having had plans with Peter the following evening. Michael was a little behind that day, so I found I had lots of time to watch the goings-on in the barbershop next door. To my surprise, a young man emerged from the shop and walked straight up to me.
“Are you waiting for a barber?” He asked.
“No, I have an appointment with Michael, but thank you for asking,” I replied.
“I just couldn’t help but notice your interest in the shorter styles we offer.” He said, suggestively.
“We’ll see. Maybe someday.” Was all I said. He smiled, knowingly and returned to a young man who had just walked in.
It had been well over an hour, and there was no sign of Michael, and I began to wonder what was going on. I walked over to the receptionist to ask.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Someone should have talked to you. Michael had to leave, unexpectedly. Do you want to reschedule?”
For a moment, I considered it, but then recalled the young man so politely approaching me from the barbershop. “No, I think I’ll just take a number.” Indicating the small rack by the door.
“That’s for the barbershop, Elizabeth. Are you quite sure?” She seemed appropriately concerned.
“Yes. Quite sure.” I said, resolutely.
With the young girl watching, I deliberately strode over to the rack and lifted a plastic number card from the stand. I took the same seat and waited. Now I really was nervous. What if the guy couldn’t cut my hair the way I wanted? What if they only did men’s cuts? These and many more questions ran through my mind as I sat.
I watched the young man leave, that I had so carefully observed in the chair. He had arrived with a bushy crop of blond curls and left with what could only be described as a flat top. The sides were shaved down to nothing, and the top was squared off so that his scalp shone through quite evidently at the crown. Just looking at the cut me wet.
I looked down at the number, wondering if I had done the right thing. I fingered the smooth plastic, thinking that I should have rescheduled the appointment with Michael. Just as I was about to put the number back on the rack, the same barber appeared at the door. He looked around curiously.
“Thirty-eight!” He called out.
I hesitated, but not seeing any way out of it, I held up the number, waving it, as if I was surrendering. “That’s me.”
“I thought you had an appointment in the Salon. Change your mind?” He asked.
“Not really. Michael left me high and dry, and I really need a haircut.” I explained.
“Yeah. I saw he left early today. Well, his loss is my gain, right?” He indicated the chair where I had watched the young man being scalped.
I reluctantly rose from the relative safety of the waiting area and entered the barbershop for the first time. To be honest, it wasn’t all that different from the other side. At least this guy’s workstation was neat and tidy.
The first difference I noticed was the chair. Where the chairs in the salon were sleek and slender, this thing was enormous, with hinges and headrests, and several handles and pedals. It reminded me a little too much of the dentist. I had to admit that it was considerably more comfortable though.
The second thing I noticed was a lack of the tools I had grown accustomed to in the Salon. Gone were the myriad of brushes and products, blow dryers and curling irons, replaced by a neat row of clippers hanging menacingly from below the counter, and a simple array of scissors and combs.
Before asking what I wanted done, he lifted the back of my hair, revealing the undercut to its full extent. “Well, that limits things quite a bit.” He stated, throwing the red and white striped cape around me.
“What do you mean?” I questioned. “Can’t you just shave down the back and trim the ends?”
“Honestly, it’s just not what we do here.” He admitted.
Probably regretting the question, but being forced to ask it, I continued. “What can you do with it, then?”
“Well, with your hair buzzed so tight in the back, and as high up as it goes, I’d probably want to buzz you.” He said, almost eagerly.
“Yeah, you know, buzzzzz…” He jokingly imitated the motions of his hand sweeping over my head with the clippers. “… you know, buzzed.”
“So, you want to shave my head?” I asked, meekly.
“We could do that too, but not what I’d recommend. As high up as that goes in the back, the best I could do would be a crewcut. It would at least give you a little length on top.” He suggested.
Considering that I was sitting in a barber’s chair, in a barbershop, I figured it was only fitting that I allow the man to give me his best option. “Fine, a crewcut, then.” I relented.
“One crewcut, coming up.” He mused, turning to the counter to lift one of the larger clippers from its hook. He fastened a blade onto the end, and gave it a little oil from a small spray can.
