EPISODE I: The Window by BaldFan (c) 2001
As soon as Bianca stepped off the el, her cell phone rang to the tune of The Four Seasons. She flipped it open, glancing at the caller ID.
“Hey, chica. What’s going on? I just left the office.”
The doors closed behind her, and the subway cars started to roar down the track.
“Hold on a minute.”
Bianca waited for the noise to subside. The wind from the rapidly disappearing train was blowing loose paper behind it.
“Sorry ’bout that girl. Go on.”
Bianca hustled through the turnstiles with her cell phone in one hand and her purse over the other shoulder. She paid no attention to the weary heat-stroked commuters in her way, as she rapidly descended down the station stairs into the hubbub of an urban death maze darkened by the elevated subway. Livery cabs honked, clean-air buses groaned, the streets were crowded with vendors selling all sorts of flowers, fruits, and vegetables. Bianca was oblivious to this world as her black platforms made a raucous noise against the filthy cast iron staircase. Some kids were handing out fliers at the bottom of the steps and causing a bottleneck.
Bianca certainly was a sight to behold as she brushed past the children without even acknowledging their presence – she was dressed for success and it certainly showed, especially compared to the unfamiliar sooty life of the outlying neighborhoods on these dog days of summer. She had come from the sterile glass office towers downtown, the cubicle mazes in the sky, and her khaki slacks fit perfectly over her slender legs. She was wearing a freshly laundered robin’s-egg blue blouse, which was the perfect color for her pale mocha skin. Her sweet breasts were held firmly in place as she bounded down the sidewalk. Most striking of all was her shiny hair; the deepest brown possible it reflected the hazy August sun. It was perfectly cared for, and perfectly straight. Except for the few errant strands that trailed behind her as she walked, it hung down to her bra strap.
“Listen, chica. I gotta go… Yeah I know, but I’m hoping to see him tonight… I don’t know, I feel special about this one. It turns out he was at B school two years before us. I was totally blown away… Lunch tomorrow? I gotta hold a meeting on what they wanna give us in terms of basis points… Thursday?… Me da igual, girl… Okay, it’s a deal. I’ll put it in my PDA as soon as I get out of here. Okay, gotta go… Gotta, go.”
Bianca snapped her cell phone shut.
She paused for a second to get her bearings, and then continued down the street. All the commotion on the street was incredible. She paused to check out some flowers, and slowed her corporate life down for a moment to examine some of the windows.
“Okay, building 311… 311… I don’t even know why I came all the way up here. Its gonna be a mistake,” Bianca thought to herself with exasperation. She had received a notice from a pack-and-send place telling her that a package had mistakenly arrived all the way up here. The woman insisted that it was in fact addressed to her luxury downtown address, but she could not forward it. Bianca would have to come pick it up in person.
“If I can’t tell who it’s from, or the place looks sketchy, I’m turning right around.”
Just then, Bianca spied a small white vase hanging from the side of a shop. She stopped to smell the flowers.
The smell was amazing. She’d never smelled anything like this before. She backed away from them, and noticed that they were hung outside a barbershop. There was the cliché barber pole outside, and it wasn’t even working.
“What a dingy place…”
As she looked up, she noticed a cute guy getting his haircut. He was pretty gorgeous, at least to her.
The barber kept buzzing away at the sides of the guy’s head, finishing up his high and tight. Bianca had seen a lot of her latino friends get this type of haircut. They would come back from the barber bald on the sides of their head, with varying degrees of fuzz on top.
The barber turned towards Bianca.
“!Carajalo¡ Hee he… I’ve been caught staring,” Bianca thought sheepishly to herself.
“Whoa… it’s a woman…”
Just as the exclamation finished, Bianca had the strangest sensation. She had no intention to break off the stare and keep walking. She became transfixed on the barberette’s icy blue eyes. She suddenly felt as if she were looking back at herself through the window – through the eyes of the barberette. That was the last thing Bianca would recall.
