They Call Me Admiral

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They call me “Admiral” – though it’s not official.  My last official promotion was to Captain.  That was before the Squids invaded Earth.  As far as we could find though, I am the most senior officer still alive.

At this point though, nothing is really official anymore.  We don’t have a permanent base, just a network of camps that move pretty frequently.  We are working to regain control of earth, between trying to survive.

Though many of those currently under my command were US Navy, plenty weren’t.  Some were from other branches of the military, but many are civilians.  I even have a few from Norway’s Royal Navy, though they don’t really consider themselves under my command, just allies who run their own missions alongside my people.  The Norwegians are stuck here for now, since their boat was destroyed in the early battles against the Squids, and it’s not like they can hop on the next flight to Europe.

We’re in the middle of a meeting and we’re hitting all the usual topics.  What camps need to be moved where, how are we doing at disrupting Squid activity, general survival.

“Dr. Lambert, you needed to bring something up?” our secretary asks, looking at the agenda.

We all turn to Dr. Lambert.  Lambert’s a short, practical woman, a bit older than me.  Till two days ago, she had soft white hair to her shoulders.  It’s gone now.  Yesterday I noticed she’d cut it all off to a very short buzz cut.  When I asked her what was up with the hair, she had said it was on the agenda.  Thinking about it, I’d been noticing more and more people with buzz cuts over the last month or two.

“Head lice are reaching epidemic levels,”  Dr. Lambert starts. “I know it seems minor, but it is a huge drain on people.  The itching is really distracting, scratching can lead to infection, a bad case can even lead to anemia.  With summer coming, it’s going to get worse and spread.”

“What do you recommend we do about it?” I ask with a sigh.


Tonight, I know I will have to face Linda.  She is going to be devastated.

Linda is one of the civilians we’d picked up.  I hadn’t taken much notice of her when she first joined us.  She was an artist and art historian before the invasion, it hadn’t occurred to me she would become one of the most valuable people we could have.  I was wrong.  She knew how to do things most modern people had totally forgotten how to do.  Archaic skills that in an industrial society were relegated to artists and historical reenactors turned out to be vital when you can’t just go to a store and buy blankets or paper.  She could jerry-rig together all sorts of things.  I was both surprised and impressed by her.

Her skills weren’t the only thing I noticed.  She was beautiful, graceful and witty.  She was the epitome of the fiery redhead. It took me a bit to realize how attracted I was to her.  During the years I’d been with my late husband, I’d just kind of ignored parts of myself to the point of almost forgetting I am bi.  Falling for Linda reminded me.

I’d lost my husband during the early battles.  Though there were a few months of not knowing before I’d gotten word of it.  It was some time after that that Linda had come along.  I was lonely.  She ended up becoming my lover.

Now I have to tell my flame haired lover that her hair has to go.

I’d tried to get her to cut her hair once before, but had given up.  It was a few years ago.  She’d broken her arm.  Trying to comb out her hair one handed was a disaster.  She was completely incapable of putting it back in a braid or a ponytail by herself. I was busy, I didn’t have time to take care of her hair every day.  Her hair is harder to deal with than mine too.  Her hair has conflicting personalities.  Some strands are a lighter strawberry blonde, which are baby fine and straight.  Other strands are a deep red and they tend to be thicker and curly.  Put them together and they tangle like mad.

When I said we needed to cut it as I combed and braided it for her, she just sat there silently, looking miserable.  I promised her she would look adorable with a bob.  I’d even gone and found a pair of scissor to do the task.  She never said no, but it was clear she felt it.  She was just too worn down from the pain to actually put up a fight.  Even though she didn’t voice an objection, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.  So, tired as I was, I combed out and braided her hair for her each night before we went to bed till her arm healed enough that she could do it herself again.

So here I am, about to have to tell her again that we have to cut her hair, and this time “no” isn’t actually an option.

