Gina’s Long-Overdue Makeover by CuttiSnips
Gina had doe eyes: big, starry and beautiful. Long, blonde hair fell in easy waves below her elbows. It smelled of lilacs and swayed alluringly as she walked. She wore the neat, conservative clothes of nice American college girls and had to wear minimal amounts of makeup, such was her natural beauty and youthful, healthy glow.
The boys all wanted to get close to her, to kiss her budding lips, but few had found the path to her heart. Somehow, the boys always shied away from love affairs with pretty Gina. She was so pure and wholesome and innocent she came across as a little bit dumb. But she was clueless and naive in an adorable way, which suits pretty young girls. The boys wanted to love her, and she wanted to love them; to find an intimacy, but she never dared. Somehow, despite herself, she turned all her love affairs to friendships, before they even began. Instead of loving her, she made the boys want to protect her. She felt her passion growing inside. She wanted to take charge of her life; to be in control. Gina was just discovering who she was and who she wanted to be.
So at the age of nineteen, she left her exclusive Southern college for a year abroad in France. She liked her classmates well enough, and her host family was very kind. She had a crush on her host father but never dared to tell him. He was a handsome man in his early forties. When he greeted her at the airport, his strong carpenter’s hands were rough and gentle at the same time. Her host Mom was sweet and loving, too. She used to be a dancer, and now taught at the University Gina attended.
One night, arriving home late, after clubbing with her classmates, Gina quietly let herself into their apartment. She tiptoed past their bedroom so she wouldn’t wake them, but stopped in her tracks when she heard their bed creak. How she longed for a man to make love to her like that! Her host’s strong naked back rippled above his wife. Her nimble ballerina figure wrapped around his body. She stood silently in the dark hallway, listening to their pleasurable efforts, their soft French lovers’ patter. Gina saw her hostess’ feathery slipper dangle and fall off her toe. She smelled their sweat and sex. The urge came upon her to join them. She thought that maybe they would welcome her, and she could both lose and find herself in their passionate embraces, but her fear won out. Taking one last deep breath, she slipped down to her basement quarters.
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Her room was spacious and private. As she readied for bed, Gina vowed to live more dangerously and find a love of her own. After all, this was the City of Light, Paris, and the cool, sometimes chilly, winds of winter were giving way to a dazzling spring. A moan of delight reached her ears from upstairs, as she stepped out of her dress. Tipsy from the wine she enjoyed at the clubs, Gina braced herself on the dresser, freed her dainty feet from their sandals, and lay down in the big, empty, double-bed.
The next day was Friday, and although she would not admit it to anyone, she had no place to go after class. She often had no plans and so would wander the streets and alleys of Paris, acquainting herself with its neighborhoods, discovering the city for herself and searching, always searching for her place in it. The warm breeze flapped her skirt and lifted her hair before her. She spat it out of her mouth and unstuck it from her lips with a pinky. Curling the length up to her chin, she noticed the ends had become badly frayed. Even her hostess had mentioned something about it. How long had it been since her last visit to a stylist? Her schedule had been so hectic before she left that she had canceled the hair appointment her mother had made for her. Truthfully, she had skipped the appointment on purpose, using her pre-departure business as an excuse. She had always thought that having her hair done in a famous Paris fashion salon would be more exciting. Perhaps now was the time for a cut.
A cold, clammy feeling leaked into her stomach and loins. Even the thought of a stylist’s hands running through her soft, fragrant hair had always sent chills up Gina’s spine. She stifled a gasp. For as long as she could remember, just the thought of having her long hair cut sent her into a tizzy. She recalled nights, as a little girl, lying in bed with her fantasies of Sheila’s hands, scissors and clippers. Sheila was her mother’s hairdresser and, from an early age, her mother had brought Gina into the odorous salon for trims. Her mother’s hair was a sunny, light blonde and it fell down past her waist. Her father was very proud of his girls’ hair and Gina didn’t mind people fussing over it. Sheila had always been very gentle with Gina’s hair, stroking it with a brush and comb and fastidiously snipping the ends into a straight, even line. She liked sitting very still in chair. Sheila would turn her head this way and that and lightly brush her shoulder and breasts as she positioned Gina in the chair. The sound of the scissors’ snip, snip, snap made her budding nipples erect.
