Blister in the Heat
Blister In The Sun by Headboy and Sabrina S
The sun wasn’t all the way up yet and already the mercury was pushed into the 90’s, closing in on 100 degrees before noon. It was going to be a hot day. Not just hot in the typical sense, but ungodly hot.
The kind of heat that made normal people do abnormal things. The kind of heat that would’ve made Mother Teresa lose her temper. The kind that would render Mitch and Cere a very different couple by day’s end.
They drove through the desert, watching the temperature gauge on the dashboard rise. “Vacation is not starting out well,” Mitch thought out loud.
Cere smiled. “Raging Eyes” blasted from the stereo. Mitch loved that song, Cere did not. She smiled again, rolled back over and tried to go back to sleep. No luck. Too hot. Even the air conditioner was little help to the blistering sun beating down through the windows of their Ford Taurus.
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Up ahead was a small town, and not much of one at that. A gas station, a small general store/post office, a diner named “Nemo’s” and a broken-down motor lodge with, at most, 10 rooms. “We’ve gotta stop. The car’s over-heating,” Mitch said. Cere nodded.
“I just hope the air-conditioning in Nemo’s works better than the one in the car,” she giggled, lifting up her warm brown shoulder-length hair.
It had been two weeks since she and Mitch had contested the Charity Run, and she had pushed Mitch over the line first allowing him to win the bet and shave her head. So far he hadn’t taken his winnings… and Cere had a private bet with herself that packed inside Mitch’s suitcase was a pair of clippers.
Truth to tell, this summer had been so hot she wouldn’t mind losing her thick, heavy hair. Being bald had never entered her mind before she met Mitch. Although she couldn’t really understand what turned him on about bald women, she was a person with a broad mind open to new ideas and experiences. And she had to admit, some of those bald babes Mitch gazed at on the Net when he thought Cere wasn’t looking were pretty darned hot!
The door into Nemo’s diner creaked as if it too were tired of the relentless heat.
Inside it wasn’t much cooler than the egg-frying sun on the red soil by the side of the road. The air-conditioning laboured, aided by a clanking pedestal fan. The thick smell of deep-frying fat hung heavily in the air.
Cere’s heart plunged. No chance of a nice chef’s salad here – she’d be eating Mitch’s favourite food: burgers and fries.
“Hey, the four major food groups,” Mitch joked, reading the menu. “Coffee, Burgers, Fries and Coke. Well, that’s me decided. Sweetheart?”
Cere pulled a face. “Ugh. I’ll have a ham salad sandwich.”
She wandered around the diner while the food was being prepared. The walls were covered with black and white photos. Cere supposed they’d be baseball players or footballers, the stock in trade of wall decoration in places like this.
On closer inspection, they were all photos dating back to the 20s, 30s and 40s of people sitting in a barber’s chair getting their hair cut. One particularly striking one showed a woman getting her long locks shorn almost to extinction by a pair of hand clippers wielded by a maniacally grinning male barber.
“Heart,” she called to Mitch. “Come over here and look at these!”
The man behind the counter grinned. “Sumpin’ different, ain’t they? The guy that used to run the local barber’s shop was a keen photographer, used to snap away at all his customers. When they closed the shop, I got the photos, and the Desert View Motel got the chairs. They sure are a talking point.”
Mitch’s eyebrows rose and by the small, private smile on his face, Cere knew what he was thinking.
The food was tasty, warm, fresh and typical of the roadside diners from a by-gone era. The bacon on Mitch’s burger crunched in crisp glee as he bit into it, thinking of what this forced stop-over might turn out to be. His head flashed, again, with images of his lovely Cere. In his mind, he would take his clippers, run them over her head while she smiled. He would glide them up and over the top of her brownish hair, watch as the freed locks hit the floor. His head danced with images of her, newly bald, dancing for him, thanking him, rubbing her scalp with a sensual pleasure she’d never know before. He would, in turn, rub and caress it, kiss her smooth, erotic skull and love every minute of it.
Cere, meantime, was transfixed on the pictures hanging on the wall; they were different. Different and enticing. She drifted away for a moment, seeing herself bald, naked and being adored by her Mitch. They had a grand relationship, but she never felt that “up on a pedestal” feeling some of her friends had described. Her self-image wasn’t clear, she could not tell if she would like it or not. She still had a lot of apprehension; and a healthy mix of excitement for the moment she knew was looming.
“I’ve never tasted ham salad prepared with lard before,” Cere said, sarcasm dripping off her full, sensual lips. “It is quite a treat.”
“Hey, this is my kind of place – American and original. They just don’t make ’em like this anymore.”
