You Can Never Just …Come Home.

You Can Never Just …Come Home.

 

By Shorngirl

 

It had been nearly five years since I left the rather confining home in which I was raised. I never realized how overbearing my mother really was until I was older, and it was pointed out to me by my friends. To say that she was overprotective was an understatement.

So, when I decided to move out shortly after my eighteenth birthday, it was with some very severe warnings from her. “Don’t think you can just march back in here, when your life just doesn’t work out for you, Susan.” She had said, spitefully.

I had, of course, added poison to the pot with whatever I had said, the exact words escaping me at the moment. All I knew was that could never go back. That bridge had been crossed, torn down, and burned to ash.

It was not lost on me for one moment, the irony of that sentiment. Especially when I was forced to make that dreaded call. “Mother… can I come home for a while?” The words were like acid in my mouth as I spoke them. That was nothing compared to the silence I was forced to endure as she mulled over what I had just asked.

“Is this Susan, my long-lost daughter?” She sneered through the phone. Another few moments of sheer torture before, “I suppose you can come back, Susan. Considering the way things were left, I’m surprised you found the spine to make this call. So, I suppose your situation must be truly desperate.”

Desperate was putting things mildly. I was pretty much destitute. My roommate had moved to Belize, leaving me with a rent bill that I couldn’t possibly cover on my wages. Push came to shove, and I lost that position as well, trying to make ends meet by moonlighting at odd jobs. I was basically a few days from being on the street. “Please don’t torture me, Mother.”

After eating a lot of crow, my mother was gracious enough to allow me to come home. It was a humiliating conversation, but it was nothing compared to what was certainly to come, once I was back under her roof.

I hated the idea of being under her control again, after having escaped the cloying over-protective embrace that seemed so suffocating at the time. It had been five years, and I had grown to love the freedom I had and the independence that being out on my own provided.

That was all about to come to a crashing halt, as soon as I walked through the door of my former home. I sat there in the bus station, debating whether I really wanted this. Unfortunately, I was left with few options. Everything I owned sat in the small suitcase at my side, having had to relinquish my car to repossession, and most of the furniture to the landlord as payment for back rent. All I had were the clothes I wore, a few outfits, and some underwear in the bag. The twenty-three dollars in my purse was all that remained after the one-way bus ticket, and most of that would be gone after the cab ride.

As the cab pulled up in front of the all too familiar cape-style house, I sighed audibly, catching the driver’s attention.

“Can’t be that bad, right. Looks like a nice place.” He smiled. “Nineteen-fifty.” He said, nonchalantly.

“Looks can be deceiving,” I answered, handing over all that I had as a tip. I would be walking through the door to my mother’s home, penniless, something I was sure she would use against me.

Watching as the late model Toyota disappeared around the corner, I saw any chance of escaping my fate leave with it. I pulled up the handle on the suitcase, and dragged it behind me, like a ball and chain as I walked up to the front door.

I wasn’t all that surprised to find the door locked, forcing me to ring the doorbell, like any other stranger. Heavy footfalls moved nearer as my mother approached the door.

“Yes? Can I help you?” She asked, facetiously.

“Mother, it’s me,” I responded.

“Susan? Why, I would have hardly recognized you under all that hair.” She pointed out. She pushed open the screen door and ushered me inside.

I felt that weight that had been absent for so long, return, to hang around my neck like a yoke. It was so pronounced that I swore I felt my posture shift with it.

When I left five years before, my hair had been short and neat, a sort of pixie that she had insisted I wear for my entire childhood. Now, and in a sort of oppositional defiance, I had grown my hair to my waist. People often would say how lovely it was, especially the color, which was decidedly red. I had tried to convince myself that it was a light auburn, or a very red strawberry blonde, but make no mistake it was as red as Little Orphan Annie’s.

“Let me look at you.” She said, sternly.

I stood, board straight as she inspected me. “Yes, Mother,” was all I managed to get out as she pulled at my clothes and lifted my hair this way and that.

“Obviously, there’s going to be some changes, Susan.” She stepped back, her arms crossed over her ample bosom. “Let’s go upstairs and get you settled, then.”

Dejected, I followed her up the narrow stairs to the two bedrooms that sat diametrically opposed to one another, a single bath between. My father had left when I was only five, leaving me alone with my mother. I think she enjoyed being so close to me; our sleeping arrangements, the single bath. Better to enforce the draconian level of control she wielded for so long. The weight around my neck was growing heavier.

