Saturday, February 19, 2011


With some trepidation, I walked into my old office on Monday. I'd been retrenched last Friday, and my dear boss Simon, who'd felt bad enough about `letting me go', had managed to find an extra week's work on lucrative casual pay.
What Simon didn't know was that in celebration of my big payout last Friday my husband Josh had buzzed my hair to a number two all over! Not the perfect look for a legal secretary working in an English regional market town, where even colourful foils or an asymmetrical haircut raised eyebrows.
Coward that I was, I wore a hat into the office..better break it to them gently!
Emily, the paralegal who'd be moving to Birmingham with Simon, was packing boxes.
"Hi, Ella! So glad you could help us. Simon felt so bad asking you after paying you out."
"Not at all, happy to help," I said cheerfully. "It's another week's pay." I put my bag down on my old desk, which looked empty and forlorn.
"Nice hat."
Grinning, I took the nice hat off. Emily shrieked.
"ELLA! WHAT have you done?"
"Had a haircut. Time for a change, a new career. Or no career at all for a while," I said casually, trying to control my shudders of delight as Emily rushed across the office and ran her hands over my stubbly hair. It was irresistible, I looked so soft and furry. People just wanted to touch it. At least Josh did; he hadn't kept his hands from my head all weekend.
"Ooh," said Emily. "Ooh. It's all fuzzy." Finally she let my head go and I almost had to cross my legs to hide the excited wetness I was sure was staining the crotch of my jeans.
She tilted her head on one side. "You know, it really does suit you. But HOW could you have all your lovely hair shaved off like that?"
I laughed. "Easily. I'd been longing to try it for ages but working here, it didn't seem appropriate."
Emily wrinkled her nose. "I know what you mean. I'd love to wear funkier clothes but I have a feeling the clientele would be stunned or terrified if I rolled up in a microskirt and crop top." She tossed her own shoulder length, curly bob, a delectable shade of deep, dark auburn, back in a motion that gave me a fleeting rush of regret that I couldn't do that any more. My head was still tingling from Emily's caress though, and any regret passed quickly. "And I'd love to do something wild with my hair too, not just wear it loose or up in those bloody buns that every flippin' paralegal or solicitor wears."
Ah, music to my ears! I said caressingly, "But you're moving to Birmingham, Em. A big city. Broader outlooks. Nobody looks twice at people walking down the street wearing weird things, funky things, shaved heads, tattoos, women with crew cuts. And the law firm that's taken you over is full of young people. They can't ALL be conservative, I'm sure. Why don't you lash out and live a little? You'll be putting Dorminster well behind you. Think of the clubs in Brum for starters."
Emily was younger than I by nearly ten years, a sweet girl who would blossom in a bigger city, away from her parents with whom she still lived. Her eyes were full of city lights as she gazed past me; perhaps she imagined herself in a club, dancing with a young stud, her ears boasting satellite dish dangly earrings, her long legs shown off to perfection in a tiny skirt. And what about her hair? I was imagining that myself all too well!
"You're right, Ella. First thing I do with my pay when I move is buy a new wardrobe," she said, with a firm nod of her head. The curls bounced.
Before I could suggest a change of hairstyle, Simon's hearty whistle echoed down the corridor. "Hey, girls!" he shouted, slinging his briefcase into his office in a most un-solicitor-like way. "Have you started pack -"
He saw me and his jaw dropped. "Ella? Is that really you?"
I suppose the heavy eye makeup wasn't something I normally wore to the office, let alone the haircut, the tight jeans and equally tight t-shirt and my favourite black boots with the killingly pointed toes.
Simon let out a long, tuneless whistle and walked around me. "Wow," he said finally. "Who'd ever have thought Annie Lennox was hiding behind those polite skirts and jackets? It's lucky you're not working here any more! Old Colonel Maddox would have a fit! And I probably wouldn't get any work done at all. You look amazing!" Like Emily, he stroked my clipped hair wonderingly. "I've never seen such a short haircut on a woman."
I burst out laughing. "You obviously haven't been around much, Simon! I'm sure you'll see all kinds of sights in Birmingham!"
He was still stroking my hair. "I do like this, I really do. It's sort of, boyish, but on you it's so feminine, it really brings out your eyes. Damn it, Ella, if you weren't married I'd make a terrific play for you!" Finally he dropped his hands to his sides. "So, a new image for a new phase of your life, eh? Not a bad idea."
Simon ran his hands through his own hair, a floppy mane that was out of date; much like Hugh Grant's hair in Four Weddings and a Funeral. Dorminster wasn't the most fashion-conscious of towns and Simon's haircut was probably still fairly `new' as far as local trends went. God only knows I'd seen seventies sideburns and eighties mullets in the local pubs. "What do you think, girls? Should I get a new haircut too to fit in with the trendy blokes up in Brum?"
Simon was single, in his late thirties, a little on the chubby side - cuddly more than fat - with a cheeky face and wicked smile. He'd probably look good with a crewcut instead of that floppy forelock, and I told him so.
"What, like yours?" He touched his hair nervously. Ah, a long-haired lad.they were always the best to convert. Look at my darling Josh!
"Well, you could go a little longer if you wanted. But you've got nice thick hair, it's not receding at all, why not? If you hate it, it will soon grow out," I said persuasively. "Think how many of those Brummy girls would like to run their hands over your head like you did with mine."
"What the heck, it's only hair," Simon said finally. "Can you girls keep packing while I find a barber?"
Not for nothing did I bring my big tote bag with me today; my barber's set was nestling inside it.
"Sit down, Simon. I'll cut your hair. For free."
Simon turned pale. "You? But you're not a hairdresser. Or barber. You're a legal secretary."
"WAS a legal secretary. I've been cutting Josh's hair for years. He's got the same haircut as me at the moment. It's totally painless." I pushed a numb Simon into the nearest office chair - my old one, as it happens - and whipped out the cape from my bag.
Emily gaped as I threw it round Simon's neck like a toreador goading a bull.
"You'll look super, Simon. Let's just call this a farewell gift from me to you, for being such a good boss." Before he could move I plugged the clippers into the wall and slipped the number two guard on.
I swung the chair around to face me, flicked the clippers into life and regarded Simon's shining, floppy hair for the last time. It was in good condition. It would look great on the floor.
The clippers crackled and snarled as I pushed them straight down the middle of Josh's centre part.
Emily said, "Ooh," again, her eyes like saucers as she watched me shear Simon's conker brown hair. "Ooh, Ella, it's so QUICK!"
Doesn't give the victim time to escape, I thought happily to myself.
"How short are you taking it?" wondered Simon, who thankfully couldn't see his hair being shorn in any reflective surface. With the top now clipped ruthlessly, and long hair still at the sides, he did look odd.
"Same as mine," I said briskly. To cheer him up, I stroked the top of his head. "How does that feel?"