Sheila was an attractive woman and told Gina and her mother about her many boyfriends and how handsome and sexy they were. Gina loved to listen to these stories as her haircut progressed, but most often her thoughts would be lost to the sound of the scissoring, the flight of her blonde clippings and the tactile sensations on her head. Her hair had a swing and a bounce when she left the chair. Sheila would shake off her cape, like a matador tempting a bull, and cry, “Next!” Gina would always kind of wish she could go again.
The haircut she remembered best was when Sheila cut her bangs short for the first time. They gathered in a soft yellow pile on her lap and she petted them like a cat. As her bangs lay in her lap, Gina thought of her nude vagina under the cape. If only the hair sitting on the cape could be attached to her warm, wet vagina, she thought. Then she would be a grown up woman, just like her Mom. She often fantasized about having her own soft pubic hair, just like her mother and teenage sister had. It would be so soft and curly, she imagined as she lay under her blanket and stroked her vagina. She pretended she could feel it between her fingers, as they slid between her coltish legs.
Gina shuddered. She guarded these thoughts carefully. They were shameful, of this she was certain. Still, she couldn’t help but reminisce about her obsession with Sheila, as she wandered through the unfamiliar Parisian streets.
Sheila was a wonderful hairdresser. She braided and styled Gina’s hair for many parties and special occasions. When Gina was a young girl, after her Mother had been groomed to perfection, she would be lifted by her armpits and set on the special kids’ elevator in Sheila’s cutting chair. Sheila used to give her little kisses and pecks on the cheek and say thing like, “You are getting cuter and cuter every day. Just wait ’til the boys wake up to you in high school!” Gina blushed with embarrassment. Then Sheila would tug and braid her hair, and put it up in exotic sweeps, while the rhythmic tugging and gentle pain lulled Gina to a zone of peaceful calm and relaxation. Her Mom was conscious of fashion and so Gina spent a lot of time in Sheila’s chair, wearing rollers, clips or braids.
Her hair was always kept long, until one day, as Gina sat waiting for her Mother, she noticed Randy, Sheila’s colleague, sweeping up large mounds of hair from the floor. There were many colors: reds, blondes, blacks and browns. Tiny tufts and foot-long snakes of shorn tresses writhed, fanned and amassed before the broom. Randy caught Gina’s gaze and remarked how many women were taking the plunge to short hair. “Fashion comes in cycles,” he said. Gina looked around the busy salon and indeed, many of the women were cutting their long hair off, opting for shorter styles, some much shorter! She got up and wandered past the private booths.
In the first, a woman giggled as her stylist cut long banana curls off at her earlobe. The dark curls fell flat on her shoulder and rolled down her breast to her knee to the floor. Gina’s mouth went slack as the hairdresser opened and closed the scissors again and again, tossing five-inch curly pieces before her feet. He cut the hair in back even shorter! Gina had never really seen the back of a woman’s neck. She had seen hair worn “up”, but never had she seen a neck so long, naked and vulnerable. The male stylist scissored the curls off to a spiky half inch and then undid the hair pinned on top. It hung down to cover the newly bared neck. Then the scissors returned to shear the curls, just above the hairline. Gina stared at the nape and the cropped, spiky hair poking out from under the curls.
A shriek from the next booth caught Gina’s attention. A young stylist had her hands full of a client’s hair and quickly chopped piece after piece from her head. The barberette gathered and hacked clump after clump. The wildly cropped dirty blond hair sat in piles on the client’s shoulders and clung in hopeless bunches to the remaining long hair. This length, too, was quickly removed. The woman stared into the mirror with a look of quivering anticipation as the last of her length was lopped off and dropped onto her lap. The stylist reached for a heavy set of electric hair clippers and snapped them on.
