Full-Time Wear

Full-Time Wear

Full-Time Wear – Grumpy

They say that when you want gorgeous long hair you have to get the ends trimmed every six weeks to prevent split ends. Four years ago I decided to let my hair grow, for the first time. As a child I had always had short hair, because my mom considered my hair to be too thin to let it grow long. During puberty my hair started to grow better, but I kept it short mostly because I wasn’t really the feminine type. At one point my mom had to drag me to the mall to buy a dress, because I had finally grown out of the last dress I owned, and I didn’t have any skirts either.

All that changed when I met my first boyfriend, at age seventeen. Love sure is a strange thing. Even though that first love lasted less than two months, by my eighteenth birthday I was the proud owner of an impressive wardrobe with skirts, blouses and dresses for all seasons, plenty of real lingerie, feminine shoes, etc. I was down to a single pair of jeans, and even that was getting too old and worn to wear. I had an uncontrollable desire to be sexy all the time. I had started shaving my pussy (and kept it bare ever since) and I never wore pantyhose but always stockings, with or without garterbelt. It was at my eighteenth birthday that I announced I was going to let my hair grow long.

I followed the advice of my hairdresser, Susan, and got the ends trimmed every 6 weeks. At first it seemed to work well, and by my nineteenth birthday I had it cut even for the first time, my first bob. The second year was more difficult, and I often had the impression that Susan cut off more than just the ends. By the end of the second year my hair brushed my shoulders. Another year passed before I could pretty much walk around in any way I wanted without my hair falling forward all the time. It finally stayed on my back, giving me that wonderful feeling of really having long hair.

Four years have passed, and when I got my hair trimmed last time I wore a very low cut blouse so I could show Susan that when I combed my hair forwards, it touched my nipples, without me having to bend my head down. I told her how I enjoyed walking around with bare breasts at home, my hair brushing my nipples all the time. I was very frustrated that night. Susan had told me I had split ends, maybe from playing with my hair, and instead of the minimal trim she had cut off a whole inch. That may not sound like much, but it meant that my hair no longer brushed my nipples, and at the rate it had been growing it wouldn’t for at least another three or four months.

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That was six weeks ago. Yesterday I went back for another trim. I was a bit early, and Susan was finishing up with the previous customer, a gorgeous young lady, early twenties (like me), with thick, wavy, blonde hair, to mid back. I couldn’t keep my eyes from her while Susan brushed that long, flowing mane. I almost wanted my turn never to come, because I loved the sight of that gorgeous head of hair. But she was ready, and my turn did come. The young woman paid and left, and then Susan turned to me. “How does she do that, Susan?” I asked. “I would love to have hair like that woman. But I guess I will never get there.”

“That was Tricia. But you can have that beautiful hair too.” Susan explained. “You haven’t noticed that wasn’t her real hair, have you? Yes, you better believe it, that woman was wearing a wig.”

A wig! No, I had paid close attention while Susan had been brushing that woman’s hair, and I had not gotten the slightest hint that it might be a wig. “A wig! What a shame. Isn’t that very hot and uncomfortable? Especially in the summer?”

“No no. Wigs have evolved a lot over the years. A modern wig like hers doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. Believe me, I have tried it too. It’s not hotter than your own hair. And Tricia doesn’t wear the wig during the summer. Not that it would be uncomfortable. But she doesn’t want her long hair to block the sunlight. You see, she spends most of the summer at the beach. You know, a wig might be ideal for you, because your hair grows so slowly.”

“I don’t know…”

“If you’re uncertain, we can also use hair extension. It’s a lot of work, so we can’t do that today, but you would look gorgeous. But it’s quite a bit more expensive than a wig.”

I was getting intrigued a bit, because the slow rate at which my hair grows had been frustrating me more and more, and the prospect of having instant long hair was very appealing. “How much money are we talking about?” I asked.

“Well, let’s see, there’s the hair… and work…, well, for you I’ll do it for seven hundred. A favor for a good customer.”

Seven hundred dollars is a lot of money. In fact, it’s about what I paid for my car. “Seven hundred dollars… that is a lot. What about the wig, that woman’s wig.”

“Let’s see, well, it depends. Tricia doesn’t wear the wig all the time. Her wig has extra protection for her own hair underneath. A wig like hers still costs four-fifty. I know, I know, it’s a lot of money. But these are quality wigs. Undetectable, as you have noticed. But we also have a ‘full-time wear’ version of this wig. Looks just the same, but it is less suitable for women who already have long hair. The ‘full-time wear’ version is only three hundred…”

I guess I must have looked confused, and certainly not convinced. “You can go for the ‘full-time wear’ wig, honey. Tricia just wants the most expensive of everything. She doesn’t need the expensive version because she has short hair anyway. And you wouldn’t want your long hair anymore when you go for a long wig. I have several customers with a ‘full-time’ wig who don’t wear it all the time. And their hair is in perfect health.”

