The waitress brought the check over and asked if we had enjoyed our lunch. As David politely answered “Yes, thank you,” I grinned at him and silently mouthed the word “Foreplay.” As he always did, David cracked up. Because lunch was sort of foreplay to our foreplay. Every eight weeks, we would spend Saturday morning making love, have a lunch date, and then David would take me to get a haircut. After my haircut, we would spend the rest of the afternoon making love again. The haircut had great sexual significance for him, and had come to represent a kind of foreplay for me as well.
I excused myself to go “freshen up.” In the ladies room, I carefully brushed my thick brown hair. It fell in a perfect smooth mass down to my shoulder blades. It was parted on the side today, and completely loose. This was unusual, since I love my long hair, but can’t stand it in my face. Today I intentionally let it fall in my face. He loved this look, plus the fact that I was constantly playing with it to try and keep it, however briefly, out of my eyes. I was wearing a sleeveless sun-dress and I felt my hair caress my shoulders as I brushed it. Today was going to be different than our previous dates. Certainly the morning had been. While our love life was generally good, the week before my haircut appointment was always, well, vigorous. The passion would grow with each day, only to peak on Saturday morning. And then to peak again after my haircut on Saturday afternoon. I still had a bit of after-glow from this morning, and yet I was already looking forward to the afternoon. This was a haircut that we had been planning for a while.
I continued brushing my hair, and studied my reflection in the mirror. I guess I considered myself attractive, but clearly my hair was my best feature. Gorgeous, if I say so myself. David constantly reminded me of its beauty. Three years ago, still early in our relationship, he had begun to explain his hair fetish. I had always worn my hair in a short tomboyish style, getting cheap haircuts at discount salon chains whenever it got shaggy looking. I hadn’t ever made a conscious decision to wear my hair like that, it had just always been that way. I didn’t think about it, or put any effort into it. It wasn’t all that important to me. Then once, after a particularly unimpressive haircut, David asked if I would consider growing my hair long. I wasn’t too excited about the idea, since it seemed like it would be a lot of work and, like I said, I just didn’t care. But as he began to explain about his fetish, and how excited it made him, he talked me into it.
I walked back to our table, and David stared at me. I slowly turned so he could examine my hair, and shook it back, sending it flying back and forth over my shoulders. The softness made me shudder, and I could only imagine what he was feeling right now. He got up and we left the restaurant, walking slowly in the warm sunshine.
I remembered back to our first Saturday date, three years earlier. Seven weeks after he talked me into growing my hair, he told me on a Monday that he had made me an appointment at a salon for the following Saturday. He brushed my hair every night that week (which later became another bit of foreplay for us), and all week while we made love he whispered in my ear how beautiful I would be with my long hair. That Saturday he took me to a very expensive salon. At least it looked expensive- in the 3 years that I have been a regular customer there, I’ve never known how much it cost, because he has always paid, and generously tipped the stylist. At that first visit we talked to her first, with David quietly explaining how I was going to grow out my hair at his request. I told the stylist that I’d never had long hair, and didn’t want to spend a lot of time on it. She understood, and we talked for a bit before she washed and cut my hair, styling it to make the grow-out period as simple as possible. When she finished, David made an appointment for the Saturday eight weeks later, for another after lunch trim.
I really looked forward to our visits to the salon. Both David and the stylist would dote on me, and I’d get these wonderful scalp massages while my hair was washed. I also had to admit that, even in the growing-out phase, my hair looked a lot better than it did after my visits to the cheapo chain salons. The stylist would recommend these fancy shampoos and conditioners, which David would always buy me, along with new brushes and other things. David always seemed just a little nervous, and I quickly realized just how aroused he was every time we went.
But today was going to be different. As we walked in the warm sunshine, David reached up and slid his hand under my hair to caress the back of my neck. He gently tickled my nape, and played with my hair. I had never realized how much I liked having my hair played with before I started growing it longer. As my hair had grown, he couldn’t keep his hands off it. Sometimes it was erotic, sometimes it was relaxing (for me anyway…it was only erotic for him!), but I always enjoyed him playing with my hair. It was just a wonderful kind of attention. I learned to use my hair, both to tease David, and as a wonderful erotic tool in bed. About a year ago, on our visits to the salon, the stylist started greeting me with a big grin and “Hello, you long-haired woman!” At first it was kind of strange to hear, but I gradually adjusted to an image of myself with beautiful, long hair.
