Carla’s Permanent Shave

Carla’s Permanent Shave

The story of my second…and last…experience with shaving

I had broken up with Rita , and other than casual dating had not been in a relationship for some time. It was to be more than a year before I met Barbara, now my wife. I settled into my routine, playing music jobs on weekends, going to college during the days.

One of the things I had to do was fulfil a requirement each semester of being in a performing group, and I played in several school bands. One semester I joined the wind ensemble, which is really an orchestra without strings, clarinets and such doubling violin parts in transcriptions. I played the only stringed instrument used in a wind ensemble, the double bass. My position was in the back of the group, so I could see the whole band as we rehearsed. Well I saw a girl in the clarinet section looking at me a lot, and began to talk to her on breaks and as I saw her around the halls of the music building.

Her name was Carla, and she was a couple of years older than me, like most of my lovers. She was built very different from most of my other lovers too. Usually they are small or slim, but Carla was just about my height, had a Ruebenesque figure with very womanly hips and large, full breasts (and me being one of those males WITHOUT a thing for big ones!), long graceful fingers, very pale soft smooth skin, an aristocratic nose, small but intelligent blue eyes, very light blond hair, fine and straight, hanging to mid-back. We got along well as friends and started spending time together. Gradually we grew closer and our friendship added a new element as we became lovers. Carla was a spirited bed partner, genuinely liking sex, with an open lusty attitude. She had shed her conservative Baptist upbringing long before and was glad , as she put it, to have a man to talk to afterwards! She had her own house a few miles from campus and I soon had a key and spent lots of time there, in between classes during the day and of course the nights, often making love every night for days in row. We’d lay in bed and watch Star Trek reruns on TV, or listen to classical music, or just hang out. We took trips to Biloxi and Shreveport (near her home town) in her ancient SAAB, which she worked on herself. I got a kick out of driving up and seeing her very feminine body under her car as she fixed some part or other.

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Carla sometimes wore makeup and dresses, sometimes not. She liked to be “pretty” and although she wasn’t totally happy with her body (this was still the 70’s, the workout and fitness craze was in its infancy) she would rather be a bit zaftig and strong than skinny and weaker. I didn’t care, she felt good as she was, and if she was happy so was I. Then she started playing with her hair. I had not totally come to grips with my budding interest in shorn female heads, and never told Carla about my experience with Rita. It didn’t seem a good idea, as Carla was rather jealous!

Carla started by getting it cut a bit shorter, just a little past the shoulders. Her hair was very fine; mine was kind of long then and a handful of my hair was much thicker. Hers felt almost like a child’s soft hair. Of course this hair held no set or style, so she just wore it straight, parted slightly to one side (for some reason I can’t recall which) and pulled back. Then she decided to try one of the relatively new perms. The long curls were getting popular, and like many of us she wanted what she didn’t have. So one day I arrive at her house and her hair is curly. Looked good, too, for a few months. Of course it needed to be redone. Unfortunately, this time was not so successful. It came out too tight, and was somewhat damaged. I guess the salon was responsible, but they couldn’t fix it. It broke off in her brushes, looked like hell and felt like brillo. She took it with good humor, though, and wasn’t bummed out.

“I’ve had long hair all my life, so I guess this means it’s time for a change” she told me. “I guess I could cut it shorter.”

Well, this seemed like a good time to tell her I sort of liked very short hair and told her if she does cut it, go very short. She said she’d think about it. Well, this was Saturday and by Monday she was ready to do it. That night I found Carla waiting for me with a few items. Her hair looked very much like its old self…then I realized it was a wig .She had bought a clipper, too. I wondered what was in store. We went to her bathroom (funny how so much haircutting goes on there) and got down to business. She removed the wig, and revealed the bad perm.

“How do you want me to cut it?” I asked. “How short do you want it?”

“A 1/4 of an inch!” she blurted out.

I put the appropriate attachment on the clippers and started right at the front of her head, placed the now-buzzing clippers at her forehead and slowly pushed to the back of her head. Her blond curls fell away, baring a pinkish scalp under a bit of pale blond stubble. Strip by strip I sheared off her permed hair, then started on the side of her head, watching with fascination as her new profile showed, and finished up in the back. She looked in the mirror at her head. Her face looked radiant, so much exposed fair skin, and with her hair so fine and blond, she looked almost bald. As she rubbed her hand on her freshly cropped stubble she smiled.

“I like it, but it reminds me of how my legs feel when they need a shave.” Carla never tolerated the stubbly regrowth on her legs, she shaved almost daily. “My hair is so short I want to see what it feels like shaved off. It’ll grow to look like this in a few weeks, so get my razor.”

I was so excited from the clipping, and now this, my second chance to shave a pretty female. I spread soap, not foam, on her head and with warm water and with her disposable razors began to shave off the short hairs. Her skin was so delicate I was very careful not to nick her. I stroked the razor and removed all the rest of her blond hairs, then washed her head. She had a nicely shaped head, and her skin was almost glowing.

“I feel so naked” she said with a wicked grin, and she put a little moisturizer on her freshly shaved pate. She got up and hugged me and I stroked her bald head, caressing the skin. Her head felt good, but a little odd, as her thin delicate skin was soft everywhere else but had this hard bone of her skull underneath. I liked the contrast, though. She put her wig for comparison. She looked very close to the way she did before this all started. But as she pulled it off, I was transfixed, as now she looked so unusual, but so clean and pure (if anyone with her libido could be called pure!). And our sex was outrageous, we both got off on her bare head, it felt so different than before. She never shaved it again, letting it grow out immediately. Carla never let anyone but me and a few close friends see her without the wig, but we liked her bald look and the various stages of growing out were fun too. We broke up some time after, but stayed friends.

Last time I saw her had been some time since the time before, and she had gained LOTS of weight, her Reubenesque figure gone. I hated to admit it but she was obese. Her hair was her own though, long and straight like the first time I saw her.

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