Simon groaned pleasurably. "Nice. Odd to feel it so short, but nice."
He sat wordlessly as I moved to the side and ran the clippers up his temple. His hair fell in clumps onto his knees. "God.there's a lot of it."
"And heaps more to go," I said cheerfully, pushing an ear forward and buzzing around it. I would have loved to have taken longer, but didn't want Simon to see how aroused I was getting. Or Emily, come to that.
I pushed his head forward and started low on his neck, shearing away the hair that grew in whorls. He didn't have a particularly hairy neck and I decided to leave him with a natural hairline rather than square or round it off.
Emily moved behind me, watching silently as the long passes of my clippers reduced Simon's glossy hair to stubble. This was always an erotic moment for me - half a head clipped, knowing the rest had to go. The victim always looked so vulnerable; unable to run away for fear of looking foolish, captive without bind, unable to flee the inexorable, the inevitable; feeling his or her hair get clipped to cruel shortness.
There, the back was done. Only one side left to go, with Simon currently looking like a leftover from an 80s rock video, one or two locks falling over one ear. Not for long. Three superb passes from my clippers and Simons' shearing was more or less done. Of course, there was tidying up to do, and Emily my shadow as I trimmed the hairline into neat points and did a final pass here and there to ensure all hairs were uniformly clipped.
Finally I got my neck brush out and whisked all the clippings away; unfastened the cape, set Simon free.
As expected his hands flew to his head. "Whew! That's SHORT! How does it look?"
Emily was looking at her boss with new eyes. Not surprising, he looked younger and almost handsome in a cheeky-chops sort of way. If I wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of lust in her gesture as she reached over and rubbed his head softly. "Ooh, Simon! You look great!" Simon closed his eyes in pleasure as she stroked his head all over.
Encouraged, Simon dashed off to the gents' to check his new cut out; he was gone ages. We heard happy whistling as he returned, always a good sign. "Perfect, Ella! I almost didn't recognise myself - thought there was some new young exec from downstairs at the urinals!" He held my shoulders and kissed me on each cheek. "That was quite an experience," he murmured. I had a hunch he'd wanked himself off in the gents'.
After that packing boxes seemed a very mundane task. Emily's eyes were constantly flying to me and Simon as we sorted files and stationery. I could feel her gazing at my hair. Once or twice I caught her speculative gaze at Simon's clippings still lying on the floor; we'd Hoover them up when we'd finished everything else.
"Lunchtime," Simon finally announced when we'd finished packing Emily's stuff and most of my old stuff. "Lunch is on me. What about I go and get some curries?"
For all Dorminster's faults, it boasted a seriously good Indian restaurant. Emily and I agreed in a trice. "And don't forget extra pappadoms," I said. "The ones with the spices in them."
When he'd trotted out the door, Emily said: "I can't get over Simon's hair. What you did to it. He looks so different! And your hair. Does it hurt, or pull, having your hair cut with clippers?"
Aha, I thought. "Not at all. It's rather pleasant, actually. It tickles a bit and you get a sort of throbbing against your head." I was silent for a moment, watching her watching Simon's hair on the floor. "It's hard to describe. The only way is to try it for yourself."
Wordlessly Emily walked over to my haircutting set and looked at the attachments. "This one, a number four, what does it do?"
"Cuts hair to half an inch long," I said, biting back a smile and the urge to say "a tapdance".
"Ella.watching you cut Simon's hair.that was one of the most erotic things I've seen," she said, blushing. "I've never seen a man get his hair all cut off like that; never seen anyone get their hair cut with clippers." My, I thought, you HAVE lived a sheltered life! "The way Simon was leaning his head this way and that as you were cutting, his eyes closed, like he was in another world, and the look on your face - like you were really enjoying it, getting turned on by it. Were you?"
Oh, shit. "Well, Em, actually.yes. It's a weird thing I discovered about myself years ago. That's one of the reasons I cut Josh's hair. It's a turnon. For both of us really."
"Would it-" Emily gulped and turned an even brighter shade of red. "Would it turn you on to cut my hair?"
Shit yes! I thought. All those lovely bubbly curls, falling to the ground! But I had to be diplomatic; never scare the victim off. "Well, it might," I said evasively.
"Because it would turn me on if you did," Emily said boldly, her eyes wide like a startled deer at her own bravery.
My heart thudded. Those thick, thick curls! "Em, you'd look ravishing with short hair. You've got such delicate features. They're overwhelmed by your hair. You look good when you tie it back really tightly, which kind of looks like you've got all cut off from a distance anyway."
Without a word, Emily handed me the clippers and sat in the chair. "Are you going to cape me?" She smiled shyly.Gently, I did, shaking her russet hair over the cape. I considered the clippers. A number eight through the top, I thought, tapering down through a four to perhaps a two at the hairline. A boy's haircut that would look undoubtedly feminine. I slipped the number eight guard onto the blades.
Emily tousled her lovely hair for the last time, pulling a curl straight. Heavens, it was long! It stretched down past her breasts. She took a deep breath. "Okay, barber Ella. Take it all off."
Music to my ears!
Tenderly I switched the clippers on and approached Emily's forehead. Her eyes were wide, watching the blades come closer and closer. She was almost crosseyed when they finally bit into her hair.
Her thick locks were hard work, but my clippers were up to it. Hair tumbled down her back after the first pass, which left an inch long path of hair standing up straight in, it seemed, shock.
"How did that feel?"
Emily's eyes were closed now. "Weird. Nice." Her mouth was open slightly; she was concentrating on sensations. How I knew that well!
Again and again I clipped the top of her head, watching the silky curls drop to the floor, coiled snakes, Medusa hair. Emily was almost moaning as I ran my fingers through the hair that was left. It had a slight curl; it would look great with some product through it.
I pushed her head to one side and began to shear the hair in front of her ears. Emily shuddered as the clippers howled in her ear, chewing her hair off. It was still miles too long for my liking at the side, but we'd soon fix that! Emily's lap started to fill up with masses of dark red curls as I clipped both sides of her head, taking extra care around her shell like, pale pink ears. She didn't say a word, just sighed occasionally, or moaned when I put a firm hand on top of her head and guided it in the direction I wanted it.
Emily, I decided, was enjoying her haircut just as much as I was. Time to milk it a little. "Put your head down," I whispered, pushing it forward. "It makes it easier to cut off aaaalllll the hair at the back." I lifted up a handful of the long curls left at her nape and let them flop. Emily wriggled in the chair.
"Don't move, Emily," I whispered. "Or the cut won't be even." Surveying her head, I plunged the clippers into her nape and went straight up the middle of the back, all the way to her crown, and, for good measure, down over the top to her forehead. The acres of hair caught in the guards tumbled down in front of her eyes and landed with a slither.
