The Hole in the Wall
(A much darker version of a previous work. Archival revision)
Darcy wasn’t sure why she had looked through the little hole in the wall. She really had no reason to believe that anything was going on, but look she did. What she had seen through that tiny hole, however, would follow her for the rest of her life.
Three months earlier.
Something was going on over there. A man and a woman talking, but not in any way she was familiar with. The words were evocative, entrancing. Then the talking stopped, save for the occasional moan from the woman.
It was obvious that the hole was there for one reason, and one reason only. Two feet above the headboard of the double bed in her room, it called to her to violate another’s assumed privacy. It had been used frequently, judging by the soiling around it. Standing on the bed, Darcy swung her jet-black hair back over her shoulders, and raised her eye to the peep-hole.
Sitting tied to a chair at the center of the room was a pretty young girl, not more than 20 years old. She was naked save for some white lace anklets and black spike heels. She seemed frightened as she looked over her shoulder to the figure approaching from the corner of the room.
He was dressed in threadbare jeans and a dirty white T-shirt, but was mesmerizing to look at, nonetheless. Darcy had to stifle a gasp as the man slapped the girl’s face with his open palm. She winced from the pain but then looked straight ahead as if to ignore what had just occurred.
In readjusting her position after nearly falling, Darcy inadvertently fell against the wall. Both the man and the girl stared back at her, seeming almost to know that she was there, watching. Darcy quickly retreated and sat nervously on the bed as if she had been caught.
Curiosity got the better of her, however, having climbed back onto the bed to look through the hole once more. What she saw astounded her. The man was cutting the girl’s hair with scissors, and not very carefully. Hacking away at the golden locks, it was as though he hated that hair, which rained down around the girl’s feet.
Darcy could see that her face was wet, that she was crying, but the man was undaunted by her grief, continuing to cut until all the hair on the girl’s head was reduced to an ashen stubble.
For whatever reason, Darcy was becoming very excited by what she was witnessing. Even though she knew that this poor girl was enduring a most humiliating experience, Darcy knew. She knew, that somewhere deep inside this girl, she must have been enjoying it too. She knew, because as the man ran his rough hands over her shorn scalp, the girl moaned audibly.
Darcy could see the man working with something in the corner of the room and then as he came back into view, the clippers he was holding caught the light. He unceremoniously ran them roughly over the girl’s head. Front to back, back to front and side to side, over and over, until finally, they fell silent.
Again, he ran his hands over the girl’s head, which was nearly bald now. There was an inaudible exchange, after which he disappeared into the bathroom, only to return a few minutes later with a small open can. Darcy watched, fascinated, as he painted a light blue liquid onto the girl’s head, eventually covering it entirely.
The man then knelt between the girl’s legs and bent his head to please her. Her moans of pleasure were unreserved as the man serviced her, obviously quite skilled. Darcy was very close to orgasm herself, having given in to her arousal, fingering herself unabashedly.
After nearly twenty minutes, his charge all but spent, the man stood up and began to work the edge of the blue gel with his fingers. The gel must have congealed, peeling off in one contiguous piece and taking with it any trace of hair remaining on the girl’s scalp. Darcy looked closer, and the seemingly bewildered girl was totally bald.
Falling back onto her bed, having seen quite enough, Darcy masturbated furiously to three shattering orgasms. As she caught her breath, Darcy returned to the hole, only to find the girl gone, and the chair empty. The ropes that had once bound the girl had been draped over the back of it.
The following morning, as Darcy prepared for the series of meetings she had to attend, she thought back on what she had seen the previous evening. The thoughts possessed her all day long, and she found herself unable to concentrate on anything else. Her arousal was persistent and very nearly overwhelming.
Several times during the day she had been tempted to relieve her pent-up libido, but being in a strange office, she couldn’t. Curiously, she was unable to walk past a mirror that day, without stopping to adjusting her waist-length hair. It almost seemed like an obsession.
That evening, as she prepared to check out of the hotel, Darcy’s curiosity got the better of her once again. Slowly, she raised her eye to the hole. There sat the chair, in the same position it had been in the night before, the ropes dangling over the back. Disappointed, Darcy sighed, climbing down off the bed.
The desk was empty as she walked past and she thought that she might simply drop the key into the mail instead of waiting for the absent manager.
Arriving home in a city many miles away, Darcy tried to forget about the strange events she had witnessed that one evening. It was difficult, and she found her dreams addled with that scene and so many configurations, some including herself.
About two months had passed and Darcy was looking through her purse for a stick of gum when she came across a key. She immediately recognized it as the key to her room in that mysterious hotel. She had forgotten to mail it.
She thought about dropping it into a mailbox, but then, as she was returning for more business meetings the following week, she decided to deliver it in person. Darcy found that the closer the day came for her flight, the more uncontrollable her arousal became. The entire trip was just one long-delayed orgasm, just waiting to happen.