Involuntarily, Gina shivered with excitement. She had felt the tickling clippers clean up her own hairline, beneath her wavy masses, but she had never seen the clippers applied to a woman’s head before. They mowed a path up and over the startled customer’s ear. Two-inch pieces of sandy blonde were flung onto the cape. The client shifted in the barber’s chair and scratched her nose from under the cape. The clippers made another pass and flurries of cut dirty blond hair crashed to her lap and joined the thick nests already there. With a new attachment snapped in place, the barber tamed the top and back of the hair, while the bangs and front were left to dangle fetchingly on the lady’s forehead.
Gina gulped. What were these women submitting to? How long would it take their hair to grow back? She stepped before another booth halfway through the bobbing of a redhead. The right side of her hair remained touching her breasts, but the left half had been sliced off above the ear. The pale, petite ear was exposed and flushed. Stubbles of orange stuck to the ear as the hair around it was snipped. Excitedly, the redhead motioned where she wanted the other side cut and the hairdresser opened and closed his scissors until the long side of her hair was pared above her chin. He pulled sections across her head and whittled them off; over and over until her hair was blended into a fiery red, asymmetrical bob, tapered at the back into a concave, symmetrical point, centered on the back of the neck. The hair on the nape was cut ever so closely and blended perfectly into the bobbed side. The client asked for really short bangs and the hair cutter blended the side cut above her left ear with bangs severed well above the arched red eyebrows. “No, higher. Shorter,” the client instructed as Gina turned to the next booth.
It was Sheila, brushing off her chair. Mountains of sunny, blonde tresses lie all over the floor and dangled between the armrests and the seat. Gina had to check her own hair to make sure it still was on her head. “Who’s next to take the plunge?” Sheila asked, her eyes on Gina. “I never thought your mom would go short, but when she sets her mind on something she goes all the way,” Sheila shrugged. “C’mon pumpkin, the seat’s fresh for you.” Sheila’s hand spun Gina from the shoulder and backed her into the styling chair. Even Sheila’s hair was cut shorter, Gina noticed. As a hairdresser, Sheila had always worn her hair shorter than most women. A freshly trimmed pixie cut was all that was left of Sheila’s pageboy.
A black cape spread out across Gina’s lap. Her mother’s hair was everywhere: on the counter, beneath her feet. What did her mother look like? “Hold your hair up so we can get the cape around you,” Sheila suggested. Trapped under the cape, Gina’s excitement grew. She felt caught up in the spirit of the moment and had difficulty swallowing, as the instruction to “Cut my hair like yours, Sheila” stuck in her throat.
Sheila didn’t usually consult Gina on her style, it was just assumed what she wanted, but today, as she spun Gina to face the mirror she asked, “Have you thought about changing your style?” Gina fought to control her thoughts and speak. The collar of her cape felt tight, hot and scratchy. “Your mother and I were talking about you and… oh, here she is!”
Gina did not recognize the woman in the mirror as her mother. Her mother’s long blonde coif had been abridged dramatically. Her hair was shorter than a boy’s! Platinum streaked through her new bangs. The effect was stunning! She smiled at her daughter and asked, “How do you like me, now?”
Gina searched for her words. “Mom?”
“What do you think? Do you want your hair cut short, too?”
“You would look so frisky,” Sheila added, hiding Gina’s hair behind her head. Then she cupped it in her hands just above her jaw line, so they could all see her face in the mirror. Gina’s eyes jumped two sizes. “How about a pageboy, or a Louis Brooks’ bob, like my old cut?” Sheila asked.
Gina blushed bright red. Clippers snapped to life in the next booth. She anticipated the feel of Sheila’s gentle hands as they combed her long tresses into sections. Gina imaged that Sheila would twist each parting out of the way, isolate certain strands so she could pinch them between two fingers and cut them neatly along her ears. In her fevered mind’s eye, she saw gleaming scissors slice through layer after layer of her honey blond hair; cutting it shorter and shorter, until it filled the air like snow and fell in tiny bits of snips.