Bianca became transfixed on the barberette as she started to fall into a deep homo-erotic trance. She continued to stare, now her eyes directed towards the barberette’s haircut. It was so drastic. She felt that the barberette once had a head full of long red curls, cascading down her back in crimson waves. Yet her brilliant red hair was now cropped mercilessly close. The sides were sheared so short there wasn’t even enough hair to curl. On top, the barberette’s hair was permitted one full corkscrew before it was clipped off. One curl – that was it.
Their eyes locked, Bianca envisioned that under the coarse smock with rolled-up sleeves and faded blue jeans lay a Reubenesque body of porcelain. She saw her body with large, supple, milky breasts and aureole pink as roses, all contrasted by a flaming red pubic patch.
Bianca backtracked down the sidewalk to the door, as gently as possible. She grasped the handle, and the cool air conditioning greeted her as she entered the barbershop.
“Have a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute!” the barberette said cheerfully. Only then did she break eye contact.
Bianca waited in the chair without moving, and the barberette finished touching up the sides of the man’s head. She flicked off the clippers, hung them up on the counter eyehook, and unsnapped the striped cape. The man stood up, rubbing the sides of his head just once to make sure there was nothing left behind, and proceeded to pay the barberette.
“Okay. You’re next. Have a seat,” the barberette said, completely unsurprised that she was beckoning a beautiful, longhaired woman to the chair.
Bianca stood up, walked over to the chair, and had a seat. Her round buttocks, with tight khaki stretched across them, depressed into the red leather chair.
“Unbutton your blouse dear, so I can tuck your collar in,” the barberette requested nonchalantly.
Bianca proceeded to unbutton two more buttons, leaving her braless mocha bosoms hanging freely in the open shirt. The barberette tucked in her collar, and in the process, proceeded to expose a great deal of chest, all reflected by the mirror. Bianca just looked straight ahead. The barberette wrapped a line of tissue paper around her neck, and then took the striped cape and quickly snapped it closed around Bianca.
“So, what’ll it be?”
“I’d like my hair cut just like the man who came in before.”
The barberette paused.
“Are you sure? I mean, your hair is awfully long, but that is so short. I can give you a proper haircut without going drastic.”
“Oh no, I’m sure. Please cut my hair like you did to that guy.”
“Okay, if that’s what you want. You sound pretty sure,” the barberette said with a wry grin on her face.
The barberette spun Bianca around so she was facing the back of the empty barbershop. She proceeded to tilt her back, and wash her hair thoroughly in the basin. Bianca turned her head slightly to the side, and fixated on the barberette’s perfectly curved thighs hidden by the blue jeans. When she walked, she pictured her thighs rubbing together.
The barberette toweled off Bianca’s hair, and sat her upright. She combed Bianca’s hair straight down for the last time, spun her around to face the mirror, and picked up a large set of stainless steel shears, sparkling in the light of the barbershop.
“It’s okay. Go ahead,” Bianca said, not waiting for the obligatory concern of the barberette.
The barberette dug the shears in at the left side of Bianca’s head, and started cutting right above chin level. Bianca stared at her reflection without blinking while tendrils of the rich brown hair rained down onto the linoleum floor. Her hair used to smell so sweet, and within seconds, the barberette had bobbed her.
The barberette then started the methodical process of cutting in the style by taking the chin-length hair down to size. More hair, the last hurrah of any length, fell to the floor. A bob is still long. It can grow out. As the barberette started to cut in the style, Bianca passed irrevocably into short.
The barberette left the hair on top under two inches long, while the sides were tapered and cut to fit neatly within her existing hairline. Bianca did not wince as the barberette clasped the hair on the sides and back as tightly as she could between her fingers to get the most.
After ten minutes, no hair hung down; Bianca had a businesswoman’s haircut. Neither spoke a word. The barberette put the shears down, squirted a glob of styling gel into her palm, and joyfully ran her soft fingers through Bianca’s fresh haircut. Once it was thoroughly gelled up, the barberette combed it back slick.
“There you go”, the barberette said joyfully, as she unsnapped the cape around Bianca’s neck, and whisked it away.
