There is a sensuality that comes with cutting a woman’s hair, or your own into a bob. Whether desired or forced, seeing the longer hair, get cut, the revealing of the neck sure has an impact on you.
When the woman desires a change, sometimes a severe one, perhaps a bad breakup, or just a fresh do, she sits in the chair of her salon, sometimes a barbershop, waiting for the stylist and their scissors to speak their own secret romance. And while the woman sits in her own bubble, anxious to see the result of her impending decision, the scissors would love to see you with a shorter bob, sometimes grazing your jaw, your earlobes, testing the true meaning of a bob.
And soon, the barber attends to the woman’s need, yes, necessity describes a bob, truly. Sometimes you’re just touching up your regular lob, perhaps hoping for something shorter, sometimes you sit there shivering to reduce your hair from 20 inches, to perhaps, 5…
So you get a hair wash, but you’re too distracted to soak in the last time you would have such long hair. You’re too busy dreaming about short hair.
But all dreams come true, severed locks of shiny long hair slither down, the scissors detaching your shiny yarn of obsidian, to an odd length between your shoulders and your chin. You know better than to put your hair in a ponytail, you want to truly experience humiliation, your womanhood glistening because you listened to her. And now you stare at yourself being humbled, your shown hair covering the cape, diva to deranged choir boy, quite the enigma. Oh, but the best is yet to come.
It’s quite the commitment, and the scissors do make sure that it’ll be a long time before your hair grazes the bottom of your neck, forget all those luxurious hairdos you planned on having. Smaller snippets of 2, 3, or sometimes 4 inches start piling up on those slender shoulders, no more safety blanket, honey, boo-ho. Sleek, shorter layers are all for you now. But you dare not stop the stylist from going shorter, no, no, you gave up your authority the moment you stepped in here. They’ll make sure your bob is a true reminder of your own selfish, primal desire.
The scissors wont stop there sweetheart, the make sure your hair grazes your jaw, the stylist is sure scissor happy today. Maybe they’ll stop there, or would you like for them to lick your earlobes?
Yes, that’s what the scissors do now, take off another inch or two, making space for an undercut, how delicious. And when the barber finishes the bob, they pull out their trusty clippers, asking for a description of your undercut, and poor you, all you can meekly say is, “can I have till the middle of my ears? Nothing to short please..”
But that’s quite the statement honey, asking now are we? No more instructions? Just questions?
So the barber complies, gives you what you want. Pushing your head to your chest, almost forcing you into compliance. Separating the hair below the middle of your ears and above. Vibrations that reach your core, all powered by the hair being shorn, you being shorn like a sheep, how exhilarating. Your stylist does a good job, but an even better one at almost making you orgasm. And while you get a complimentary blow dry, all you stare at is a brand new woman, so much bolder, stronger, but so much more submitting to her own desire. Bet you can’t wait to feel that undercut…
That is the true sensuality of a bob, and the sensuality of my desire to get a bob;)
Hope you like my writing!