“That’s because the people that used to frequent them have died off from congestive heart failure.”
Cere smiled, she brushed a stray hair away from her eyes, looking back at the photo of the woman being sheared. “Actually,” she said, giving consolation to her Mitch, “this place does have character. We should get a room at the Desert View Motel and go hiking at night when the mercury drops to mid-90’s.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Mitch said, thinking of his suitcase, and the black, heavy clippers that would liberate Cere from conventional good looks and introduce her to a world of unique beauty. It would, of course, serve Mitch’s fantasy too. But he truly loved Cere, and would never make her go through with any of this if she didn’t want to, and begged out of the bet. If she asked.
He noticed she was starring at the photo, which pleased his inner fantasy, which was never far below the surface. Which was all he thought of while sloughing his way up and down the hills during the race he’d won. Well, he didn’t really win. Cere was well ahead, but she had basically thrown herself, ceremoniously, on the sword of love. Mitch was willing to do his part in this relationship; he’d taken up running, and made an effort to share Cere’s love of foreign films. He actually found himself enjoying the Italian movies; the accents reminded him of his grandma, she’d emigrated from Venice years ago, but never lost the accent.
The barber in the photo had that Italian immigrant look to him too. His dark hair, the olive skin coupled with the short stature and round face were dead-ringers for Mitch’s relatives back in the Old Country. He saw Cere’s face in the photo of the woman, mid-shear. It turned him on in ways that defied description and inspired those pudgy cherubs in heaven to play their harps and sing.
“Let’s get a room then, if there are any vacancies,” he said, knowing that the Desert View Motel had what it boasted of, a view of the desert. And at this time of year, few tourists, if any at all, stopped by.
The room – in fact the best the empty Motel had to offer, grandly titled the Honeymoon Suite – was a mix of charm and hideous leftovers from the passing furniture trends of the past 40 years. Off in the corner, however, as the man at Nemo’s promised, was a red barber’s chair; it sat there, almost mocking Mitch. It nearly screamed out to him, “Fate is a friend of those who do not doubt its power.”
The room’s saving grace, beside the chair, was a fully functioning air conditioner, which provided respite from the seventh level of Hell that loomed outside. Cere collapsed onto the bed, kicking off her shoes, she asked, “So, is there anything you want to do?”
Mitch looked back at her, it was the voice that purred, the voice that was scarcely above a whisper, but one he knew well. One that – despite its volume – screamed out to him, “You’re going to have sex, pal.” And they did.
Mitch’s mind raced, all he could think of was the barber chair in the corner, it sang out like a siren’s song, luring him to it. Cere’s brain flashed with images of herself, hairless. They became slowly clearer. Each time it would be of her, in various stages of dress, but always prettier than the time before. It was as if her mind was pulling her toward the inevitable.
Mitch could smell the slight odor of singed hair and lubricating oil in the air. The way a room smells just after a clipper has done its job. He looked at his Cere, a truly beautiful woman. He blinked his eyes and the image of her with a bare scalp, glistening from daily lotion sessions. The thought of Cere’s head, her beautiful, smooth dome, glistening in the candlelight left him in pure ecstasy.
He lifted Cere and himself up off the bed, and walked, glided nearly, over to the barber chair. Gently, he sat Cere down; she knew the time had come.
She sat there, trembling. Not trembling as much as Mitch, though, he was fast loosing his decorum. The chair had a coolness too it, a comforting forgiveness. Cere’s tight legs wrapped comfortably underneath her, she sat looking lovingly at Mitch. Her feet rested on the iron footrest, while her fingers nervously played with the cold metal arm rests. The chair had been restored to perfection, it was cozy, large and inviting. Mitch said, quietly, “Wait here, I have a surprise for you.”
“I think I know where this is going,” Cere thought to herself. Of course, she did.
Cere’s heart thudded as if it were about to break free from her ribcage and fly away. She watched silently as Mitch unpacked the black clippers; as she knew he would. He unfolded a silky cape, inside which had been packed a pair of scissors and a comb.
Mitch’s hands were trembling so hard he could barely fasten the cape around Cere’s slender neck. He lifted out her heavy hair – the last time for ages it would be this long, if ever again – and it spilled glossily over her shoulders.
“Are you sure?” he asked her nervously. God, if she said no now, he’d die! Probably of an overload to the dick, but die nonetheless.
Cere saw the pain of eagerness in Mitch’s eyes. “I’m sure,” she said softly, running her hands through her hair and drawing it back from her beautiful face.