This was going to be a bitter pill to swallow, not just for Linda, but for a lot of my people.  Sure, those who are male and had been part of the military before the invasion would probably not blink an eye, but many of the others weren’t going to be prepared for this.  Even the females who had been military were most likely going to be shocked.  Most of them joined after the Navy stopped requiring females to get haircuts.  I’m one of the older females here and I was in one of the last groups of recruits that got haircuts, and that was well over a decade before the invasion.

To make matters worse, what I was about to order was a lot worse than the bob I’d gotten when I joined.  Back then the bob had seemed like a pretty big deal to me.  When I discovered that if I’d just put off joining for a few more months I could have skipped it, I was annoyed beyond belief.

When I joined the Navy, I had fairly long hair.  Not that I’d ever been the trendy type, wearing the latest fashions.  Half the time my hair was just pulled back in a practical ponytail.  Thing is, when you’re not spending a lot of time on makeup and clothing, long hair is the easy way to feel feminine. I could just be like: sure, I’m wearing blue jeans, sneaker and a t-shirt, but I still feel like a girl because I have pretty hair.

I’d been worried that I’d look awful with the bob, but it had looked great.  It took more maintenance though, requiring regular trims.  And I couldn’t just put it into a ponytail, since it wouldn’t all reach.

Contrary to popular belief, long hair isn’t always super high maintenance.  Long hair can be much lower maintenance on people like me who don’t tend to get a lot of tangles.  You can always pull it into a ponytail.  If you’re busy you can just let it go forever between cuts.  In a lot of ways it’s the ultimate I’m not thinking about my hair hairstyle – ignore your hair and it’s what you end up with by default.  When I’ve had short hair, I’ve always felt more of a need for it too look done, since I can’t simply resort to the ponytail.

Mine is long these days, in part because I haven’t had time to actually get around to cutting it.  That’s going to change tonight.

As I head into the building that Linda and I have set up as our temporary home, I have a pair of scissors and a set of clippers with me.

I borrowed the clippers from Dr. Lambert’s stash of equipment that she’s collected and generally is very reluctant to let anyone use.  The personnel of our medical unit are the only ones who’ve had access to clippers for a long time.  Anyone else who want’s to cut their hair has to settle for scissors or razors.

We reserve the clippers for medical for two reasons.  One is simply that they can’t be easily replaced.  Dr. Lambert insists that if they get worn out being used for everyday haircuts, she might not have any available if she needs to get hair out of the way so she can drill into someone’s skull quickly.  Or I guess for moments like this.

The other reason is that we keep the use of anything electric to a bare minimum. The squids can track it when we use electricity.  We can get away with a little here and there, by tricking their systems.  One of our best tricks is dropping LEDs hooked up to solar cells randomly far away from any of our camps.  It means there is enough noise that it’s hard to spot small uses by actual people.  But if we started using electricity in large amounts regularly, we’d soon be located.  So, normally, no clippers.

I start digging out the battery and homemade crank generator we use when we do have a good reason to use electricity.  Linda isn’t home yet, so I crank the generator in peace while thinking about how I am going to talk to Linda.

I wonder why I’m thinking of this as a talk that I need to have with Linda.  It’s an order I’m giving every single person on this base.  It’s no different for Linda.

I figure she is most likely tending to her small herd of angora rabbits.  At first I had questioned the the wisdom of keeping the little fuzz balls.  They were a particular nuisance when we needed to move camp and Linda would run to gather them up which took more time than I liked.  They’d proved their worth though.  They live off vegetation we can’t eat and their wool is unbelievably warm which was a godsend the year we had an unusually cold winter.  Also, though Linda wants no part in it personally, since they breed like bunnies – so to speak – a fair number of their offspring have gone into stew pots.  When the babies get big I just tell her that I’m taking them off to new homes and she doesn’t want to know where.  Enough people keep a few that as long as she never bothers to count she can tell herself that they are all there.

As I crank away at the generator, I decide I will put off telling Linda about the haircut till after we’ve eaten.  When Linda comes in, she asks what the battery is for, I tell her I’ll show her later, and we sit down to eat.  As soon as we’re done cleaning up, I grab her into a hug.

