The Three Headshaves Of Abigail X

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Chapter One: When I Was A Teenager

You can call me Abigail X. I’d rather not give you my real name since I’m about to share with you exceptions from my erotic history. Everyone wants to know the intimate details from a woman’s diaries, especially if she’s beautiful, but they will still judge her. So the names and places in these stories have been changed to protect my identity.

I grew up in a small town on Lake Michigan. My beautiful mother had three sons before she managed to finally have the daughter that she always wanted. Sometimes, as I grew up, I thought that she regretted not trying for another daughter. Due to what a disappointment I turned out to be. She wasn’t finding fault with my looks. No, I clearly inherited her beauty. We were both tall statuesque blonde beauties with the big blue eyes and the porcelain skin of our Scandinavian ancestors. No, no, she was not disappointed in that. She was disappointed in my disposition. For most of my life, I was quite shy. For a woman who spent her entire life arranging parties, organizing community events, and generally just being a leader and a hub of local social activity, a daughter who’d rather stay in her room and read was extremely disappointing to her. Especially since I didn’t grow out of it as a teenager. Every Friday night, she’d complain to my father that I wasn’t out with people my own age and then imply that I was a lesbian, which wasn’t true.

If we need to label my sexuality, then you can call me bisexual. Both men and women have the potential to excite me. That being said, until Patrick, my first sexual partner, arrived in my small town from NYC, no one excited me except the people in my books. Patrick’s parents were professors who were offered positions in a nearby university that they took out of fear of their son going to jail if they stayed in the big city. Due to the numerous criminal misdemeanors that he already racked up. Of course, from the moment that he walked into our 11th grade homeroom, wearing all black and glowering, I fell in love with him. That’s the power of an attractive bad boy. Yes, yes, Patrick was very attractive, almost 7ft tall and gangly, with a spiky black mohawk. That day, at lunch, I pretended to read my book as I watched him go through the lunch line. Chad, one of the guys on the football team, was waiting for him. Right after Patrick paid for his lunch, Chad knocked the tray out of Patrick’s hands. Patrick wasn’t fazed. Without hesitation, he pulled out a switchblade and put it to Chad’s throat. Oh, I thought, watching them, excited for the first time by real life, he’s dangerous. Looking scared, for the first time in his life, Chad apologized to Patrick and offered to pay for a replacement lunch, which Patrick accepted. After he got his lunch, he surprised me by sitting down at my table.

“Hey, you’re Abigail, right?” he said, helping himself to my chips, “I’m Patrick.”

When I could only blush and stammer yes in response, he laughed. Then he teased me for being shy around him.

“Don’t worry. Despite my parents’ fears, I’m not actually a violent psychopath. I just stand up for myself. People like picking a fight with a tall dude. They think that it makes them look tough.”

“Why did you choose my table to sit down at?”

“Because you’re really cute, though you definitely could use a haircut. God, how do you stand having all that hair? Especially in this heat?”

My heart started to pound. “A haircut?””

“Yes, that’s what I said,” he said, finding a lock of my blonde hair, which was down to my waist at that point, and wrapping it around his index finger, “You could shave your head bald as a cueball and still be the prettiest girl in this podunk town.”

Despite my heart still pounding, I found the courage to ask him if he wanted to shave my head. Because I would let him if he did. I don’t know what possessed me. Maybe it was finally being aroused by a real person? Maybe it was the idea of doing something that would upset my mother? Maybe it was because, yeah, it was an exceptionally hot spring? No matter what the reason, the words came out of my mouth. Patrick froze. Then he suddenly laughed.

He said, “You DON’T really want me to shave your head.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” I said suddenly, in an insistent tone that reminded me of my mother, “Maybe I really am tired of having hair.”

Looking excited, he leaned in close. “You’d fucking cry if I really shaved your head. I’d make sure of that. There wouldn’t be a single hair left on that head once I finished. Then I’d make you suck me off. When I was ready to shoot my load, I’d pull out my dick and shoot it on your bald scalp.”

