The Widow’s Peak

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Denise snuck into her room and carefully closed the door behind her. She didn’t even know why she was sneaking around the house like that – it was the middle of the day and her parents would be gone for at least a few more hours. Still, she couldn’t help feeling that she was doing something naughty.

Denise stood directly in front of the large dressing mirror in her bedroom and examined her reflection. She looked as good as ever.
A tall, fit girl, still wearing her shoes, dressed in skinny jeans and a white blouse. Flirtatious lips, dreamy eyes and jet black hair.
It was cropped short, only an inch long. She liked this hairstyle – thought it suited her. If only it weren’t for her damned widow’s peak. She hated that devious little tuft of hair that disrupted the otherwise even appearance of her hairline.

Just a year ago, her hair had reached the middle of her back. She had parted it so that no one would see her hairline. When she decided to go short, she urged her stylist to give her straight bangs. So she got a box bob. Three months ago, when she’d had enough of that, she got a pixie. A side-swept fringe covered most of her forehead at the time.
Finally, a week ago, one of Denise’s friends dared her to go even shorter, and she did. But she hadn’t thought it through. Because now her widow’s peak was there for all the world to see. Sure, probably none of her peers cared, but she noticed. She knew it, and the very thought repulsed her. It was like an itch she couldn’t scratch – at least until this day.

She had a gleeful joy written all over her face as she took the box out of the bag from the electronics store. She tore it open and unpacked the new cordless beard trimmer she had just bought. With trembling fingers, she flipped the switch on the top of the small device. It came pre-charged and promptly sprung to life. Denise flinched and almost dropped the clippers. Then she smiled even wider. It would only take a few seconds to rid her of that ugly widow’s peak.

Denise shook her black ballerina flats off her feet and dug her toes into the soft white rug on the floor. She focused on herself in the mirror. Focused closely on the pesky hairs at her hairline. If her stylist could clean up the hairline on the back of her neck with one of these, surely she could do the same on her forehead. The clippers roared impatiently and were placed just in front of the widow’s peak. Denise took a deep breath, bit her lip, and shaved it off.

But she didn’t stop shaving. As if her hand was moving on its own, she continued to run the trimmer right down the middle of her head. She had an incredible look of disbelief on her face. What in the world was she doing? Finally, she came to her senses and pushed the clippers away from her head. Her previously well-styled ‘do could now only be described as a reverse mohawk. The trimmer’s small blades, without a guard, had reduced a narrow strip in the center of her head to mere stubble.

If one could have seen her at that moment, there would have been serious doubts about her mental state. Her face showed an expression frozen between horror and ecstasy. Ten seconds ago she had admired her great hairstyle, and now she had ruined it. But at the same time, she was strangely pleased with her surprise shearing. It was fun – and exciting.
Another ten seconds later, she had made a decision. “Screw it!” she thought, plunging the clippers into her hair and shaving off some more. She would just revel in the feeling of being the first bald girl in her group of friends.

When there was nothing more to shave, she stopped. Her blouse, feet, and rug were covered with a black mist of hair clippings. Her head, on the other hand, was almost devoid of hair. Denise admired her work in the mirror. Fortunately, her head seemed to have the perfect shape to pull off this extreme look. As if it was made to be shorn, she thought. But the longer Denise stared at herself, the more her high spirits ebbed. Upon closer inspection, she could still see her widow’s peak. A small triangle of fuzz sticking out of her hairline on her forehead. A dark shadow of hair against her pale scalp. She just had to make it disappear.

Denise hurried out of her bedroom and into the bathroom. There she searched the cabinet under the sink. She knew what she was looking for and where she would find it. So for someone her age still living with her parents certainly had its advantages, she thought. When she slipped back into her room, the feeling of being naughty had increased tenfold. She took her place in front of the mirror again, her bare feet brushing over her hair on the floor. She noticed the tickling, but was far too excited to think about cleaning up.

Denise had brought along her father’s foil shaver. The thing could effortlessly mow through the old man’s thick beard. The short stubble on her head would hardly pose a challenge, she reasoned. Her excitement continued to grow. She longed to finally be free of her annoying widow’s peak. The hum of the foil razor sounded low and droning compared to the high-pitched whir of the clipper. Denise let it loose on the crown of her head. Front to back, back to front, side to side. As predicted, it didn’t take long for the powerful tool to turn the stubble on her head into fine black dust that trickled off her head.

When the deed was done, Denise was almost bursting at the seams with joy. Sure, she was now completely bald. But she looked sexier and more mature than ever. And, more importantly, no inspection of her eyes or hands could reveal any trace of a widow’s peak – or any hair for that matter. She let out a huge sigh. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath.

A peculiar thought crossed her mind. She unbuttoned her jeans and let them fall to the floor. Then she carefully took off her panties. They were almost dripping. Until that moment, Denise hadn’t noticed how wet she was. Her gaze fell on her bush, neatly trimmed and styled into a landing strip. Then she glanced at the electric shaver she still held in her hand. A quick motion of her hand, a heartbeat later, and her crotch was as free of hair as her head. “The carpet matches the drapes,” she thought and chuckled.

She used her free hand to feel the smoothness and the wetness. Then she slid two fingers inside and began to fondle herself. It had never felt so intense. Her knees weakened and gave way, so she let herself fall onto her back. Denise lay there on the plush rug, amidst clippings of hair, her eyes closed and her breath panting.

As if in a blissful trance, she brought the foil razor to her eyebrows and shaved them off as well. First the left, then the right. She didn’t care about the looks she would get. She didn’t care about anything at that moment except the here and now. Denise’s back arched, her pelvis rose into the air, her entire body convulsed.

If all her friends thinking she looked like a freak was the price for that climax, she was willing to pay it.

Author’s Note: As always, thanks for reading my story!
I hope you enjoyed it, even if it is shorter than my usual stories (then again – so is the protagonist’s hair ;P).

– rightdownthemiddle

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