“You know I love you, don’t you?” I say into her ear as we embrace.

“What’s wrong?” Linda asks.

“I say ‘I love you’ all the time when nothing’s wrong,” I say defensively.

“It was the ‘you know’ that tipped me off, Ash,” Linda responds, pulling away.

Linda is the only person who calls me Ash.  Most people don’t even know that my first name is Ashley, and even those that do still call me Admiral Jones, or just Admiral.  It’s a reminder how different my relationship with Linda is than what it is with everyone else.  I was kidding myself when I tried to pretend that telling Linda that she had to do this was going to be no different from giving the order that everyone had to.  It is worlds different.

I lead her over to a comfortable spot and we sit.  I brush a lock of hair back from her face and tuck it behind her ear, then place my hands down on top of hers in her lap.  I want to just start kissing her and forget the whole thing when I look into her worried eyes, but I take a deep breath instead.

“I have to cut your hair tonight, Linda,” I say.

Linda’s mouth drops open and she just stares at me in disbelief.

“I’m sorry honey.”  My heart is breaking as I continue, “you won’t be alone.  Dr. Lambert is trying to get a lice epidemic under control.  I am ordering everyone to have their hair cut to an eighth inch or less from June till October.”

Linda takes a ragged breath and I can see a vein on her neck pulsing.  “Did you say an eighth of an inch?”

I nod, looking at the horrified expression on her face.

“No,” she simply says and gets up to walk away.

“That”s not an option,” I say.  “It’s an order for everyone under my command.”

“I’m not under your command, I’m your girlfriend!” her brows are furrowed together.

I decide to leave it alone for an hour or two, she’s obviously angry and I don’t blame her, she’s right.  This is why there were regulations about fraternization back when there was civilization.  It’s not fair in a relationship to be able to give your partner orders.  Unfortunately, right now it’s necessary.

I figure the best thing to do at this point is to face cutting off my own hair.  Not that I want to, but I’ll feel less hypocritical telling her she has to cut her hair once mine is gone.  I’ve had short hair plenty of times over the years, but this is a whole new level.  I’m rather nervous about it.

I lug the battery set up, scissors and clippers to the other room.  Then I strip down to just my panties and bra.

I sit on the floor mat in front of the mirror we have set up.  I think about Linda sitting in front of it, brushing out her long hair.  The bright orangey red she started out with when we first got together has mellowed over the years, and now it has a white streak in it, right at the front.

She’s always managed to find a mirror and set up a comfortable space like this after we’ve had to move.  Usually the mirror is cracked, but somehow, when we came here, she found an almost completely unbroken one.  It’s just chipped a bit up in one corner.

I watch myself in the mirror as I let down my ponytail.  My light brown hair is generously streaked with gray these days.  I comb it out for a few minutes.  It is very long, since getting it cut hasn’t been a priority for years.  The ends are thin and feathery from lack of care.  It reaches to the waistband of my panties.

I am about to begin when Linda comes in.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I told you, the order is for everyone.”  I force myself to keep my voice steady.

I hold the scissors in my right hand and lift up a lock of hair from the front with my left.  I place the blades against my head and close them.  Shlunk.  I swallow.  Left behind is uneven fuzz that stands straight up and doesn’t fully hide my scalp.  I drop the long lock of hair off to my side and look at Linda.

“Oh god, Ash, not your hair!” Linda gasps.

Linda’s eyes are filled with tears.  I suddenly remember it’s not just her own hair she cares about, it’s mine too.  If my hair’s in anything more elaborate than a pony, it was probably Linda’s doing.  After we make love, she often lays next to me, running her fingers through it working out the tangles.

I look back at the mirror and pick up another lock.  The scissors bite through it next to the scalp with a crunch.  It was a much larger lock, so I have to squeeze the scissors repeatedly before I can close them fully and the next lock comes away from my scalp, leaving behind more uneven short sprigs of hair.  It looks much choppier than the first bit I cut.

Linda comes around in front of me and wraps her arms around me.  She buries her face into my shoulder, crying.

