Esmé’s Folly by Theobald
It was like any other shotgun wedding.
The bride’s father was vociferously defending the virtue of his daughter: she must have been drugged, perhaps he made her drunk, he had not raised his daughter to be taken in like this under normal circumstances. His baby Wendy would never be caught out, she knew how to handle men, she was nobody’s fool, she was somebody he could be proud of.
The bride’s mother was happily telling anybody who was willing to listen that she didn’t mind being a “gran’mushjer”, she loved “shildr’n” and she was looking forward to “baby shitting”, celebrating with another toast to herself.
The groom’s mother sat in a corner with a few friends, generally ignored by the majority present, and the groom’s father had sent a telegram on behalf of himself, his wife and the two daughters.
The groom himself was wandering around in a state of total bewilderment. It was utterly beyond him how he could have got himself into this predicament, but his father had taught him to be a man and face up to his responsibilities, as well as his mistakes. He could hardly remember making this mistake, it must have been on the night of that party when he had had too much to drink and Esmé and her sister had taken him home. What did it matter now anyway?
The bride was radiant. Her half a metre of blonde hair was nearly all piled on top of her head, intertwined with artificial bluebells and snowdrops, her pale eyebrows had been tinted an alluring dark silver gray and the blue eyeshadow, perhaps a touch too heavy, emphasised her blue eyes. Everything was perfect. Wearing a rich cream-coloured dress with a long light train, she was marrying the man she had been madly in love with ever since the ninth grade. Too bad that her father was disappointed in her and that her mother had found another excuse to cushion herself from life’s little shocks. At least her kid sister Wendy was behind her all the way.
They left for their honeymoon at the seaside, relaxed by most standards and returned home to move into Mike’s apartment. Life sort of returned to normal, both starting work again after a week at home to settle in. Mike accepted his lot and Esmé was in heaven, could her life be better? Not much…, but it could also get a lot worse!
One Saturday morning, almost two months into the marriage, Mike came home after an early visit to the shops and went straight to the toilet. Floating in the bowl, half covered by toilet paper, was a blood soaked tampon. It took a few seconds to register, and then he started to boil. He yelled for his wife, who, detecting something was wrong, timidly came to the toilet door. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to the bowl, almost pushing her head into it.
“What the bloody hell is that?” he shouted at her, shaking her in his fury.
“I can explain… it’s… it’s…” Esmé collapsed on the floor, wailing hysterically as a little puddle spread on the mat under her.
“You low down dirty conniving bitch!” Mike shouted as he picked her up by her hair and dragged her to the bedroom, hurling her onto the bed where she crawled into the foetal position, clutching her legs and shaking in fear.
He bent over her, his mouth close to her ear and said in a calm, almost normal, voice. “Pack your things. I never want to see you again.”
She let out a scream like a wounded animal. “Nooooo… I love you, please don’t send me away. I did it all for you… it wasn’t my idea, Wendy made me do it.”
“It’s too late for recriminations: you cheated, you lied and you took me for a fool and I fell for it. You expect me to live with that, to still live with you?” he hissed at her.
“I had to do it, I had do it to get you away from that slutty cropped fashion model, you are mine!”
“She’s no slut, she is a decent loving person and we were happy together. I loved her,” he answered bitterly.
“You love me, just as I love you, I had to get you to see that. Don’t you understand that?”
“What about the pregnancy tests? You showed me two positive results.”
“Wendy. Wendy organised those, she offered to help me, she saw how important it was to me that we be together, she knows about love,” was Esmé’s startling reply.
His loathing was building up, menacingly he spelled out to her, “Well you two certainly blew this one together. Pack your things and get out, I want nothing more to do with you. I want a divorce – now!”
“I will never give you a divorce. You belong to me, I will never let you go.” Esmé crawled across the bed and clung to his clothing. “Please don’t throw me out, I could never be without you, life would not be worth living.”
“You deceived me, you plotted and schemed to mislead me, you were totally underhanded and abused my morality. How can I believe you or have any love for you after what you’ve done? It’s best you just leave,” Mike said quietly.
Esmé looked up, barely able to see through her puffy, tear-filled eyes. “Don’t send me away,” she repeated, pulling at his shirt. “I don’t want to be without you. I’ll do anything, please, please. I will cut my hair off like those girls you always look at, please, anything, but don’t make me leave you.”