Oh, her hairline was poetry! I could see it already as I sheared the rest of her locks. Even with an inch left I could see how stunning she'd look with it tapered close.
There.all the long hair was gone now. On the floor.
"Not finished yet," I murmured in Emily's left ear as she began to move. "I'm going to cut the sides and back shorter." I ran my hands up into her hair and all over her head, and she pushed her head against my hands.
"That feels wonderful," Emily moaned.
"It'll be even better when I'm done," I promised, picking up the clippers again and slotting the number four on. "Nice and short."
This time I started at her nape, watching delightedly as her hair was reduced to a shorter, better length. I clipped up to her occipital bone, noticing the beautiful shape of her skull. This was a woman born for short hair.or even baldness.but I didn't let myself go there! That was dangerous territory indeed; I was wet enough just cutting her hair short.
Carefully I clipped around her ears, taking the clippers up to about an inch above them. Little half inch clippings fell about us, on Emily's face, on my clothes. The cut hair lay smoothly against her skin, long enough still to shine and glimmer a beautiful dark red.
Without turning the clippers off, I switched guards to a number two and homed in again on her nape.
"Head forward again," I said, and Emily dropped her head almost to her chest, sighing happily.
Slowly, delicately, I began to taper the hair at her hairline, shearing it so short her white scalp showed through despite its thickness. That poetic hairline took on a life of its own, a wave shape that drifted across the base of her skull.
Oh, to push the number two higher and higher, all over her head! But not yet, not this time. I satisfied myself with tapering an inch or so up her hair, then straightened her head.
"Time to blend a bit," I said, turning the clippers off and picking up my scissors and comb.
Emily's pupils had grown huge with desire as I ran the comb up the side of her head and began to snip away where the sides and top melded. I wanted this to be perfect - and God only knew when Simon would be back with the curry! So I worked as quickly and perfectly as I could, moving around her head, snipping, snipping, cutting her sideburns into sharp points, ruffling her hair, and combing and cutting again until, five minutes later, I was satisfied her haircut was complete.
"There, it's done," I said finally, dusting off Emily's naked, long neck and feeling a strange urge to kiss her, right in the middle of the nape.
I uncaped her; her legs were trembling, and so were her hands as she reached up to caress her newly mown hair.
"Ooh, Ella! Oh, the back! It's shaved! It's - quick, let me look at it!" Her legs almost buckled as she got up and staggered out the door towards the ladies'.
Amused, I followed her, and found her gazing at her reflection in a way that would have done Narcissus proud, turning her head this way and that.
She DID look beautiful.
"Oh, Ella! Thank you! Thank you! It's wonderful!" Emily flung her arms around me and hugged me, then kissed me. On the mouth.
Now I'm a woman of interesting tastes. I get my kicks shaving peoples' heads, for instance. One thing I've never got involved in is same sex attraction; it's never come up in my life, and I've never sought it or really given it more than just a passing glance.
But when Emily's hands crept up my back to touch my own clipped locks, and I, in return, couldn't stop from running butterfly fingertips up the back of her head, with her soft lips on mine, I felt I'd opened a door into another room.
What was in the room I didn't really know; whether I wanted to walk over the threshold I didn't know either, but standing in the doorway being kissed with a lot of enthusiasm by a ravishing girl with newly cropped hair was certainly - intriguing. And I didn't walk away.
In fact, after a moment, I started kissing her back, tugging her lips tenderly with my teeth until I felt her pelvis thrust against me. Our faces were covered in hair clippings my big neck brush had missed. I think we were eating them as well.
Numbly I backed against the door to the toilets and locked us in, my hands returning to Emily's head and then stroking down her slim, toned body.
Wordlessly we undid each other's clothing, she fumbling with the buttons on my jeans, me tugging her boring knee-length skirt loose and freeing those astonishingly long legs. I pulled my own t shirt off, flicked my bra loose and then opened the buttons on her shirt one by one, admiring her small, pert breasts nestling inside her bra.
I smelt my own excitement, and hers too.
Emily's tongue found mine eagerly, her mouth hot and firm. Our bodies ground against each other; my arousal was almost painful as I stroked her hair and grabbed a handful of the longer hair left on top of her head. Emily groaned and moaned. "Ella..Ella.."
Her lips left mine and she crouched in front of me. Of their own accord my legs spread open and Emily's fingers slid between them, rubbing against my clitoris and then up into my vagina, strong and hard.
Her head was bowed and her neck, her shaved neck with the skin showing through her hair, looked so beautiful and desirable. Bucking against her fingers, I came almost immediately, feeling sweat prickle my shorn scalp and my body fill with an indescribable shuddering warmth. There are orgasms and orgasms. This one was a world beater.
I could barely breathe, and Emily was gasping too. "Now me," she commanded, rubbing her head all the way up me from my close cropped pubic hair to my chin, where I licked her neck and nibbled at her buzzed nape and nearly made her scream in passion.
Hesitantly I put my hand between her legs; she was dripping, aching for it. Feeling my fingers there she thrust her body against them, urging me to push them up inside the slippery canal. I twisted my fingers together and obliged her. We were almost bent double, me licking her bare neck and biting her hair as I fucked her hard with my fingers. With a muffled scream, she jerked in my arms again and again until she finally sat on the floor, panting and sated.
"Oh God," she groaned. "Oh Ella..I'm so sorry.I've never done that before. I never knew I was like that. Or you." Not only sated, but embarrassed.
"Um, actually, I'm hetero as far as I know. That's a first for me as well," I said, feeling awkward too. The first time I've been unfaithful to Josh, I thought, and it's with a woman. Does that make it less of a bad thing?
"It was just.your haircut. and the haircut you gave me. It was such a turnon.watching Simon.having my own hair cut off." Emily hung her head.
I knelt beside her and ruffled her hair. "Don't be ashamed of it," I said, even though I was feeling ashamed of my own actions, me being married and all. "It happened, and it was wonderful. You've got a hair fetish - like I have. That was the driving factor behind us both having terrific orgasms. Best thing for you will be moving to a big city, you're bound to find someone to share it with."
Emily gave me a shy smile, and then a hug. A normal, girly hug between two old workmates. That we were naked on the floor of the loo with cropped heads probably wasn't really an issue!
"Come on, Em. We'd better get dressed. Simon'll be back soon with lunch."
"Simon!" Emily squawked and touched her hair. "Oh God, what will he say?"
As it happened, he said nothing. He just let the two carrier bags of curry drop from stunned fingers onto the carpet, his mouth a wide "O" of surprise.
When he found his voice, it was squeaky with shock. "Emily! Holy shit, girl!" He cleared his throat. "You look dynamite!"
He glanced from her to me. "Ella, you cut her hair?"
I nodded.