Wordlessly, Mitch lifted a hank of hair, that gorgeous tendril that grew from her temple, the one she always tucked behind her ears. Then, slowly, he moved the scissors up the shaft from the tip almost to Cere’s scalp.
She sat, not daring to breathe, waiting for the scratchy sound that meant her hair was being cut off.
Mitch closed the blades; Cere felt a tugging as the blades cut through her dry hair, then several inches of her precious locks dropped onto her lap.
Mitch looked disbelievingly at Cere’s head. He’d made the first cut! An ugly clump of hair stuck out amidst the gleaming long strands.
Cere said shakily, “How do I look?”
“You’ll look better when I’ve finished,” Mitch promised, surprised he could find his voice at all. Tenderly, he ran his hands up into her hair and lifted it away from her head.
He began to snip away underneath his fingers, clamping the hair tightly with his fingers so it stayed taut and was easy to cut. At first Mitch only cut a few strands at a time, in case Cere lost her nerve and begged him to stop. Then he got bolder, and crunched the blades into her thick hair, hacking away at it like a madman until his hand was suddenly freed and it came away from her head with masses of long hair hanging from it.
One side of Cere’s head had been carelessly cropped to a variety of short lengths. Mitch caught his breath at the sight of it, and almost forgot to breathe completely in ecstasy at the thought of totally shaving the untidy haircut from her scalp.
Cere saw the huge erection bulging in front of her eyes, and wondered whether he’d last out her haircut, or whether they’d use the barber’s chair for a purpose for which it had never been intended.
He picked up the comb, and began to comb her bangs back over the top of her head, grabbing them up into a ponytail.
The scissors flew as if they had a life of their own, hacking at Cere’s bangs and cutting them so short her white scalp was visible.
Cere found herself breathing more quickly. The urgency of the scissors and the gentle tugging as they reduced her hair was actually turning her on. She wondered what she looked like – Mitch had turned the chair away from the mirror. She FELT rather odd, with the hair cropped away from the front of her head. Her bangs had hung over her eyes. Now they were stubble, with the cut locks dropped onto her legs. The comb was pulling up the hair on the very top of her head now, and Cere, waiting for the scissors, felt a flood of fluid inside her; her clitoris ached.
Mitch hacked off her hair recklessly, running his fingers through the short, uneven style left on her head. Just the feel of the short hair almost blew him to orgasm. He had to fight to stop himself from coming.
He’d finished the top, lopping it as short as a boy’s. Lifting up the hair on the other side of her head, he held it taut again and cut away at it, clipping it close around her ears.
“Er, honey, I think I’ve just given you a mullet,” Mitch apologised.
It broke the ice and the amazing sexual tension, giving them both the time they needed to get on with it. Cere giggled until tears ran down her cheeks. “Not a mullet, Mitch! For heaven’s sake, cut off the back as well!”
Mitch needed little encouragement. He drew all the hair that was left into a ponytail, holding it tightly, and began to saw through it level with Cere’s occipital bone. Cere’s head rocked slightly as Mitch hacked again and again at the thick hair.
By the time the last of her long hair lay on her lap or the threadbare brown carpet, Mitch’s hands were aching and his erection had returned a hundredfold at the site of his beloved, caped in a barber’s chair with a cropped head that just begged for the clippers to show it mercy and shave it completely bald. He had never seen her look more beautiful, and knew that her amazing beauty would only increase with a completely shaved scalp.
He ran his hands over her shorn locks. “Cere, I love you! You have no idea what this means to me.”
“Oh, I do,” Cere said softly. “I’m enjoying this more than you realise. Come here, heart, before I slide off this barber’s chair.” She lifted her cape and Mitch saw the glistening wetness awaiting him.
The chair creaked, but their moans were louder. Cere’s cut hair clung to Mitch’s damp body as it fell from the cape. With his hands caressing her head, Mitch came almost instantly, then fell to his knees to bring Cere to a jolting, thrusting orgasm that was the most powerful she’d ever had.
Momentarily exhausted, Mitch lay his head on Cere’s lap and felt her shaking fingers caress his own short locks.
“Are you up to finishing the job?” Cere asked, amused.
She brought a hand out from under the cape and felt her head, startled at the textures there and the lack of any long hair. Parts of it were clipped so short she couldn’t run her fingers through them. Her hair felt tufty and clumpy, and as she brushed her hand over the stubble on top of her head, a shiver ran down her spine.
Mitch grinned. “Oh, yes, I’m up to finishing the job. Stay right there, ma’am, and barber Mitch will shave your head nice and clean for you.”
Mitch plugged the clippers in and flicked them into life.