“Look at those ears. You shouldn’t have let it go so long between haircuts,” the barberette joked.
“But this isn’t what I wanted.”
The barberette, still with all the confidence, deliberately paused.
“Well, I don’t know how to say this, but what you asked for was so… extreme. Here, look at how professional you look.”
The barberette removed the tissue, and put her hands on Bianca’s shoulders.
“You’ll be so happy to be rid of all that troublesome hair, especially with this heat. I got you cleaned up real nice, and you’ll be so much cooler. Now you’re ready to take on the world!”
Bianca looked at the reflection in the mirror.
She did look sharp, with her hair slicked back flat against her scalp and reflecting in the fluorescent light like the stainless steel shears.
The barberette shook out the cape, and fixed Bianca’s collar. Examining her revamped reflection, Bianca wondered if she should start wearing lower cut blouses and shirts, maybe leaving them more open and unbuttoned to show off her chest. Something that would have clearly seemed too much for corporate culture minutes ago was now felt as sexy yet justified, all by the eroticism flowing through her veins.
“So what do you say about the new and improved you?”
“Well, um, I really wanted it cut like the man who was in here before me, you know, buzzed on the sides and short on top”
Of course, the barberette knew that’s what Bianca would say. The barberette still sighed out loud to be proper.
“Okay, if that’s what you really want.”
“Oh yes. That’s what I came here for.”
“Well then, let’s wash this gel out.” The barberette reaffixed the cape and tissue, and proceeded to wash out Bianca’s hair again.
“You see how easy it is to wash when you get it cut?”
Bianca nodded, the massaging of her scalp deepening her waking erotic dream. She imagined running her fingers through the barberette’s highly maintained haircut. She wanted that control over her hair. She wanted that utilitarianism. She wanted that confidence.
The barberette tipped her up, and quickly spun her around to face the mirror again. She blow dried her hair, but didn’t comb it.
“Look how fast short hair dries, and it doesn’t even need much combing. It’s the smart and efficient way to go for a busy woman like yourself.”
The barberette took the clippers off the eyehook, snapped on the guard, and flipped them on.
“Tell me when you’re ready.”
“Go ahead,” Bianca exclaimed with a brief smile on her face.
The Barberette reached over, and dug the clippers in at her forehead. The pleasure of the vibration reminded Bianca of the time she went away on a business trip, only to long for her favorite toy. She felt it was the only thing that could satisfy the fire between her thighs. She couldn’t even wait to get unpacked when she got back from the airport late that evening.
Strands of hair flew. The clippers groaned as they mowed their way back towards her crown. The barberette picked them up, brushed some hair out of the way, and plunged them in again… and again… and again. Soon Bianca was left with quarter-inch stubble on the top of her head, but the barberette didn’t stop. She placed them on her right temple, and once again forced them in to the fray. Short hair clippings burst on to the cape. Up the barberette went, from temple to crown. Bianca was starting to leave behind her lifelong face of hair and see the unfamiliar shape of her skull. It was so round. The barberette repositioned so as to deal with the other side. As hair fell, it was like watching her eyes and facial features grow more beautiful. There was no hair in the way to hide the dark chocolate eyes and arched eyebrows, the petite pointy nose, and the sensuous, engorged pink lips. The barberette moved the clippers to her nape. The vibration rattled her skull. After a second’s pause, the barberette thrust them directly up towards her crown. She repeated the motion with a rhythm, and finally she was done.
“Hold on a second…,” the barberette said, smiling from ear to ear.
She hung the clippers up on their eyehook, and with her left hand, rubbed Bianca’s head against the grain. Bianca felt so sensuous with a head full of short, quarter-inch fuzz, and briefly, she smiled from ear to ear. The little hairs stuck straight up. She felt on top of the world, but her haircut wasn’t done.
The barberette picked up another set of smaller clippers. They made a higher pitch tone when she turned them on.
