Amy’s Tale

Amy's Tale

This morning had started out like most others. Amy had showered, before enjoying a light breakfast out by the pool, allowing the sun to gently dry her long auburn locks, as she perused the morning paper. About 8.30 she returned to her room, and began to prepare herself. Just the lightest touch of make-up, a nice light airy sundress, and her favourite strappy shoes.

Amy sat in front of the mirror and quickly brushed her long hair. The dead straight strands run through the brush bristles effortlessly, before they fell into a thick straight line against the middle of her back. Over and over she stroked the brush from the crown, gently down the length of her hair. Finally satisfied with its glossy smoothness, she thought about braiding it. No, she decided, just a simple ponytail will do today. There’s very little wind so it should stay neat and presentable. Checking her watch, she hurried out the door.

Midday found her sipping a latte in a little coffee bar, in the more expensive part of town. She glanced around at the shoppers, some hurrying frantically, others meandering at leisure. She sighed to herself. All morning had been spent browsing her favourite shops, but nothing had excited her. Her coffee finished, and feeling somewhat relaxed, Amy gathered her bag and became a member of the meanderers. She wandered aimlessly, browsing occasionally in the large display windows momentarily before drifting on.

Sometime later she found herself peering into the window of a hair salon. She couldn’t recall ever having noticed it before, but as she wasn’t particularly familiar with this area of town, she wasn’t surprised. The place seem very classy, and somewhat modern, and as she stood there gazing in the window she remembered that she was getting low on shampoo, so decided to venture inside.

As Amy entered the shop she was bathed in a beautiful floral fragrance. The young girl looked up from her position behind the counter.

“Hi,” said Amy.

“Good morning,” replied the receptionist somewhat sternly, as if Amy had interrupted something far more important than the self manicure she was in the process of. “And your name is?” the girl enquired.

“A…Amy.”

“Amy… sorry, Amy who?” came the reply.

“Amy Dawson,” Amy replied, somewhat confused by the gruff, almost interrogating, tone.

“Dawson… Dawson… Did you make an appointment?”

“No… I don’t…..”

“Oh I’m so sorry, but if you haven’t got an appointment, we just simply couldn’t fit you in,” answered Miss Uppity. “We are simply booked solid for weeks you know. Absolutely solid.”

Amy was about to explain that she wasn’t there for a haircut, just to buy some product, when suddenly she heard a deep rich voice speak. “Its OK, Meradith. I think I have an opening.” Amy turned to see a tall, athletic Italian-looking man standing behind her to her left. “But she doesn’t have… I mean we never accept walk-ins,” stammered the flustered receptionist.

“It’s fine,” replied the mystery gent in a tone that left Meradith in no doubt that she should remain silent. Taking Amy’s arm he gently guided her past the desk. “I’m sure that I can attend to this lady,” he stated.

Before she really knew what was happening, Amy was seated in a very plush leather styling chair. “Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Roberto,” said the stylist, in his thick rich accent. “Let us see what we can do to make you even more beautiful.”

“But I really don’t want a haircut,” said Amy. “I just came in for some shampoo.”

“Ah…. buta Amy, I show you the beauty that you are. Such a pretty face, those cheekbones, ah that exquisite neck and those fine delicate features. Let me show you the sensuous beauty you really are,” gushed Roberto.

Something about the way Roberto was looking at her, the persuasive tone in his voice, the confident reassured manner that he directed her to his chair, mesmerised Amy. She had never considered herself beautiful, or sensual, more the average girl-next-door-that-you-never-really-notice type. The glowing praise was suddenly intoxicating.

“Do you really think I could be beautiful?” Amy questioned.

“But of course, Amy. You are more beautiful than the stars in the sky. More radiant than the sunrise. Don’t you see it?” continued Roberto. “You must see the inner beauty. Look, look beyond that frightened girl peering out at the world from behind the safety blanket of hair, look at the real you, the true you. Just waiting to reveal herself to all! So beautiful, so radiant, so exquisite.”

Roberto’s words sounded so good. Nobody had ever spoken about her that way. Amy looked at her reflection, but she could only she the same old Amy staring blankly back. She looked at Roberto, his eyes stared right through her. He was like a painter studying an empty canvas, but seeing the finished portrait it would become. He gazed at her as a sculptor looks upon a lump of marble, not seeing the obvious, but able to detect the finished sculpture contain within, the masterpiece waiting to be revealed.

“Do you trust me, Amy?” he enquired. “You must trust me completely.”

“Yes.” Amy jumped slightly when she realised it was her that had spoken.