I suddenly realize that I have her hair exposed to me, just inches from the scissors I’m holding.  It’s very tempting to just start getting the inevitable over with.  I know though that it would be an unforgivable breach of trust, and instead I just stroke her head.  When the sobs slow down, I gently guide her down to my lap as I turn back towards the mirror.

As I start to cut another lock of my hair, she lays on the floor next to me with her head cradled in my lap looking towards the mirror.  I have to twist to not drop the severed hair on Linda.  Her wet eyes follow every move as I lift the locks up and cut through them.  I’m finding it easier to just do smaller locks that I can get through in a single snip of the scissors.

For the first few locks, the hair on my head insulated me from the feeling of the cold metal.  Now though, the blades almost always touch one of the spots I have already cut the hair off of.  It sends a chill through me.  Actually, as my head gradually becomes bare, I am feeling kind of chilly in general.  I wish I hadn’t stripped down quite so much.

I bend my head down as I grab a lock from the back.  I look down at Linda’s red eyes. The whole thing is so awkward.

“Do I really look that bad?” I joke.

She frowns, but shakes her head no, then reaches up and strokes my cheek as I cut hair from the back of my head.  Some of the hair I am cutting isn’t in my grasp and it falls down onto Linda’s face.  She closes her eyes and scrunches up her nose.  Then she starts swiping her face.

“Why don’t you sit up now, honey?” I suggest, leaning back so that she has room.

She sits up next to me.  She takes a moment to rub her hand over my cropped head.

“There had to be another way,” Linda sounds hoarse as she speaks.  “Your hair was so nice.”

“Their really isn’t another way.  Anything we could use to kill the lice has other, more urgent uses.  If we had enough mayo to suffocate them, we’d be eating it,” I say.  Then I ask, “want to give me a hand with the stragglers?”

“Nope,” she says,  backing off and leaning against a wall where she can watch me.  “This is your circus.”

I let out a deep sigh and continue cutting.  I want to get as much with the scissors as possible to minimize the amount of wear on the irreplaceable clippers and to minimize battery usage.  Bending my head down uncomfortably, I try to reach everything in the back.  I can’t really grab anything more with my fingers.  I run my hands over my head, feeling for any slightly long bits that are left.  I place the scissors against my scalp and crunch through them, the short bits shower down on to my bare shoulders and get stuck in my bra.  I put down the scissors.

I plug in the clippers.  I haven’t used clipper in a really long time.  Last time was on my late husband.  I had cut his hair many times during the years we were married.  I remember one time, after I’d cut his hair and was starting to put away the clippers when he grabbed them from me and teased me that he would give me a mohawk so I’d get kicked out of the Navy for having a faddish haircut and then he could have me all to himself.  I laughed really hard and informed him that they probably wouldn’t discharge me over it, just yell a bit and insist I do something to fix it.  He chased me around the house anyway though, sweeping me up in his arms when he caught me.  Five weeks later, I got a positive pregnancy test.  Which reminds me, I should try to visit our now adult son, I miss him.

I flick the clippers on with the familiar clunk.  The vibration makes my hand feel tingly.  I have no guards for them, I’m sure those were lost long ago.

There is still the taper lever on the side that lets them adjust very slightly.  Probably between an eighth and a sixteenth, or maybe a sixteenth and a thirty-second, but I’m not totally sure, basically between really short and really really short.  I figure I will set it to the shortest setting so I can put off repeating this process as long as possible.  Frankly though, the difference between the longest and shortest is barely noticeable.

Linda bites her lip.  I raise the heavy clippers to my forehead and start pulling them over my head.  The short clippings pile up on the blades, then rain down my back as I go over the top.

The strip that’s left behind is now a neat even length.  I run my hand over it, feeling the prickly stubble.  I raise the clippers to start another pass.  I watch in the mirror as the uneven crop is peeled away and replaced with a uniform shadow.

As I move to the side of my head, the hair falls to my shoulders.  The vibrating clippers are beginning to get warm as I go.  I carefully steer them around my ear.  I tilt my head to try to see how I’ve done.

