Twin Speak

Twin Speak

 

By Shorngirl

         Ever since we were children, my sister Evelyn and I had a sort of unspoken language between us. It was strange to anyone who didn’t have a twin, but it was as though our minds were connected.

         It wasn’t as obvious as language. But… whatever she was feeling, I felt too, right up to when either of us would hurt ourselves or experience an emotion of some sort. Anyone who has an identical twin knows what I’m talking about.

         When she got her heart broken in college, I knew it and called right away. Even from hundreds of miles away, our mutual intuition was solid. The most embarrassing part was the sex, of course. I might be in a class, or working on a project with friends when I’d have the most uncontrollable urge to masturbate. Sure enough, when we talked later, she’d boast about the marvelous sex she’d had that day.

         There was one thing that set us apart, and for the life of me, I still don’t understand how we could be so diametrically opposite. Evelyn, or Evie as I liked to call her, was as straight as an arrow, and me, well… I was as gay as it was possible to be.

         Of course, she was shocked when I shared how I felt. I’d never been attracted to boys, and it became more and more apparent as we entered our teenage years. “Lizzy! You’re pulling my leg, right?” She burst out. I think the surprise was all for show.

         Earlier that day, she’d caught me being a little more than close with a friend of hers who was visiting. I wondered if she thought it was coincidental that we were almost touching, face to face. We both worried that we might have screwed up their friendship, but it was all overblown.

         Evie was just as accepting of my being a lesbian, as I was of her being straight. Even when we started dating, Evie remained close with her friend. It was not without some joshing and kidding around, as sisters do, but things felt better once I was out to her.

         So… this brings me to what occurred a few days ago. We’re both going into our senior year at different universities and with term having started only a few days before, I didn’t figure to be interrupted by one of Evie’s sexual encounters. Much to my surprise, right in the middle of an economics class, I began to feel almost uncontrollably aroused.

         The sensation was so intense, that I had to excuse myself and head for my apartment. I knew my roommate would be gone for most of the day, so as soon as I locked the door, my jeans were around my ankles. There was something inexorably different about this sensation though. Along with the usual pangs of ecstasy that I was picking up, there was something else. It was more an idea than a feeling. Suddenly, I had an almost unstoppable urge to cut my hair.

         Now, as an aside, both Evie and I had always been proud of our waist-length auburn locks. The thought of cutting it suddenly was both terrifying and indescribably tempting.

         Naked from the waist down, I found myself in the bathroom, digging in the cabinet for a pair of scissors, which I quickly found. With one hand furiously rubbing myself, I hoisted the menacing blades to my hair, locking in the strands precariously above my shoulders.

         “Oh, my God! What the hell am I doing?” I questioned myself; my fingers bringing me tantalizingly close to orgasm. Just as I was about to close the blades on the scissors, I heard a key in the lock.

         I quickly closed the bathroom door to prevent Margaret from seeing me in so vulnerable a position. My connection, as it had been, was severed, and along with it the urge to cut and come along with it.

         “Lizzy? Are you home?” Mags called out, my disheveled jeans undoubtedly catching her eye.

         “In the bathroom.” I managed, sinking the scissors into the drawer, and quickly closing it.

         “Are you naked?” She asked, the amusement in her tone all too evident.

         “Ah…yeah, well…sort of.” I figured there was no sense in prolonging the inevitable, so I opened the door and quickly scooped up my jeans and panties while she watched. “I had to go so bad, I…”

         “You don’t need to explain, but wouldn’t just lowering them have been faster?” Mags inquired; her one eyebrow askew as it always was when she was doubting someone.

         “I wasn’t really thinking too clearly,” I explained, slipping the other foot through the leg hole of my baby-blue underwear.

         “Are you shedding or something?” Mags asked, pointing to my shoulder. I looked in the mirror and was horrified to see several strands of my hair plastered over the left shoulder of my black t-shirt.

         “Must be.” I mused, nervously, lifting the severed hair and depositing it into a nearby bin. The scissors must have done the intended job before I was distracted, and without my even realizing it. Once dressed, I slipped into my bedroom and tried to survey the damage.

         Margaret excused herself as she headed out for her next class, while I finally found the remains of the hair I’d inadvertently cut. It wasn’t a lot, but enough for me to notice once I’d run a brush through it. “Damn. What was I thinking.” More to the point, what on earth had happened to Evie to prompt such a response from me? Without any time to consider, I headed for my next class.

         Later that evening, I sequestered myself in my bedroom and made the call. “Evie, what on earth did you do?” I demanded, still flustered over my near disaster that morning.

         “Um, what do you mean?” She stalled.

         “I mean I very nearly cut all my hair off this morning, and I want to know what happened.” Determined to find out, I pressed the issue. “I know something happened, so fess up.”

         “Well, there was this thing.” She managed. “It was a sort of a welcome back to campus thing, combined with a charity event.”

         “And..”

         “I volunteered to cut my hair.” Evie faltered. “I never thought that kind of thing would affect you, Lizzy. I’m sorry.”

         “And did having your hair cut, get you, like… hot or something?” I asked, knowing the answer before she spoke.

