Attack of the Killer Home Perm

My best friend Holly and I had decided to share a flat while we were at university. We’d both moved to the big smoke from our little country town with enough savings to pay the first two months’ rent, and the promise from both our parents of financial help if we really needed it.

But we found it dreadfully hard going – mainly because the area we’d taken the flat in was populated with restaurants boasting almost every cuisine known to man! We spent a fortune on takeaway food in the first fortnight. The little town we’d grown up in had one Chinese restaurant whose claim to fame was a very bland beef in black bean sauce, an Indian restaurant which served nothing hotter than butter chicken, Pepe’s Italian and Pizza (which was the best of the three), and the usual McDonalds and pub food. Suddenly being let loose on Malaysian, Thai, North African, Russian, Japanese and Korean (and that just being in our own street) was playing hell with our finances.

“I need a job!” wailed Holly, peering at the Work Available notices posted in the newsagent’s window. “Look, waitress at the Thai Palace! That’d be great! All the food we can eat!”

“Me too,” I groaned. My meagre allowance wouldn’t go far at this rate – I mean, I’d have to buy new clothes soon, I was eating so much I was growing out of my jeans!

“And my hair needs styling,” Holly went on. “Look at me, I look really sloppy compared to them.”

“Them” were three girls walking towards us in trendy black vinyl pants. They were ultra cool; leaving the limits of the inner city was something they’d probably never done in their lives. Their hair was expensively styled – one smooth long bob, a Rachel cut, and a wild short wedge of curly red hair.

“I’d love curls,” Holly said enviously. I must say her hair let her down. It was straight, mousy and on the oily side, and detracted from her attractive oval face.

“I’d love to go blonde,” I sighed, admiring the golden streaks in the Rachel cut as it sashayed past. My own hair was a brown shoulder length bob, trimmed by my mother before I left for the city.

“We’re in the city now, we should do something about our hair,” Holly decided firmly.

“With what?” I wondered. “Don’t know how much money you’ve got, but I’m nearly broke!”

I looked in my wallet. I had very little to last me for the rest of the week. Enough to buy breakfast cereal and – horrors! – fresh food from the supermarket to cook instead of expensive, delicious takeaway.

“Why don’t we try the supermarket stuff? I mean, my mother dyes her hair with Clairol,” Holly pointed out.

“Yeah, you can buy blonding kits.” I brightened up. OK, it meant eating very little for the next week, but it would be worth it to look good!

We headed to the supermarket and spent ages fossicking through the haircare section. Holly selected a home perm, and I grabbed a blonding kit. Anxious to try them out, we rushed straight back to the flat.

Holly ripped open the home perm and read the instructions. “Works best on short hair. What d’you think, Jane? Should I try it as my hair is, or do you want to cut it off like yours, only shorter?”

I jumped. “Me? Cut your hair?” I’d never cut hair in my life.

I read the instructions too. Looked like I’d be giving Hol a haircut, as the perm was not guaranteed to work on long hair.

“If you cut it straight, it might turn out sort of wedge shaped like that girl who walked past,” Holly mused, holding up her hair in front of the mirror. “I guess the perm would make it less oily, too. Let’s do it, Jane!”

She grabbed a towel, her comb, and the pair of scissors from her desk, and dragged a chair into the tiny bathroom.

“Are you sure?” I said nervously.

Holly nodded. “Look, it doesn’t matter if you stuff it up a bit. If it’s curly you won’t really notice. And if it’s too bad I’ll just go to a hairdresser and get it trimmed. I’ve always longed to have short hair, anyway. Dad always liked long hair on girls though, and now I’m eighteen…” Holly’s voice trailed off as she flicked her hair back for the last time with a defiant gesture.

Hesitantly I took the scissors in my hand. “How short?”

“Up to my collar,” Holly decreed, “and straight all the way around.”

I combed her hair. I hoped she knew what she was doing! I hoped I knew what I was doing!

Then I sank the scissors into her hair below her left ear, and cut off several inches of her hair. Shrrriiiiiiiiiik!

Holly’s eyes widened as about fifteen inches of hair fell to the floor, but she didn’t say anything.

I cut off another scissorful, being careful to cut it as straight as possible. Holly flinched as the cold blades of the scissors touched her neck, but was silent as I severed her long hair.

Oh, shit, it was going to be just above the top of her collar! Never mind, she said she wanted it short. Feeling braver, I kept cutting. I was at the back of her neck now, cutting her hair off slowly and carefully. She looked odd with half her hair cut off bluntly at her neck and the other half still hanging down her back.