“If you give me a hand with this you won’t have to spend the next couple of weeks looking at whatever patches I’ve missed,” I say to Linda.

“Yeah, no.  I’m not helping you ruin your hair.”

“It’s already ruined, I just thought you could make sure it was ruined evenly.”  I smile and laugh, but meet a cold unamused gaze.

I sigh and start on the back.  I push the clippers up my neck and into the hair on the back of my head.  I feel the prickles of hair fall over my hand as I go.  With my other hand I feel to see how I did.  The path is a bit crooked, but that shouldn’t matter once I’ve done the whole head.  I start another pass.

Once I’ve gone over the entire head once, I feel around carefully for all the little patches that I’m sure I missed.  There are several, and I swiftly go back over them.  Just for good measure I do a second full pass over the entire head and do get a slight dust of hair from it.

I turn off the clippers and put them down.  I start rubbing my hands over my scalp.  The hair feels like the softest sand paper ever.  It’s a sensation I haven’t felt in years, and never all over my own head.  I’ve only ever had clippers used at the very back along the nape before.

“Seriously Linda, did I miss anything in the back?” I ask her.

“As far as I can tell you got it all.”  She says, sounding annoyed.  “You’ve got a major mess to clean up on the floor, though.”

I look around, she’s right, there is a large circle of hair around me.  Plus what’s stuck to my skin and in my bra.  Fortunately it’s a chilly enough May evening that I’m not sweaty, so it brushes off my skin with reasonable ease.

“I’ll clean it up after I do yours,” I say as I continue brushing myself off.


“I only have the clippers for tonight,” I explain, working to keep my voice even.  “We can do this privately here, or you can deal with Dr. Lambert publicly.”

“You really think everyone is going to go along with this?  Not everyone is a sailor used to following your orders.”

“Anyone who wasn’t part of the Navy has the option to leave, and I won’t consider it desertion.  If they stay, they follow my orders.”  Then I sigh and change to a gentler tone, think of it as a prescription from Dr. Lambert, instead of an order from me.”

“I don’t have lice.”

“I don’t either, but if we don’t do something about this, the entire camp and most of the surrounding camps that I send anyone to will be crawling with them by the end of the summer.”

“I can’t believe you want to do this to me.”

“Damn it, I don’t want to do this to you!  I just can’t make an exception for you.”  I’m yelling.  “I would if I could, but I can’t.  It’s about our survival.  No exceptions for anyone.  Shit, do you think I wanted to do this to myself?  Lambert just thought that the order would go over better if I took the plunge myself before I gave it!”

I need to cool off, I pull on some clothing and head out for a walk.  I visit Linda’s bunnies who hop over eagerly hoping I brought them kitchen scraps.  When I get back, Linda is quietly knitting socks.  Another thing we can thank her bunnies for.

I’m tempted to just drop it and leave her to deal with Lambert, but I know that Lambert’s solution will be way less gentle.  I don’t want that to happen to Linda.

“Linda, I’m done arguing about it.  You can let me cut your hair tonight, or you can face whatever Lambert decides to do about it on June 1st,” I say as I sit down.

I can see she’s been crying more while I was out.  She doesn’t say anything.  She just sits there silently, looking miserable and knitting at half her normal speed while tears drip from her chin.  I walk over and gently take the knitting from her and put it down.

“Come on,” I say as I take her hands and start lifting her up.  “Let’s get this over with.”

I lead her into the other room and over to the mirror where my hair is still scattered.  She stares ahead blankly into the mirror as I push down on her shoulders to get her to sit.  She’s shaking like a leaf.

I start pulling the calico dress she’s wearing up and off her.  Now in nothing but her bra and panties, she pulls her knees up to her body and wraps her arms tightly around them.  I kneel behind her.  Sobs ripple through her body.

I loosen her braid.  Her hair spreads out over her back, down past her bra.  Even though I know it has been a lot longer since she cut her hair, it’s not quite as long as mine had been.

