Frank
My name is Monika, and I am a bank employee by profession. I dress fashionably and wear my hair very short as it is thin and breaks off quickly. In my opinion, femininity is not only defined by the hair. I think that I look quite appealing and attractive. My first friends were always fashionably dressed in short, almost military haircuts and determined what got on my nerves pretty quickly. My new friend, Frank, is different. I saw him in my bank for the first time when he stepped through our front door and joined the line. He was not very tall, maybe 1.70 m, but wiry and slender built. The first thing I noticed behind his horn-rimmed glasses was his bright blue eyes, behind which a wide-awake mind was obviously hidden. His long, wavy light brown hair was parted in the middle and hidden under his parka and probably shoulder-length. This was nothing unusual at the time, because most of the students wore long hair. He wore a reddish rapid moustache and had probably not shaved for at least three days. With his wild stubble he already looked bold. He smiled at me when it was his turn at my counter, asked for his bank statements and withdrew some money from his account. He had aroused my interest and so I looked at his documents and found out that he was still a student. Every month, only a small amount of money flowed into his account. He lived in a student dormitory nearby, which he had recently moved into.
He now appeared regularly in the bank. Finally, I dared to talk to him and asked him briskly: “May I invite you to dinner?”. He looked at me in surprise, smiled and said yes. He did not miss a free meal.
“Tomorrow at 7:00 p.m. at the Italian restaurant around the corner? OK.? he said and disappeared. The next evening, I made my way to our meeting. Clean-shaven and in a parka, he was already waiting in front of the entrance, and we went to the restaurant together. He gallantly helped me out of my coat, took off his parka and hung our things on the coat rack. I couldn’t breathe when he turned his back to me – his thick wavy hair was so long that it covered his entire back and buttocks. I hadn’t expected something like that under his parka. A freshly washed mane like a brown wavy carpet that hasn’t been cut to a line for a long time. When he sat down opposite me, long hair slipped over his shoulders to his belt and took away his vision, so that he had to clamp it behind his ears. We ordered pizza and a bottle of wine.
“Sorry to look so surprised. I didn’t expect you to have such great hair. You don’t see something like that with boys every day,” I started the conversation.
“Yes, the hair, always the first topic. That happens to me often. When I wear them open, I usually hide them under my parka or wear a ponytail. „ –
I looked at him and said: “With the mane, I’m not surprised! You probably haven’t been to the hairdresser for ages. How long did you let them grow? „
“Hairdresser? Since I was forced to have short haircuts several times in my childhood, I have developed a phobia against haircuts and hairdressers. As a child and adolescent, you weren’t asked about your wishes and were simply shaved. I thought long hair was great and just wanted to wear it longer. Finally, I was able to persuade my mother to let her grow and always disappeared when my father wanted to take me to the hairdresser. So, I made it to shoulder length and my wavy pony hair of my side parting reached lower than my chin, until a work colleague of my father visited us and thought I was his daughter. Dad was ashamed and dragged me the next day to his hairdresser, who brutally shaved off my beloved mane all around with a machine to 1 mm, combed out the long forehead hairs and shortened them from 20 to 2 cm. My father hoped that this was the end of my long hair phase, but I was traumatized afterwards, and my mother was horrified. When I was supposed to cut my hair again afterwards, I raged and screamed at my parents every time that they gave up at some point and left it up to me which hairstyle I wanted to wear. In the beginning, I had them trimmed every now and then to appease my parents, but most of the time the hairdressers always cut me way too much. Since I was 15, I haven’t seen a hairdressing salon from the inside. When I was supposed to join the military, my father was happy that the chest-length hair would finally come off after three years, but I was discharged because of knee problems. „
– “Have you ever thought about having them cut off?”
– “Yes, sometimes I think about short hair. Again and again, I wanted to have it trimmed at least once to keep it at one length, but somehow I didn’t dare. I always had the trauma of my visits to the hairdresser still in my mind. They grow very quickly and do not have split ends. So they just got longer and longer. My last girlfriend loved super long hair on men and kept me from even thinking about shortening it. When I met her, my mane almost reached my hips. Also because of it, I let it grow more and more. But when a guy joked in a pub a few months ago that I didn’t need toilet paper anymore with my hair length, I pricked up my ears. I then opened my ponytail at home, brushed through all my hair and looked at myself in the mirror from behind and front for the first time in a long time.