"Looks like you've got a new career in front of you, then. Em looks gorgeous. She'll knock `em dead in Brum. If I let her out of my sight."
Emily and Simon gazed at each other. I could almost see the sparks flying between them and feel the electricity in the air. If the room crumbled around them, they wouldn't notice.
I busied myself unpacking the curry. When I'd finished, they were in a clinch that certainly wouldn't be allowed in the new firm's offices, their hands over each other's heads, tickling and caressing newly shorn hair.
"Ahem," I said, "Lunch is ready. I'm having ALL the poppadums. Every one of them. And the vindaloo. Simon's favourite, vindaloo. All mine."
They didn't pay any attention. I think Simon's tongue was too far down Emily's throat to reply.
"Er, and if you want a touchup haircut, you both know where I live. Any time." I crunched a poppadum and helped myself to the rice.
* * *
I told Josh about my morning's activities, leaving out the astonishing, almost unbelievable now, scene between myself and Emily in the ladies' loos. No woman tells her husband EVERYTHING.
"You HAVE had a fun day. Maybe you should have cut your hair ages ago," Josh said. "It's a shame they're both moving on next week; otherwise you could have been given them trims or, you know, shaving their heads or something."
Josh rubbed his own shorn hair. From the grin on his face I knew it wouldn't be long before I'd be caping him up and shaving it off completely again. I poured us a glass of Chilean red and was about to take a sip when the doorbell rang.
"Blast. You stay there, darling, I'll get it." I hurried to the front door.
Emily stood there, in tight jeans and t-shirt not unlike mine. "You know how you said about a touchup haircut," she began.


Amy's moment of truth had finally arrived, and hadn't it been some time coming! A fleeting, sideways glimpse had become an idea, which grew into a fascination, turned into an infatuation, an obsession, and finally, after three uncertain years, action. Even now, she had no idea as to why the nondescript late-middle-aged woman with the G.I. crop had made such an impression. The wrinkled one's shaven gray stubble could only have been in view - what - two seconds maybe, as she'd hurried past to grab a taxi. But the imprint, once made, had found itself tattooed indelibly inside of the young Amy's head. Amy was attractive, unattached, from a good family, and still only 21. Yet at some point in the future, she knew her shoulder-length, raven black locks would have to be gone. Replaced by a cell-block chop that would turn heads wherever she went. It just bugged her that she had no idea as to why this should be the case. Strange thing, desire. It is surely something to be nurtured, even cherished, even when you don't always know the reason for it!
"I'll have it really short, please, all over, take as much off as you want."
It was not as if she hadn't tried. For most of those three years, this had been Amy's usual opening gambit. Keep it vague, you see, and the hairdressers will feel they have free rein and their natural inclination to "go to town" will take over and you'll end up bald. That's what the girls in the bank said, anyway. So Amy did her best. Really she did - give them the idea, but leave it open-ended enough to let them indulge their whims. Trouble was, her own fantasies were obviously far more imaginative than those of the scissor-wielders; for they'd always want to leave her locks 'a bit bushy round the temples' or 'saving a bit of the length at the back.' Saving for what, Christmas? Why wouldn't these people just do as they were (almost) told? Were they timid, inept or maybe just afraid of being sued? Each time, she would leave the salon with a nice, stylish, elfin, even sometimes boyish crop. But always with more than really required. Amy didn't want "nice"; she wanted "harsh", "severe", even "brutal"! And everywhere she went, so-called "stylists" were just too darned polite to do it.
So in the end, there had to be a choice. Buy a set of buzzy clipper things and do it yourself. Or get a gents' barber to do it. Realistically there wasn't actually a choice, since the first option just never would have occurred to a young clerk from a sheltered upbringing in a mid-size semi-rural town. As it was, the barber shop idea was as "out there" as any she'd ever had, and Amy knew straight off that her parents would probably be heartbroken. Poor Mom, who had enjoyed nothing more than to run a soft brush lazily through her only child's glossy tresses; that was, before she went short. Even now Amy's haircuts drew many a sorrowful maternal frown ("Please let it grow a bit more, dear, it really doesn't suit you!") What would she be thinking soon? And Dad - he'd probably just stand there scratching his head, looking so perplexed and bewildered that you would expect a cartoon question mark to appear over his brow at any moment. But hey, what self respecting twenty-one year old needs parental approval for everything? Or anything, come to that. Even young kids don't seem to bother these days. She'd probably have to leave home. But there again, what self-respecting blah blah blah... It was probably time to fly the nest anyway.
That was it. Destiny. Time to strike out on my own. Show the world who I really am. And any other platitudes
that come to mind - whatever.
And so this is how the plan - let's call it Operation Big Chop - was to become action. First, you have to find the barber's shop. For what this young woman had in mind, she would prefer an establishment inhabited by a gentleman of advancing years, wearing spectacles, and operating alone. Less trouble that way. Unfortunately, an hour's reconnaissance revealed that such places, if they ever did exist, now only did so in pre-war black and white movies. Where do old-fashioned men go nowadays? It's all "unisex" salons with groan-inducing names like "A Head of our Time" and "Curl Up and Dye", the very same salons that always let her down in the past. Everywhere you looked, bland, easy conformity. Identikit non-choices for the comfortable white middle class.
Of course, there was another way. It was called Highway 406, to be precise. The Road to Nowhere. Certainly nowhere Amy, her family, friends or co-workers had ever thought to venture. The railroad bisecting the 406 had long fallen into disuse, but had its tracks remained then she had always managed to steer this side of them - until now. Not out of choice, you understand. Hell, her folk weren't snobs, or racist or anything, just never found the need to "cross over". But now there was nowhere else to go and unless she was prepared for a 200 mile round trip upstate, then taking a small leap of faith while staying local and was really the only option. Come on, what's the worst that can happen? Dragged off and assaulted down a dark alleyway? Muggers on every street corner? Now that was offensive, and Amy chided herself for even thinking it. There was no time for reflection. Amy grabbed her coat, but before she could make it to the door, Mom called out from the kitchen.
"You going somewhere? Dinner's ready in an hour, you know." That wasn't a problem. An hour should be just enough.
"Oh, uh, just off to Publix for some, uh, groceries." Amy wasn't a convincing liar, but she couldn't bring herself to utter the truth.
"Oh, good - you can get me an eggplant and two small zucchini, I'm making ratatouille tomorrow. And 2 pints of low fat milk. 'Bye."
"Bye Mom." Typical.
The other side of town wasn't too bad, after all. A few boarded up windows, the odd stray dog, some black kids mooching about with a basketball, but nothing even vaguely threatening. The sun was out, so maybe that helped. It didn't take much driving around before she happened upon her prey. Unfortunately, the legend outside read: "Eddie Floyd (Jr.) - Moden Gentlemens Barber", and Amy had a little personal rule which dictated that you should never buy anything from folk who put up a mis-spelled or non-grammatical sign. Sloppy advertising equals sloppy wares, and all that. But could she afford to be so picky? For once, she reckoned this wasn't the time, but this could be the place. There was only one way to find out. She poked her head round the door.