         “It was weird, you know. There were all these people there, and I was on this stool in front of them, while this freshman had at my hair.” She seemed embarrassed. “When everyone started chanting, ‘shorter…shorter…shorter’ it was like an aphrodisiac, you know.”

         “Evie… how short did you cut your hair?” I asked, reticently.

         “Um, I can almost get ahold of it if I pinch my fingertips really tight,” Evie admitted.

         “You buzzed it all off!” I screamed through the phone, loud enough to spark my roommate’s interest.

         “It just sort of happened, you know.” She moaned.

         “Everything alright?” Mags asked through the door.

         “Sorry Mags, I’m talking to my sister,” I explained. I heard her flop back down on the sofa and turn the TV back up.

         “You’re roommate’s a little nosey, huh?” She supposed.

         “She’s just not used to hearing me get upset.” I sighed. “Are you at least okay with it? I mean, you have to look a bit freaky.” I offered.

         “It’s growing on me. At first, I was totally shocked, but so fucking horny, you know. I had to run back to my dorm room and… take care of things.” She giggled.

         “Well, that would explain what happened to me,” I grumbled.

         “So, you cut your hair too?” she asked, almost hopefully.

         “A few strands. Mags walked in and saved the day, or who knows what might have happened.” I said, running my fingers through my locks.

         “So, you’re the lesbian, and I’m the one with the crewcut.” She chortled, jokingly.

         “Strange the way things work out, though, isn’t it?” I laughed. I tried to picture my sister with her head shorn to the bone and my clit started throbbing all over again. “What are you going to tell Mark?” I asked.

         “You know, I hadn’t thought about that until just now. Shit. He’s going to freak.” My sister was never one to worry about what anyone thought, but she and Mark had been dating for two years. I imagined she might be a bit worried.

         “Well, you’ve got until Thanksgiving to grow it out, anyway.” I chuckled.

         “Actually, he’s coming up next weekend. Damn!” Evie spouted.

         “Well, Sis, look at it this way. If he can’t deal, he wasn’t worth it in the first place.” Being totally honest.

         “You’re right, Elizabeth. I’m just going to surprise him with it.” Evie imagined.

         “Is that wise?”

         “I’m worried if I tell him I practically shaved my head, he might not come at all.” She fretted. “At least this way, he’ll have a couple of days to get used to me without hair.”

         “Your call, Evie. You take care of yourself.”

         “You too, Lizzy. We’re not going to be matching twins anymore.” She realized, sadly.

         “Bye,” I emphasized.

         The next morning, I was struggling with a way to deal with the errant hair that I’d cut the day before, with no luck at all. When I would ordinarily brush it back behind my ears or throw it behind my shoulders, those few short strands would invariably end up hanging in my face. “I’m going to have to cut it, after all” I muttered under my breath.

         Now, in spite of my long hair, I’d never been much of a girly-girl. The idea of running to a hair salon just didn’t feel right. The thing was, I dreaded the idea of walking into a barber shop and coming out with something resembling what my sister had done.

         After class that day, I bit the bullet and took a walk into town. Turning onto the main street, I spotted a spinning red and white pole halfway down the block. The butterflies in my stomach were competing with the sweat on my brow as I turned the door handle and walked inside.

         “Help you, young lady?” A man’s voice called out from somewhere out of sight. He suddenly appeared from behind a large swivel chair; polished chrome and burgundy leather attempting to make the contraption look more comfortable than I knew it would be, for me, anyway.

         “Um… I need my hair cut.” I managed, nervously sweeping my waist-length locks over my shoulder as if to display them to the man.

         “Don’t generally cut women’s hair, as a rule. If you’re looking for something short, I might be able to help you out.” He offered.

         I eyed his severely cropped white hair, a light fuzz over his tanned scalp. “How short?” The obvious question.

         “Oh, just about any men’s style.” He pointed up to a tattered poster on the wall with various images of masculine hairstyles, each shorter than the next.

         To my utter annoyance, I felt my clit begin to throb again. If it was allowed to, it would take control, and lord knows what I’d end up with. I almost turned to leave, when some unknown force glued me in place. I supposed it had something to do with the moisture sliding between my labia; the sensation only forcing more blood into my already engorged clitoris.

         Walking over to the poster, I examined the hand sketched portraits. It had to be fifty years old if it was a day; the corners curled and the paper resembling some ancient parchment. For a second, my eyes fell upon what could only be a crewcut, the hair mimicking the shape of the man’s head, bristled and shorn close on the sides. My index finger traced the outline of the image, imagining my sister looking like that.

         Feeling his presence at my side, I dropped my arm and quickly averted my eyes, but not in time. “Never gave a woman a crewcut before, but I suppose there’s always a first time.” He chortled, walking back to spin the chair in my direction.

         Powerless to prevent them, my wooden legs carried me forward, and somehow bent, allowing me to climb into the oversized chair. Before I knew what happened, he was fastening a strip of tissue paper around my neck, insisting that I hold my hair up out of the way. The metal clip was cold that fastened the red and white striped cape around me, almost too tightly. I watched in the mirror as he folded the tissue over the top of the cape, hermetically separating my head from what lay beneath the shroud.