To my utter surprise, my room had not changed one iota since I had walked out those five years before. The same suffocating décor, void of anything that would indicate a teenage girl lived there. No posters, no photos stuck to the wall, and certainly no mess. No, it was as sterile as a hospital room. Two small frames hung on opposite walls, one of my mother, and another of an odd farm scene, that used to give me nightmares.

It smelled of camphor and stale perfume, and I almost choked with the odor.

“Sorry about the smell, Susan, but I had to bring everything out of mothballs when you called. It’ll air out after a bit.” With that she lifted the sash on the single window, allowing a slight breeze to make the place bearable. “Why don’t you unpack.” She suggested, taking a step back to observe.

I knew that I had no choice but to allow her to watch. This was how it was going to be from now on. As I slowly removed each item from the suitcase I could see her displeasure growing, until she could no longer hold her tongue.

“No, no, no. These will not do at all, Susan.” She held up the trendy but well-worn clothes and shook her head. “No, you can’t wear these.” To my shock, she took the lot of them, including my underwear, and threw them into a pile on the floor. “You’ll find your old clothes in your drawers, Susan. Those will do until we can buy you some more appropriate ones.

I stood, stunned, but not all that surprised by her actions. Having disappeared for a moment, she returned with a trash bag in her hands.

“Now, young lady. You will deposit that mess into the bag along with what you’re wearing.” While I complied, she lifted my purse from the bed. I thought about protesting, but knew that wouldn’t end well. “You’re totally broke, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mother.” I sighed, feeling completely inadequate and uncomfortably submissive. I waited for her to leave as I started to unbutton my jeans, but she showed no sign of allowing me any privacy. Knowing it was futile, I slowly stripped until I was standing in my underwear and bra.

“All of it, Susan.” She insisted.

I slipped the straps of my bra over my shoulders and slipped the clasps to the front, allowing my rather meager breasts to fall into view. They were little more than puffy nipples, and the padded bra gave me the appearance of having at least something there.

“I thought you might have filled in a little by now.” My mother sighed. “We won’t be wasting money on bras, at least. Your old camisoles will do just fine.”

I grimaced, remembering the unflattering white cotton, that did nothing for my figure. They flattened out anything I did have, giving me the boyish appearance I had been forced to endure all through high school.

I was just about to lower my panties when I had the most horrifying revelation. Back when I was in a better place financially, I had spent some money to have my pubic hair removed, permanently. It was expensive and painful, but the smooth sleek look was so much better than my carrot-colored thatch. My mother could sense my hesitance.

“Come on, Susan. Nothing I haven’t seen a hundred times.” She chided.

I turned slightly, hoping to stave off the immediate reaction she was certain to have. It was a waste of time. As the pink panties fell around my ankles, she was quick to notice.

“What happened to your pubic hair?” She asked, brusquely.

Wordlessly, I turned towards her, giving her a full frontal view of my hairlessness.

“Well, there will be no more of that.” She scolded. “I guess I’ll have to hide the razors.”

It was inevitable that she would learn of the electrolysis treatments I had performed. I still hesitated to tell her, partly out of defiance and partly in fear of the humiliation she would mete out as a result. “Hiding the razors won’t help, Mother.”

“What do you mean, Susan?” She stepped closed, eyeing the hairless mons and labia which parted its center.

“It’s never growing back,” I said, almost proudly. “I had it removed.”

“That’s preposterous!” She yelled. “Why would you do such a thing? Do you want to look like a little girl for the rest of your life?”

“No. it’s not like that at all.” I argued.

“Well. Maybe since you want to look like a little girl, I should start treating you as one.” She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Then I heard the insidious click of the lock, and I knew I was locked in, just as I had been so many times during my childhood.

Still naked, I sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating my future, and what my mother might do.

Eventually, I was forced to rummage through the drawers of my childhood dresser, eventually finding something to wear. Yes, it was my cotton camisole that hugged my form even more tightly now, a pair of what could only be described as granny panties, and a knee-length dress. I looked like the schoolgirl my mother had created so long ago; the girl I learned to despise. Right down to the knee-high stockings and the topsider shoes, it was my worst nightmare come true.

I could smell food cooking downstairs, and I wondered whether my mother might leave me up there as punishment. The click of the lock was an answer to that question.

Warily, I left the confines of my room and made my way downstairs to find my mother working at the stove.