Having rasped through another client’s locks, the clippers in the next booth were shut off. Sheila let go of Gina’s gorgeous mane. It fell heavily against the black cape and the back of the chair. “That’s O.K. honey. We can still do the usual,” Sheila offered. She then shortened Gina’s hair an unprecedented measure, gabbing with Gina’s Mom about how sexy and easy their new short styles were. For the first time ever, Gina’s hair was cut above mid back. The ends barely grazed her shoulders and possessed a tantalizing swing. Secretly, Gina wished Sheila would begin another story and work the scissors far into her hair, above her ears and eyes and cut like crazy… She scolded herself for being so timid, but soon lost her thoughts to the moment, transfixed by the seven-inch strands of downy blonde, curling, sticking and sliding down the black cape.
Paris was funky. Stylish, young Parisians flooded the sidewalks, wearing fashionable sexy clothes and moving with a grace and rhythm with which Gina felt hopelessly out of pace. The girls’ hairstyles bounced around their faces in alluring medium to short styles. Even the boys were coiffed to perfection. “I must stick out like a sore thumb,” Gina thought. She tried to blend into the scenery so no one would notice her. “Not that anyone would,” she lamented, so she tried to hide in the crowd.
Tingling bells alerted her to the danger. She was just about to walk into an opened glass door. Out stepped a gorgeous Parisian woman in a slinky white slip dress and unlaced boots. Her layered brown hair seemed to move with a life all its own; reddish orange chunks played off the pink of her young cheeks. The vision of determination and womanhood, she hailed a boy, riding by on his motorbike, and buzzed off into the traffic.
The bells chimed again as the door shut. Gina noticed the salon through the glass. The door also held the reflection of an attractive young woman, with lovely, golden hair frayed a bit at the ends, hanging past her elbows. Butterflies scattering in her stomach. Gina opened the door and strode into the salon.
Speaking in her halting French, she told the receptionist she wanted a coiffure. Gina understood that she would have to wait until a stylist was available. She sat most uncomfortably in the big comfortable sofa and leafed through magazines. She rehearsed what she would say to the stylist. Her French was getting much better, but she was not sure how well she could communicate the subtleties her haircut demanded.
“Gina?” The striking woman under the cutting room archway called to her. Gina stood anxiously and followed her through the empty booths. The rush had past and many of the salon’s chairs were empty. The marble floor was clean. Gina emerged from a small dressing room wearing a red hair-cutting gown.
“Your hair is very lovely,” the stylist said, in French, as she lowered Gina into the basin for her shampoo.
“Mercy beau coup,” Gina replied.
“Are you from American?”
Nicole, the French stylist, began to talk as she massaged shampoo into Gina’s long blond pelt. “Beau coup hair,” Gina joked and the Frenchwoman laughed. Nicole began to speak so rapidly that Gina missed a lot of the meaning. Besides, she was lost in a world of warm, sudsy comfort, as her lovely tresses were repeatedly shampooed and rinsed. The water temperature was perfect. First, twisting Gina’s hair to wring out excess water, the stylist wrapped it in a towel and led the young woman to her cutting station. Gina was perched in a leather chair and turned to face the mirror. She could see Nicole’s naughty black brassiere through the sheer blue shirt she wore tied in a knot across her pierced belly. Nicole began to comb the tangles out of Gina’s long locks, so different from her spiky, brunette, rock and roll hairdo.
Rolling Gina’s split ends between her thumb and fingers, Nicole asked Gina how to go about her haircut. Although she wouldn’t admit that she did know exactly how short she desperately wanted her hair cut, Gina directed the barberette in her elementary French. “I would like a haircut, please,” she asserted.
“Your hair is badly damaged. The ends must be cut of necessity…something …something…something,” was the gist of what Gina got from the exchange. Nicole pinched Gina’s hair above the damage and gradually pinched her way up past Gina’s shoulders, describing possible styles with an encouraging enthusiasm.
“Oui, cut off all the damage,” Gina tried to say. When Nicole asked for clarification, Gina repeated her assertation that she wanted a haircut. In the simplest French, probing her client’s eyes in the mirror, Nicole suggested a short style, and held the scissors up to the top of Gina’s neck.. Both girls felt their hearts pound. Gina did want her hair cut short, but she could never say so. Truthfully, she burned with a secret desire to have her hair cut very short, against her consent and finally she seized her chance. Gina repeated her instruction in a trembling voice, “I would like a haircut, please.”
