Sylvia’s Genes

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I’m pregnant, at last, after four years of marriage and two years of really trying, it has finally happened. It was such a thrill when my doctor confirmed it this morning. Ben will be ecstatic, I just can’t wait to tell him. Only thing is now I will have to let my hair grow, but that is what we agreed upon all along – I fall pregnant and we let my hair grow. But what am I saying, you don’t know me so let me explain. You see I am bald, actually I am totally hairless, unless you want to call some miserable almost invisible excuse for eyelashes hair, but let me start at the beginning.

I really have the most awful hair, it is lifeless, thin, dull and totally unmanageable, with a mousy colour to boot. It is actually my parents fault. My mother’s hair is the same and she does not have eyebrows either, having shaved them off while experimenting when she was about sixteen, they never grew back.  My father was almost totally bald by the age of thirty, so what chance did I have? It was also at about that time that he ran off with his secretary Barbara, moving to San Diego after they were married. I was almost ten at the time, of course mom got custody and I started an annual summer holiday shuttle between Chicago and San Diego.

Mom and I had a close relationship and we would discuss everything openly, even though I led a sheltered upbringing. It was while we were clearing out some things that dad had left behind that I first discovered that women are supposed to have hair between their legs. I found a pile of girlie books at the back of dad’s closet and paged through them. I must have looked pretty silly when mom came in and found me sitting open-mouthed on the floor with a centre spread open in front of me. I pointed to the model’s hair covered mound and looked at mom somewhat perplexed. Mom chuckled and explained that pubic hair is pretty normal on adults and that her lack of pubic hair was due to the fact that she removed it because when it started to grow it came out sparse and just grew in patches. She told me that had she initially shaved it in her early teens, but then started having it waxed because it gave a smoother longer-lasting result. She warned me that I would probably have the same problem when I reached puberty. She was right.

At about thirteen these weird tufts of hair started appearing on my little fanny, and when I had the chance to see other girls my age, my lack of cultivating anything approaching a decent or at least reasonable crop of pubic hair became a source of no small embarrassment to me. It did not take me long to conclude that I would be better off bare than cursed with the patches I had. Mom and I discussed it and she shaved me, also coaching me on how to do it myself. Mom suggested that I shave for a while before opting for waxing, both to see how I liked having a bare beaver, as she called it, and also because waxing was pretty painful at first. I held out with the razor for about nine months and then told mom I had had enough of shaving. It took a bit of coaxing to get her beautician to agree to give me a total waxing, but we promised to keep her name out of it and she reluctantly proceeded to make me nice and smooth, something she still does about every six weeks.

Mom started dating again when I was fifteen and according to her, responsible enough to be left alone for an evening once in a while. Funny, after a while I could usually tell who she was going out with by the way she put on her eyebrows, Don liked them long and straight and tapered,  James liked high arches, Carlos insisted on black and heavy (but he did not last long) and Henry preferred thin pencil lines. Whenever mom came home from a date with Henry she had no eyebrows on at all. Mom’s escapades with her eyebrows naturally got me experimenting with a razor one night while she was out. I thought I would try to get some shape into them and taper my rather nondescript brows into something more mature. I was fine with the right eyebrow and got it into exactly the shape I wanted. The same did not happen with the left brow. Not only could I not duplicate the shape of its mate, I slipped and took a nick right out of the middle of what was left of my left eyebrow. Petrified, I left well alone and waited for mom to return. She shook her head and said that there was only one thing to do. We would have to remove the outer bit of brow on the left and shave the right to match it.  This would leave me with about a quarter of my original eyebrows. I had no alternative but to agree.

It was weird, I thought I looked squint before I pencilled in the ends of my eyebrows to complete my brow line, this really got to me and I would avoid looking at myself in a mirror. Eventually I would try to do my eyebrows without looking or get mom to do them for me. Of course the shaved portion of brows never re-grew. I became so neurotic about my eyebrows that mom got fed up with me and told me to just shave them off completely or stop moaning. I was still whining when she came into the room brandishing a razor. She pushed back my head and held up the razor, I did not say anything but clamped my eyes shut. I felt several swipes of the razor over my brows and when I opened my eyes mom said that we were now almost like twins.