I was doing a great job, I must admit. Maybe I should have taken up hairdressing instead of studying Communications.

Skkkkrrrriiiiiiikkkk! Lumps of hair fell away as I cut around Holly’s head, finally chopping off the last long locks.

Holly shook her newly shortened hair and it bounced around her face. “Wow! Jane, it’s brilliant!” She ran her hands through it, flicking it out. “Let’s get the perm happening!”

We pored over the instructions. Holly shampooed her hair, marvelling at how much less hair there was to rinse clean.

It was my job to wind the rollers into Holly’s chopped hair. When I was a kid I used to help my mother put her hot rollers in before she and Dad went out at night, but these smaller rods were quite fiddly to deal with. It took ages!

Finally Holly’s head was covered in the perm rods, and she leaned over the bath while I carefully squirted the lotion on her head.

“Oww! It’s going in my eyes!”

“Sorry! Sorry, Hol, here’s a towel.”

Holly wiped her eyes and looked at her watch. “OK, twenty minutes time we rinse this off.”

While she waited for her head to stop dripping, I completely ignored the allergy test and smothered my hair with the contents of the blonding kit. It stank! I had a moment’s horror at what chemicals I was putting into my extremely healthy hair, but then shrugged it off. New town, new life, new hair.

Coughing at the smell from both our heads, we made ourselves a coffee with the last of the Nescafe.

“How’s my hair, Holly? Does it look blonde yet?”

Holly peered at my head. “Dunno.”

We went back into our hideous lime green bathroom. I scrutinised my head in the mirror. No, it didn’t look blonde enough. I reread the instructions. First time users may need another ten minutes. Fair enough. My head stung a bit, but I ignored it.

Holly’s head was ready for part two. She stuck her head under the bath tap and I rinsed off the first lot of chemicals, which apparently relaxed her hair ready for the perming lotion. Again I carefully squirted all over her head, and Holly kneeled over the bath as excess lotion dripped off.

“We are going to look COOL,” Holly declared, her voice muffled with the towel over her face. “They won’t recognise us at class tomorrow.”

“Heather Locklear look out,” I agreed, checking my colour again. Well, the ends looked a lot lighter, but the roots still looked dark.

I finished off my coffee. My stomach was rumbling, telling me it was time for dinner, preferably from The Satay Skewer. I ignored it. It was getting salad because lettuce had been on special.

When my hair had had an extra twenty minutes, I decided it was time to rinse it off. I nudged Holly out of the way and shampooed the colour out of my locks under the bath tap.

“Jesus,” I muttered. “My hair feels like straw!” It was awful! The harsh blonding kit had made my hair brittle and matted. Hurriedly I covered it in conditioner and wrapped some cling wrap around it. Maybe a heat treatment would help it.

While I was grumbling about my hair feeling disgusting, Holly checked one of her perm rods. “Doesn’t look very curly,” she said, winding it back up. “I’ll leave it in a bit longer.”

We watched the news on TV and I started making the salad, my head still wrapped in plastic. By the time we got to sports Holly figured her perm MUST have taken, and went into the bathroom again to wash it out. I helped her take out the rods, and she sighed with relief as we dropped the last of them into the bath.

“Shit, those things pull at your hair!” Holly commented, shampooing her now very curly mop. I was a bit worried, actually. It was very, very curly, and I told her so.

Holly said in a small voice from under the tap: “HOW curly?”

“Golliwog,” I admitted, passing her the conditioner.

“Oh, shit! Maybe the conditioner will help.”

You’ll notice we think conditioner is the cure for all hair ills. It’s all we can afford!

Holly rinsed her hair for the last time, and I rinsed the conditioner out of mine.

It hadn’t worked. My hair still felt horrible. I tried to drag a comb through it and bits and pieces of hair broke off in the comb. In horror, I looked in the mirror for the first time since rinsing it clean.

My hair was almost white blonde! With my olive skin and dark eyebrows, it was a shocker! As I combed it I could see more and more of it breaking off. While I had a lot of hair, it was very fine and prone to split ends if I didn’t trim it regularly. I pulled a lock of hair in front of my eyes – split ends for inches! “Oh, no!” I groaned. My hitherto fantastic hair was wrecked!

Beside me, Holly gave a wail. “Oh, Jane! Look!” She shook her head and wild curls stood around it in a halo. The perm had shrunk her chin-length hair nearly up to her ears, and, like mine, it looked to be in awful condition. “I can’t even comb it!” Holly moaned. She pulled her comb through a lock of hair and it sprung out from her head like wire. It was several shades lighter than before where the chemicals had leached it, and, like mine, appeared to be a mass of split ends.