I leaned in closer. “Maybe I’d fucking cum if you did that.”

He laughed again. “I knew that you were the one person in this school worth talking to. If you really do want that experience, then you should come to my place after school. Give me your phone. I’ll put in my number.”

Patrick took my phone, and he put in his number. Then he texted me his address. With that, he left the table, taking with him the last of my chips. He didn’t touch the second lunch that Chad bought for him. I ended up throwing it out. I couldn’t focus on school for the rest of the day. How could I? Every time that I caught a glimpse of myself, with all of my glorious long blonde hair, on a reflective surface, I thought, do I really want to shave my head? Would I look okay bald? My mother will kill me when I come home. No matter how I look. Immediately after one of those thoughts, I remembered how that conversation with Patrick made me feel. How bold I became during it. So, yes, right after school, I ended up at his house. I found him waiting outside on the front porch for me. He greeted me with a kiss. My first kiss. He tasted surprisingly fresh. Once we stored my backpack in his room, he led me inside to their bathroom where he had everything that we would need waiting.

“I’m going to preserve your ponytail, so you can tell your parents that you’re donating it. If you want to stop anytime during this, then please say ‘red light’. I’m not going to stop unless you say ‘red light’. If you understand, then say yes, Abigail,” he said.

“I understand,” I said.

Patrick gave me another kiss. Then he undressed me. Once I was naked, he ran his hands over my body. When he got to my breasts, perfect C cup size swells, he took a moment to rub my perky pink nipples. They were already hard from my arousal over being handled by him. Smiling with satisfaction, he sat me down on the toilet. He got a brush and started to gently brush any tangles and snarls from my hair. Once it met his satisfaction, he tied it into a ponytail with a rubber band and held it tight.

He said, “Bye, bye pretty princess hair.”

Then Patrick grabbed the pair of scissors that he had waiting on the counter and started to cut right above the rubber band. I’m not going to lie, I started to tear up a little as he started. I mean, that was 17 years of growth that he was cutting off. My head ricocheted a little once my ponytail finally came off. Patrick dangled it in front of my face before he put it in a plastic bag for me to bring home. Noticing my tears, he asked if I wanted to say ‘red light’ before he got out the clippers.

He licked some of the tears from my cheek. “You still walk out of here with a bob.”

Looking up at Patrick, still teary eyed, I spread my legs. Then I inserted my finger into my cunt. When I pulled my finger out, dripping wet, he laughed.

“Okay then, she’s ready to go,” he said, grabbing the clippers from the counter.

Patrick took the guard off. Then he grabbed my throat. I closed my eyes as he ran them through what was left of my hair. At that age, I didn’t have a proper vibrator, but I did have an electric toothpaste that served the same purpose. Those clippers running over my scalp make me feel the same way as when I pleasured myself with that toothbrush. I started moaning loudly. Even after he finished, a little deaf from the noise of the clippers and the pleasure that they brought me, I kept moaning until Patrick smacked my cheek gently to open my eyes and bring me back to reality.

“Don’t get too excited yet, baldie. I’m not done yet. You still need to be lathered up and shaved smooth.”

He used a little dustpan brush to clean off all the fallen hair from my body. Then he made me use that SAME dustpan set to clean up the floor. There was a perverse thrill in being forced to toss out my hair like trash. After the floor, and my body, met his standards of cleanliness, he had me sit back down again on the toilet. He squirted blue gel shaving cream on my scalp and rubbed it until it became white lather. Using a BIC, he scraped off the last of my hair, going slow to avoid scratching up my skin. When he finally finished, he told me not to move. Because he was going to lather me up and shave me again. Oh, I thought, trying not to squirm, he is going to follow through on his threat not to leave a single hair left on my head. Once he completed his second pass with the razor, he rubbed my scalp with a soft white towel. Then he patted it with aftershave, which brought back the tears, because that shit stung.

“Poor baby, I know that it stings,” he said, feeling up my naked scalp, “but it’s for your own good.”