The clippers popped into a growl and Cere let out a nervous giggle. Both she and Mitch were exhausted by now, but there was so much adrenaline in the air, they kept going. “Time to clean you up, heart,” he said, his voice a quavering combination of orgasm, disbelief and pure pleasure (of the non-sexual kind).
Cere made Mitch stop to snap a photograph, then he let the clippers chew away at the stubble. A stark white patch appeared on her head as the last remnants of hair fell away. Mitch and Cere were getting covered with hair as it stuck to their wet, sweaty bodies. It did not matter, they both moaned with pleasure.
A second strip was liberated; Cere felt the newly naked patch, it felt right to her. It felt smooth, feminine and – right. She smiled, still unsure of how she’d look, or how she would explain it to her boss next week back at work.
She had made up her mind that as long as she was bald, she would be without a wig. No sense in being something and trying to hide it. If she succumbed to this out of love, she would do so with all the confidence she could muster.
“I’ll just tell him I did it out of support for a friend with cancer,” Cere thought, figuring her boss would leave it alone at that. Cancer being such a hideous thing, and him being a nice guy, for a boss. At this point though, the future was irrelevant… Cere wanted this moment to last. The moments before seeing herself. The moments when she had no clue what she’d look like and only saw herself through her own touch, and Mitch’s loving gaze.
Mitch drove the clippers over her left ear, leaving the entire side of her head hairless. “Half-way to paradise, heart of mine,” he said, going slowly back over the path he’d just plowed. Running the clippers three and four times over the same spot prolonged the moment, which drove Cere to orgasm, again. It drove Mitch to the edge of fainting, he could see the bluish tint to Cere’s white scalp show through, and he had no fluid left in his body.
Cere looked down to her lap. Stubble lay there in a pile. She knew her friends would look at her differently, but she didn’t care. She was more thrilled than words could describe. The feel of clippers roaming across her head felt terrifying and thrilling. Even if she let her hair grow back and shaved it again, it would not feel like this. There is, after all, only one first time. She felt the teeth of the clippers dig slightly near the back of her head, a moment of slight discomfort in the middle of ecstasy. She looked on the floor, it was a mess of hair, laying in clumps, a tangled pittance of their former luxurious glory. A thought raced across her mind: “They look so sad and alone.”
Indeed, the strands of her hair, shorn off her head, sticking to the cape around her neck, and tumbled to the ground did look sad. Cere wondered why she’d let them stay on her head so long, miserable tendrils. She heard the snapping of more photographs, but paid no mind, she was thinking of how free she felt, and how sad the lady in the photo back at Nemo’s looked. And how shocked and ashamed the Nazi collaborators looked in the photos of France, just after the Americans liberated it during World War II, looked.
They’d been paraded through town, shaved, and tossed into the street as a sign that anyone who’d co-operated with the Nazis were scum. But that was a different era, a different circumstance, and not a moment born of love and passion. This was.
She reached up and touched her scalp, nothing but slight dark patches where the follicles sat, just under the blue-white skin. “Is the mullet gone? How does it look now?” she asked. Mitch smiled back, clearly pleased with his efforts.
“You look like the goddess you are,” he said, nearly unable to stand from the pain of the rock hard bulge in his pants. “One more step left, heart of mine.” He said, brushing her off and leading her to the hotel room’s shower.
And to the can of shaving cream and supply of razors that awaited.
Cere was surprised her legs still worked. They felt shaky; her whole body quivered with emotion.
Walking into the bathroom she came face to face with a naked bald woman, her scalp showing a hint of shadow. “Oh my God!” Cere halted, amazed at the vision in the mirror. She touched her scalp, running her hands over the tiny bristles. “Mitch, it’s amazing!”
Cere was almost shocked that she looked so good; never in her dreams had she imagined shaving her head would enhance her features so much, make her eyes huge like a fawn’s, her lips full and kissable. She stared unblinkingly at the lovely woman in the mirror until Mitch kissed the top of her shorn scalp and sent a shudder rocketing through her. Tears welled up in her eyes, did she really look this pretty? The look on Mitch’s face said yes.
“We haven’t finished yet,” he said softly, caressing her head and making her close her eyes in pleasure.
“Mmmm,” murmured Cere, stepping into the shower and gasping as the needles of water pounded on her clippered skin. “Oh! Ohhhh! This is unbelievable!” She held her face up to the shower head, her scalp tingling.
Mitch squeezed in beside her. The Honeymoon Suite lacked one essential element – a shower built for two!
Regretfully, Cere stepped as far as she could to the side of the shower, to get her head out from under the spray.
They both giggled as Mitch shook the can of shaving cream and squirted a large blob onto the top of her head.