Holly burst into tears. “What can I do? I’ll have to cut off all the split ends!” She peered through her tears into the mirror. “It’s stuffed, all the way to my scalp!” She examined her hair closely, and it was all kinky and frizzy the entire length of each hair.

“Let it dry and see how it looks,” I suggested. “Don’t comb it too much or it’ll go like an afro.”

Holly tearfully dried her hair as much as she could with the towel. I looked in horror as a large number of her hairs broke off and dropped onto the lime green vanity unit and the sink. Hol noticed them too.

“Cut it off,” she ordered me, giving me the scissors. “Just cut it really short, I think it’s the only thing I can do. Even a hairdresser can’t fix this one!”

I quailed. Holly was my best friend, how could I cut off her hair?

“But what if I stuff it up? I’m not used to cutting hair,” I protested.

Holly took the scissors from me again, held up a lock of her fringe (which had shrunk almost to hairline length with the wild perm), and cut it off close to her scalp as I watched with wide eyes. She dropped the cut off squiggle of hair onto the floor. “Like that,” she said flatly.

She saw the look of horror on my face and gave a twisted smile.

“Can’t look worse than this, can it?” She handed the scissors back to me.

Not quite knowing where to start, I lifted the rest of her fringe and slid the scissors into it, With misgivings, I closed the blade and cut Holly’s fringe to about half an inch long. Holly didn’t say a word. I kept cutting, lifting up the ruined hair on top of her head and cutting it off as carefully as I could. Even that short it was still frizzy and fuzzy. I worked backwards, clipping her head with the scissors, lifting the hair first with my fingers and then, when I got used to it, with the comb.

Locks of hair rained down on Holly’s shoulders as it was cut away. My best friend sat impassively, watching me shear her hair to almost nothing. She actually started to smile by the top I’d clipped half of the top of her head.

“You know, it feels really funny, Jane. Sort of tickles a bit as you cut it off. I’ve never had hair so short in my life.” She lifted a hand and rubbed the stubble I’d reduced her hair to. Relieved she wasn’t going to kill me, I kept snipping at her head. At last I’d finished cutting the top and moved to the sides.

Slowly I slid the scissors against her scalp. Like I said, they were office scissors, with long, 8 inch blades. You couldn’t cut hair to absolute baldness with them because of the way they were made – thank God, or I’d be in real trouble! I’d discovered that simply sliding them into Holly’s still-wet hair and closing the blades cut the hair off to a relatively even length, even allowing for my shaky fingers.

So I simply cut off the hair in front of her ears and around her temple with two long snips, and it fell over her knees in corkscrew curls.

I lifted the hair from over her ears so I could get the scissors in there, and cut that off too. Holly’s new haircut was emerging as mega-short with… er… the odd patch cut shorter than others here and there, when I hadn’t positioned the blades as carefully as I could have.

Because Holly’s hair was wet it was easy to cut, I discovered. When my mother trimmed my hair, she cut it while it was dry so she could see what she was doing. I had trouble judging exactly what I was doing, and Holly’s scalp showed through her clipped wet locks in patches, but it was very, very easy to cut! I just hoped you couldn’t see her scalp when it was dry.

I cut off the hair behind Holly’s ear and started on the back of her head, snipping merrily. Obligingly she bent her head forward so I could cut the hair evenly at her nape. She gasped when the cold blades touched her skin, and shuddered as I moved them up her head.

“That really feels good, Jane,” she murmured. She lifted a hand and ran it over the hair I’d clipped. I say ran it over because there was no way it was long enough to run her fingers through any more!

I had suspicions that Holly was getting just a mite turned on by having all her hair cut off. After all, the girl had started to squirm in her seat, just the way she did when she saw a Tom Cruise movie.

Lift and snip, lift and snip. The back of Holly’s hair was boy-short now, and it was so short at the crown it didn’t even stand up.

Holly closed her eyes as I cut away the hair behind her other ear. It was hard to believe that only an hour or two ago she had long, straight hair hanging down her back. Now I was sliding the scissors in front of her ear and cutting the last wild curls close to her skin.

“Finished,” I said shakily. It didn’t look good. Try as I might, I was no hair artist. Maybe if we’d have had clippers I could have done a better job, but scissors left the hair a bit “tufty”. I tried trimming around her head to even it up, but I think the job was beyond my skills.