Well, for me three hundred was still a lot of money, at least for a wig it sounded like a lot.

“Look, I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse. We have a special offer for women with long hair like you who buy the full-time wig. It’s the trade-in program. We send your hair to the wig company for a refund. With the trade-in program I can offer you the wig for just two hundred dollars. I promise you you’ll love it. Here, let me show you this wig, so you can not only look at it, but feel it as well. I have a special perm product for this wig that lasts much longer than any perm I could use on your own hair. When you get this wig, you only need to come in three times a year for a perm. It will only take you … let’s see … only two years to actually recover the money because you no longer have to get a trim every six weeks. And this quality wig is guaranteed for five years. But if you treat it gently and don’t wear it to bed it can easily last ten years.”

I guess she got me, and she knew it. I was going to lose my hair, and two hundred bucks, so I could finally look like that ‘Tricia woman’. It was worth it. I spent so much money on sexy outfits and lingerie that two hundred bucks wasn’t all that much after all. I was going to buy a few more lacy panties I had seen in a story on the way to Susan’s. I guess no more now. My new hair called for an even more sexy attitude anyway. So I decided I would enter the ‘no panties era’ and finally get rid of panty lines showing through some of my tight skirts and dresses.

I laid back comfortably as Susan ran the lukewarm water over my head, and massaged my skull while she was shampooing my hair. This was always the most enjoyable part of getting my hair cut. Having my hair washed was so much more fun, erotic even, than washing it in the shower. Susan toweled me off just a bit, and then told me she was going to put on a special lotion. “Just let it work for two minutes. Don’t worry, it will tingle a bit. That’s completely normal.” She carefully rubbed the lotion over my entire head, and then pulled my hair into a ponytail, which was bound at the neck, not at the top of my head.

She was right about it tingling a bit. In fact it tingled a lot. Susan went off to the bathroom, and when she returned she guided me to the barber’s chair. A bit odd, because she didn’t rinse out the lotion first.

“Now comes the fun part” she said. “This is what I like most about the trade-in program. Take one last good look. Just a few more minutes and we’ll get you that gorgeous head of hair you saw on Tricia. But first we’ll get rid of your miserable hair that doesn’t want to grow.” With that, she started pulling lightly on the ponytail. I felt it come loose at the back of my head, and at the same time I started feeling a cool breeze in my neck. Susan kept pulling, moving upward, and in about fifteen long seconds, she had literally peeled off my hair. I was stunned, shocked maybe. I looked back and forth, between Susan holding the ponytail, and the mirror, showing a head I didn’t know, a bald head. I felt tears coming up. Susan knew this was coming. She quickly toweled off my head and put on the wig. “Here you go. Now, this is not the time to be sad. Take a good look in the mirror. This is really you. That gorgeous blonde is really you!”

Susan soaked the ponytail in a wash basin, and then started brushing my hair, I mean, my wig. It felt weird at first. But she was right about it not being uncomfortable. It also didn’t feel like it was going to come off by accident, because Susan sometimes pulled quite hard while brushing my hair, and the wig didn’t move the slightest bit.

It was the strangest feeling. Happiness while seeing, and also feeling, my new long and wavy hair. And a bit of sorrow about knowing that underneath that gorgeous head of hair I was really bald. I slowly got out of the chair, signed the credit card slip (no I don’t carry around two hundred dollars), and gave Susan a big hug. Then I asked to go to the bathroom before leaving. I remembered the promise I made to myself. I removed my wet panties and put them in my purse. I left, feeling sexier than ever. I walked around, window shopping, in the mall, for another two hours, showing off my new hairdo. Some people looked up, and I discretely watched to make sure their remarks did not indicate they might have noticed I was wearing a wig. They didn’t.

That was yesterday. I had dinner at a local diner, yes, all by myself, although I got interested looks from several sides. When I got home I was exhausted. I went straight to bed. It was then that I remembered Susan’s advice not to wear the wig to bed. I slowly pulled it off, and for the first time I felt my hairless head. It felt so strange, but also so erotic, I couldn’t believe it. I looked in my bedroom mirror, and when I saw my bald head, touching it, I laughed. I was the happiest, long haired, bald woman. I laid down, feeling the pillow against my bald head for the first time. It was a delightful feeling. My hand barely reached my smooth pussy before I exploded into the most intense orgasm of my life. And immediately after I fell asleep, dreaming the most erotic dreams.

This morning my head was still as smooth as yesterday. I wonder when my hair will start growing back, if ever. Shit, I should have asked Susan about that. Whatever. I’ll go buy some shaving gear anyway, because I sure as hell don’t want any more hair on my head at night. And I already regret not having stopped wearing panties long ago as well.

Bye for now!


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