“I don’t believe this is happening,” Cere gasped between bouts of laughter. “You’re actually going to shave me completely bald.”
“Completely, heart. Totally,” Mitch promised, massaging the shaving cream into her scalp and applying another big blob to the back of her head.
Cere looked so adorable with her head swathed in white cream that Mitch took time out to kiss her. Then he picked up the first of the disposable razors.
“Might be easier if you knelt down,” he suggested, and Cere, her legs shaking again in anticipation, knelt at his feet.
She closed her eyes and felt the first rasp of the razor at her forehead, shaving the first couple of inches slowly and carefully. It felt peculiar and wonderful all at once, to feel even the minute stubble that was left get totally annihilated.
Mitch rinsed the razor under the shower. His next pass was more confident, a longer stroke next to the first, straight down the middle of her scalp, leaving a mound of shaving cream either side.
Tenderly he shaved the top of her head, feeling with his fingers for any stubble he’d missed. Her pale scalp glowed in the bathroom light; every tiny vestige of hair had been removed from the top.
Mitch picked up a new razor. Gently he pushed her head to one side, and Cere felt the blade in front of her ear, stroking upwards to her temple. Delicately Mitch pushed the top of her ear down so he could shave her hairline. The razor crept up the side of her head and Cere closed her eyes again, abandoning herself to the sensations.
She waited for the next pass of the blade. Mitch’s fingers bent the back of her ear forward, and shaved behind it with delicate short strokes. The side of her head was denuded and clean.
Without waiting for Mitch to ask her, she bent her head as far forward as she could, exposing her nape and waiting, her heart thudding, for the scrape of the blade on her neck.
Her nape was sensitive, and she almost cried out with joy as Mitch began to shave it clean. The razor crept up to her occipital bone, leaving her skin as smooth and hairless as a baby’s body.
The rasping of the blade against stubble was loud in her ears, almost inside her head, as Mitch shaved the back of her head to her crown.
“How does it feel?” Mitch murmured, running a finger with exquisite tenderness up the back of her shaved scalp.
Cere shuddered with ecstasy. “Unbelievable. Indescribable. It’s the most erotic thing we’ve ever done. Mitch, don’t stop, heart! Please, don’t stop!”
Grinning, Mitch picked up another new razor and shaved the last of the hair from the back of her head, running the blade up to her shaven crown.
Cere tilted her head, waiting for her ear to be pushed forward. Mitch obliged, nuzzling the blade around it and stroking it up her head.
Cere could barely breathe as she realised her head was almost totally shaved. As the last of the shaving cream was whisked off by the razor, she felt at once naked without her hair but totally feminine.
Mitch helped her to her feet and she stood under the shower again, shrieking as the water hit her closely shaved scalp.
“We’ll rub some moisturiser into it,” promised Mitch, “So you don’t get a rash.” He held her in his arms, his hands creeping of their own accord to her head, stroking it, caressing her baldness. Cere’s hands met his and together they explored her newly exposed scalp.
Their bodies met, Mitch’s erection pushing into Cere’s belly. Hungrily his mouth came down on hers. “I love you,” he said between kisses.
“And I love you,” Cere murmured back. “I am SO glad I let you beat me in that race.”
Jaws dropped when Cere walked into the office upon their return home. Her boss stood, in pure shock at the sight of his favorite employee without her crowning glory. He had fantasies about Cere each time he walked by her desk. He watched her, with one foot tucked under her bottom, typing away at another report. She always had a scent that was equal parts spring rain and English garden. You could hear his heart sink at the site of Cere, totally bald. The tan line that had been there had evened out, Mitch had taken great care to rub it with lotion to keep it as smooth as she liked. It had only been a week, but Cere had fallen in love with the new her. She had no inhibitions anymore, not about her appearance, not about her job, not about anything.
Her boss gulped, hard. She still smelled as heavenly as always, she still dressed in that no-nonsense way of hers that was a combination of efficient and sexy. Now, she had the hairstyle to accompany her attitude. Cere’s skull was the perfect shape to pull off the look. Round and feminine, and incredibly pretty. One of her office mates felt the germ of thought enter her mind; she wanted to go all the way herself. Would she have the courage? Would her eyes look as clear and knowing?
Cere’s boss caught himself in complete stare, gathering his senses, he spoke: “What the hell happened to you?” he asked, still in shock. The whole office stopped and stared waiting for Cere’s reply.
She walked to her desk, maintaining eye contact with her boss. Sitting down, she tucked one foot underneath her like always. She smiled, wide. Smiled and said nothing. Nothing at all.