“Well. At least you look the part, now.” She sneered, eyeing me up and down. “All except for the hair.” She added. I knew that the conversation would inevitably come to that, and I feared for my flowing red tresses.

I had gone to the trouble of tying it back into a ponytail, but it obviously wasn’t enough for her. “Tied it back for supper.” I tried to reason.

“We’ll take care of that issue tomorrow. I’ve made an appointment at Flo’s for you. Ten o’clock.” She added.

So, that was the death knell for my hair, then. Flo had been my mother’s hairstylist for years, and had been mine as well. She was merciless with the scissors, too many a young girl’s locks finding their way to the floor of her salon.

“I just don’t understand you, Susan. What happened to you in the city, anyway?” She questioned, setting her fork on the edge of her plate.

I didn’t have an answer for her, and that was exactly what she was hoping for. Without an explanation, she was free to interpret my actions any way she saw fit, and I feared that she would be finding some way to make me pay for my behavior.

I went to bed that night, early, at her insistence. I was twenty-three years old, and I was being sent to bed at eight o’clock. To be honest, there was something oddly arousing about the level of submission I was experiencing. I had always fought against her overbearing dominance before, but now, strangely, I was allowing her to run slipshod over me.

She had laid out a light pink nightie for me, and having gotten used to sleeping in the nude, the smooth satin material felt lovely against my skin. So, I couldn’t help but allow my fingers to drift below the waistband of my oversized panties, and rub my hairless pussy to a tremendous orgasm.

Long ago, I had mastered the art of a silent orgasm, and I was quick to remember the technique. Basking in the afterglow of my pleasure, I drifted off to sleep, surprisingly content with my situation.

The following morning, I was awakened by a brisk knock at my door.

“Wake up, Susan. It’s six-thirty, and you have an appointment with Flo this morning.” She spoke through the closed door. I was surprised that she didn’t just push right in, but only a second after wondering, she did just that. “Come on, sleepyhead.” She walked over to the bed and pulled the covers away, revealing the pink nightie she had chosen for me to wear. “Well, at least you’re not naked. I imagine you got used to different sleeping arrangements while you were on your own.” She walked to the window and lifted the shade, revealing a barely perceptible dawn. “Lord knows what you got up to.”

“Yes, Mother.” I yawned, not offering anything to contradict whatever image she had in her mind. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, slipping my feet into the fuzzy pink slippers I had hated so vehemently as a teenager.

“Let’s get you into the bath, and get that hair washed. You can’t go into the salon with dirty hair, even if it is all coming off.” She looked at me expecting a reaction, but I offered none, taking a different tack.

“Can’t I just take a shower, Mother?” I asked.

“Showers are for adults, Susie. Seeing as you’ve chosen to give up the trappings of adulthood, I think it’s only fitting that you be treated accordingly.” She smirked.

For whatever reason, I opted to offer no resistance. At that moment, I suddenly felt a wave of arousal sweep through me. I was actually enjoying her debasement. There she was, basically stripping me of my rightful age, and assigning me one that was far younger. I’d been taking showers since I was twelve, so I could only imagine where that put me in her mind. ‘Susie? She hadn’t called me that since…’

The logical part of my mind said that I should fight her, and resist what she was doing. Unfortunately, that independent woman with the logical mind seemed to be taking a back seat to the strangely submissive girl that was bending to my mother’s every whim, and enjoying every humiliating moment of it.

Succumbing to her demand, I walked into the bathroom where the hot water was already running into the tub, glazing the mirror with a slight haze. She watched as I lifted the nightie over my head, and lowered my less than flattering panties to my ankles, where I stepped out of my slippers and the rest in one motion.

“You fold those, and toss your stinky undies in the hamper.” She indicated the wicker hamper that sat at one end of the large bathroom. Padding around naked in front of her, only fed that wicked little child that seemed to be robbing me of any dignity whatsoever.

I folded the nightie and set it on top of the hamper, along with the slippers, returning to stand next to the tub, which was almost ready.

“In you go.” My mother insisted, even before the water was shut off. Of course, it was much hotter than I was prepared for. I hadn’t taken a bath in almost a decade, so the initial shock of the heat against my skin was painful. Wincing, I lowered myself into the lapping water, which slowly enveloped me to my waist.

I quickly wet my hair, only a little surprised when she lathered it herself with whatever shampoo she must have used. IDomt was harsher than the gentle shampoos I had always used. I supposed it didn’t really matter.