"Hey, any chance for a Modern Lady?"
Immediately, the owner's face contorted into a dismissive scowl. "You kiddin' me, right?" This wasn't looking good. "Last time I saw, it said 'Gentlemen' outside, can't you read? Now git outta here!!"
Not much room for argument there. The lady made a for quick exit, resisting the temptation to remind Mr Floyd (Jr). about his mis-spelling.
That went well, she mused. Happily it was only a couple of blocks away, before another sign hove into view. This one simply read "CURTIS." in big, bold but rather faded white lettering. A lick of paint wouldn't have gone amiss, but it was self-evidently a barber's shop and who could tell where the next opportunity would arise. Parking up right in front in case she needed another speedy exit, Amy approached the heavy wooden door with frosted glass, bearing the word "Saloon" in big cowboy-style lettering. It creaked open to reveal a thick set, middle-aged colored gentleman, wearing thick horn-rimmed glasses, stooped over and totally immersed in the job of buzzing his very old client to within an inch of his life, what was left of it. Neither seemed to notice the girl tip-toeing toward the waiting chairs, and, being the only other person there, she was quite content with that. There was plenty of time to survey the surroundings, and the owner, 'Curtis'. Was that his first or second name? Well, the guy's obviously something of a whizz with the clippers, and he's probably so near-sighted that he can only see people's heads. That's probably why he gives such close haircuts, since he can only see so far! In fact, I'll bet if an orangutan came and sat in the chair he'd just think it was a big fat ginger-headed guy with...
"NEXT! You deaf?"
"Oh! No, sorry... my mind was elsewhere. Yes, so, I guess it's my turn...!"
"WAIT!" 'Curtis' peered inquisitively over the top of his spectacles. He made to speak, checked, and his expression suddenly changed to one of incredulity. Followed by something approaching anger. "You a... a... a WOMAN?"
There would hardly be much point denying it. "Looks like you got me there, sir! Look, I hope you don't mind because I don't..."
"Yeah? Well I DO! What you playin' at, comin' in heah - you blind?"
"Well, no - I just thought..."
"Well ya thought wrong!" In as much as an African-American's face could turn purple, it turned purple. "Ain't seen nothin' like it in all ma born days!. Dumb bitches in my joint? Nivah seen anythin' like it! Nivah!!"
With the big man's insults ringing in her ears Amy knew that having been labeled deaf, dumb, blind and illiterate in the space of thirty chastening minutes, there was only one venue Amy was headed now - the warm, soft, utter predictability of home. It's where you belong at times like this. Home: where girls were girls, men were men, rules were followed and everyone knew their place.
But it was safe, she had to admit that, and dinner was ready in half an hour.
"That was quick! Get my groceries?" A concerned voice drifted over from the kitchen.
Oh hell - completely forgot that. "Er... Publix was closed..."
"Closed? It's 24/7, I'm sure!"
"Uh, no - well, you see, I only went to the gas station next door and - uh, they were out of vegetables..."
"Okay, well make yourself useful and set the table before your Dad gets home."
This dreary domesticity would change soon, that was for sure. If Amy's new look meant a new life then so be it, this life was stifling. In fact, all the more reason to set 'Operation Big Chop' up and running, and as soon as possible. So how best to approach it? To recap, she had no problem finding a so-called "progressive" stylist, but they never took enough off. And any "real barber" that would fit the bill, well, they appeared to take offense at people with tits. Which left only one realistic option. In order to realize her desires, she would have to do like they did in them old
Shakespeare plays - and disguise herself as a boy. Or at best hide her femininity; that couldn't be too difficult, could it?
A few unusual purchases later, now for the checklist:
'Sensible shoes' - check. Not fully sure what that really meant, only that certain women wore them. Amy reckoned an unremarkable pair of sneakers would suffice.


It had been a busy day; Elliot had spent that morning traveling for a business conference in LA.  He was tired, jet-lagged, and hungry.  “I wish I could go back to the room and just crash," he thought to himself as he checked into the hotel, which was the same place the meeting would be held at, but knew he had to be in the meeting room in 20 minutes and they wouldn't start without him.  Grabbing a cup of coffee and toying with the idea of running up to his room for a quick cat nap, a familiar face stepped off the elevator.
He recognized her immediately.  “My god," he breathed, “she looks exactly the same."  And she did.  It had been nearly 13 years and she still took his breath away.  She was wearing a red outfit with white trim, which he immediately recognized as a flight attendant uniform.  She was walking briskly, suitcase in hand, all business.  He was so shocked that at he didn't move, and before he knew it, she walked out of the building out of his sight.
Thought you wouldn't have known it to look at him now, Elliot had been known as the class nerd in high school.  He was shy and skinny, with a gawky way about him, glasses, a big nose, and scruffy hair.  He mostly kept to himself and didn't have a lot of friends.  He just felt too awkward and nervous when he had to talk to people.
He spent most of his high school years wistfully watching everyone else be everything he wasn't, and he was known as the computer nerd.
He had also had a crush on the same girl since first grade.  Her name was Elizabeth, and she was the most well-loved, beautiful girl in school.  Tall, athletic, olive colored skin, she was part Indian and had thick, glossy jet black hair which fell all the way to the small of her back.  Elliot spent the better part of  school years lusting after her; in Elementary school, before most of the boys had even started having crushes, Elliot would watch her from afar as she talked and laughed with her friends, and he would imagine what it would be like to hold her.  When they were in high school, he'd masturbate and think about what she looked like naked: the image of perfection next to him in his bed, her soft, olive-colored skin, her deep brown eyes, her sensitive smile, her angelic voice, his hands lost in that beautiful thick hair of hers.
He loved her because he had never met anyone more beautiful, but it was more than that.  Elizabeth was the only beautiful and popular girl he'd ever known who was actually... sweet.  She never made fun of unpopular kids like himself.  She had a heart, she was generous, she was nice and never had a mean word for anyone.
Of course, he doubt she knew he even existed.  And now, nearly twelve years later, long after he gave up hope of ever seeing her again, he finally saw her again.  Incredible.  His first instinct as he watched her leave was to run after her, but the meeting was about to start, and he'd be in serious trouble if he wasn't there.  So instead of running after her, he sprinted to the elevator and made it just in time.
The meeting was dull, as he predicted, and  LONG.  He knew he'd probably be in there all day, and he found himself antsy and distracted, thinking about her.  He would find her later, he decided.  He had to.  If she was staying at this hotel he would surely run into her eventually.  He looked up at the huge mirror on the opposite wall of where he sat and stared at his reflection – a handsome, confident man stared back at him.  He was no longer that gawky, scared little boy he once was.  He could do this.
