Changes – by Anon_temp
Hi, my name is Laura, and I run a small one-man hairdresser’s shop in a quiet part of a large city. I suppose you’d like to know what I look like as well, so here goes: I’m tall, with a slim figure, a pretty face, and long, flowing, blonde hair. People tell me I’m a great hairdresser, and it is true that I do tend to ‘know’ the right thing to do when I’m cutting someone’s hair. Every hairdresser is, of course, part shrink, but I also feel what kind of haircut my client needs, rather than wants.
This may seem convenient, but it often complicates matters, because people seldom want what they need. It gets even worse if you get your own feelings involved in the cutting, as is the case with the story I’m about to tell you. It all began when I met Lynn. I was shopping for groceries when I met her. And I was… annoyed with her. She had changed. She used to have a wildly flowing mane of dark brown hair. She used to have old-fashioned thick-rimmed glasses that couldn’t hope to hide her intelligent blue eyes so full of joy and light. We had been best friends all the way through puberty, and she had been, oh yes, my first true love. When we were together, there was nothing that could stop us from doing what we wanted, and the two of us were – we just knew – going to change the face of the planet.
It was, of course, never to be, and we both went our separate ways. But I wasn’t prepared for the fact that we had grown apart so much. While I was, at least from my point of view, still the same tempestuous girl I was four years ago, she seemed to have decided that it was better to conform than to confront.
The fact that she was wearing a suit rather then her customary jeans and T-shirt was in fact the least offensive about her appearance. And of course the small stud in her nose – I had one too – was gone. But her eyes… The seemingly eternal spark of good humor had gone, courtesy of her new contacts. And her hair… the impossible had been done. Someone had tamed her untamable mane, reducing it to shoulder length, and – gulp – had seen fit to highlight it.
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In my mind I tried to figure out how this evil genius could have accomplished this feat – to no avail. Whoever did this knew something about hair I didn’t.
But to add insult to injury, she was still gorgeous, perhaps even more so than she had been four years ago.
And I had to admit, that, had she been any other girl, I would have thought of the change as a step forward. That the suit reflected her elegant womanly figure, whilst retaining an air of coolness and professionalism. That the contacts made her look much more mature. And that the hairstyle looked great on her.
But not for Lynn. I felt like she had been taken away from me. We talked, and for the first time in my life, I wanted her to shut up. I began to wonder if perhaps my memories of her had been coloured by nostalgia and calf-love. Had she always been this shallow? She asked what I did for a living, and so I told her about my shop. She mentioned she desperately needed a trim. What affectation! I noticed barely a centimeter of growth. But of course I mentioned I’d be happy to give her that trim, if she were to come to my shop one day. And this was the last I expected to see of her.
I was surprised when she did visit my shop – the next evening, about a quarter an hour before closing time. I had just begun cutting the hair of an elderly gentleman, and, because I don’t like to rush a haircut, I had to close the shop first, before I could give any attention to her.
“Sorry it took so long,” I apologized while I pulled down the roller-blind. “‘S okay,” she replied. I turned around, and I noticed she was wearing her old glasses, rather than her contacts, and that she had re-inserted her nose-stud. For old times’ sake?
I sat down, and we began to talk. Strange enough, she didn’t seem at all the shallow, arrogant person I thought her to be. The more we talked, the more she resembled the old Lynn. The stud and the glasses, along with the casual clothing added to that, of course, but there was something more. The only thing that reminded me that this was in fact the new and improved Lynn was, of course the hair. So I popped the question.
“Tell me, Lynn: Who tamed your hair?”
“I did. When I started brushing it like everyone else.”
I couldn’t believe my ears, but when I looked at Lynn’s face I saw the sarcastic grin she only ever used when she was dead serious. Then the laughing began. Slowly at first, then we simply couldn’t help ourselves anymore, and soon we were giggling like two schoolgirls.
And then we talked, and talked, and we learned about what had happened to each other in the last four years
It turned out she had nearly dropped out of college, when she had seen the light. She had stopped fighting the system, and gone with the flow. It had meant giving up her freedom, but it had saved her from ending up really bad.
I understood now why she had changed her appearance so drastically. It served to remind her what her goals in life were.
She touched one of my long blonde curls with her finger, and she remarked that she was glad that I hadn’t changed my appearance, like she had.
