Those Baby Blues

Those Baby Blues

By Shorngirl

 

         “You behave while I’m gone,” Jerry said as he set his suitcase down on the flagstones, extracting his suitcoat from the front clothespress. “I’ll be home Sunday.”

         “You know I’ll only be sitting around here waiting for you to get back,” I answered, patting over in my bare feet give him his goodbye kiss.

         “Why don’t I believe you?” He muttered, as he slipped out the door and walked to the taxi waiting at the curb.

         “You don’t believe me, because you know I’m a bad girl, and bad girls do bad things,” I said, mockingly, as I watched the yellow cab disappear around the corner. Don’t misunderstand, I’m not a cheater, but I do love to misbehave in almost every other way.

         I opened my phone and scrolled down until I found the number I was looking for, calling, before flopping onto the sofa. “He’s gone.”

         Thirty minutes later, Angela was at the door, pushing in as she always did. “You home?”

         “You know I am,” I said, popping up from the couch and smiling at my best friend.

         “So, have you given my idea any more thought?” She asked, slipping through the living room and into the kitchen. I followed, as I always did. Angela may have been my closest friend, but she was also a troublemaker. So, between that and her domineering personality, I frequently found myself over my head.

         “I’m just not sure I’m ready for such a drastic change.” Angela had been bugging me about doing something with my hair. Ever since we’d known one another, I’d always had long hair. I think my complaining about taking care of it had finally worn out her last nerve. One day, I’d made a comment that I wished I had the courage to cut it all off. She hadn’t let up since.

         “You know you want to. Deep down, in that place you don’t share with your husband, you know it.” Angela pulled the cork from the wine bottle she had grabbed and poured us both a glass.

         “Jerry would kill me if I got it cut. He’s always complimenting me on how lovely I am with my long blonde hair and baby blue eyes.” I sighed, sipping at the dry white that was a bit too much for my morning taste buds. “I haven’t even had coffee yet.”

         “Who needs coffee, when we have this.” She smiled. “It’s not your husband who has to deal with the hassle of it all. He’d get used to it soon enough, I think.” Meanwhile, Angela with her jet-black mane, hadn’t offered to take the plunge with me, even if I did go along with her scheme.

         “What about you, Ange?” I mused. “Why don’t you get yours cut with me?”

         “Oh honey, I just couldn’t. You know my boyfriends would never forgive me if I ever cut it even a little bit.” She complained. “Besides, I think you’d look fascinating with something super short.”

         “Fascinating, huh?” I mumbled. “Can we just go shopping and forget about the damned haircut?” I begged.

         “Of course, darling, of course.” She laughed.

         After a few hours, we wore ourselves out trying things on and buying the things we could afford, we landed in a small bistro about a mile down the boulevard from the mall. We’d been there before, and the food was better than average.

          “Don’t you just love little restaurants like this?” Angela said as she finished off the wrap she’d ordered.

         “Yes, they’re fun,” I answered, wondering what exactly had distracted her, her gaze drawn through the front window.

         “You know what would be even more fun, Jeanie?” She giggled, pointing.

         I turned to see what she was referring to, but my eyes nearly popped out of my head. Straight across the street was an old-fashioned barbershop, with the red and white spinning pole and all. “Get serious, Ange. If I do get my hair cut, it’s not going to be in… one of those.” I crinkled my nose, imagining just what may lie on the other side of that door.

         “Aside from being a bastion of testosterone and male bravado, I do believe they cut hair.” Angela joked. “Just kidding, kiddo. It is a thought though, yes?”

         “No. Absolutely not.” I bit, putting my foot down; something I rarely did to Angela.

         “Fine, Fine. I’m not going to force you into anything, but let’s take a walk by on the way back to the car.” Angela suggested.

         So, with some slight protesting from me, we crossed the road to have a look inside the barbershop. It seemed a bit too obvious to me when Angela pressed her nose up against the window to have a closer look.

         “Angela, they’re going to see you.” I scolded.