I shied away when he placed the things directly in the middle of my forehead. “What are you doing? I thought I was going to have some length on the top.” I chided.
“This is a number four. It’s about half an inch, okay? That’s a little length.” He insisted.
Relaxing a little, but only a little, I allowed him to continue. As the clippers made their first pass through my hair, I was shocked by how short it really was. It may have been half an inch long, but with my blonde hair, it looked a hell of a lot shorter. My scalp was plainly visible under the spiky bristle the clippers left in their wake. What had I agreed to?
One stroke after the next, the man cleared my entire head. It was beyond shocking. When at last the clippers fell silent, I regarded the woman in the mirror and she didn’t resemble the old me at all.
My ears were the most unfortunate part. They stuck out from my head rather obtusely. Without my hair, I was beginning to resemble a shaved rat. It wasn’t over, however, as the barber changed the blade on the clippers.
He started in the back, I think so I couldn’t see what he was actually doing. I knew one thing, I could feel his breath on my scalp and I figured that wasn’t good. The one saving grace, if you could call it that, was the moist fervor building between my legs. Apparently, my pussy thought this was the most exciting thing to happen to me, well… ever. Eventually, my brain caught up to what my pussy was telling it, persistently. This was amazingly hot.
As the barber began to work around to the sides, I caught the full extent of what he was doing. I was being shaved to the skin most of the way up the back and sides of my head. Having cleared one side, I realized just how exposed my oversized ears really were. A few moments later, he finished blending the shorn parts with the top, and it was done.
Fortunately for me, I was still basking in some heightened state of arousal. Still, even with all that going on, I sat in stunned silence as I took in my appearance in the oversized mirror that faced me. I know my mouth was hanging open a bit, partly from the overwhelming sensations still pulsing down below. The rest was all shock and awe.
Apart from the slight burr of fuzz that coated the top of my head, I was essentially bald. Without thinking, I managed to free a hand from beneath the cape and forced my fingers to feel what I knew must be real. For some reason, I failed to grasp it until the tactile sensation of bald skin flooded my fingertips. As my hand wandered to my ear, that too became part of my new reality. They really did stick out that far. Without my hair to hide them, they appeared almost comical, except this was no joke, this was as real as it gets.
Aside from my ears, my hair also hid a few other anomalies that were no longer disguised. I never realized how angular my face was, or how large my head was beneath all that hair. This was definitely not a good look for me.
“How do you like the cut?” The barber finally asked, unfastening the cape after several moments of silence.
Not wanting to appear disgruntled for something that far from his fault I responded. “The cut is fine, just not on me.” I moaned, again running my fingers over my denuded scalp.
Not disagreeing with me he sighed. “Well, one good thing about hair. It grows back, and faster than you’d think.” As if that might make up for the way I knew I looked.
I was no judge of female beauty, but this mug was now off the market. No self-respecting male would have anything to do with anyone as ugly as I was now. Even Peter, whom I knew had as voracious an appetite for short hair as I did, would have a hard time coping with this, let alone being seen out and about with me.
I paid the man for essentially ruining my looks, and walked out of the barbershop. The receptionist simply shook her head as I slipped past her, a little bit of an ‘I told you so’ smirk on her face.
Fortunately, the sun had set and I was able to get to my car without being seen. All that night I was torn between being ridiculously turned on by my hideous looks and disastrously depressed over what I was going to do.
Buying a wig was out, as there was no way I could ever pull that off. Everyone would know it was a wig, so what was the point. No, I would have to face the music the next day. I tried to anticipate the remarks and the stares as I moved about during the day. I had two marketing meetings, and the brass would be at those. Then there was Peter. Things had been going so well. “Shit,” I said out loud.
I was trying to understand how something could be so overwhelmingly arousing, while simultaneously being the most terrible thing to have ever befallen me. It was the humiliation of course. I knew that much. I practically wore my clit out rubbing it so much, but in between orgasms I was virtually in tears. In fact, I managed to cry myself to sleep later on, right after having an explosive orgasm. Talk about a roller coaster ride.