“I wish I had,” I remarked honestly. “There’s no sense in looking the same forever.”
My old feelings for her had surfaced again this evening, but I was quite surprised when she pressed her lips against mine. We kissed briefly. “Then let’s change together,” she said. I looked at her, I didn’t understand.
Then she seated herself in the large hairdressers’ chair, and I understood. I began to wash her hair, wondering what to do with it. She needed a change. I needed a change. We needed each other. But the hairstyle she needed was unclear to me.
A strange sensation for someone who’s always been able to visualise a new haircut on someone within a minute. I tried to concentrate, but I couldn’t. Then I noticed I had accidentally dyed her hair dark purple. Then I drifted away, let my hands do the thinking for me, only to wake up when I felt two hands push me in the chair. When I looked into the mirror, I saw Lynn, her hair perhaps 3 centimeters on top, fading down to one at the nape, standing on end. Apparently, she had undressed herself completely during the time I was dreaming, and I noticed I had done the same. “Now,” I heard Lynn say, “I may not be as competent with the scissors as you are, but I know how to use these.” She switched on my set of Philips clippers. They sprang to life with a humming sound, and then she positioned them on my forehead.
She looked into my eyes, searching for my approval. I winked, and she pushed them right through the bulk of my hair. To the left and right of my head I saw tufts of hair flying from my head. Within seconds, the hair on the top of my head was about 3 centimeters long. Lynn paused to change the guard, then buzzed the sides and back of my head even shorter. Then she removed the guard, and cleaned up the contours. When the unguarded clippers touched my neck, a shiver went down my spine. I felt so defenceless against this monster of a machine, yet it felt so good.. Why didn’t I do this before…?
Finally, she turned off the clippers. I was already disappointed she didn’t go any further, when she began to massage a generous amount of hair gel through my newly-clipped hair. She didn’t stop until every single hair was gleaming and standing to attention.. I liked it a lot… in fact, I had always liked hair gel, and “wet look” cuts. Why had I never tried one myself?
I gestured her to sit on my lap. She obliged, and handed me the clippers. I set the guard to 1 centimeter, and began to buzz the sides, then the top. Now her hair was the same length everywhere. I removed the guard again, and began to shave the nape and hairline so that the contour of her purple hair consisted solely of straight lines and corners, creating a very “angular” look.
When I was done, she stood up from the chair, and I gave her the clippers again. This time, she seemed a little reluctant to use them, trying to half-heartedly trim the sides of my head.
“Don’t stop,” I said.
“If I don’t stop, you’ll be bald,” she remarked.
I nodded, and she turned off the clippers.
Then I saw myself. Not in the mirror, but in my mind’s eye. Bald.
“Please, will you buzz me again?” I asked her.
“But…” she muttered.
“Lynn, I want you to shave me bald.”
“Shave you bald?”
“To the skin. Lynn, I want you to turn me into a baldie!”
Finally, she complied. Roughly she pulled the guards off the clippers, and planted them in my nape. A shock went through my body when she pulled them upward, all the way to the crown, then further, finally reaching the front, when she turned around for another pass.
Soon, she had reduced all of my hair to small stubble, and even that didn’t last long, as she began to smear shaving cream all over my head. Then, centimeter after centimeter, she scraped the stubble off my head with a safety razor. It seemed to last for ages, and I couldn’t stop myself from touching my pussy while she did it. I was already moaning loudly when I was surprised by her warm tongue on my newly smoothed head.
I nearly exploded.
“Smooth alright,” she remarked. “Now let’s make sure it stays that way,” I didn’t know what was happening, but suddenly I felt a burning sensation on my brand new chrome dome. The sharp smell told me that it was a hair removal agent burning my hair follicles to the ground. I didn’t care, as the sudden sharp pain, along with the knowledge that I would be smooth forever, caused me to orgasm immediately. When the orgasm faded away, Lynn pulled my head back into the washing basin, rinsing my head of the agent. Then she kissed my smoothed head again, and told me to stand up a new woman.
I did, and when I looked into the mirror, I knew I had changed, just as I had wanted for all these years. Lynn kissed me again.
“It looks good on you.”
“Better than good. Do you think I can become a baldie as well?”
I gestured her to take a seat. She did, and we made eye contact via the mirror. She gazed into my eyes, knowing that in a few minutes, she would join me in permanent baldness.
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