         “So what. There’s no law against looking, is there?” She chuckled. I tried to look as inconspicuous as I could, leaning in to pull her away from the glass, when a gentleman stepped through the door.

         “Can I help you ladies?” He was an older man, wearing a rather dressy outfit. He even sported a bowtie, which seemed a bit formal.

         “My friend here needs a haircut and…”

         “Angela!” I squealed. “Sorry to bother you, we were just leaving.” I tugged at Angela’s arm and pulled her back, forcefully. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

         “That’s fine.” The old guy said, “I wouldn’t know what to do with that in any case.”

         “Just as well then.” I nodded to him as he slipped back inside.

         “What the hell is wrong with you?” I complained as we made our way back to Angela’s car.

         “You are way too uptight, baby. You really need to chill.” Angela spouted as she unlocked the car.

         “You wanted me to go in there and have some random barber hack off my hair, didn’t you?” I accused.

         “And what if I did? I was imagining my new friend, Jeanette, with a skintight crewcut and those gorgeous blue eyes.” Angela purred.

         “You’re crazy, you know that?” I spat, as we hopped on the expressway heading for the suburbs.

         I was pretty sure that whole thing outside the barbershop hit Angela a little hard, as she hadn’t returned any of my calls, or texts. The only thing I got after numerous attempts was a chicken emoji. I supposed I deserved that.

         Jerry arrived home a few days later, and we spent that night making up for his absence. He was an aggressive lover, something I was grateful for, after too many boyfriends that treated me like a China doll.

         As we recovered on our respective sides of the bed, I asked him a question that had been nagging at me since that previous Thursday. “Jerry?”

         “Yeah.” He turned, propping his head up on his elbow.

         “What would you think about me getting my haircut?” I asked, demurely.

         “You know I love your long hair, Jeanie.” He sighed. “But… if you really want a change, I mean, it is your hair.” He conceded.

         “Really?” I replied, almost shocked. “You’ve always warned me never to cut it, you know, so, I never have.”

         “Listen, Hon, you know I’ll love you no matter what. I suppose I should trust you that way. You do what you want with your hair.” Then he said something I thought I’d never hear come out of his mouth. “Hell, you might even look hot with something super short.”

         Suddenly, the idea of having it all cut off, seemed like inevitable now. The thought even made me a bit hot, and that was after a round of steamy sex. What had happened to change Jerry’s outlook, I wondered.

         A few days later, I was just clearing up after breakfast, when Jerry announced he was off to get a trim. He always wore his hair rather short, and it was nothing for him to hit the barbershop every other week.

         “You mind if I tag along?” I asked, some butterflies stirring in my gut.

“Oh, you’d just be bored, Jeanie. It’s an old barbershop, you know, guys stuff, Field and Stream magazines all over the place.” He tossed on a jacket.

“Is there a reason you don’t want me to go?” I asked.

“No, not particularly. You might just feel… uncomfortable.” He offered.

I tugged at his coat and pouted. “Come on, Jerry.”

Shaking his head, he reached into the closet and tossed me my jacket. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I’d assumed he frequented one of the barbershops in our little section of town, so he surprised me when he headed toward the city. Twenty minutes later he pulled into a small parking lot and gave me a look. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yep. Let’s go.” I returned, eagerly.

He came around the side of the car and opened the door for me, something I was always impressed with. It was when I spotted the little bistro Angela and I had dined at a few days before, that my heart began to race. ‘He couldn’t be going there.’ I fretted, silently.

Sure enough, he was leading the way to the barbershop where Angela had embarrassed me so thoroughly the week before. What if the same guy was there? Would he recognize me? Suddenly, I had major second thoughts. “Maybe I should wait in the car, after all,” I muttered.

“What was that?” He asked. But by the time I would have asked again, we were already at the door and heading inside.

Three guys were sitting in the large swivel chairs, their barbers working away at their hair. A few more were waiting in a row of old wooden ones lined up down one wall. Jerry grabbed a plastic number plate from a rack near the door before ushering me into two an open chair and taking a seat next to me.