Not allowing me any time to relax in the water as it slowly grew more tolerable, I was quickly ushered back to my room, my nightie and slippers in my arms. I quickly realized that she would be picking out my outfit for the day, but how much worse could it be than the one I was wearing the night before.

As I stood there naked, watching my mother lay out each item on my bed, I could almost feel myself shrinking. In reality, I was only an inch shorter than my mother, but at that moment, I might as well have been four feet tall. When she was satisfied, she smiled, turning to see my reaction.

On my bed were clothes that I swore would never fit me. A bright white leotard, and a patterned smock-type dress that looked as though it was made for a toddler. Again, the granny-panties and camisole. Finishing it all off were the topsider shoes which seemed almost new.

“I’ll be waiting downstairs, Susie.” She said, knowing how it must irk me to hear myself so belittled.

I simply nodded, daunted by the idea of climbing into clothes that seemed so impossibly humiliating. Surprisingly, the leotard fit, even if they were just a little tight. Next came the camisole, which was every bit as defeminizing as the night before, and rendered me completely flat-chested. I began to wonder whether my mother might have had something up her sleeve ahead of time, when the dress seemed to fit so well. How could something that was so obviously sewn for a toddler, fit over my five-foot-four frame?

All done up, I thought about tying my hair back into a ponytail. At least there, the rational side of my brain decided to allow me a few more moments with my long red hair, loose about my shoulders.

A quick look in the mirror on the back of my bedroom door, confirmed how ridiculous I looked. Rather than the mature twenty-three-year-old I had grown accustomed to, what confronted me instead was an oversized toddler, all dressed for an outing with her mother. My granny panties were already getting a workout, feeling my hairless labia sliding wetly over one another as I descended the stairs.

“Aren’t you precious?” I heard my mother say as I rounded the corner to the kitchen. Oatmeal and a glass of milk replaced my usual coffee and a bagel, but I was in my glory, soaking up each new humiliation.

“Well, Susie. I certainly didn’t expect such cooperation from you.” She stated, mildly. “I would almost think you had something up your sleeve.”

“No, Mom… Mom…my.” I forced it out. The two psyches battled within me, the woman that I once was, surrendering to the need for overwhelming sexual humiliation. This little girl inside me was no innocent.

We arrived at Flo’s salon several minutes early, but my mother wanted to get me inside, I think so she could show off what she had done to her errant daughter. I knew that I was garnering looks from everyone who saw me. I knew how ridiculous I was, and yet, I loved every second of the stares and whispered comments as we sat in the waiting area.

Finally, Flo stepped through the curtain, instantly eyeing me up and down. “Well, Delores, I see you’ve taken her down a couple of pegs.”

“She did need some reining in, I’m afraid, although she’s been surprisingly cooperative, I must say.” My mother explained. “I think she needed a do-over.”

“Well, it looks like we’re starting over at about a six.” Flo chuckled.

“That’s about what I had in mind. Funny, she seems to like it.” She leaned into Flo’s ear. “She had all her, well…” She indicated an embarrassing circle around my crotch, “removed.”

“Removed, as in permanent?” Flo questioned, looking at me. All I could do was nod my head, as they both chuckled. “Seems like you brought this upon yourself, Susan.” She sighed.

“Susie.” My mother corrected. “I think she likes it better.”

“Okay, Susie. How about we get you in the back and give you a style that better suits your age.” Flo directed us into the back of the salon and her station. I could see the large pile of hair that was pushed into a corner behind her chair. Seems like Flo had been busy. I knew that soon enough, a good portion of that pile would be red. “Did you have something in mind, Del?”

“No. I thought I’d leave that part up to you. Now that you know the score, I figured you’d do what was best.” My mother insisted.

“Why don’t you head over to Cam’s diner and have a cup of coffee, Delores. I’ll give you a call when we’re done. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.” Flo suggested.

“Well, that’s a marvelous idea. You behave for Flo now, Susie.” My mother chided.

“I will, Mommy.” Loud enough that most of the room heard me. I watched as she disappeared through the curtain at the front, then turned my eyes to Flo.

“Now that we’re all alone, ‘little Susie’, I want to let you know that I’m onto your little game,” Flo whispered harshly. “You’re getting off on this ‘little girl’ trip you’re on, aren’t you?”

There was no use in denying what was so painfully obvious. I look up into her large brown eyes, nodding. I had no idea what was going to happen, but I knew that it was probably not going to be good.