And I thought my lack of pubic hair caused problems, all that happened there was that some of the girls at school thought it was funny and others thought it was weird. My best friend thought it was cool and shaved herself to be like me. Her mother went ballistic, grounded her till her pubic hair grew out again, I was banned from her house. The school nurse also phoned mom and tried to blow her up, but was shut up with a terse instruction to mind her own business.

The eyebrow problem came about at my next visit to dad and Barbie (how she hated to be called that, even though she appeared to go to great lengths to look like the doll, you know, big blonde hair that hung halfway down her back, pop-up bosoms, the works). She had seen my bare pubes on a previous visit and made some remark about being waxed like mom, I nodded and she threw open her robe to reveal her own smooth mound. She said that hers was permanently removed, it had hurt like hell but that was only the once and was therefore far more convenient.

Mom said that she had been depilated to hide the fact that she was not a natural blonde. Anyway, Barbie started getting personal about my thin hair, she must have thought that me not having eyebrows made me adult enough to accept her veiled attacks.  She went to great lengths to tell me about an article she had read about a remedy for thin hair. It involved cutting the hair very short and massaging the scalp twice daily with pure coconut oil. Me being subjected to the treatment was brought up at every possible occasion, she even cited two of her friends who had tried it and had positive results. I should have seen through her scheme then, anybody who seemed to have a head of hair that she considered a threat to her mane was kept well at arm’s length. Even poor dad’s small circle of hair was kept cropped to a number two and none of her friends had hair that was not pretty short or in any sort of a style.

At a ‘family’ meeting Barbie suggested to dad that she crop my hair to a number four and keep it that way for half the time I was with them, she would massage my scalp twice daily. The theory being that massaging vibrates the short hair which in turn stimulates the hair roots and the opens pores to allow the nourishing oils in to promote hair growth. By the time I was ready to go back to Chicago I should be sprouting a luxurious mop of hair. Goodness knows what possessed me to buy that one, but dad agreed, he always agreed with everything she said, I tried to protest but to no avail. I was coaxed into a chair, caped and told how good this was for me while my meagre locks floated to the floor. The oily massage followed, the smell was awful and felt greasy, I hated it but had to put up with it for two weeks. I got clippered every second day, and massaged morning and evening, followed by a shower, shampoo and conditioning with special ‘organic non-chemical’ preparations.

It was a few mornings later, I was sitting naked in the bathroom with Barbie messaging my head, my hair plastered to my scalp with the oil, when dad walked past the partly open door, Barbie called him in to see his totally ‘hairless’ daughter. Dad reluctantly came in and Barbie paraded me for him to see. Dad stayed there just long enough to see my embarrassment.

The ‘treatment’ ran the full two weeks, and at the end of the four weeks my hair was hardly any longer than when Barbie had clipped it, it was certainly no thicker. I later found out that she had been using the number three, not the four guard as promised. I wore a beret to cover my buzz cut on the flight home, mom blew her top when she saw what I looked like.

When the story came out about me being shown off to dad in my birthday suit she really freaked. There were furious phone calls to San Diego, threats were made of withdrawal of visitation rights and even mention of child molestation and incest. Needless to say, I never went to San Diego again.

Dad did phone occasionally for birthdays and the like, but I only saw him once more after that last visit. He came to my high school graduation. Mom steered clear of him, I got a hug and congratulations on my graduation, mixed with a mumbled apology for what had happened. Dad died a few months after that, we were told that it was a heart attack but neither of us went to the funeral. A letter came from a lawyer a while later informing us that dad had left me some cash in his will, it turned out to be more than sufficient to pay for a six month office skills and computer software course which gave me the required qualifications to move up from the supermarket checkout counter and look for a general office type job. With the money left over after paying for the courses I lashed out and bought myself a reasonable quality wig.

I had a whole range of jobs, there was the second-hand car dealer who had me pose for his TV commercials wearing ridiculous costumes and crazy makeup. He went a bit over the top so I scooted out of that job. One good thing came out of it though, I got my name on an ad agency’s list and both mom and I did several commercials where they needed models with no eyebrows.  A few of my new jobs bored me to tears, others did not pay enough or the boss was a groper.