We were in kind of a artistic, trendy neighborhood, and the streets were crowded with couples and groups of friends out enjoying the afternoon. As we walked, David leaned over and whispered in my ear “Look up ahead.” About a block away, I saw the red and white striped pole turning slowly, like a beacon. We stopped for a moment, and David picked up my hair and very gently kissed me on the back of my neck. A shiver went up and down my spine. He let my hair fall back into place and we walked to the barber shop.
We stood outside and looked in the big plate glass window. It was a big shop, with 6 old-fashioned barber’s chairs. Five of them were manned, and there were probably half a dozen guys waiting their turns. Both the barbers and the customers were mostly young, good-looking guys. Everyone seemed to have pretty short hair, various forms of crewcuts and flattops and styles I didn’t know the names of. It was definitely kind of showy, with everyone watching each other, and a lot of people on the street slowing down to look in the window. We weren’t even the only ones to have stopped to watch. Several, but not all, of the barbers and customers seemed to be enjoying themselves a bit more than one might expect. A mixed crowd, but even the barbers who weren’t totally focused on the haircutting were doing good work..
David turned to me and smiled. “Shall we?” he asked, as he opened the door. My knees were definitely weak. Everyone turned to look as we walked in, and seemed to assume that he was the customer and I was accompanying him. I did feel that a few of the guys were checking me out, and I thought some of the others checked out David as well. We sat on the plastic waiting chairs and watched the action. I tried not to think about how I felt, but to focus on David. After all, it was his fantasy. He sat with his hands folded on his lap, and I reached over and slowly, lightly began stroking his leg, occasionally brushing the inside of his thigh. He was extremely aroused, and I was pretty excited myself.
Pretty soon it was our turn. David said “No thanks, we’re waiting for him,” pointing to the barber at the first chair. I wondered why he did this. It could be he just wanted to extend the tension, as that barber had just started a new customer. Or it could be that he wanted me to be sitting closest to the window, for all to see. Or it could be that the barber we were waiting for seemed to be the owner, had a kind of no-nonsense style, and seemed to do the best work. Who knows. All I knew is that I thought it was my turn and I had a lump in my throat and was getting really hot and suddenly had to wait a few more minutes. I leaned over and whispered in David’s ear “You tease!” as I stroked inside his leg with my fingernail. He grinned a very excited grin.
I watched closely as “my” barber finished up with his customer, who paid and left. David and I both got up and walked over to the barber’s chair. I climbed up and sat down, smiling broadly at David. The barber looked a bit perplexed, “I don’t really do women’s haircuts…” David interrupted him “She’s not getting a woman’s haircut. She lost a bet, and is getting her hair cut SHORT.” He handed the barber a crisp, neatly folded $100 bill. “You don’t mind taking your time, do you?” The barber looked at the $100 bill, then looked at David, and then at me. I smiled broadly and shrugged my shoulders. “I lost the bet fair and square,” I lied. I reached up and slowly ran my fingers one last time through my long, thick hair. “It’s all gotta go!” I told him. The perplexed look gradually gave way to a grin. “OK, I think I can have a little fun with this.” He turned to the waiting customers. “You guys ready for a show?” I was really beginning to enjoy this.
He quickly pinned up my hair, and with a flourish, snapped open the cape to cover me. He pulled it tight around my neck. “No escaping now!” he warned. Then he unpinned my hair and let it fall around my shoulders. He took a comb and began to comb it out. “Not very often I get to take on a head of hair like this,” he grinned. “You want to watch in the mirror, or you want to face your adoring public?” I smiled at him. “You’re in charge, whatever you think is best.” He spun me to face the customers. I noticed that a bit of a crowd was watching through the window, and the other barbers had adjusted the chairs so they and their customers could watch as well. I was completely on display, and David was grinning from ear to ear. “How short?” the barber asked. I let David answer. “The bet was a SHORT haircut. You decide how short is short enough.” He winked at me, then looked at the barber. “I do want to get my money’s worth, though.”