“Bellisimo!” exclaimed Roberto. “We shall start. We shall show the world how truly beautiful you are!” As he spoke he was already removing the band that held her hair captive in the ponytail. Quickly and silently, with practised hands he combed her hair until it gleamed. In what seemed a single fluid motion, he parted her hair horizontally, halfway up her head, quickly scooping up the upper section, and twisting it gracefully before securing it at her crown.

Amy’s mind was a blur. What was she doing here? Why didn’t she just leave? She didn’t need her hair cut, she didn’t want her hair cut. No style had even been mentioned, no photos looked at, no choices offered to her to select from. She told herself to speak, but she heard nothing. She dearly wanted to leave but her legs would not respond to the commands her brain issued.

Something caught her eye in the mirror. It was a glint of light from some shears. Some shears that were preparing to cut hair. Preparing to cut her hair, and cut it short. Amy bit her lower lip in an involuntary act of nervousness. She watched somehow helpless as the razor-sharp blades opened and disappeared into her “safety blanket” of hair, about four inches above her slightly quivering shoulders. The blades began to close, the hair trapped between them rippled slightly, then began its long freefall to the floor. Amy’s mind was a blur. Emotions, reactions, apprehensions all jostling for her attention. Even before she could sort them into any type of order, Roberto had chopped two more meshes of hair.

Amy stared at her reflection, on the right side was the normal Amy, long hair flowing down her back, but on the left was a vaguely familiar stranger, her hair chopped of in a short, sharp, blunt line. As she looked she could see the familiar giving way the new as Roberto’s hair-hungry shears continued around her head. He stood back and released the longer upper hair, allowing it to cascade down over the shorter under-layer he had just created. Suddenly the old reflection was back, but just as quickly it began to succumb to the intentions of the relentless shears. Gradually the old Amy retreated as the new image took control of the mirror.

Roberto flicked a comb through her hair, but alas the old reflection was no longer there to be found, only the new, that short, sharp, blunt line elongating Amy’s usually carefully concealed neck. Roberto’s eyes gleamed as he ran his comb through the remaining hair. “Ah there, now all thata distracting hair is a gone I cana concentrate on the real cut!” he exclaimed.

WHAT? Amy’s heart skipped a beat. Had she heard correctly? Did he mean he was going to cut her hair shorter? He couldn’t, this was already shorter that she could ever remember. No! Stop! Leave me alone, she heard her voice in her head, but alas her agape mouth issued no sound.

Roberto quickly sectioned the remaining hair so that everything above her ears was secured up out of harm’s way, before changing to a smaller, more precise set of scissors. “But…Wait… I mean what…,” Amy finally managed to stammer, as her voice returned to her.

Roberto held the bright shiny shears vertically to his lips, gesturing her to be silent. “Remember Amy, you must trust me.” With that short statement he gently guided her head forward. Amy gasped involuntarily as she saw the long dark locks lying lifelessly in her lap and on the floor. They were surely longer than the hair that remained on her head, and now that was to be cut even shorter. She felt him take a narrow vertical section up the back of her scalp, she felt him draw the hair straight out between his fingers as they rested on the back of her head. With a deft, well-practised hand he palmed the comb and she felt the unmistakable little tugs as those shiny precise shears sliced off anything showing above his fingers.

Amy watched as little short pieces of hair floated down to meet those already decorating her lap. She felt like she was on an emotional roller coaster, somewhere deep inside she knew all would be fine, but still she felt terrified. Amy’s heart was trying to beat clear through her chest, her breasts rising and falling rhythmically as her breath quickened. The terror, the fear, the excitement, she was ‘alive’ with emotion. Again and again she felt him comb up sections, before slicing them off at the same ‘finger thick’ shortness as the first. As more two-inch wisps of hair floated past her nervous twitching eyes she could feel her throat getting drier. Without question she was afraid, but still deep within her was a strange excitement, slowly rising, slowly intensifying.

She heard Roberto put down the scissors and switch combs. He picked up something from the counter and moved behind her once more. Amy was suddenly petrified as she heard that distinctive mechanically “clack”, followed by a deep low hum as the clippers burst into life. She froze as the comb touched her expose vulnerable nape. Using quick deliberate actions he stroked the comb down the tufts of hair on Amy’s nape twice, then with a flick he inverted the comb, scooping up a section of hair. Angling the comb Roberto forced it to stand up tall and proud, unprotected. Amy heard, and felt, the clippers contact the comb as they zipped along its length. The little spray of tiny hairs she saw told her that the hair had been no match for the powerful, hungry, hair-harvesting clippers.