With the clippers in her right hand and a comb that looked more like a large afro pick in her left, the barberette proceeded to strip the back of Bianca’s head. She realized that she liked having a head full of short, soft fuzz; it was kind of like being a peach. However, she knew she was close to her goal, and the end product would be what she wanted.
More tiny hairs flew as the clippers, sans attachment, denuded the back of her head. In the process of being white-walled, a dusting of hair remnants gently fell on the cape. With the reflection of the comb and clippers flying behind her head, Bianca watched in the mirror as the barberette blended the quarter-inch hair on top with the nothingness that lay below. The barberette then moved to her left side, and buzzed the side of her head down to the scalp. The barberette hunched over with the utmost focus to perfect her blending technique. She suddenly took a step back to examine her work, and promptly hustled over to the right side. This was it, the final piece. The barberette once again went to work clipping the side of her head hard core bald. Bianca stared at the smock that hid the barberette’s breasts. They must be wonderfully voluptuous, she thought to herself.
It was just a moment later that the barberette stood up, took a step back to examine her work, and flipped off the clippers with satisfaction. She placed them on the counter, grabbed a talc brush, and dusted off Bianca’s denuded head. The sensitivity of her head amazed her. A boyfriend had once used a feather sex toy on her swollen labia during foreplay. That’s what the talc brush felt like on her freshly shaved head.
The barberette unsnapped the cape, shook it out with a snap, and folded it over the back of the adjacent chair. She removed the tissue paper, and once again fixed Bianca’s collar. Her blouse still hung half open.
“There you go. One high and tight! If I don’t say so myself, its quite a masterpiece. It was a challenge, but what an improvement! You will be so much more comfortable in the heat. It’s just a shame you let it grow so long before getting it cut,” the barberette exclaimed humorously.
She bent over and put her own artistically cropped head right next to Bianca’s, and smiled at her in the mirror. Bianca managed a smile back, and then went to get out of the chair.
“Don’t worry. There’s no fee for the induction, silly.”
“Yeah. And before I forget. This is for you.”
The barberette handed Bianca a white shopping bag, like the one you get at department stores. Bianca took it without any surprise, and unceremoniously left the chair. Without noticing that she was stepping over a sea of hair, she continued daydreaming about the barberette. She wondered what her navel was like. Was it deep and round in her soft white belly? Could she put her tongue in there?
Bianca grabbed her purse, and without any goodbye, she walked out of the barbershop.
Out on the street, she took in a breath of fresh air. No sooner did she do this then she had the strangest sensation. Feeling she just had a bizarre daydream, the past actions having played out in an instant in her mind, she shook her head to regain focus.
“What was I looking for? Oh yeah, 311…. 311…”
As Bianca walked she sensed her blouse rubbing against her tender nipples, still erect from the past actions.
“Did I forget to wear a bra? No wait…”
Bianca looked down. Her blouse was half open, and her bosoms were free and rubbing against the fabric, generating an unfamiliar sensation. Her mind began to race. She felt the wetness between her legs that had already started to dry.
Dropping the shopping bag to the pavement, a look of terror forming on her blanched face, the adrenaline injecting into her body, she jerked both her arms up to her head. She hesitated, not wanting to know what the answer was, and then felt the air on her cool, bare scalp. Her fingers tipped with red nail polish touched first the nape of her neck, and then gingerly worked their way up. Instead of encountering the familiar black forest of tresses, she found nothing but stubble.
Bianca suddenly, if not belatedly, realized that what had just happened was real; she had shaved off all her hair.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she uttered a gasping shriek. It was enough to catch the attention of some hardened urbanites, but not enough to hold onto it. They promptly carried about their business.
Bianca grabbed the alien shopping bag and darted back down the street frantically looking for the barbershop. She would demand that they would fix it. That’s what she’d do!
She found what must be the place a few yards away, but when she got there, the security gate was closed shut. She peered through the holes to look into the shop, but the lights were off and nobody was there. Bianca saw piles of her hair all over the floor. She shook the gate with her hand, yelling for them to open up, but it was to no avail. Bianca then noticed the numbers on the door: 311.