Mike disengaged her hands from his clothing and walked out of the room, Esmé fell forward, rocking gently on her knees. Through her sobbing she heard him open the liquor cabinet and pour himself a drink.
About an hour later Mike came back into the bedroom. Esmé was still in the same position, she looked up at him through contracted pupils, hardly able to focus.
“You will do anything?”
“Anything I say?”
Again she nodded, hope growing on her face as she forced herself to focus on her surroundings.
“Will you sign an agreement, agreeing to abide by what terms I set?”
“Yes, anything,” she answered, almost inaudibly.
Mike handed her a pair of scissors. “Start cutting!”
As in a trance, Esmé took the shears, lifted a handful of hair at her forehead and cut it off about an inch above her scalp. Mike watched as she hacked the hair from the top of her head, walking out again as she moved to the sides of her head. When he returned about twenty five minutes later she was still on the bed, sitting in a dazed state, the scissors still in her hand and surrounded by blonde strands of hair of various lengths as they had haphazardly been hacked off. Taking the shears from her, he led her to the kitchen. On the table was a document he had drawn up, and a package he had just bought.
“The agreement states that you will have your hair cut in a style I decree, it will be cut as often as required, probably weekly, to maintain that style. You will retain that style until you willingly give me an unconditional divorce. Alternatively, until you are at least six months pregnant.” Pushing the document in front of her, he held out a pen. She took the pen and signed in the indicated place on all three copies he had prepared, not even reading or questioning the contents. “I will have your signature witnessed by two people who know you.” She nodded, her face starting to relax a little.
“Now let’s clean up this mess.” Opening the package, he took out a home barber kit and removed the clippers. He fitted the number four attachment and flicked the switch on. “Sit still, we’ll soon have you looking better.”
She mumbled a soft “thank you” as he placed the clippers in the nape of her neck and pushed them all the way up and forward over the top of her head. He continued clipping until her hair was a uniform length all over. Changing to the number three attachment, he worked up the back and sides, up to the top but not all the way to the front, following that with the number two attachment, but stopping further back. With the bare blades he cleaned up the sides and neck. Surprising even himself, he had obtained a smooth blending from a clean neck to about half an inch in length at Esmé’s forehead. He tilted her head back and, telling her to close her eyes, he used the clippers to remove her eyebrows.
While Esmé cleaned up the kitchen and the bedroom Mike made up a bed for himself in the spare room. By suppertime that night Esmé had redone her make-up. She had placed added emphasis on her eye make-up as they now seemed to dominate her facial features, she had also shaved off the stubble that had remained of her eyebrows and used a charcoal gray eyebrow pencil to paint on eyebrows a little higher, thinner and more arched than the normal brow line, reducing the impression of a high forehead. She had applied gel to her hair, making it slightly spiky and allowing the scalp to show through where the hair was plastered together. Below her ear level the skin showed, the blonde stubble being almost invisible. It was obvious that she had come to terms with what had happened to her and was going to make the best of her situation.
Esmé tried to conduct a conversation with her husband, but he was uncommunicative. She tried to elicit remarks on her looks, her make-up, her eyebrows, the way the gel made her hair shine and how it had allowed her to train it forward over her forehead. Mike was impressed by the transformation, his wife looked as sexy as the cropped girls that had always aroused him, but he was too hurt and upset to be drawn into any exchange of informalities.
Mike became quite expert with the clippers, he was able to get a perfect graduation from nothing to over an inch that he had allowed to grow to stick out at the front. Sunday mornings became hairdressing time, she shaved her eyebrows almost daily until she started having them waxed and they remained smooth longer. Mike had in the meantime studied the rhythm method of birth control, having realised that he could not avert the inevitable for ever. For a while he was able to control when sex was initiated, but it was obvious that this would not continue indefinitely. Under the guise that she looked a bit fatigued, he supplied Esmé with several vitamin pills to be taken daily, through the help of a pharmacist friend he was able to slip a contraceptive pill in as one of the tablets.