         “Shame not to donate this.” The barber commented, as he ran a large comb down the length of my hair. “What do you say I tie it up and send it off to locks of love?” He smiled, opening and closing a menacing pair of scissors.

         I was caught in a spiraling series of events that I was powerless to stop. The closer I came to losing my hair, the more aroused I got. I finally opened my mouth, hoping to object, but all that came out was a “…sure,” barely loud enough to be heard.

         I felt the tension of the tie being fastened closely to the back of my head grow uncomfortable as he cinched it tighter. “Might as well get as much of this as we can.” He mused. “Heck, I bet they could make two wigs out of this lot.”

         A swirling tingle ran down my spine as the scissors made their first cut, the gnawing crunch of the blades overwhelming me. I thought I might just come right then and there. With each snip, another wave of pleasure, and I began to wonder if I would survive this without completely embarrassing myself.

         After what seemed like an hour, the long sweeping ponytail came free in the man’s hand. He hoisted it up between me and the mirror, perhaps not garnering the reaction he expected. My lips parted and slowly lifted into a smile. I wasn’t sure if I’d had an orgasm, but I must have come close.

The guy wasn’t blind, and I was certain he knew what was going on. “Now for the fun part, sweetheart.” He grinned. Ordinarily, I would have been offended if some guy called me ‘sweetheart’, but at that moment, it seemed appropriate.

         My once beautiful mane had been reduced to a choppy bob, the tips falling forward to tickle my cheeks. The reverie was broken by the snap and whir of the clippers being brought to the center of my forehead.

         My breath caught in my throat, as I felt the cold steel blades travel effortlessly over my head, leaving a stubbled pelt in their wake. My scalp was plainly visible through what remained.

         “Giving you the military version, young lady. Figured you might just appreciate it.” He raised his eyebrows twice, and I was convinced he was onto my situation.

         I could feel how wet I was getting, and it took all my willpower not to sink my hand under the waistband of my jeans. My clit was begging for me to stroke it, hell, I think a single touch would have been enough.

         Pass after pass, the barber peeled away my hair, the shape of my skull becoming more and more apparent as he worked. This was way shorter than the picture, and I imagined how the bristles that sprouted from my scalp might feel under my fingertips.

         When the clippers shut off for a moment, the entire top of my head was next to bald. I didn’t have to wonder whether the barber could hear my panting as a smirk spread over his knowing face, revealed only in the mirror next to my own ridiculous reflection.

         As the machine fired up, he approached again, the blades seeming smaller, even shorter. I didn’t have to wonder for long as he ran them up in front of my left ear. If the hair on my crown was short, this was taking it down to the skin. In the mirror, I could see my scalp glisten with sweat, all pretense of a covering rudely shorn away. Switching sides, he made short work of it, the only hair remaining out of sight in the back.

         My ears were suddenly stranded in a sea of pale white skin, revealed for the protuberant cups I knew they were. They had always been so handy; easy props for my luscious hair to rest behind. Now, they looked a bit too much like open clamshells, the humiliation only feeding my lust that much more.

         As I felt the blades caress the back of my head, I knew there was no way to stop it. Each pass of the clippers brought me closer and closer to orgasm. The barber watched me in the mirror; his practiced hand guiding the clippers of their own accord. The other was spread, his fingers deftly holding my hairless knob in place while he worked. I’d never felt more powerless, nor more sexually aroused in my entire life. The annoying part was that it was at the hands of a man, something I could never have imagined.

         When, at last, the clippers fell silent, I knew I had come. I’d come, right there in that chair, while this man watched. I should have felt embarrassed, humiliated, but for whatever reason, I didn’t. All I felt was a deep sense of gratitude.

         I realized he wasn’t done when I felt the warm menthol lather being spread around my ears and on my nape. I’d been in such a daze, that I never saw him dispense the frothy white foam, which I was now wearing liberally along my former hairline.

         The glint of the straight razor he wielded, startled me just for a second before he spoke. “Just cleaning things up for you.” Being next to bald, I didn’t figure too much more damage could be done, as the blade slowly rasped against my skin, disturbing my afterglow with another wave of arousal.

         Fortunately for me, and perhaps to the disappointment of the barber, I’d come so hard that there was nothing left. The slick skin left behind shimmered in the fluorescent lights, once the cream had been shaved. That skin was hairless, as bald as well boiled egg and all I wanted just then was to touch it; to know what it felt like to have nothing, where my proud glorious locks once sprouted.

         I was almost disappointed when he swept the cape away from me, casting the remaining hair to the floor, like so much trash. Looking down, I was thankful that any outward evidence of my orgasm was still our secret, his and mine. I climbed out of the chair, a bit unsteady, but managing to retrieve a twenty from my back pocket.

         He held up his hand, shaking his head. “On the house…” He smiled, his eyes wandering unconsciously to my crotch and then back to me. “…and I’ll be seeing you in a week.”

         His comment caught me off guard, but as my fingers crept over my tightly shorn scalp, finding the smooth skin along its edge, I was powerless to resist. As gay as I always professed to be, the man had me under his spell. “Yes, sir.” It was all that came out before I slipped onto the main street, oblivious to stares.