Again and again the process was repeated. Over and over, the same routine: comb, comb, flick, zip…. Comb, comb, flick, zip…. As the motions continued Amy felt her curiosity building. The strange excitement continued to grow inside her. She couldn’t explain it, she found herself falling under the spell of that repetitive action. Comb, comb, flick, zip… comb, comb, flick, zip… Amy felt a warmth spreading through her, a warmth that she definitely could explain. She wasn’t sure why it was happening, but she sure knew it was happening. Still it continued: comb, comb, flick, zip… comb, comb, flick, zip… It felt as if Roberto had cropped the entire back of her head in this manner. Suddenly she felt the comb return to the base of her hairline. Again the movements: comb, comb, flick, zip… except this time instead of angling the comb out Roberto held it flat against the skin of her scalp. She had already resigned herself to the fact that the style was going to be short, but this was definitely going to put the emphasis on ‘short’. Strangely Amy didn’t care any more. Instead she was intrigued by the strangeness of it all. The newness of the sensations as the comb stroked and lifted and teased her nape. The feeling of his hands, and the comb, brushing her hair against the direction of growth added to the growing warmth in the pit of her being. It seemed like forever had passed before Roberto gently lifted her head so she stared directly at the reflection in the mirror. He came around to the left of her and quickly, deftly, placed the thin comb into the hair in front of her ear. ZIP – the hair fell away, cleanly, quickly, dramatically. For the first time Amy could clearly see just how short her hair was being cut. Two more quick passes took care of the hair in front of and over her left ear. Just as quickly, just as dramatically, the right ear was exposed.

Roberto stood back and studied the back of her head intently. He stood there motionless for a moment before he released the now comparatively long top hair, allowing it to flop back into place. He studied the way it fell into position, slowly running the comb through it repeatedly. Amy’s staring unblinking eyes watched as he reached for the clippers. The strange twinge surged through her once more as he flicked the switch and the clippers leapt to life again, that erotic hum invading her ears once more. As he moved behind her Amy bowed her head, pushing her chin to her chest again. She felt a hand on the top of her head gently raising her head up until she was staring directly at her reflection.

“Like-a that Amy. You musta stay like-a that,” stated Roberto. “Please no be a moving. Very still, please.”

Amy watched as Roberto inverted the clippers in his hand, holding them so the bare hungry blades pointed directly at right angles to her scalp. She watched entranced as they disappeared from view behind her. Suddenly everything stopped. The only thing she was conscious of were the teeth of those humming clippers as they buried themselves into the remaining long hair on the back of her scalp. She could feel them pushing deeper and deeper into the mesh of hair until she felt them firm against her head. High on the back of her head. Above the nape, above the occipital bone, about the level of the top of her ears she surmised. She sensed rather than saw the hair falling away, floating down to meet the rest of her hair on the tiled floor. She sat there, totally motionless, totally oblivious to anything other than the path of the humming, buzzing clippers as they progressed in a perfectly straight line around her head.

She looked at he reflection as if she was watching someone else, someone other than her, having her hair buzzed off in this precise, straight, level line, just clear of the top of her ears. Her view was temporarily interrupted as Roberto stood in front of her. She felt him comb her hair straight forward, an instant later she saw the curtain of hair in front of her eyes falling from left to right as Roberto fashioned a fringe just above her eyebrows.

Suddenly it was over. The clippers went silent, and Roberto stood away from the mirror. Amy was in a state of awe at the newness of what she saw. Suddenly it appeared. She could she what Roberto had seen through the disguise of her thick, long, dark hair. Her neck was elegant. She studied the detail of her high cheekbones as if seeing them for the first time. Her deep blue eyes suddenly dominated her appearance. The transformation was breathtaking. Amy smiled, her face lighting up. There was the radiance Roberto had described. Suddenly it was there for Amy to see. It was there for the world to see.

Amy ran her hand slowly up the soft pelt of hair on her nape. She moaned a little, then gasped as her fingers met the full, heavy line of hair on top, sitting like a cap on her crown. She laughed as she swung her head to and fro, watching the hair fly and bounce, then quickly settle perfectly into place.

Her emotions were out of control. Amy couldn’t remember leaving the salon. She had no idea what it had cost her. She didn’t even remember the trip home. She stood in front of her full-length mirror, naked. She couldn’t believe it was her. Not only had her appearance changed, but she felt like her whole being had altered. Quite simply she felt a completely different person. Her hand explored the closely-cropped nape again. She moaned aloud. She shivered as she encountered the cap of hair. She knew what that deep warmth inside her was. She felt it building as her hands explored her head again. Building as it had when she sat there allowing those clippers full access to her hair. Slowly she closed her eyes as one hand moved from her head, training its attentions elsewhere. She collapsed back on to her bed as she released herself to her pleasure. Amy wasn’t sure how a simple haircut could generate such feelings, but one thing she did know, long hair was definitely a thing of the past!

The End.

 

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