But then a little voice inside his head started. Do what?  it said. You're happily married, pal, remember?  And he was.  He had been married for several years to a wonderful woman he had met in college named Faye, and he knew he was lucky to have her.  He never once thought of cheating, but now thoughts and old feelings were resurfacing as he thought more about Elizabeth.  “This was the girl of my dreams for half my life," he whispered to himself.
He was stuck in meetings for the rest of the day, and by the time he got out, it was late in the evening, and he was drained, yet as he walked towards the elevator, he found himself going back down the the lobby where he had seen her come off the elevator some hours before.  He sat in one of the cushy arm chairs and sighed.  “If she's a flight attendant, she could have been flying out and could even be gone for days," he thought glumly, and realized chances were he'd be gone, back to his wife and kids, before she returned.  He sat there for a few more minutes, thinking, and then finally decided to go into the hotel restaurant before they closed and have a couple drinks to calm down.
It was mostly empty, with a few people sitting at the bar mainly.  He took an empty seat and ordered a drink.  He felt very depressed.
The bartender looked up at someone coming in behind him.  “Hey, Liz, I thought you were leaving today?"  he said.
At the name LIZ, Elliot turned around, and lo and behold, there was his high school crush walking towards him looking tired and worn out herself, still pulling the same suitcase she had earlier.  She smiled tiredly at the bartender and sat at the other end of the bar.  “Hey, Phil.  No, my flight was canceled.  I've just spent the whole day at the airport and I could use a night cap.  The usual, eh?"  Plunking her purse down next to her, she sighed, putting her head in her hands.
“Sure thing," Phil responded.
Elliot was again, too shocked to move.  He sat there staring at Elizabeth for several minutes, and he couldn't believe his luck.  Now that he was so close to her and he realized he had a chance, he began having second thoughts.  He just wasn't sure now.  What if she brushed him off or left or something?  This seemed like a once in a lifetime opportunity and he really didn't want to blow it.
He watched her as she took her glass of wine and slowly began sipping it, all the while chatting idly with the bartender.  It was just like old times; Elliot watching from a far as Liz talked and laughed.  Oh man, this was almost too much.
Finally, the bartender tended to his other customers and Elliot knew it was now or never.  Taking his wedding ring off his finger and slipping it into his pocket, he got up from his seat and slowly walked towards her.  “E-Elizabeth?"  he began tentatively.
At the sound of her name, she turned slowly, and looked just like a model with her thick hair in a professional bun and he felt his knees go weak.  She looked him over, and responded, “Do I know you?"
“Um... well, no, not really... but I know you.  Well, we went to the same school.  You grew up in Denver, right?  We attended school together."  He was rambling.  God damnit.
He half-expected her to burst into laughter and turn away, but her face broke into a smile.  “Really?  You're kidding!"  she paused, and looked at him again.  “I don't recognize you at all."
“Well, you wouldn't," he said hastily.  “I... look a lot different.  My name is Elliot, by the way.  Can I buy you a drink?  I heard about your flight cancellation, that's too bad.  Can I buy you a drink?"  he slipped into the seat next to her, smiling.
She allowed him to buy a round of drinks and they began talking.  He couldn't believe he was really talking to her, and gradually he felt the feeling come back in his legs and realized that talking to her was so natural; she was just so sweet and friendly, and she seemed to be enjoying his company, too.  They talked about everything, from the old days, to what was new with her since then.
“I've been living here in LA since graduation," she told him.  “I had a huge fight with my parents and moved here with a friend.  My friend didn't last a month, and moved back, but I stayed.  It was definitely a learning experience.  I was broke, living in a rat-infested studio apartment in the worst part of this city, and for awhile I was hanging out with some really shady people, which is how I met my husband."
At the word husband, Elliot's stomach lurched.  “You're married?"  he squeaked.
She laughed.  “Oh god no, not anymore.  It didn't last long."  She trailed off here, and Elliot sensed she didn't want to talk about it, so he looked away.  Elizabeth smiled, and took another sip of her wine.  “Anyway, I'm doing great down.  I've been working for Virgin Atlantic for five years now, and I have a cute little condo on the beach.  My life is busy, but enjoyable.  What about you?  Are you married?"
“Who, me?  No," he lied.  “I've just been, you know, busy, with my career... guess I haven't had time to settle down with anyone."
She nodded, and he looked carefully at her expression.  Was it just his imagination, or had she just beamed?  “So are you seeing anyone?"  he asked her a minute later.
She paused.  “Not officially," she finally admitted.  Another pause.  “I guess I'm like you.  Haven't found the right person yet.  Plus, I work a crazy schedule.  I guess I'm just too picky," she laughed.  He couldn't believe such a lovely, breath-taking woman was still available!  This was too good to be true.
They had several rounds of drinks together, and every time her glass of wine went half-empty he'd single to the bartender to bring another.  The entire night he kept his eyes focused on her, never once tiring at looking at how beautiful she was.  He could see her face becoming flushed and her eyes looked tired yet she was animated, even flirting with him.  He became excited.  Soon they were the only two still left in the restaurant and they sat with their heads close together, knees touching, talking in hushed voices.  He could clearly see she was fairly tipsy.  Suddenly she let out a huge breath.  “I don't usually drink this much," she admitted slowly.  “I guess I'm just tired and it felt good to talk to someone from my neck of the woods... sometimes I really miss our old school, don't you?"
“Well, not really," he admitted.  “I wasn't popular like you were."  This created an awkward silence, and fearful he'd blow it, he tried to distract her by tentatively placing the tips of his fingers on her knee.  At his touch he sensed her shiver, and instinctively she brought her legs closer together.  He quickly let his hand drop, and said, casually as possible, “You look tired.  Would you like me to walk you to your room?"
“Sure," she responded, and he stood up.  “Hold on," she said, and picking up her glass, she downed the rest of her wine in one go.  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she smiled sheepishly up at him, but he only laughed, and arm in arm, they began walking back towards the elevator.
She leaned heavily against him and he realized she was a lot drunker than he had realized.  He held her tightly as they waited for the elevator, and when  the double doors opened and they walked in alone, she began to grind against him passionately.  He immediately got a massive boner and couldn't stop himself; he leaned down and began kissing her slender neck.  She let out a loud moan.  “Kiss me," she whispered.  He didn't hesitate; pulling her face towards his, he began to kiss her beautiful mouth – a soft, wet kiss, and her hands were all over his body.  After a moment the kiss broke and he continued to kiss her cheek, her chin, her ear.  “Oh god, oh god," she whispered over and over.