I was shocked, because they had taken a shot in the last few months and now reached far above my ass. So I thought it might be time to have it shortened and wanted to bring myself to go to the hairdresser. I talked to my girlfriend about it, but she made a murderous show. “Are you crazy! The length is just awesome! Even if you can sit on it, you never cut off such an insane mane! Not with me!” she screamed at me and raged. I had the impression that she only loved me because of my hair and served her fetish. She helped me with the care and loved to brush, stroke and rummage around in my hair. She herself had thin hair, which she wants to grow long by all means. But as soon as her hair was more than shoulder-length, it broke off. I was insecure and gave up, even though I was already thinking of secretly going to the hairdresser or shortening it myself. A few times I’ve stood in front of hairdressers’ shops and fought with myself. But I didn’t dare to go in and when my girlfriend saw me there, we quarrelled. After endless arguments, we broke up. I moved out a few weeks ago and found accommodation in the student dormitory nearby. After the move, I was determined to go to the hairdresser, washed it thoroughly again and looked at myself in the mirror again after drying and brushing. The idea of cutting them off excited me very much. Because it was windy outside, I put my parka over it and went to the hair salon around the corner from your bank. When I arrived there, it was already an hour before closing time. I looked through the open door and saw that it was a modern salon. I saw two hairdressers chatting with each other and having little to do before closing time. I guess I didn’t need an appointment. For a while I stood indecisively in front of the shop door and struggled with myself. Should I really have my hair cut or not? On the one hand, they were very nice and well maintained. It had taken years for them to be so long. On the other hand, they only caused problems, were constantly in my way, took away my vision and knotted. That was annoying and the length was just too much of a good thing by now. I had to be careful all the time that I didn’t sit on it or get stuck somewhere. Inwardly, I hoped that the hairdressers would be shocked when they saw my hair, and maybe they would send me away so shortly before the end of the day. But my decision remained, and I went inside. One of the hairdressers stood at the counter and asked what I wanted. I plucked up my courage and asked for a short haircut. But she frowned at her calendar and at the clock and said that it was no longer possible today and wanted to give me an appointment for the coming week. That’s when my courage left me, and I quickly went home again.”
He had to cough, and his face literally disappeared under a gush of hair. He threw back long strands and sighed. “What problems do you have with your hairstyle?”, I asked him. – “As I said, the care is very time-consuming. You must brush them constantly, because such long hair easily mattes and knots in windy weather. I must wash them at least twice a week. Washing and drying always takes hours. It’s torture. That’s why I rarely wear them openly, also because I want to spare myself stupid remarks and insults.”
“What do you mean?”
At that moment one of the waiters came and asked if we two ladies wanted to drink another wine. He blushed in the face when he saw Frank’s moustache and muttered “Sorry, I didn’t know …. „
“That, for example! ” Frank sighed. “People always think you’re a young woman when they see me from behind. Once I was in a pub and was approached by a guy who looked at me so strangely and grinned all the time. He told me about his job in the city council and offered me his sofa for the night. Then an old friend of mine appeared, and his face darkened. When she was gone, he confessed to me that he was gay, that he thought I was sick because of my mane and that I thought I was from the other side of the river.
I am constantly checked at police checks and customs! Once I had to listen to the fact that I was no longer recognizable on my old ID picture and should go to the hairdresser.
At the market, an elderly woman wanted to give me money for the hairdresser out of pity. When I refused, she insulted me as an antisocial subject. „
He got up, turned his back on me and went to the toilet. I was fascinated by this brown wavy mane that poured down his back and firm butt like a waterfall. I didn’t expect something like this, and I imagined playing Delilah and transforming this Samson. Professionally, he was still a student of biochemistry and was about to graduate. In his working group and institute, he had by far the longest mat and his professor with a brush cut was not very happy about it. His parents could hardly support him financially and so he kept his head above water with odd jobs and poorly paid assistant positions at the university.
We paid, went to a pub and then met a few more times in pubs and restaurants before I invited him to my apartment. Then I kissed him, and we made love all night. He was a great lover! In the morning, we sat at breakfast and his loose hair was on his lap. When he went out onto the balcony to get some fresh air, I admired his endlessly long mane. That’s when I really realized what kind of hair mass he had on his head. When he leaned forward, his face disappeared as if under a tent. When he threw it back, the backrest was completely covered. I could almost hide under his wool. We met regularly after that, I introduced him to friends, and we went to rock concerts, where he could make the most beautiful headbangers. When I took him to a friend’s riding stable and he got into the saddle, he looked like a Mister Rapunzel. During Carnival, we first braided two waist-length braids for him, dressed him up as a pirate of the Caribbean and on Shrove Monday as a seductive woman. Some people were shocked to find that he wasn’t wearing a wig and the hair was real!