I answered a newspaper ad and got a job as an office assistant at a small family printing works. The owner, old Mr Abbie Silberman, was in the process of retiring and training his younger son to run the works, but young Joel was just not coping, so the ‘boss’ spent most mornings at the works. I started by answering phones, doing the typing and filing. I took a course in desktop publishing and started helping with layouts and compositing, eventually having three monthly newsletters left entirely in my hands. I enjoyed the job and the people were great. I had been there a few months when old man Abbie came to me in a bit of a panic. The accountant was due and the books were in a shambles. He asked me to see if I could get them into any sort of presentable order. I took the piles of papers and books home and poured over them until late into the night. The next day I drew up several spreadsheets and constructed my own method of bookkeeping.

Abbie and Joel were in the main office and I was at the front desk when a tall imposing young man strode in, I knew he had to be the accountant, He nodded to me and pointed to the office door. I nodded back and he marched right in. After about an hour the three men came out and I was introduced to Ben, he was the accountant. He sat down across the table from me and asked for the books so I handed him the spreadsheet print-outs I had made. He looked a bit puzzled but took the papers and started to peruse them. I was able to study his face in between the Hmm’s and Ah’s and occasional shakes of his head. He was well tanned, dark almost, with beautiful dark brown eyes hooded by heavy eyebrows. His hair was thick and curly and nearly touched his collar, handsome would barely describe him. After he had finished with the last page he asked a few questions and suggested some changes, which I immediately made to the spreadsheet. I presented him with the revised print-out and he left.

Ben came the next day wanting clarification on one or two other items and did so for several days running. I noticed something strange, when talking to me he did not seem to look me directly in my eyes, but rather above them or he sat next to me and would seem to be looking across my forehead, as though he was studying my eyebrows, or lack of them. A week later Joel came into the office and said that his brother had some good news for me and wanted to take me to lunch. I must have looked rather dumb, this just did not make sense. Joel grasped the situation and realised that nobody had told me that the accountant was Abbie’s older son, and naturally Joel’s brother.

Ben was already at the nearby restaurant when I arrived. He handed me an envelope as I sat down. Inside was a check for $500. Ben said that his company was so impressed with my spreadsheet that they would like to use elements from it and hoped that the check was sufficient compensation. Again I got the feeling that Ben was staring at my eyebrows, especially as I had taken special care in applying them that morning and had touched them up just before I left the office, for the first time I was wearing my wig in his company. To top off the occasion, Ben asked me out for a date.

As our third date, Ben escorted me to mom and Henry’s wedding.  It was the second last time I saw mom wear eyebrows. The happy couple left for a short honeymoon and Ben and I had the house to ourselves, the first time that we were to be alone together. That we were going to sleep together was a foregone conclusion, mom even made a subtle remark in that direction before they left, but I was apprehensive, how would Ben accept my totally hairless body, he had still not mentioned my eyebrows although his stares were now more blatant. We necked and petted all the way up to my bedroom and he started undressing me. I stopped him to tell him that it was not only eyebrows that I was lacking, but Ben replied that it was my eyebrows that first attracted me to him and he had been harbouring a hope that my pubis was smooth as well. I too was in for a surprise which was also one of my biggest turn-ons, Ben had sexiest hairiest chest I had ever seen on a man, I am sure he has thicker hair in his chest than I had on my head. Not wanting to go into too much detail, as we were both realising a fantasy, it was pretty close to all-night sex. When not actually having sex, Ben could not keep his hands off my soft mound, and I snuggled into his chest. We, of course, woke up late on Sunday morning. I started to reach for my robe to go make coffee but Ben took it from me and shook his head so I went downstairs to make coffee in the nude. When I returned with the tray, Ben was lying on his back and it was quite obvious by the shape of the sheets that my appearance was having an arousing effect on him. His attention was not wasted, and we never did get around to drinking that coffee.

Henry moved in with us after the honeymoon and mom and I occasionally had a bit of fun at his expense. I would rush down shouting that I was late for a date or something and check myself in the sitting room mirror, making a great show of having forgotten to put on eyebrows. I would go through an exaggerated act of finishing my eye makeup and watch Henry blush and squirm in his chair. Mom told me that on those nights they ended up in bed a little earlier than normal, not that Henry ever made even the slightest advance towards me, or even mentioned my eyebrows, he is a super person and mom could not have been luckier in her choice for a second husband.