The elevator doors opened and he led her off, but she quickly took the lead, leading him to her room.  Once inside they made a mad dash for each other again.  Part of him wanted to rip her clothes off and be inside her, and the other part wanted to slow down and enjoy this moment.  Before he could make up his mind, she started to pull away.  “Wait," she said.  It took all his self control for him to stop.  “What is it?"
She didn't say anything for a moment.  She was breathing hard, and he could smell the alcohol on her breath.  She stumbled across the hotel floor and turned on the lamp near the bed.  Bathed in light, he could see her face was flushed, her bun loose, her eyes slightly blood-shot, but she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.  Yet he could tell she looked troubled.  She sat on the edge of the bed.  “I have to tell you something," she said.  “I... lied earlier."  She paused again, and he waited for her to continue.  “When I acted like I didn't know you... I was lying.  I did recognize you.  I recognized you immediately, I just... I don't know.  I don't know why I pretended..." she trailed off, and he could tell she was visibly distressed.
He walked towards her, sat on the bed next to her, and put his arms around her.  “Don't worry about it," he heard himself saying as he stroked her soft hair.  “Why are you so upset?  It's no big deal."
“No, it is," came her muffled response.
She lifted her head to look at him, her soft brown eyes troubled.  “It is a big deal," she said quietly.  “I was embarrassed.  I..." she sighed.  “You were one of the most unpopular kids in our school.  And when I saw you tonight, I knew immediately, just by looking at you, that you were successful, happy, fulfilled.  I felt so inadequate next to you... like a loser for not being as successful as you.  I was embarrassed.  I didn't want to face you."  she sighed.  “Plus, I was so attracted to you."
Elliot was flattered.  “Wow," he said.  “I'm flattered, really.  But it's okay.  You're right, I was a loser in high school."
“No--" she began.
“No, it's okay, I was.  But you don't have to feel like this.  You aren't a loser.  When I saw you tonight, I was blown away, I had forgotten how beautiful you are... look at you, even know... you're so..." he trailed off and they began kissing passionately again.  She began moaning again and he began tugging at the waist band of her red skirt roughly.  Suddenly it broke free and he realized he had broke the zipper.  Pulling it down roughly, he could see her little white panties and her thighs.  Her crotch was wet, and he could see her pubic hair, so thick and dark, right through the white panties.  “God," he whispered, and began to reach for them.
But she stopped him.  “Wait.  I'm not sure about this."
“What?  What's wrong?"
“I... I don't want to give you the wrong impression.  I'm really not this kind of girl.  I'm not easy.  I really like you, I don't want you to think--"
“I could never think like that about you," he told her tenderly, and began to pull at them again, but she stopped him, again, this time more firmly.  “No, don't.  Please.  Let's just call it a night.  We can see each other again..."
But he knew he'd never get another chance with this girl.  When this trip was over, he'd go back to Denver.  Back to his wife and kids.  He'd never get this opportunity again.  “No," he said flatly, in a voice completely unlike his.  Without waiting for her response, he grabbed her wrists—hard--and forced them to the mattress.
She was so taken aback she didn't respond right away, but he began tugging at her panties again and she yelled.  “Stop it!"  she shrieked, trying to push him off her.  But he was too strong.  They began to struggle, and he wrestled with her for a minute.  Soon he had her on her back, her wrists firmly placed to the mattress, unable to move.  She became scared.  “This isn't a joke," she said.  “Get off of me now," but he ignored her and the next thing she knew, she could feel added pressure on her arms.  “What are you doing?!"  she shrieked, and as she looked up she saw he was tying her wrists to the bed posts with her shredded skirt.  Soon she was tied securely, and he stood up.  She tried to move, but she couldn't, and he watched her for a minute, pleased at the look in her eyes.
Now she was scared.  “What is going on!?  Let me go!!"  she began to cry, and the tears streamed slowly down her face.  “What has gotten into you?  I thought... I thought... did you plan this?"
Elliot didn't respond right away.  He was so turned on by Elizabeth, half naked on the bed tied up, completely at his mercy.  His cock began to grow to full potential as he thought of all the possibilities.  He could feel something slowly crossing over in him, though he didn't know what.  “This is for your own good," he could hear his voice saying.  She began to cry some more and protest, but he didn't listen as he got up and went into the bathroom to retrieve something.
As he walked back into the room, he stepped out of his clothes and was soon standing in front of her naked, his throbbing dick dripping with pre-come.  Never in all his life had he felt so horny.  His cock was aching, but he took his time.  He was going to treasure this.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye.  She could see something shiny in his hand, but she didn't know what.  “W-what are you doing?"  she asked through her tears, and he could see she had been crying so much she had drenched her shirt, making it transparent.  Her hard, dark nipples poked out.  Without thinking he began ripping her shirt off, exposing her bra.  Then he lifted his hand and she saw he held a large pair of shiny silver scissors.  Her eyes widened.  “ W-what are you going to do?!?!  Please don't hurt me!  You're a fucking psycho!"  But he ignored all of this and slowly began to cut her bra right off her chest, making sure not to accidentally cut her skin; the sharp scissors sheared through the material easily and with the last snip, broke free, and her large, supple breasts sprung out.  He was aching so much now and concentrated with every once of self-control not to jump her.  Instead, he lowered the scissors and began cutting her panties straight up the slit until her pussy was exposed.  Then he ripped them off her waist, throwing them to the floor. He looked down and saw her pubic hair was as thick as the hair on her head.  Thick, dark hair which had probably never been cut.  It nearly drove him mad with desire; there was nothing he loved more than fucking a woman with a thick patch of pubic hair.  He reached up and also began undoing the bun on her head; her hair came loose and cascaded down over her chest and pillow.  Her hair drove him crazy; it was so beautiful, and he knew now he had to do it, he just had to.
Now Elizabeth was stark naked on the bed, her wrists still securely tied to the bed posts, but her legs were kicking freely.  Worried she would kick him where it would matter, he gathered up the rest of her clothes and used them to tightly fasten her kicking ankles to the bottom of the bed.  Now all her limbs were tied and she couldn't move at all.  He stared down at this beautiful girl, powerless and crying, enjoying it all.
Elizabeth continued to cry.  “Please," she said through her sobs," please don't rape me, Elliot.  Don't do this to me, I'll do anything you want, I'll--"
Elliot finally spoke.  “I'll make a deal with you," he said quietly, and Elizabeth stopped crying, looking up at him hopefully.  “I won't rape you," he told her.  “But I am going to go down on you; you'd like that, wouldn't you?"
She responded by spitting in his face  “No," she said hotly, panting deeply, “this is so wrong and perverse.  You're an absolute monster."  Yet, he could tell she almost liked the idea and he was glad she was so against it.  He would enjoy beating her into submission.
“Tell you what," he said,  “I'll go down on you for five minutes, and if you can sit there without having an orgasm, then I won't... punish you."
