Divorce Cut

The Divorce Cut by David Bee

This is a true life drama that I had with the balding of a woman. I am one of the owners of a small, and what I would like to consider elite, beauty salon in the Montgomery, Alabama area. Most of our patrons are well-to-do upper-middle class to upper class women of some note in the community. To guard the identity of my customer I will go no further in establishing her place in the society of this city. I will also state clearly at this point that I am the traditional stereotype of the faggy hair dresser. I, on the other hand, find that my business brings me into contact with a number of women with whom I have had a normal sexual relationship.

It was about a month ago when Mrs. Jones (pseudonym) entered my salon for one of her rare appointments. The only time that Mrs. Jones had come in was for me to trim her very long hair and or style it for elegant evening wear. Even when I trimmed it she would not let me cut off more than just the split ends. She explained that her husband was really taken with long hair and that she had been letting hers grow for the past seven years. At the time of this appointment it was past her waist. She was in her late fifties and her hair was a dark shade of gray with many silver highlights. It was thick and coarse and was the envy of girls half her age. Braided into a bun was the normal way that she wore her hair, and with her small figure and lovely face she was more then striking.

Mrs. Jones was scheduled to be my last customer that evening and I was in no real hurry. She was one of my favorite patrons and we often spent a great deal of time talking about how she wanted her hair arranged and other topics of mutual interest. I met her at the receptionist’s desk and asked her back to our lounge for a cup of coffee. While we relaxed over coffee she said that her husband had left her for another woman and that tomorrow she and her husband were to meet and finalize the divorce. Mrs. Jones went on to say that the only reason she had let her hair grow long was that her husband found it to be a turn-on. “I want it cut very, very short,” she said. “I am tired of keeping it this way and then have him run off with a younger woman.”

I told her not to jump into something that she would regret later. I implied that, she might be getting back at her husband through this means and she should think about the cut for a little longer. “No, I have thought about this long enough and I have even considered starting it myself,” she stated. I consented that I would do it – she might do more damage than even I could repair.

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Together we went over several magazines that I had to select a style from. Few of them were short enough for her. After a while I told her that I knew about how she wanted it and that if she would trust me I would try. “If it is not short enough we can always cut more off.” That was the end of the discussion. We then went to the room where my chair sits. As we were going up the hall the receptionist said that she was going home. I had not realized that it was getting so late. Mrs. Jones and I had talked longer than I had thought and the last employee was about to leave for the day.

Mrs. Jones sat in the chair as I asked her one last time to reconsider her decision. I told her that I also thought that long hair was sexually exciting and that every time I cut off a woman’s long hair I had difficulty controlling myself. She said that she was stimulated by the prospects of getting it cut off. Then she asked that I hurry and get started, she could hardly stand the suspense.

I began the laborious process of removing the pins that held her coiled braid in place on the back of her head. At that point the bulge in my pants must have been obvious. I could do nothing to hide it. The last pin came out and the long thick braid of gray hair fell and swung to a stop about six inches off the floor. In my nine years of practice this was the longest head of hair that I had ever cut.

We both took a deep breath as I leaned over and picked up my large shears. I didn’t think that I could tolerate unbraiding her hair and then cutting it off section by section I took the braid close to her head with one hand and pulled it tight. Mrs. Jones’ head followed the braid and then her neck went stiff. I could see the muscles pulling against my grip. In the mirror a look of fear was in her face as I slipped the shears up under the place where the braid began at the back of her head. I measured off from her head about half an inch and slowly began slicing through her coarse mane. It seemed like forever before I cut through that gray rope. Her remaining hair fell away toward her face as it was cut through. Mrs. Jones’ eyes were so wide that I thought she would faint as she looked at herself in the mirror. Tears filled her eyes as I laid the severed gray braid in her lap. She took it with a tense grip, held it to her face and cried softly. Then at the same time, Mrs. Jones quickly held her head erect and told me to finish my work She tossed the braid into a pile of hair cuttings that I had swept into the corner. She had at that point been cut off from the past. I draped her and then swung the chair around leaning her head back to the sink. I began washing her short hair. As I started wetting her hair she told me that finally getting her hair cut off was a great relief. “The final bond between my husband and I has been broken.” Taking a lingering glance at my crotch, she commented that her panties had gotten extremely wet while I was cutting her hair. By that time I also was about to pop. During the shampoo she shocked me further by very deliberately stroking my thigh and eventually the area of my penis. I suggested that if she could wait we could go to my apartment after the haircut was finished. Mrs. Jones reluctantly agreed to having our lovemaking take place in more comfortable surroundings. Then I towelled off her hair and combed it back to finish the cut.