I lean around her to reach for the scissors.  As I do, I feel her face brush against my ear.

“Please don’t.”  Her voice is less than a whisper, barely audible.  Her hand reaches up to restrain my arm.

“I’m sorry, it’s going to happen.”  My own voice breaks as I say it, and my eyes are now filled with tears.  “You have to choose, me or Lambert.”

She says nothing, but releases my arm.  I take it to mean that she would rather not face Lambert.

She lowers her forehead to her bent knees.  I gather a handful of her soft red hair in my hand.  My hands are shaking and my heart is pounding as I bring the scissors to the thick bundle.  I sit there, trying to gather the strength to begin cutting.  One of my tears falls, warm and wet onto my hand.  I open the blades and place them around her hair.

I start to squeeze them closed.  The hair begins to sever with a heart wrenching crunch.  I let out an unsteady breath.  I start at her neck, and cut upwards towards her ear.  My hand squeezes and releases over and over, almost like sawing as I hack my way through the hair. The cut ends fall down over my hand, swallowing it up.  I have to twist the hair as the scissors continue to bite through it.  The sound of crunching is loud enough to drown out Linda’s quiet sobbing.  Finally the scissors close with a snap.

I’m holding a third of Linda’s lovely hair.  She looks up into the mirror.  The hair is still long on one side, but on the other it falls jaggedly about her face in short layers.  She lets out a pained whimper, then sets her head back down to have her legs take the weight of it, hiding her face.

I drop Linda’s fiery hair down to the floor, where it mixes with my brown and gray.

I take another handful of her long tresses and pull it just taut enough to start cutting.  I raise the blades to the back of her neck.  The flash of silver-gray steel looks dark against her ivory skin which has just the smallest dusting of freckles.  The long hair has protected the skin back here from sun for all of Linda’s life.  This summer, her pale neck will be exposed.

As the cold blade touches the skin near her spine, she shudders.  I cut upward as close as I can to the back of her head.  I listen to the scissors strain against the mass of hair, as the handles press almost painfully into my hand.  The crunching and twisting go on and on.  When I finish with a snap, the 5 or so inches of hair left on the top and front of Linda’s head fall forward over her knees.  A particularly deep sob escapes from her.

I grab the last long section still hanging from the side of her head.  I just want to try and get this over with as soon as possible.  I place the scissors around it and start crunching my way through.  There are limits to how fast I can go though.  The sound of shearing goes on for what seems like forever.  My hand is tired, but I’m almost done with this part.  Finally, the scissors close with a snap.

There is still plenty of hair on Linda’s head though.  Especially in the front.  I lift up a hand full of the shortened locks and start cutting them closer to her head.  I’m just shearing off the longish bits, anything I can grab.  I’m not going to try getting it almost completely done with the scissors before I switch over to the clippers like I did on myself.  It means I’ll probably spend more time with clippers, but I figure that, overall it will be faster for Linda than if I try to be too methodical with the scissors.

I put down the scissors and pick up the clippers.  I slide the lever to its longest setting so it will leave Linda slightly more stubble than I left myself.  It’s the only compromise I can give her.  I turn on the machine and it comes to life with a clunk.

I place the clippers at the nape of Linda’s hair and begin pushing them toward her crown.  My hand is covered in short clippings.  I can’t reach past her crown since she is still hunched over her knees.  The hair spills over the top of her head and rains down onto her feet and legs.  I go back to her nape and cut another path to her crown.  The next path is more to the side, and the cut hair falls into the arms she has wrapped around her legs.  I do the entire back of her head and much of the sides.

“Honey, I need you to sit up a bit so I can finish the front,” I say as I move around in front of her.

Slowly Linda raises her head.  Her red eyes look sadly out at me from her wet face, the tears glistening between her abundant freckles.

I cradle her cheek with my free hand, she leans her weight of her head onto my hand.  With my other hand, I raise the clippers to her forehead and start pushing the vibrating teeth back into her hair.  The uneven tufts of hair fall away to her shoulders.  Some tumble into her cleavage where the warm freckles gradually give way to pale skin.  I maneuver the clippers up her sideburn and around her ear, carefully.  More hair tumbles around her.