Without waiting for her to respond, he dove down with vigor and began to devour her hairy pussy.  He started off slow and gentle, softly licking her slit and around her clit.  Since he had tied her legs, her thighs were pulled apart, but he could feel the muscles begin to tense, and he could tell if she wasn't tied up she'd have brought her thighs together to wrap around his head.  He continued to lick her, slowing gaining speed, then he was lapping at her clit.  She began to tense and moan, and her pussy was wet with her juices.  It excited him so much to see her like this, and he continued to lick her clit, hard, over and over.  Now she was screaming with pleasure.  “No, stop," she said, but there was no real authority in her voice, and suddenly, without warning, she began to scream, her pussy contracted, and he could feel her push her pelvis up to meet his mouth in a powerful orgasm.  He continued to softly lick her until she settled down, then he slowly sat up and without missing a beat, grabbed a handful of her thick hair – the same hair he had fantasized about so many years ago - brought the scissors to her nape and slowly closed the blades around it.  He began cutting through her thick hair, lock by lock, and she was still so weak from orgasm that she didn't realize until he had already cut off a huge portion of her hair what he was doing.  Suddenly she gasped and began to flail around on the bed, shrieking.  “Stop it!  What are you doing!  Please, Elliot, please, not my hair, not my hair!"  But it was too late, and if anything, her cries of anguish just turned him on more and spurred him on.  He cut all her hair, and it fell around her in thick masses, covering her naked body.  Soon her hair was completely shorn, and her once beautiful mane was now reduced to an uneven shag cut.  He was still horny, so he brought the scissors down and without missing a beat, began to attack her pubic hair, cutting it short and crass.  When he was finished, she was crying hysterically, and quickly, before his boner diminished, he ran into the bathroom to collect a razor and shaving cream, and began to shave her pussy bald.  Soon it was smooth and clean looking, and he wiped it with a damp cloth to get rid of the stray hair, then immediately mounted her and began to fuck her bald pussy.  She was moaning again and he fucked her hard, watching her huge tits move back and forth until he came.
When he was finished he got off her, then covered her head with shaving cream and slowly began to shave her head.  He brought the razor up and down her head slowly, careful not to miss a spot.  By this time she was so tired and beaten that she no longer fought, but sat there idly while he shaved her.  Soon she was bald, and he looked down at this girl who now looked like a stranger to him.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour, he slowly began to untie her.


Well everybody must be knowing about the Indian women and about their hair. Well 80% of the Indian women have their hair below their waist. Indian women never ever in their life go for hair cut to a barber they just keep on growing them out. They really have the best quality of the hair in the world thanks to their regular oiling.
But in today in 21st century they are revolting against the long hair (traditional customs) as they don't have enough time to maintain them.. And they finally started preferring short styles.
Well this story is about a young Indian woman in her early 20's. Well while traveling in a bus in south India I saw a young beautiful lady get in the bus. You wont believe her hair length was below her bums that those hair were braided and imagine how long it would get once they left open. Her hair was damn thick. The whole journey I kept looking at her hair. I wanted to get in some kind of conversation. So finally I changed my seat and I sat next to her. I knew that this bus was going to last for about an 2 or more hours. As I sat to her we remembered we have seen each other earlier and remembered that she was in the same college I was in. well at the start we started talking about the college life and thereafter. I finally started to talk about her hair and she liked as I started complimenting her hair. But I also said that how do you maintain such a long hair in such a busy modern life. So I discovered that she wasn't employed anywhere and she was goin to find a job. So I asked that why don't you try becoming a hair hostess and first she laughed but I convinced her about her beauty and her wonderful hair.
She told me that she was leaving with her sister only. As soon as we got of the bus I took her to a Air Hostess academy. People at reception said that she had really beautiful face but she had to get herself a modern look with make up , stylish clothes and a haircut. So the people took her into their grooming section. She had never gone to beauty clinic. The hair specialist said that she will have to cut her hair short to get her excellent look. As soon she heard it she ran away from there toward the waiting room. She said to me that didn't want to become a air hostess if she had to cut he hair. But after a convincing her for about a day she got ready to cut her hair.
But she told that she wont let haircut by that stylist. So I as my dream come true I told her that I myself was a hairstylist in the city. So that day we decided that I would cut her hair tomorrow in the morning and then after the cut she go to stylist for remaining change over.
In the evening I told we should go out to bring accessories to cut her hair and again she started crying. So I left her alone in the hotel room and I went for shopping. This was first time I would ever cut someone hair so I decided to buy best quality of accessories. So I dropped near by shop I bought a cape, a very sharp scissor, water sprayer and two combs. And this all cost me bout rupees 1000 ($ 200).
When I returned back to the hotel I saw that she still was crying and this she had left her hair open. I marveled at that length I had reached almost her knees. So the morning finally arrived. I told her to wash her hair but before that I took some photos of her hair with my mobile. She was pretty okay by now and she wasn't crying as yesterday As she was bathing I arranged all the accessories on the grooming table and started sketch on piece of paper of what kind of hair cut I should give her and I finally decided that I would give her chin length bob. So I kept the sketch on the table. Finally she came out of the bathroom with her long washed hair. So I made her stand near the table to I could cut her hair easily as cutting her hair while seating wasn't possible. I started combing out her and I started to soothe her. I saw that she was lost in her own thought and her eyes almost wet.
After I had removed all the tangles from her hair I told that everything's ready, she couldn't speak a word. Finally she told me to go on with the hair cut. So I tied a pony at very bottom of her hair and another pony at a slightly below shoulder length. Pony's were so tight that not a single hair would come loose. She already seen the sketch so she knew what exactly I was going to do. I again took some photographs of her hair. Finally I took the scissor and I slowly started to cut her thick black hair. SCRUNCH SCRUNCH and finally the pony came of and I immediately took the pony and kept on the bed. She started crying after seeing her departed pony and her remaining hair in the mirror. After minutes I told that the we still need to cut her hair short. So I finally cut remaining hair above the shoulder and finally curled it too give her classic chin length bobcut. I tell you really looked more better that her long hair.
Once her hair was dried I styled her hair with her hair parted in the middle and her front her tucked behind her ears. Finally she stood near the mirror was touching her hair. Finally she thanked me for the haircut and she said that she happy with new haircut but was sad about loosing years of her long hair. She said that she never observed that she had such a beautiful hair and took some photographs. I kept her pony tail in my bag.
Finally we left for Air Hostess Academy and people down there were really shocked to see her new haircut and everyone complimented that she was looking more beautiful than ever. After an hour she came out of the grooming section of the academy I wont believe that she was same girl I had seen in the bus for first time. She had wore short skirt and suit like jacket same as air hostess clothes. Her photos were sent to leading airliners and she was finally selected for Emirates Airline and she how receives salary of $2000.
And we still are dating each other....i hope to give more haircuts to her...