Much to Abbie’s delight, Ben and I announced our engagement after going out about four months and I moved in with Ben, after all, I was now 23 years old and mom did have a new husband. We set a wedding date for five months later. I am not going to bore you with the details of the interceding months, but we had a smallish wedding and I was given a quarter share in the printing works as a wedding present. I consider it a token of the esteem in which the family hold me and my contribution to their business. Our wedding was also the last time mom ever put on eyebrows. Ben turned out to be as wonderful a husband as a lover, considerate, understanding, kind and yet very passionate.

It was about three months later, I was preparing breakfast and Ben was leafing through the Sunday papers. When I came back into the room he had hold of the fashion section and was looking at some photos of a beautiful bald girl modelling some outlandish clothes. We had a chuckle over the garments but agreed that she looked stunning, despite the get-up she had on. He looked at me and asked if I had ever considered shaving my head, I was wearing a wig most of the time now and was complaining constantly about my hair. I told him about the incident with Barbie and nearly ending up bald, leaving out the part about dad but I did admit that I sometimes reached desperation point with the never-ending ‘bad hair days’, he just looked at me. I asked him if he was serious but all he did was give a noncommittal shrug and ruffled my hair. We ate our breakfast in silence but the thought of being a totally hairless woman started to intrigue me, nothing more was said.

By Wednesday morning I had made my decision. I felt that Ben would not have mentioned the subject it did not interest him, and he would have made some derogatory remark about the model in the paper if the idea of a bald woman appalled him. Anyway, he liked the rest of me bald so why not all of me?

I took the afternoon off and went to the small barbershop that I had seen near the printing works, it is named simply “Doreen’s” and run by a lady barber who she never seemed overly busy, she was sitting reading a magazine in an empty shop when I arrived.  I told her that I had an unusual request as I was led to her barber’s chair. I sat down and told her that I wanted her to shave my head completely bald. Doreen asked why I should want to shave off my perfectly good hair, in response to which I took off my wig, I think she understood once she felt my own hair and as a show of courtesy went to the door, put up the ‘Closed’ sign and pulled down the blinds. Doreen assured me that a complete shaving of my thin hair would not take long, and that my request was not all that unusual, she in fact did at least two or three female head shaves a month, mostly younger girls many of whom went for side shaves undercuts and mohawks but she also had some women my age or older, she even had one lady in her fifties who had had her head shaved every year for the past ten years or so as a birthday present for her husband.  This lady would come in for her annual shaving with her husband and then he would keep her smooth for a week before letting her hair grow again for the next 51 weeks.

Doreen was right about the time to render me bald. She had my head clipped to stubble in about three minutes flat, and with my thin hair I looked totally bald before the razor touched me, but I had asked for a smooth scalp, and that is what Doreen was going to give me. She applied warm lather to my scalp and rubbed it in well, letting it sit for a while as she stropped her razor.  Strangely enough, I enjoyed the actual shaving process, there was no rasping as I expected there to be, thinking of Ben shaving every morning, the razor just glided over my scalp feeling like a massage if anything. Doreen then took out a Schick FX razor with a flexible head. She showed it to me and said that she was going to do my final shave with it and it is the razor she recommends if I want to remain smooth-shaven. I had watched in fascination as the clippers removed my hair, but shut my eyes as Doreen started the final shave and kept them closed until she announced that she was finished. It had taken only another ten minutes and some moisturising oil, and after a long look at my new self in the mirror, my head shining from the oil, I put my wig onto my very smooth head and walked out into the world as a bald woman. One thing that surprised me was that I had no apprehension about having my head shaved and seemed to look on the procedure with a sense of relief, the other surprise was the feel of my completely denuded scalp. It felt clean, not at all unnatural, but rather erotic. It brought on stirrings that only Ben had been able to generate up to now.

The drive home was interminable. I wanted to get home, study myself in the security of our bedroom and plan how I was going to introduce Ben to my new appearance. I sat at the mirror for a while before removing my wig, and when I did take it off, it was very slowly. I must have stared at myself for half an hour, barely moving before I started to tentatively touch my head.  The dark red nail polish I was wearing contrasted vividly with the stark white of my bare scalp and when the stirrings started again I quickly removed my hands and went into the bathroom to remove all my makeup. I took stock of how I looked. My ears were small, I knew that anyway, but now they looked dainty and needed some more visible form of adornment. Slightly larger and heavier plain rings in my double piercing overcame that problem. I applied my makeup base and started on my eyes, A completely new approach was required there. Without hair, my eyes looked much larger and needed eyeshadow that would enhance their new status and a heavier and darker application of my normal brown eyeshadow was applied. My forehead looked as though it went on for ever, to compensate I had to pencil on eyebrows that were just above the natural brow line and were arched higher than I had ever worn before. The lipstick I put on matched my nails. I had achieved a look that was striking, yet balanced, but when I put my wig on again the total effect was tarty, to say the least, but that was perhaps the look I needed for that first revelation to Ben.