They got up late one very hot Sunday, had brunch and performed their hair ritual, Esmé asking that Mike take the back a bit shorter and higher. Later Mike had a shower and went to rest for the afternoon, wearing only loose boxer shorts. He was dozing off, lying flat on his back when Esmé came into the room. Mike felt her hand slip up his leg and her fingertips gently stroke his penis. As it grew, she slid it out into the open. She grasped it fully and slid her hand up and down the shaft, bringing him to a full erection. Watching the action now, Mike saw a naked Esmé kneeling at the bottom of the bed. Her nails were painted a very dark red, the same colour as her lips. Her eyebrows were wider, darker and less arched than normal and she wore dark blue eyeshadow above heavily lined eyes. The hair at her forehead had been gelled into a forward pointing crest. The whole effect was absolutely startling, even if a little overdone.
She slowly bent forward and slid her mouth over the swollen head of his erect member, moving up and down several times. Moving back, she licked it and, in one fast motion, pulled off his shorts. Taking his dick in both hands, positioning her fingers that he could see all eight blood red fingernails up the length of his shaft, she took him in her mouth again and continued sucking softly while he reached down and rubbed his hands over the short hairs on the back and sides of her head. Gauging that he was just about to come, she released him and, straddling his legs, lowered herself onto him. He gasped, both from the sensation of her smoothly sliding onto him and the sight of her almost bald pubis. Esmé had shaved off nearly all her blonde pubic hair. All that remained was a strip of hair, tapering upwards and decreasing in length, matching the top of her head in style.
She rode him slowly, moving both up and down and backwards and forwards, contracting her vagina at every second stroke. Every time she sensed that he was about to come she stopped and constricted him, until she was ready to come herself, then, with exact timing, she orchestrated a perfectly matched climax. Dropping forward, she literally had to cling on as he whipped and bucked his ejaculation. Spent, they remained in that position for a while until she slowly slid off him and snuggled into his arms. He dropped off for a while and was wakened when Esmé, still naked, stood over him offering him a drink. She returned to him on the bed, siting on her haunches and sipping her own drink.
“I think it is time I had a ‘miscarriage’. People want to know how my pregnancy is going and I can’t keep lying. Wendy and her friend are going to the coast next week and have said I can go with them. It would be a good opportunity to just quietly ‘lose’ the baby. When I return we can concentrate in earnest in really getting me pregnant. After a performance like this one I bet I’ll be pregnant before the year is out, or you can shave me completely bald,” Esmé said chuckling.
“Serious?” asked Mike.
Esmé thought for a while. “Why not, yes serious, but make it a year from now, and you only get to shave me once.”
“Then back to your present style and you got a deal,” he replied.
“Deal!” she said as she kissed and licked his flaccid member into an erection to seal the bet.
The next week was fraught with sexual activity, with a near repeat of Sunday’s performance on the day before Esmé was due to leave with her sister.
Mike had arranged to see his wife off before going to work. Wendy knocked on the door just after eight to pick up her sister . After taking leave of each other, Wendy and Esmé walked to the car, each carrying a case. Esmé climbed into the back while Wendy slipped in next to the driver who was out of Mike’s vision. Mike saw Wendy reach over and put her arms around the driver and engage in a long passionate kiss before turning and waving to him.
Esmé phoned that evening as arranged. “The trip was great and we arrived safely, thanks for your concern. Margaret thinks my hairstyle is fantastic…”
“Who’s Margaret?” interrupted Mike.
“Margaret, Wendy’s friend, you met her… no you didn’t, she didn’t come in, that’s right, she stayed in the car, she was driving,” replied Esmé. “Anyway, she thinks my hairstyle is great and she simply loves my eyebrows, she has made me agree not to put on any for the time we are here. I wouldn’t be surprised if Wendy arrives at breakfast tomorrow morning with hers shaved off. By the way, I forgot my vitamins, what do you suggest I do?”
“Quite a character that Margaret, be interesting to see what happens to Wendy. Not serious about the vitamins, just go to a pharmacy tomorrow and ask for a bottle of multi-vitamins, they should work just as well. Maybe you can cut down a bit now anyway, you look a lot better lately.”
“Thanks for everything, I love you and miss you already. We’ll phone my folks with the ‘bad news’ about the baby on Wednesday, everything will be OK when I get back, I can hardly wait… love you… bye now,” she said, hanging up the phone after he had affectionately echoed her goodbye.
The next morning Mike booked himself into a clinic across town for a vasectomy. Using an assumed name, he stated that he would be paying cash for the procedure.