The barber picked up a pair of scissors, and opened and closed them in front of my face a few times. “Any last words, honey?” I grinned and swung my head back and forth until my hair fell in my face, completely burying me. “Get this hair outta my face!” The scissors came to my forehead, and 18” of thick dark hair slid into my lap, to a round of hearty applause. I looked down and felt a lumpin my throat. I had been planning for this for a while, but wasn’t quite ready for the site of all that hair falling away. Since I was facing away from the mirror, I tried to imagine how it looked, my long hair offset by short, thick bangs. Before I could even get that thought completed, he began cutting just below my left ear, working towards the back of my head. More hair fell in my lap, and I felt the ends of my hair tickle my cheek. As he worked behind me, I couldn’t see, but kept feeling the cold metal of the scissors against my neck, and heard the unmistakable sound of my hair being shorn away. Then he came around to the other side, and more hair came falling in my lap. I probably had a rough chin-length bob now, and desperately wanted to look in the mirror. Instead, I looked at David, who was staring at my lap. It was a pretty impressive pile of hair.
I remembered again that it was his fantasy we were there for. I tried to think about how excited he must be, as the barber began picking up locks of my hair, seemingly at random, and cutting 4-5” lengths from my head. I began to relax and enjoy the feeling of the hair raining down around me. I had no sense at all of what my hair looked like anymore. I had tried to mentally prepare myself for a short buzzcut, but hadn’t thought about it being cut short with scissors instead of clippers. The barber kept cutting for a long time, I lost all track of what was happening. I knew that he had cut it short around my ears, because I could feel the air moving. He was working in the back now, and I couldn’t even see the hair falling. Then I heard it. The buzzing sound of the clippers. He put one hand firmly on top of my head and pushed my chin down towards my chest. I was face to face with the pile in my lap when I felt the vibration against the nape of my neck. He seemed to run the clippers partway up the back of my head, and I felt it as he methodically worked from one side to the other. He trimmed around my ears with the clippers as well, then switched them off. I heard another odd sound, which I couldn’t place. Then I felt the warm foam. He was rubbing hot shaving cream around the nape of my neck, and around my ears. He slowly and carefully shaved the edge all the way around, holding my head steadily the whole time. It was very focused attention, but in a very different way than what I was used to in the salon.
Finally, he finished. He brushed my hair, although I didn’t think he’d left much to brush. He then took the cape off, and shook all the hair onto the floor, eliciting another round of applause from everyone in the shop. He spun the chair so I could look in the mirror. It’s shocking, to look in the mirror and not recognize yourself at first. I looked down at my sun-dress, then slowly worked up. The shape of my face seemed completely different. And my hair! It was short, but not a blatent crew-cut or anything. It was kind of the female version of a little boy’s haircut, and it really looked great. There was just enough to brush on top, but it would be a while before any hair even touched my ears. He held up a second small mirror, so I could see the back. I reached up and felt it. It was tapered smoothly, with the bottom third short enough that it wouldn’t even need to be brushed. Finally I looked up at David in the mirror. His wide grin was gone,because his mouth was hanging open. “What do you think honey?” I asked. “You look great!” he replied, as the grin came back.
“Are you sure it’s short enough?” the barber asked. “We could always take more off the top…”
“No it’s perfect, thanks.” He turned to the other customers, the grin getting even wider. “Hope you enjoyed the show, guys!” There were a bunch of appreciative murmers as I climbed down from the chair, and we left the shop.
There was still a small crowd outside, and one long haired woman called as we walked away “I can’t believe you did that!” We had walked nearly half a block before David reached up and tousled my hair. He mussed the top, than ran his fingers over (can’t say “through” anymore!) the short hair on the sides and back. We stopped and kissed on the sidewalk. Several times. Finally, he whispered in my ear, so quietly I could barely hear him “Thank you,” and we began walking home.