As luck or fate would have it, Ben phoned to say that he would only be home around eight, which played perfectly into my plan. I prepared a light finger supper and put out some wine. Now all I had to do was keep the butterflies at bay for the next four hours. When Ben did arrive home the surprise on his face was obvious and he gave me one of those “And Now?” looks. I put my arms around him, kissed him deeply and passionately and rubbed my body against his. The supper was very disrupted and we were soon rolling around furiously on the lounge furniture, my idea being that my wig would be dislodged in the tussle, and of course, it was. Ben’s whole demeanour changed in a second, from the wild passion of a moment earlier, he became a big gentle loving bear. He clasped me into his arms, caressed me and tentatively touched my baldness, I could see tears of love and gratitude welling in his eyes. We spent the night making slow beautiful love, not once did Ben let me out of his embrace, we both phoned in sick the next morning, neither of us wanting to break the spell we found ourselves under. My decision to become totally hairless had definitely been correct.

Once we had both settled down a bit we discussed my baldness rationally. We agreed that I would remain bald as long as we both enjoyed it and that I would let my hair grow when I became pregnant, even if only until just after the birth. We also agreed that me being bald was a private thing and would only be between us, although we eventually became a bit lax on that point.

As it turned out, I needed to be shaved only every two or three days to remain perfectly smooth, a task which, needless to say, Ben enjoyed tremendously and even after nearly four years, an act followed by some beautiful lovemaking whenever possible. To add a little extra spice to our relationship I would also change my eyebrow shape occasionally, but what I think Ben liked best is a well-defined taper kinked downwards in the middle, although he likes the heavy rounded tapered shapes of the sixties as well.

It was at a small cocktail party about a year ago that I first ‘went public’. We had both had a bit too much to drink and were feeling rather carefree. Somehow my wig and I parted company and I suddenly became the focus of attention of the fellow guests, fortunately all close friends. There were a few discreet questions, truthfully answered, well almost, some admiration and some people who seemed not too impressed. We were invited to another party a few weeks later, with the assurance that more or less the same people would be present, and I was asked to come uncovered. Once again I was the center of attraction and several friends and guests worked up enough courage to ask to feel my head (shaved and oiled for the occasion). One of Ben’s associates, John, showed particular interest. After telling me how much he admired the way I looked and that I carried the off look with style I danced with him and let him feel my head at length. I even rested my head against his cheek to let him feel the smoothness against his face. Later that evening his wife Lauren, cornered me in the powder room and started talking about my being shaved bald. Her husband had spoken to her about me and said how wonderful he thought I looked. She wanted details of what it was like being shaved, being bald and how it affected my marriage. I told her that it was great in every respect and would not change for just about anything. I thought it strange because she had beautiful thick blonde hair styled into a most becoming bob.

I met Lauren again a few weeks later at a business dinner. I got up to go to the ladies room about halfway through the meal, and she followed me. The ladies room was deserted, Lauren pulled me into one of the stalls and whispered that she had done it, I must have looked a bit puzzled till she slowly pulled off a wig in exactly her old style and colour. She turned her head several times for me to see before putting her wig back on. She said that she and John had an agreement that she would only remain shaved for six months, but Lauren felt that the period was open to bargaining, and she did have her eye on a new bright red Alfa Romeo.

Mom and Henry do not know about my shaved head, and I doubt that mom would have much to say, and Henry, I can only see him being the gentleman he always is, but why tempt fate, they really don’t need to be told. What I will have to tell mom, and tomorrow in fact when we go out together for our weekly lunch, is that she is to become a grandmother.

But I have been rambling on, I guess the thought of the baby and all got me a bit nostalgic. Is that Ben I hear pulling into the driveway now?

It’s been nice sharing my thoughts with you, wish me luck, there are many changes, big and small, about to take place in our lives.

The End.

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