So that he didn’t always have to hide his hair under the parka, we tried a ponytail, braid and even a bun. At home, however, he continued to wear his hair down or made an ass-snake thick ponytail.
After all, I wanted to introduce him to my family, but I didn’t dare, because we were very wealthy and prominent, and we owned a billion-dollar pharmaceutical company. I lived a normal life myself in a simple three-room apartment and a job at the bank, but my family had to represent. A new member with such a daring appearance didn’t fit in there and would have been just a found fodder for the press. His graduation was also imminent, and I believed he would have difficulty finding a job with this mat. He didn’t believe it, and I had to tie him a thick braid for the first interview. He believed it was the qualification that counted and not the hairstyle. A haircut was never an option for him. In his application photos, he wore his hair strictly combed back and looked very serious and appealing in a suit and tie. At the first conversation, his hair was the core of the discussion, and he only received mocking remarks and a rejection. Further rounds of introductions with ponytails and knots were also not crowned with success. It was only said succinctly: “You will hear from us”. At the employment office, he was threatened with withdrawing financial support because of his hairstyle, as he would not cooperate enough. He was frustrated and slowly began to think about a change.
It didn’t help and the day was approaching that he had to say goodbye to his mad mane. The first thing that had to happen was to overcome his phobia and get him to get a haircut in the first place. It was a shame about this head of hair, but just the thought of sending him to the hairdresser or cutting his hair myself excited me. Obviously, he also wanted and needed a change and had to be gently urged to do so. At the first meeting, he had told me that he had already decided to enter a hairdressing salon nearby, but then turned back again. I also had my hair done in this shop and therefore knew one of the hairdressers well. I went by during the lunch break and my hairdresser, Sabine, could remember him well:
“Yes, for some time now we have noticed a young man with a brown wavy middle parting, who stands uncertainly in front of the shop and then disappears again. He always pulled a parka over his hair. Once he came in, but when I wanted to give him an appointment, he flinched and disappeared again. Seems to be a strange oddball. Maybe he’ll reappear soon and dare to come in. I’d love to know what’s going on with him.”
“This is my new boyfriend, and he has a haircutting phobia. He hasn’t been to the hairdresser for a very long time. But he urgently needs a change, otherwise he won’t find a job. You’ll be surprised when he takes off his parka. If he reappears, just call me. I then try to lure him into the salon. I’m sure once he’s in your rooms, he won’t pinch anymore. Then don’t ask him much about his wishes but give him a modern short haircut! „
The next day I helped Frank dry his endlessly long hair and spoke to him carefully: “I think your hair has already become a few centimetres longer again. Have you ever thought about having your hair cut short again? I think that your chances of finding a job will then increase significantly. In my hair salon, the hairdressers are incredibly charming and will certainly serve you nicely. Now that they are freshly washed, I would like to make a short-term appointment for you and would also accompany you. What do you think?” He looked at me in amazement, stroked his hair and tucked his front hair behind his ears: “No, that’s out of the question! Never. I’ll find a job like that, too,” he stammered. There was nothing more to be learned from him, but he seemed to be struggling with himself inwardly. He looked at himself in the mirror again. It’s a pity, because I would have loved to watch his hair massacre and transformation. After some time, Frank got new interview dates and seemed nervous.
Two weeks later, Sabine called me:
“There he is again!” – “Don’t talk to him, I’m on my way!” – I said. I checked out at my bank and stalked the salon. I saw him standing uncertainly in front of the open door of the shop and turning his back on me. He wore his black parka over his super long hair again. He stood in front of the closed shop door as if rooted to the ground and rocked his head slightly back and forth.
But he did not set foot in the salon. It looked like he was going to pinch again. I saw Sabine go to the front door to speak to him, but he flinched and disappeared without saying a word. Bad luck! In the evening, I confronted him and increased the pressure: “When are you finally going to have this terrible mat cut off? You know yourself that you can’t walk around like this anymore and can’t find a job. Should I cut them for you, or should I book you a hairdresser appointment?” He looked at me angrily, swallowed and vehemently refused. Again, he looked at himself in the mirror. Wavy, brown hair almost to the thigh! I looked at his calendar and saw that he had four interview dates in the next three weeks. The pressure increased.