To my abject horror, the next morning did arrive with the annoyance of my bedside alarm. I reached up, hoping that the whole thing had been a dream, only to feel raspy scalp and bristles. “Nope. Not a dream.”
I was going to have to face the music. Somehow, I was going to have to pull this off. I decided to deep-six my contact lenses for the day, opting instead for my boxy black frames. The petite studs that I usually wore were replaced with the largest hoop earrings I owned. Makeup would have to do the rest.
In the end, I looked absolutely nothing like myself, but the large glasses and two-inch hoops definitely distracted from the hideous creature hiding beneath. Those and the overdone makeup covered a world of ills. I was still bald, and my ears still resembled misshapen spoons, but I was at least stylish. Ugly, but stylish, I decided.
The looks and comments were unavoidable. I knew they would be, and I was somewhat prepared for them. Not a single person complimented the look; not even out of politeness. No, this was beyond the point of normal, and most people saw that.
“Everything alright, Elizabeth?” The deep baritone asked, as I was retrieving my latest design from the printer. I turned to see Mr. Williot himself standing a few feet away. The current CEO of the firm, he and I had hit it off well since I started there.
“Yes, everything’s fine, Sir.” I lied. “Just a bit of a disaster at a local barbershop.” Not a lie.
“Well, you will let me know if you need anything. I’m just concerned is all.” He moved down the hallway and I took a breath. For a moment I thought for sure I was about to get fired.
The first of two marketing meetings went as I expected. It was forty-five minutes of sideways glances and whispered remarks, but no one seemed overtly affected by my outward appearance. I still presented my designs, and the usual percentage were accepted. I suppose, as far as management was concerned, as long as my job performance wasn’t affected, I could have two heads.
A Fetish, Never as Simple as it Seems.
The second meeting was with fellow designers, and this one was not quite as smooth. It was the first time Peter had seen my ‘new look’. He kept staring, and I could tell he desperately wanted to talk. This only served to make me nervous. As soon as the meeting was completed, he rushed over.
“Can we talk?” He insisted.
Nodding silently, I followed him until he ducked into one of the supply closets. “Peter, I…”
“My God, Beth, what on earth?” He chortled.
“I know, I know. I’m hideous and you want nothing more to do with me, right?” I assumed.
“What are you talking about? I think you’re the most incredibly hot thing I’ve ever seen.” He reached out and rubbed the bristles that stood straight up on the top of my head.
“Are you serious?” I pulled off the glasses, and slipped the hoops from my earlobes, forcing him to see me as I had seen myself.
“The only part of this I regret is that I wasn’t there to watch.” Peter insisted. “Besides, who else are you trying to please? You know I love this stuff. For me, this is like a fantasy come to life.”
I was having a difficult time believing that he wasn’t just being kind. Only when he gave me the most erotic kiss we had ever shared, did I begin to realize that he really did like how I looked. “You seriously like how I look?”
“Baby, I love how you look. I can’t wait for tonight.” As we heard footsteps approach, I slipped through the door, grabbing a bundle of colored paper for appearance’s sake.
Suddenly, everything seemed a bit less daunting. I realized that I didn’t care what other people thought of my new look. My job seemed secure, well, as secure as any job is these days, and what I thought of as being ugly, was in fact, Peter’s dream come true.
That night, we passed on dinner and a movie, instead opting for Peter’s place, where he showed me just how much he appreciated what I had done. I had insisted on removing everything, including my makeup. I didn’t want there to be any non-truths clouding my euphoria.
So, as Peter literally fucked me silly, his hands all over my newly shaved head, and our eyes locked onto the others, I finally began to understand. It was the very fact that I was the way I am, that turned Peter on. If I’d been some drop-dead gorgeous model who had shaved her perfect head on a whim, he would not have been so enthralled. The imperfections and my obvious uncomfortable humiliation over them, were his deeper fetish. Yes, he still loved my short hair, but he loved what that short hair did to me even more.
Needless to say, I never went back to Michael. I was a barbershop girl now, and I would never regret switching sides.