I move my hand down to her chin so I can turn her head from side to side to check that everything looks even.  I go back over a few rough patches, then over her whole head once again to even it out.  I turn off the clippers.

“It’s over honey,” I say to her.

I start dusting her off.  I hold out my hand to help her up.  There is a ton of hair stuck in her bra, so I start to unfasten it.  Her arms are clutched around herself tightly and I have to gently loosen them so  I can slip the bra down her arms and off.  I start plucking off the loose hair when she suddenly guides my hand under her full breast to cup it.  It’s soft and heavy and I squeeze it slightly.  She looks into my eyes and next thing I know she’s kissing me.

I’m a bit confused but start kissing her back.  My mouth is filled with the salty tears from her face.  It’s an oddly comforting taste.

I feel myself pushed back from kissing her as she rushes to pull off the sweater I had thrown on over my bra.  Then her hands undo the clasp of my itchy bra, which is almost as full of hair clippings as hers had been.

As soon as my bra is off I resume kissing her.  I have my hands on the back of her head.  It is covered in the most wonderful velvet.  Thick and not quite prickly.  She starts guiding me towards our bed.

We lay down, me on my back with her on top of me. Her mouth is over my breast, sucking the flesh up into her mouth then releasing it, over and over.  Then her tongue swirls around my nipple.  She starts moving her mouth down along my torso as her hands unfasten the fly of my blue jeans and she desperately pulls them down.  My hands are still rubbing her clipped scalp.

Linda has my pants off now and has placed her thigh between my legs to apply pressure as she returns to kissing my face.  Her hands are on either side of my head rubbing my stubble.

I cup one of her breasts in my hand, teasing her nipple with my thumb.  My other hand goes down to her panties to begin rubbing her mound.  She is so wet that it has soaked into her panties making them damp.

A moment later, she is tearing herself out of those panties.

We roll ourselves over and I move down her body, kissing and sucking as I go.  My tongue finds her swollen clitoris and starts pressing it.  My hands hold her waist and I feel the shudder as her first orgasm ripples through her.

I feel desperate myself now so I lift myself back upward and she starts pulling off my panties, which are as damp as hers.

Her head is turned sideways and I start kissing along her collarbone then up her neck.  Her hand starts exploring me, flicking over my own clitoris and spreading me open.

As I continue up her neck, I get to her short velveteen covering.  I run my tongue along her hairline.  I had thought it felt amazing in my hands, but it was a million times more amazing to my sensitive tongue.  I feel my body start to contract as the ecstasy of an organsm spasms in me.

We are both panting.  I lower my body next to hers and rest my cheek against her head.  My hands are exploring her more slowly now as the urgency has passed with the orgasm.  I slowly find my way to her bellybutton which drives her to the edge again.

She writhes upward, arching her back in urgency.  I tease her by nibbling her ear instead of relieving her need.  She grabs my butt and starts kneading the fat and muscles, her hands working hard.

A moment later comes the slap.  I take in a sharp breath and roll to my back, my butt still stinging slightly.  Linda moves to kneading my breasts.  My nipples are hard and sensitive as her hands go over them.

We bring each other to orgasm again more slowly before we fall asleep.


I wake up itchy as hell to Linda stroking my head.  Tears are running down her cheek again.

“When I first woke up, for a blissful moment I thought last night was a dream,” she starts quietly.  “I just looked out the window for ages trying not to do anything to confirm that it was reality.  Eventually I had to know for sure though, whether it was dream or reality, so I touched my head.  It’s gone, it’s really gone.”

I sit up and gather her into my arms again, making a shushing sound.  It’s ironic that I’m both the one to comfort her and the one who inflicted her with this.  As I sit, I pet her soft clippered hair.  The different shades of red and occasionally white make a beautiful copper, gold, and silver tapestry as it catches the light.  I wonder if she will resent me forever for this.

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