Again, two weeks later, Sabine called me again and I went into a lurking position. It was the same game again. But this time he wasn’t wearing a parka. This time he wore his dark suit and tie and walked up and down a few steps in front of the salon with his hair blowing loose, until he stopped in front of the open shop door and did not dare to go in again. It was a crazy sight how his brown, wavy hair covered his entire back and buttocks and moved in the gentle wind. Something had to happen….
Behind me, a few boys were playing soccer and that’s when an idea came to me.
“Do you want to earn some money?” I asked and they nodded. “Do you see that guy in front of the hair salon? He wants a haircut and doesn’t dare. Can you push him into the barber shop? „
“Yes, we’ve been observing it for some time. He has incredibly long hair. They are much longer than my sister’s and look like Loreley. He’s been stupid there for a while, looks into the shop and doesn’t go in. Yes, but he has it more than necessary! That’s awesome!” said the children and looked at me in disbelief as I nodded and pressed a few banknotes into their hands. Just as Frank was pulling his hair back and probably wanted to disappear again, they happily took a run-up and pushed him through the front door and disappeared.
I could see that Sabine spoke to him, he turned around briefly and took a seat on a wooden chair in the waiting area. That seemed to have worked. I had to go back to work and waited impatiently for the end of the day, because Frank wanted to visit me in the evening.
The doorbell rang and a smart Frank with freshly cut short hair stood in front of me. He was unrecognizable, but he looked much better than before. I had to laugh, put my hand in front of my mouth and just said: “Wow!” He just said: “It had to be!” – nothing more could be learned from him.
The next day I visited Sabine, and she told me what had happened: “He was so frightened after the push that he didn’t realize at first that he was already in the store. I went straight up to him, greeted him and briefly asked him about his wishes. He only stammered something about haircuts and appointments. I said OK, but he would have to wait a little longer and looked at him. My goodness, hair in front up to over the hips. He had tucked his middle parting hair behind his ears so that he could see out of his eyes. I asked him to turn around and had to swallow, because I hadn’t expected a more than polange mane. He already looked strange in his smart suit. I grabbed a strand of hair and was amazed at the incredible length. You were right, I’ve never had a customer like that under the scissors. He probably hasn’t been to the hairdresser for ages. I still had to finish off a customer and therefore asked him to take a seat in the waiting area next to two customers who stared at him in amazement. He sighed, sat down on his hair, grabbed a magazine and leafed through it nervously. After a quarter of an hour, I was finally done with my customer and cashed in. Then it was his turn and I examined his hair again.What a mat, well groomed, fragrant and without split ends, but not cut to a line for a long time. Some of my customers would be jealous. It was a pity to cut them off, but with a young man in a smart suit and tie, this splendor looked pretty stupid. A sensible haircut was more than overdue. Then I asked him to make himself comfortable in one of my barber chairs and he took off his glasses. My colleague helped me hold up his hair so I could put a paper ruffle and cape on him. While I pumped up the chair, I asked him in a calm voice how long he hadn’t been to the hairdresser and what hairstyle he would like to have, while I slowly combed out the mane backwards. He told me that the last time he had been to the hairdresser was as a teenager seven years ago and needed a modern short hairstyle. He was looking for a job and didn’t want to listen to any more stupid remarks and insults. I introduced myself as Sabine and jokingly suggested that he braid two-meter-long braids. The hair now hung about 10 cm above the ground. What a sight! I asked him to close his eyes and relax. He closed his eyes and sighed. I carefully cut off the first strand, over 1 m long, at chin height, which slowly slid to the floor. Now I worked my way bit by bit from right to left. After a while, I stood ankle-deep in his cut hair. I parted the hair on the top of the head, pinned it in place and shaved off the sides, the back of the head and the neck to within 1 cm with the clipper. Then I shortened the front and top of the head hair to 3 cm. The cape was now filled all over with hair and I made the remaining fine cut with scissors. I got a mirror, gave him his glasses and asked him to open his eyes. At first, he looked startled and did not recognize himself. He seemed relaxed and content. I took off his cape, where heaps of hair were still falling, and removed the paper cuff. He stood up, looked at the mass of hair on the floor and smiled. I think he had overcome his phobia.” Sabine pressed a stick into my hand, which contained a webcam recording of Frank’s visit to the hairdresser, which I secretly watched at home. What a hair massacre! Somehow, I felt sorry for him as the long-grown curls trickled down piece by piece and covered the floor and cape like hay. But it was a good thing, and we could now relax and reshape our life together.