“What’s the number for?” I asked, nervously, already knowing the answer. I looked around for the old guy in the bowtie but didn’t see him anywhere. I started to breathe again.

“They call you up when it’s your turn.” He grabbed a Maxim magazine from a small table and then remembered who he was with suddenly, quickly exchanging it for a Motorweek. I couldn’t help but giggle. “Force of habit.” He murmured.

“Just forget I’m here,” I assured him. Then to my utter embarrassment, the old guy in the tie came out from the back, his eyes immediately landing on me.

I was so hoping he might just think it strange to see a lady in the shop, but when he approached, I felt like running. “Change your mind, young lady?”

Horrified, I met Jerry’s curious glance as he turned, confused. “Um, no I’m just here with my husband.” I stammered.

“Is this your wife, Jerry?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah, yes… it is,” Jerry said, awkwardly. “Stan, this is my wife, Jeanette.” Jerry gave me another disbelieving stare. “Jeanie, this is my barber.” I wanted to die.

Nothing more was said, but that didn’t quell the nervous knots that were tying up my stomach. Stan called up the next customer, and Jerry sat silent for a few minutes. “Have you been here before?” He finally asked.

“It’s a long story.” I sighed, looking for anything to distract, and finally picking up a hunting magazine.

“Do you want to tell me?” He asked.

“I’d rather not,” I replied, truthfully.

We sat incommunicado for a bit, reading our respective magazines until Jerry’s number was called. Standing and tossing his on the chair next to me, he leaned down. “You should have told me. Now, I’m going to get the unabridged version from Stan.”

“Jesus, Jerry.” Shrugging, he headed off for the chair, where Stan was waiting, cape in hand.

I tried to ignore my surroundings, but with my husband in the chair, it was hard not to watch. I could see that the two were talking, and occasional chuckle amongst them as the barber clipped the back and sides of my husband’s scalp. The process was intriguing to watch, and Jerry seemed to be going a bit shorter than usual, having the top taken down when he usually left something to comb.

The butterflies returned, and I couldn’t help wondering if this whole thing was the cause. The embarrassment, the haircuts going on all around me. It was when the butterflies settled into my sex, that I knew something was amiss. Why was this making me horny?

Distracted, I didn’t notice when Jerry returned, a knowing smile on his face. “Looks great, hon, ready to go?” I commented, standing directly, and wanting nothing more than anything to get the hell out of there.

“Not so fast, darling.” Jerry grinned. He looked down the line of waiting patrons. “Any of you boys mind if my wife goes first?” A general consensus rose up from the group as I was hustled toward Stan’s waiting chair.

“Jerry, what are you…”

“Oh, Stan told me all about how you and, well…who I can only assume to be Angela Dickens, were gawking in the window last week.” He helped Stan get me in his chair, and hold me as he fastened the cape tightly around my slender neck, catching my hair as he did. “Stan here said you were looking to get your hair cut. Is that true?”

“Yes, but, but, it was all Angela’s idea, really, Jerry.” I spluttered, as Stan pulled my hair out from under the cape, allowing it to drape halfway to the floor.

“Well, it’s too bad Angela isn’t here to give her side of the story.” My husband stood back and nodded to Stan, who pumped up the chair, spinning me to face the large mirror on the wall. “You do remember our conversation the other night, don’t you, Jeanie?”

All I could do was nod, afraid he might divulge more than just the conversation in front of so many staring guys. “Jerry, I…”

“Give her something short, Stan. How about a little boys’ cut?” I watched, in horror as my husband returned to his chair and took up the Maxim magazine he had originally grabbed, opening it with a smile.

“Okay, little lady, one junior Princeton, coming up.” He picked up a pair of scissors and glanced over at Jerry as if to get his permission one last time. In the mirror, I saw him lay down the magazine and smile, as the barber slipped the blades into my hair at the top of my neck.

The scrunch of the sheers as they tried to hack through my precious locks was excruciating. I watched, as long silky tendrils of blonde hair slithered over the cape, folding over as they settled on the tile floor. Every eye in the place was glued to me, the mirror giving away their secret stares.