“This can’t be happening… That’s impossible…”
Her body was shaking with fear as she stumbled backwards away from the shop. She didn’t want to look at herself, and suddenly became aware that others might be staring at her head too. Her urban skill kicking in, fight momentarily taking the upper hand over flight, she swung around to face the street.
“Ah! A gypsy cab!”
She raised her hand to hail the cab down.
“He’s empty! I’m in luck!”
She jumped in and slammed the door behind her. She shouted out her downtown address, and she even had the nerve to ask for a fare. It didn’t matter, she needed to get home and get help as soon as possible. But how could she get help?
For most of the long ride back through the city at dusk, Bianca sat in the corner, her hands rhythmically working their way from her temples, over her exposed ears to her nape, and then back.
“What about work? Oh… Lord…. What will I tell my friends? It’ll never grow back! Okay, I can always buy a wig, but I can’t wear one for the rest of my life,” Bianca thought frantically to herself, tears running down her cheeks occasionally. The livery cab driver was oblivious.
Once at her luxury high-rise apartment downtown, she hastily paid the driver and made her egress from the cab. Trying to cover her head as much as possible, she shot for the elevators hoping no neighbors would see her. Fumbling with her keys and looking over her shoulders, she burst into her dark apartment and slammed the door behind her. She was safe at last.
She flipped on the light, only to be greeted by an unfamiliar visage in the hall mirror. It was her all right. She had been clipped to the bone.
“Why would I do this to myself?”
Her head was almost perfectly round, except that it was slightly higher than wider. She felt she looked like an egg, or more appropriately, one of those light brown eggs you can find in the supermarket. There was a tiny bit of fuzz left on top, but it was so little that the overhead light reflected off the top of her scalp underneath.
Her wetness uncomfortable, she distracted herself for a second by slipping out of her pants and panties. She left them where they lie on the floor, and walked over to the window completely naked from the waist down, her rich, dark chocolate bush hidden by her shirt. She liked to do this a lot when she got home from work. With the apartment mostly dark, nobody could see in, but she could like out at the infinite lights of the city twinkling below. She took her right hand, and rubbed it over her freshly shorn head.
Bianca paced around her apartment for a while. Her answering machine beeped quietly in the background. It was probably her networking socialites planning an evening of $10 martinis and velvet rope clubbing. She’d skip the night’s soulless festivities for once. It’s not like there was ever anything unique. But she had to think fast for tomorrow.
“Okay, I can call into work sick tomorrow morning. The meeting doesn’t start till 11. I can’t wear a hat without raising suspicion. I can try and buy a wig tomorrow. If anyone asks, I’ll just say I got my hair done yesterday. Can I find a wig tomorrow morning?”
After her mind raced for a while without settling on a solution she liked, she went over to her bed and dumped the contents of the shopping bag out on the quilt. Inside was a black latex suit of some sort, a shoebox, her bra, and a card. She opened the shoebox to find a toy wrapped in tissue paper, much like the one she had. She started to sort out the black latex suit, but had trouble making heads or tails out of it. She then remembered the card, and opened it.
“Bianca, I realize this must be hard for you. You are probably pretty confused, but I wanted to let you know you took the first step to becoming one of us. Now, if you’re ready to leave your world behind, put on the enclosed suit, and come to 549 Park Avenue South. Your friend, Rose.”
“Rose… Rose… Who’s Rose?”
Bianca smelled a slight fragrance on the card, and holding it to her nose, she suddenly realized who Rose was. No sense is as powerful as bringing up memories as smell. Still bewildered by the whole conspiracy, she put the card on her desk, and turned to the cat suit on the bed. She slipped the black latex pants up her silky legs, and laced up the front. She stood up, and the pants fit her thighs like a glove. They hung low on her womanly hips, daring the mind to picture what lay right below the waistline.
She looked to the top, but figured she’d best leave her blouse on. It was the City, but she didn’t want to get arrested. With Rose on her mind, she crammed the top and the shoebox back in the shopping bag and hurried out her door.
SERIES TO BE CONTINUED…