On some level, Nicole understood the implication of the request. She smiled and almost laughed. What was up with this crazy American chick? How much could she, as her barberette get away with here? Nicole lived for moments like this, when her creativity could be set free. She had a passion to cut hair; especially dramatic long to very short makeovers. Stepping back for a few moments, Nicole surveyed the scene. She held Gina’s hair up and spun her in the chair to get a good idea of the shape of her client’s features. No doubt she was a stunningly beautiful young woman who could pull off just about any hairstyle, long or short. Gina’s hair was blindingly beautiful and healthy, aside from the split ends, and there was so much length! Inspiration rose within her breast and carried her to action! “The damage is very bad,” she lamented, exaggerating to her client and herself. This American girl is ravishing, she enthused. She could be a model, but she needs style…something cosmopolitan, European and eye-popping. She would commit Gina to a short style, at once, and then continue cutting as much as Gina would stand.
Her pedicure shining gaily through open toed sandals, Nicole stamped on the foot lever beneath the chair. Gina felt herself rise in five increments. Facing her client away from the mirror, Nicole gathered a magnificent lock.
“A moment!,” cried Gina, “I would like a haircut, but I want to see.”
“Of course,” Nicole relented and turned the young woman around to face the mirror. Gina surveyed her crowning glory under the bright lights after resettling into the chair.
Nicole regained her composure. From the counter she retrieved a large pair of sharp shears. They were worked open and closed a few times as a warm up. Doe-eyed Gina held her breath. She heard the shears slide against each other and lock with empty, metallic clicks. The blades opened wide around Gina’s blonde hair. Nicole kept a watchful eye on Gina to see if she would object to the severe altitude of the first cut. Gina sat absolutely still in the chair, mesmerized by the open shears. Such a slow and final rasp preceded the closing snap of the scissors. Nineteen silky inches of downy blond hair tumbled and twisted heavily on Gina’s shoulder and lap. The scissors opened and closed again, abandoning nineteen more inches of blonde beauty to the cool marble floor. Nicole began to perspire and Gina’s body temperature fluctuated wildly. Through the looking glass, Gina saw that her still glorious hair dangled precipitously and ended abruptly well above her jaw line. It sprang out and seemed to shorten even more, once released from its burden. The short tresses stuck out against the elbow length mane. This was too short and Gina whimpered! But soon another nineteen-inch wave fell in her lap and Gina knew there could be no regrets. Seeing no noticeable change in her client’s resolve, Nicole resumed the complete makeover with gleeful abandon.
Frozen in shock, deep in her own private world, Gina squirmed in rapture. That first cut was ecstasy! Years of welled-up emotion and desire burst through her heart. She gasped as the cutting continued. All the long hair that she had worn her entire life was falling flat in her lap. The blonde security blanket that she had been so reluctant to part with was being taken from her, in nineteen-inch hanks that her barberette ceaselessly undressed. The scissors sliced through the right side of her mane, across the back and tirelessly around her left. The great weight was stolen from her scalp as Gina’s loins throbbed, gushed and quivered. A floating sensation overtook her and as she attempted to take a breath, Nicole decisively maneuvered her chin onto her chest. The shears peeled through every strand of Gina’s golden crown and, in their wake, piles of her own golden fleece settled around and on top of her until she was buried in a plush carpet. “She’s cut it too short!” Gina feared. Tears welled in her eyes, but were choked back. Inexplicably, Gina found herself giving Nicole an encouraging wink and the Frenchwoman attacked her diminishing plume with renewed vigor.
Nicole was turned on by cutting all this beautiful hair. She had lopped off the bulk of the sides and back and turned her attention to Gina’s bangs. They were long, below the collarbone, but she sliced them off above Gina’s lips, for now. Completely covered by tufts from Gina’s blonde bob, Nicole kicked off her shoes and felt between her toes a royal carpet of golden clippings.
Placing the large shears quietly on the counter, Nicole smiled for her client. Gina sat passively as Nicole parted her new bob and pinned it in sections to ready Gina for the clippers. Engaging the perfectly synchronized blades of her humming clippers, Nicole pushed them ever higher up Gina’s nape.