I began cutting her hair by combing each section through my fingers and cutting to about one half inch on top. Then moving back across her head. The hair on her crown was still rather long in comparison to that on the back and the dark wet curls flopped onto the drape covering her lap. By the time I was finished with my scissorwork her hair had been cut high above her ears on the sides with what seemed to be a little tufty patch on top. Her hair lay thick on the drape in clumps. I then plugged in the electric clippers and guided them from the bottom of her nape up to the point at which I had cut the braid. Her hair at the back of her head was clipped completely away at the nape and gradually increased to only a fourth of an inch. While I was using the clippers Mrs. Jones said in a passing way that her husband would certainly be shocked if she showed up at the hearing with all her hair clipped off. I agreed that it would turn everyone’s head, including mine.

When I finished the clipping and cutting I lathered her nape and around her ears and shaved it clean with a razor. As I wiped the remaining soap away she speculated how it would look to be bald. I was so busy that the comment escaped my notice. I took up the blow dryer and a small round brush and began the styling process. I put her short hair in an off-the-face style by blow drying it back and working the brush in the short thatch on top. When I finished Mrs. Jones took a long look in the mirror and said that she really liked it… “but it’s not. short enough!” I replied that if it was any shorter she would be bald. “That is what I want,” she demanded. “Shave my head!” she insisted, picking up the electric clippers and shoving them at me.

Stunned and without even thinking about it I turned on the clippers and had taken two long furrows of hair from the tip of her nape to the top of her head before I realized what I was doing. I stopped and took two steps back. My mouth was wide open. She took the cord to the clippers and gently pulled me back to her with it. As she rose from the chair what seemed to be a sheet of gray ringlets fell from her drape to the floor. She came to me. wrapped her arms around me. “Finish shaving me. I want to make love to you,” she said. She returned to her seat and I began again. Her short hair came off in thick clumps. Soon there was nothing left but a blue-gray hint of her former thick mane. I tilted her chair back again and wet her scalp. The lathering of her whole head came next. I started shaving and with each stroke of the razor Mrs. Jones’ breathing grew deeper. Completing my work I rubbed oil on her bare scalp. I gave her a scarf to wear to my apartment.

When we got to my place neither of us could wait to get in bed. We made love like it was our first time and our last.

When we were done she said that it looked odd to be bald on top and still have a thick growth of pubic hair. I soon shaved that off while she lay in bed. and this started yet another lovemaking session.

The next morning Mrs. Jones left for the wig shop and the lawyer’s office.

She returned that same afternoon sporting a short gray wig. She had come in while I was cleaning up after another patron. Mrs. Jones said that her husband almost passed out when she came in wearing that wig, and that after the hearing when she pulled it off in front of him, revealing her balded scalp, he almost had a heart attack

Noticing the long gray braid still lying on the counter in the corner, where I was keeping it as a conversation piece, Mrs. Jones picked it up. Then, unfastening my pants, she wrapped my penis in its cool softness. “Keep both of them safe and warm,” she whispered as she kissed me. She left with telling me that she was going to let her hair grow some, but that it would never be long again. I will see you when it is long enough to style,” she said. Then opening the door to leave she put her wig in her purse and walked out in public bare-headed.

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