My breath was coming in short gasps as the cool metal of the scissors rested across my ear, exposing it as the hair fell away. My long hair was disappearing fast, one side of my head shorn into a jagged bowl cut, and not flattering at all. Before another minute had passed, Stan had rid me of my mane. I looked at Jerry who seemed mesmerized by what the barber was doing to me. The floor was a sea of blonde that had caught many an eye when it was still adorning my head. No more.

There was some buzzing between the men behind me as Stan lifted a set of clippers from the hook and flipped them on. This was really happening. I didn’t think it was real to me until he slipped the whirring clippers under what little remained on my nape.

As the vibration moved from my neck to my scalp, I swear I felt myself shudder. The sensation was almost pleasant, had it not been the arbiter of death for my hair. Nevertheless, I could feel myself growing more and more aroused as he worked.

My neck felt cold as my nape was exposed, sending another shiver down my spine. I could feel my hair being stripped away, one section at a time. He took his time carving out around my ears, revealing their nakedness for the first time in my life.

There was a pause, as Stan grabbed a comb from the counter. I looked back at Jerry who seemed to be enjoying the comments he was getting from the men sitting closest to him. They were laughing at my expense, and that only served to feed the fire in my loins.

The tuft of blonde seemed out of place on the top, but I needn’t have worried, because that was the barber’s next target. The comb and the clippers worked in tandem, the blades sliding over the comb as he blended the sides with the top. A  quick Zzzzip over the teeth of the comb and a few more tufts of blonde tumbled down the cape. Stan worked over and over, styling and shaping, until a very boyish-looking person was staring back at me in the mirror.

The top seemed only just long enough to warrant the use of a comb, before he rubbed some cream in his palms and slathered it through my remaining hair. It felt and smelled nice, and I very nearly fell over the edge as the barber’s fingers caressed my scalp. Combing back, he flipped up the front into a little wave that slicked down flat on both sides.

Thinking he was done, I was grateful not to have embarrassed myself by coming in his chair, but I should have known better. The barber grabbed a different set of clippers and pressed them firmly against my scalp, carving out a skin-tight ring around each of my ears, which had turned pink from my arousal. There was nothing left in their wake as he worked them up my nape. That was it, I thought, I’m going to come right there, I knew it. I felt him go even higher on the sides as he blended the baldness into what little remained above.

“These are white walls, little lady, seeing as you’re enjoying it so much.” He whispered, just between me and him. He knew how this was affecting me. I wonder if my husband did. “Just gonna clean up the edges, and you’re all done.”

Almost done, I thought. Looking in the mirror the pretty young blonde was gone. Those bright blue eyes staring back at me were all that was left of my old self.

The hot lather surprised me as the barber spread it along my neck and thumbed it around my naked ears, slipping a straight razor from his breast pocket. Roughly, he grabbed my head and tilted it to the side, the razor he had opened now scraping along my hairline in short precise strokes, each one almost too much to bear.

The razor was going to be my undoing, just as it always was whenever Jerry shaved my pubes. The sides were wonderful, but the back was extravagant. Long slippery strokes ran down my neck to the top of my shoulders, sending me flying. A quiet moan escaped my lips, as desperately as I tried to hide it. I closed my eyes in shame.

As Stan held the hot damp towel to my neck, I felt the afterglow of my orgasm, which I had fought off for so long, warm me from the inside out. “One junior Princeton, young lady. How do you like it?”

I turned my head from side to side, shocked by how little hair I had left. My scalp was plainly visible through the stubble on the back and sides and the top almost seemed silly. I’d seen five-year-olds running around with the same cut, but I never thought I would ever be sporting one. Running my fingers up my neck, I hissed with surprise as the smooth scalp carried a long way up the back. “Oooh, it’s short.”

As I stepped down from the chair there were some golf claps around the room, but I refrained from taking a bow. I glared at Jerry who seemed amused by my new look, and still cavorting with his mates. Annoyed, I glanced back at Stan and smiled. “See you next week?”

He just winked, knowingly, and picked up his broom.