Holly turned her head this way and that. She rubbed her hands over her head. “It still feels damaged – what there is of it. Why don’t you lather me up and shave my head?”

“Shave your head?” I shrieked, almost dropping the comb.

“Bald is beautiful, so they say. Look, Jane, we’ve spent all our lives in a bigoted little country town. I’ve longed to break out and do something different, something radical. Here we are in the city where anything goes. So I want to shave my head. Can you do it for me?” Holly had that determined look on her face which means Don’t Mess With Me.

I knew what she meant. Girls with shaved heads or even crewcuts didn’t exist in our hometown. Girls like me who dyed their nice brown hair to a white blonde the consistency of dried straw weren’t exactly common either. “I’ll have to cut it shorter if I can, especially on the top,” I said, “it’ll be easier to shave off.”

Holly nodded, and sat very still while I clipped away again, angling the blades to snip her hair as close to her skin as possible. Large white patches of skin began to appear, with little prickles of hair barely visible. Her eyes were shut in what appeared to be pleasure, and I wondered idly what it felt like to have your hair nibbled away to nothing, and feel the cold steel of the scissors against your skin.

“Ready,” I said finally, and Holly opened her eyes to see her hair even shorter than before – what was left of it. She rubbed her hands over her new skinhead look and grinned.

We used shaving foam on our legs. I covered Hol’s head in it, filled the sink with water and got out a new disposable razor.

“Here goes,” I said shakily.

Holly closed her eyes and smiled as I dragged the razor back from her forehead, taking a wide stripe of hair with it. It was easier than I thought. The razor glided through her hair, shaving it away to the skin without any problem.

Carefully I shaved the top of Holly’s head, and she sighed when I reached the back and shaved her crown. “Mmm,” Holly groaned. “You have NO idea what this feels like, Jane.”

When I’d finished the top Holly touched her smooth head with her fingers and gasped. “Wow! Amazing! Hurry up and do the rest!”

This was a side of Holly I’d never imagined. Grinning in disbelief, I shaved away the hair around her ears and temples. The water in the sink was getting all gluggy with shaving cream and hair. Holly’s scalp was getting balder and balder.

She bent her neck again so the skin was stretched taut at the back of her head. I shaved up her neck and nape, and Hol shuddered in pleasure as the hair was peeled away. Three careful minutes later, Holly was completely bald.

I wet a face flannel and wiped Holly’s pale cranium clean of any stray foam. Holly watched me, a huge smile on her face. She looked astoundingly pretty without her hair – her neck was long and graceful, something you never really noticed when her hair had hung around her shoulders.

Holly stroked her clean scalp joyfully, then looked at the floor. It was covered in her hair – first the long, straight locks I’d cut off before her perm, and then the dreadful curls, all bunched up and dry and split. “Much better on the floor than on my head,” she murmured, using the flannel to wipe clippings from her cheeks and nose.

We looked in the mirror together: Holly with her bald head, me with my straw.

“What about your hair?” Holly said pointedly, reaching over and feeling my split ends. “It’s in awful condition. Want me to cut it for you?”

Now what, I wondered, did Holly mean by ‘cut’?

She pushed me onto the chair and draped a towel around my neck, then began to brush my long, dry hair.

“It’s a mess, Jane. You’ll have to cut it short. It’s breaking off everywhere.”

“Er – ” I began.

But Holly had the scissors in her hand. In a flash she’d lopped off a lock of my hair to earlobe level. Astonished, I watched six inches of hair fall onto my knees. “Hol!”

“You need it,” Holly told me.

“I know,” I agreed, “but don’t I have some say in the style?”

“What style?” said Holly. “I’m not a hairdresser! Trust me and we’ll see how this looks.” With that Holly put the scissors back into my hair and kept cutting towards the back.

I watched in the mirror as my hair was shortened to a blunt, earlength bob. The scissors sounded quite loud as they skkkkrrriiiiiiiked under my ear and around to the back.

When Holly got to the back, I felt the blades against my skin. Like she did, I gasped, realising how short she was cutting it. It felt like she was bobbing my hair above the hairline.

“Gotta trim up the bottom,” Holly said with evident pleasure. She pushed my head forward and began clipping away at the nape of my neck. I felt the blades against my bare skin, cutting off my hair until it was shorn away up to the bob. I had to admit, it was a peculiar sensation, and began to see how and why Holly had enjoyed it so much. The blades nibbled away; Holly was just using the ends of them to cut my hair very close.

Then she’d finished the back, and in three long swoops of the blades had hacked off the rest of my hair to the bottom of my ears.