“Am I finally done, daddy?” I asked. (Trust me, it felt appropriately sexy in the moment to call him, a 17 year-old dude, daddy. I only realize now how cringe it was.)

He kissed my forehead. “Not yet, baby.”

Patrick suddenly spread my legs and lathered up the sparse blonde bush between them. He carefully shaved the folds of my pussy smooth. After he gave them a rub with the towel, he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his 10 inch dick. (It wasn’t until my twenties that I realized how massive that was.)

“Now you’re done,” he said, his voice low and growling with anticipation.

Without hesitation, I dropped to my knees and opened my mouth for him. He put his big hands to the back of my bare head and guided me to his cock. There was something so thrilling about the skin to skin contact. Once I took his cock into my mouth, he directed me on how to work it for his pleasure. Knowing it was my first time, he wasn’t harsh in how he prompted me. There was love. At his climax, he pulled away his cock and made me sit still as he poured out his load over my scalp and face, which he had me rub in, saying that it would be good for my complexion. Then he sat me down on the toilet for my own turn to be orally pleasured. Patrick’s tongue seemed to be as long and thick as his cock, and, honestly, God bless whatever NYC girl who taught it how to use it. He finally allowed me a look at myself in the mirror after I finished. Oh, I thought, looking at myself, bald and shiny from his seed, my mom is going to be livid. Still, I liked the girl that I saw looking back at me in the mirror. She looked like me. But bald. And, finally, for the first time in 17 years, alive.

As much I wanted to stay at Patrick’s house, and continue to explore our bodies together, I needed to leave. His parents would be coming home soon, and my parents would want me home soon. Especially since I already missed family dinner. After I took a shower, I headed home. Patrick offered to loan me a hat for the walk back, but I wanted to feel the sun on my scalp. I also wanted people to see me. Mostly to prepare myself for school the next day. Understanding, he let me go outside hatless, though he insisted on rubbing sunscreen on my head first before I left. Of course, I got cat-called and heckled on the way back. I lived in a small town. The sight of a bald-headed girl walking on the side of the road was notable. What made me endure it, and even chuckle about it, was that it was usually by people that I knew who didn’t recognize me without my long blonde hair. What a surprise the people of our small town were in for!

When I got home, I found my parents waiting for me at the dining room table, ready to lecture me about missing dinner. The sight of my bald head, however, hilariously stopped them from delivering whatever lecture they planned and scramble to come up with a new one. Putting the bag with my hair on the table, I calmly told them that I shaved my head for cancer research, and I would be sending off my hair to Locks of Love as a donation.

“Oh…” said my mother, for the first time in her life, speechless.

My father smiled at me. “That’s very kind of you to make that big of a sacrifice for charity, sweetheart. I just wished that you told us first.”

With that settled, they offered me the leftovers from dinner.

So, how was school the next day? Well, people definitely have comments about my dramatic new look. Mostly negative. That being said, Patrick, now my boyfriend, made sure that they didn’t share that commentary directly with me. Especially if it was negative. Besides, after about two months, my hair had grown out to a pixie cut anyways. By the end of the year, it was down to my chin. Patrick would have loved if I kept shaving my head, but I didn’t want to spend the coming Michigan winter bald. Much to the relief of my parents. Honestly, I thought that I would never shave my head again. I mean, it’s such a dramatic thing to do if you’re a woman.

Then I met Willow in college.

Author’s Note: If you want to read the second and third chapters, then you can find the longer story on Amazon.

Here’s the US link:

Here’s the UK link:

Here’s the Canada link:

2 responses to “The Three Headshaves Of Abigail X

    1. Thank you! It’s one of my softer stories, but I really like it as well. I added links to it in the Amazon UK and the Amazon Canada stores in the story. If these links don’t work for any reason, then you can just search “The Three Headshaves of Abigail X”, and it will pop up. I know that we’re an international bunch here, so I made there to pick the global rights. 🙂

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