As soon as she disembarked, Darcy grabbed a taxi to the hotel, desperate to get rid of the key and whatever force that drove her uncontrolled arousal. She entered the lobby, almost frantic, and once again found the desk deserted. Frustrated, Darcy wandered down the hall and stopped outside of her old room.
She could hear the voice of a young woman inside, talking on the telephone. She turned to leave but was surprised to find that the door to the mysterious room next door was ajar. Darcy was more than a little frightened as she peered through the open door. There was the chair! It was in the same place!
Darcy listened carefully, but heard no sound coming from the room at all, only the drone of the telephone conversation next door. Cautiously, she pushed the door open a little farther. There was nobody there.
Quietly, Darcy slipped into the room, stopping just behind the chair. There were wisps of different colored hair that had been cleaned up, but not completely. She could feel her juices start to flow as she moved around the chair, chancing to sit in that very spot from where so many fantasies had arisen. A sharp click from behind her shattered her reverie.
Every cell in her body jumped, but as she went to rise, something or someone prevented her. The hands that now rested firmly on her shoulders, didn’t frighten, but seemed to instill a stifling calm over her entire being.
Nothing was said by the man who now stood before her. As if in a trance, Darcy stood, stripped completely, and repositioned herself in the infamous chair. The man had no real expression on his face, but despite being unkempt, was more than a little attractive to her. A coffee stain on the T-shirt he wore, was not new and his jeans had holes in the knees. None of it mattered.
Darcy felt her hands being drawn behind her and tied. Her ankles too were tied tightly, and securely to the legs of the chair. Her pussy drooled uncontrollably as she sat there completely exposed, and so incredibly helpless. She knew what was next.
When she was so prepared for the punishing slap to her face, it was almost a relief to hear the sickening scrunch as his scissors sliced violently through her luxurious mane of jet-black hair. The strange thing was, it wasn’t sickening to her at all. The man was hacking at her hair as he had the young girls, chop after merciless chop until she could feel his breath on her neck and the breeze from the window that was slightly opened on the top of her head.
Darcy gasped when it had ended, his hand stroking her close-cropped skull. All around her naked feet were the remains of her beautiful hair. He was gone, but she knew where he was. She heard them spring to life, feeling the first cold contact of the metal on skin as the onslaught began. She sheering was rough, almost violent in nature as the man divested her of the last remnants of stubble that still clung to her naked scalp. When he stopped, the silence was almost deafening.
She felt his presence at her left ear, and she longed to hear that which she was unable to hear before. “I have taken your hair from you. Now you must choose. How will you move forward?” Darcy looked up at the man and smiled.
He ran his hand over her stubbled head once more, nodding as he disappeared behind her. Darcy turned to look at the wall that joined the two rooms and was surprised to see a glint through the small hole; that very hole.
She felt the blue liquid being painted onto her scalp, its sharp chemical odor something she was unable to appreciate before. The man, as he had before, knelt between Darcy’s legs and bent his head to please her. She had recently shaved in consolation to what she had once witnessed there. It was the only time she saw him smile.
The blue liquid tingling on her head as the man brought her to one earth-shattering orgasm after the next. Darcy glanced over at the hole in the wall, knowing they were being watched which only served to fuel her orgasms.
Finally, he stood, but only after she was totally spent. Feeling him peel back the now hardened gel seemed to soothe her, and with the rush of cool air flooding her senses, Darcy felt a lightness that bordered on confusion. At that same moment, she heard a muffled moan from the other side of the wall.
Smiling once again, he sighed. “She is you, as you, were her.” She struggled with his meaning, but quickly allowed the thought to fade. He untied her, slowly, but before Darcy was dressed, had vanished just as he had appeared.
Three tumultuous months later, realizing that her hair would never grow back, Darcy traveled to that distant city, not by plane but on a bus. She had lost her job, of course, and subsequently the life to which she had grown so attached.
Hers was a simple mind now, perfectly able to perform a simple job. Darcy’s once-powerful intellect was now completely consumed by the overwhelming need for self-gratification. He had done that to her, but she vowed never to regret what had happened. Quite simply, she was happy being simple.
The letter, therefore, had been penned simply, giving her instructions to return to the hotel. Nothing more. The place hadn’t changed. The fact that she could never afford to stay there again was daunting to her. She reached into her purse and took out the key, that faithful key that had cost her so much. Darcy sighed, for once again, the desk was empty. Looking around one last time, she dutifully placed the key on the counter.
“Thank you.” The voice startled her, only for its being so out of place. A man stood in the doorway to the office, silhouetted by the dim light from behind. The man. “I believe this is yours.” He handed her a small, wrapped box.
Darcy exchanged smiles with the man, his widening with the realization that she had become exactly what he knew she would become. He had cost her everything, but it pleased him to see her in that state of simple bliss.
Two days later, Darcy arrived home. Her small apartment was nothing to the large country house where she once lived, but it was all she could afford. And, it was home. She slipped the bow off the little box and opened it, puzzled by its contents. Examining the small shiny tin, she held it to the light. “For the only hair I left you with.”