“What do you think?” Hol said, picking up the brush and brushing my hair. I loved having it brushed, feeling the bristles against my skin, dragging through my locks. I looked at myself in the mirror; with my new white bob I looked far more sophisticated than the long-haired country girl I’d been until this evening.

I felt the new, short ends of my hair. “It’s still split!” I gasped. “I don’t believe it!”

Holly inspected my hair. “Yeah, it’s still breaking off. I think it’s safe to say your hair is just as buggered as mine was. You’ll have to go shorter.”

I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This was not looking good! Holly might think it the height of fashion to have a shaved head, but she was far prettier than I. She could get away with it.

“Don’t you want to be radical?” Holly said softly. “Or are you going to turn into a version of your mother, staying at home, having kids and baking scones, wearing a knee length dress and comfortable shoes, with a nice, shoulder length bob you can put up into a French roll for a night on the town at the Bowling Club?”

The vision was all too awful – I wasn’t a domesticated person by any means, the most complicated thing I could cook was steak and vegetables. I’d never worn a knee length skirt in my life. I had no intention of raising six kids and baking scones – or putting my hair in a French roll for that matter. Holly really knew how to get me where it hurt.

“You’re only young once, right?” I said shakily.

“Uh-huh,” Hol agreed. “Let’s see how well I can do a crewcut. Should look great with your ultra-blonde hair!”

“Crewc-” I began in horror, but Holly had lifted up the hair hanging over my forehead and cut off a great big clump of it before I could finish talking.

The die was cast. Or rather, the dye was. If I hadn’t used that bloody blonding kit I wouldn’t be sitting here letting my best friend live out some fantasy she’d obviously cooked up about cutting off people’s hair – her own and mine.

Holly used the comb to lift my hair while she cut it off. I watched hair rain down over my face onto my knees, and in the mirror the top of my head was getting cropped shorter than my brother’s.

“Feel good?” Holly said gently.

I processed the question, letting senses other than my sight take over. The comb lifted my hair, the scissors slid underneath it and with a loud skkkkrrriiiiiiik clipped my hair off. There was a funny feeling of lightness as the scissors severed my hair and the short clumps sprang back to lie flat on my head. “Actually,” I said after a minute, “It does.”

“Told you,” Holly replied, satisfied. She was smiling as she cropped my hair.

My lap filled with clippings, and my head felt funny and tight where she’d cut my hair super short. There was no turning back now, not with the top clipped off, so I had no choice but to sit there and explore the experience of the shortest haircut I’d ever had.

Holly finished the top, and I touched my newly shorn pelt. It felt soft against my hands, much softer than the damaged hair which had been cut off.

Almost recklessly Hol attacked the side of my head, shearing away the hair around my ears and temples. I saw my ears uncovered for the first time in ages; I always wore my hair down. Holly was cutting my hair so short that my rather flat ears almost stuck out from my head. I had no real idea what she was doing, but it looked like she wasn’t being that careful. Some chopped locks of hair looked longer than others, sticking out in tufts on my head.

“Bend your neck,” Holly suggested. I studied my knees as she lay the blades against my nape and began to cut.

My nape was very sensitive, and I almost jumped out of the chair when I felt the cold steel move slowly up the back of my head. I couldn’t believe I was sitting in the bathroom getting all my hair cut off, but the sound of the blades shrieking through my locks, and the feeling of weightlessness where the hair had been cut was pretty good proof. Slowly the back of my head was cropped and chopped and shorn, all the way to the top. I put my head back up straight and watched Holly lift and snip away at the hair near my crown. It looked odd to see myself in the mirror with no hair hanging down the back of my neck.

Holly delicately cut around my other ear, snipping my hair off at the hairline. “You’ve got a well-shaped head,” she said approvingly, lifting my hair lock by lock and cutting it off, letting the clippings drop onto my shoulders.

At last the haircut was over. Holly had skrriiiiiked the last of my hair to a wildly short length and let the cut clump fall onto my knees. I gave a sigh. It had been quite an experience, and a far more enjoyable one than I thought it would be.

My self in the mirror had mega-short hair and huge brown eyes. I didn’t look too bad. Better than I predicted I would. Almost attractive. I ran my hands over my head and rather liked the feeling of my new haircut, all soft and feathery against my fingers. It was a bit uneven but I supposed I could go to a hairdresser’s – or even a barber’s – and get it done properly with clippers when I had a bit more money.

“I haven’t finished yet,” Holly said, watching me grin at my new, strange reflection. She had the tin of shaving foam in her hand.