Gina began to lose her nerve. She had lost so much hair already and Nicole had no length guard on her clippers. When the vibration of the blades bit into her skin Gina felt herself jump, but Nicole continued to carefully clipper her nape; buzzing and tapering the back of her head, from earlobe to earlobe. It felt so good. Moaning in an ecstasy Nicole could barely hear above the angry clippers, Gina leaned back ever so slightly into the advancing blades. “Yes, clip me. Clip all the hair gone!” she would have begged, had she been able to speak. Gina shuddered as her pent-up sexual energy released, soaking her pantyhose and skirt.
Choosing a smaller pair of shears, Nicole cut liberally from Gina’s lovely bob. Her client rapt in attention, the barberette worked the scissors around her head again and again. Nicole returned to shorten sections she had already cut, seeing how short her client dared to go, and always Gina sat still and uncomplaining. Twice again Nicole trimmed Gina’s bangs. First, above the tip of her nose and then to mid-brow. Gina looked fantastic, so Nicole decided to shorten the bob, again. She angled it so the front brushed Gina’s cheeks and curled in toward her face. The back and sides mushroomed over a high clipper undercut, and did not reach the top of the ears. Gina sat completely relaxed, smirking like the cat that ate the canary but Nicole was not happy with this haircut. The highly angular and modern bob was more style than Gina needed. It was distracting. There wasn’t much hair left to work with, Gina’s lovely head was mostly denuded, so Nicole picked her tiny shears up again and tilted Gina’s head to the left. She snapped off what length was left around Gina’s right ear.
When Gina saw the super-short asymmetrical bob in the mirror, she moved to speak. She liked it. It felt erotic. The two sides contrasted sharply and had the dramatic tension of a haircut in progress, but it just wasn’t her. Lacking the words to explain her feeling to Nicole, to whom she felt a deep gratitude, Gina could only ask for another haircut, in French. “Cut the hair,” she said.
Nicole smiled, tousled Gina’s bob with her fingers and angled her head to the right. The cold blades moved against Gina’s cheek and made jumping jacks all around Gina’s ears. As hair became too short to pinch between her fingers, Nicole stood it up with a fine comb and barbered it again. The sides were tapered up to the top, which had to be passed over and recut several times to make it short enough. The clippers returned to complete Gina’s makeover, passing over the comb and edging the hairline. As a finishing touch, Nicole scraped the peach fuzz from Gina’s neck and cheeks with a straight razor.
Gina strained to see what was left of her hair. In fact, it was her lovely features and big, dewy eyes that grabbed her attention. Where honey blonde hair once fell in cascades down her neck and breasts, there was only the breeze! It was all very new to her. Of course, she had seen this haircut before, but only on little boys! On Gina, it looked dangerous and sexy. Natural streaks of platinum gleamed in bangs Nicole had whisked off an inch above the eyebrows. A high, invisible blonde hairline disappeared into her nape.
Even Nicole couldn’t believe how short the cut was; way shorter than her own. The effect was spontaneous and disciplined at the same time. Gina couldn’t keep her hands off her cropped head, especially the super-short buzzed nape. Nicole continued to run her fingers over Gina’s ultra-short bristles, too, even though there was nothing left for her to do. Blonde tresses overflowed from Nicole’s workstation to the center of the cutting room floor. As Gina stood, the hair on her cape and shoulders slithered down to the top of the pile. The marble floor was nowhere to be seen.
“I look just like my Mom!” Gina happily exclaimed. Her eyes really were enormous! The salon patrons and staff burst into cheers and congratulated Gina on her courage, daring and beauty. Nicole lent her a sexy, short skirt to wear home, since the back of Gina’s dress was soaked through. She also gave Gina the number of a modeling agency.
“I’m meeting some boys at the park, when I get off work,” Nicole explained, “Would you like to come out with us? We’ll show you the City”
“Yes, I’d love to,” Gina responded.
“Stick with me, kid,” Nicole assured her, “and we’ll set Paris on its ear.”