“First things first, Susie.” Flo lifted a pair of scissors from the counter and began to randomly chop at my waist-length hair. She hadn’t even bothered to cape me. I watched in awe as spindles of long red locks caught on my jumper and twisted to the floor. In no time at all, I sported a choppy bob that barely reached my chin.

Seeing something so drastic happening was only fuel for the little submissive girl hiding in my adult body. A giggle escaped my lips as she set down the shears.

“Now, for some real fun,” Flo said, as she wetted my hair down with a spray bottle. That done, she knelt and pulled out a box that I hadn’t seen before. Inside were row after row of the thinnest little red rollers.

With an evil smile, Flo began to roll what remained of my hair into the rollers, along with a strip of sponge. I knew she was curling my hair, that much was obvious, but when she mixed up the caustic-smelling solution, I knew it was more.

When she was finished, every hair was curled up so tightly, the shape of my head beneath them was quite evident. I wrinkled my nose as she began painting the rollers with the nasty liquid, until my entire head seemed saturated in it. If it wasn’t for the smell, I would have been aroused.

“Now, we’ll just let that cook for a bit, Susie.” Flo chuckled. “If you only knew what was coming.” She added.

Flo pulled down a large hairdryer over my head, only it wasn’t really drying, just heating. My scalp itched like fire as the liquid continued to leach into my hair, and right about then, I thought the whole thing might never end. By the time I was pulled out from under the cap, I was fit to be tied.

“Itches a little, huh?” Flo suggested, with a grin. Nodding, I must have seemed desperate as she slowly began to rinse out the vile liquid from my hair. I thought for sure she would be taking out the rods, but instead, it was back under the cap, this time to dry.

As the dryer blew hot hair onto my already itchy scalp, I could feel my skin seem to tighten. It was a weird enough sensation that it allowed a bit of the little girl to surface. ‘What if my hair just fell out after all of this?’ I thought. I tried to imagine myself bald, and that just gave me all sorts of humiliating images.

Just as I thought my arousal was peaked, Flo pulled the cap off and sprayed my head with another chemical, smelling a lot like lacquer. As Flo began pulling the red rods out of my hair, I began to see just what had been done. Every time she pulled a rod away, a tight ring of hair sprung back close to my head.

The fact that my hair was flame red, only added to the comical look of the style. By the time all the rods were out, my head was coated with a forest of super-tight ringlets. Now I really did look like Annie, for heaven’s sake!

I knew that the show wasn’t over, however, when Flo began to tease the curls into the densest looking ball of red fur imaginable. Using her scissors again, she began to shape the fuzz into a tight little ball that mimicked the shape of my skull beneath.

I really did think she was done at that point. What else could she do? I was about to find out. Lifting a small set of clippers from the counter, she began in the back. I couldn’t see, but I could feel the warm metal of the bare clippers ride up the back of my head, only lifting away as they reached halfway up my head. This was repeated until I could feel the cold breeze caressing my scalp where it had been shaved to the skin.

Once the back was done, Flo started on the sides, carving a wide swath of skin around each ear. It looked absolutely ridiculous.

“Well, as much as I’d like to, and as much as you’d probably enjoy it, I can’t leave it like this.” Again, with the scissors, Flo tapered the micro-bob poodle-doo so that there weren’t any sharp untrimmed edges. The top of my head looked like an eraser, with my head and neck, acting as the pencil.

“Well, look at that.” I heard my mother exclaim as she appeared through the curtain.

“I thought, short of shaving her bald, this would be as low maintenance as I could achieve for you, Delores,” Flo explained.

“It’ll take some getting used to, but it almost suits her. Wouldn’t you say so, Susie?” She asked, hoping for the same ultra-cooperative little girl.

“Yes, Mommy.” I blurted out, knowing how foolish I really looked.

“You know, Del. I’ve got some ideas that might help Susie here, come to terms with her new ‘age problem’,” Flo suggested. “Why don’t you drop her over at my place tomorrow for a bit. I’ve got the entire day off.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea. It will give me a chance to buy some new outfits for her.” My mother gushed. She turned and headed for the front, but before I could follow, Flo got me by the arm.

“Tomorrow, we’ll find out just how young you ‘really’ are.” I felt my knees buckle a little with the prospect of being left under this woman’s care. She released me, but as I walked away, I ran my fingers up my newly shorn nape and around the sides to my devastatingly naked ears. Looking back, Flo was watching me, and I couldn’t help but smile.