“Hol!” I protested.

“You said you were feeling radical,” she parried. “You’re only young once, remember!? Jane, you HAVE to try it. You liked having your hair cut, I could tell. Well, this is even better again. You won’t believe what it feels like having your head shaved unless you experience it.”

“Maybe I’ll just take your word for it,” I muttered, shaking the cut hair from my knees and taking the towel from my neck. I rose from the chair, but one of Holly’s hands suddenly clamped on my head and pushed me back down.

“You’ll have your head shaved,” Holly said firmly. “Your hair is just as damaged as mine. There’s not much left on your head anyway. Cut it any shorter and you may as well be bald.”

Before I could protest, she squirted shaving foam all over the top of my head and began to massage it into my hair.

I was half terrified of this new, bossy Holly and half intrigued as to what a headshave felt like. Getting out of the chair and walking away would, I felt in my heart, ruin a lifelong friendship. There was nothing to do but let Holly shave me bald.

I watched in the mirror as she picked a fresh razor out of the pack and made the first stroke, right in the middle of the top. I felt the razor scraping against my skin, and then there was a white patch of scalp visible amidst the foam. Holly rinsed the razor in the sink, and scraped another part clean alongside it.

It felt funny, having my head shaved. Not unpleasant, just an unusual sensation in a part of my body that didn’t normally get the attention of a razor. I tried not to think how long it would take my hair to grow back as I watched the top of my head get denuded and felt the razor stroking against my skin. There was a faint hint of five o’clock shadow where my hair grew, but that was all that was left of it.

Holly would have made a good barber. She was more confident than I’d been, peeling my hair off in long, firm strokes. “Your hair’s really fine,” she murmured. “It’s easy to shave.”

When she put her hand on top of my head to tilt it to the side, her palm felt very warm against my bare skin. It was quite an erotic sensation, and I sensed the enjoyment Holly had got out of her shave.

Then the hair was shaved away from my ears, and the side of my head. I heard the razor scraping against my skin quite loudly as Holly shaved off my sideburns.

Obediently I bent my head forward again so the back could be done. Holly started low on my neck, shaving away all the little hairs which grew down below my hairline. I couldn’t see the razor’s progress any more, only feel it glide up against my nape and only guess how much of my scalp was being shaved bald. Like Holly, I couldn’t suppress a shudder as the blade encountered the hair at my nape. I felt myself blushing at my emotions; yes, it was turning me on sexually.

Splash, rinse, shave. My nape was laid bare, and Holly began to scrape off the hair that grew over the bumpy bone at the back of my head.

“Feels good?” said Holly.

“Mmm,” I murmured in assent as the razor shaved all the way to the top of my head. My head was feeling cold where it had been shaved but the rest of me was hot and flushed. Holly was right, this was something I really DID have to experience! I’d never have believed I’d truly enjoy feeling a razor blade shave off every hair on my head.

When I could look up again I watched the rest of my head get shaved. Slowly the shaving foam, and all my hair with it, was scraped delicately from around my other ear. I found myself grinning like a fool as my very best friend carefully shaved the last remaining hair on my head from my right temple.

Like I’d done for her, she wiped my head clean. And like she’d done, I felt my newly shaven scalp with both hands.

It felt weird, not having any hair. Stroking my fingers gently across the top of my head was an amazingly sensuous experience. When I raised my eyebrows my entire scalp moved, and I giggled.

“I can’t believe we just did that!” I gasped finally, when I’d stopped laughing and got used to the sight of my hairless self.

“Yeah, I’m never using a home perm again!” Holly giggled, throwing the home perm box in the garbage, together with the used razors.

The awful lime green of the bathroom floor tiles was obscured by hair – Holly’s brown and my white blonde. It was hard to conceive our two heads had produced so much hair.

“I think I’ll get my nose pierced when I get some money,” Holly said dreamily, gazing at her bald reflection, with a hand mirror angled so she could see the back of her naked head.

“Hol!” I protested.

“You can come with me and keep me company,” she grinned.

“No way. Now I know what keeping you company really means,” I retorted, starting to gather the hair on the floor into one huge pile and toss it in the garbage.

“You’re only young once, remember?” Holly taunted, reaching down and patting my head.

“There’s a limit,” I muttered, throwing away another handful of hair. “Shaving your head doesn’t actually involve physical pain.”

I think you can guess the rest. Three weeks later we both had pierced noses and had spent the last of our allowances on a new pack of razors!

The end.

(c) Copyright 1999, Sabrina S

 

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