Give You a Buzz in the Morning
Give You A Buzz In the Morning by HeadBoy
“I’ll be done with this stupid seminar tomorrow and on the first plane back,” the voice said from the other end of the phone.
“Good, because I miss you so badly,” she said back to the love of her life.
“It’s getting late, why don’t you get some sleep and I’ll give you a buzz in the morning,” he said and they exchanged I love yous and good-byes.
She hung up the receiver and thought about what he’d just said… ‘and I’ll give you a buzz in the morning,’ and she wished he would. But she knew he meant phone her up and not run clippers across her scalp.
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She knew him well enough by this time to know he would not go for such a thing by himself, that he needed to be coaxed and cajoled into the deed, so she put together a master plan… a plan she prayed would work.
The next morning, he did in fact call, and her voice was chipper toward him as it always was. “When you get home,” she said, “I have a surprise for you.”
He bolted down the gangway from the plane as it taxied to a halt and grabbed the first cab home. He was excited and curious. The 5-mile drive from Lindbergh Field to their quaint little North Park art-deco-style house seemed to take forever. “What could she have for me?” he wondered as he fished into his pocket for a $20 bill.
“Keep the change,” he said to the cabby as he sprinted out the back seat and up the three steps and through the heavy oak door. It had been two weeks since he’d seen Sarah and he knew her Manx-like sense of surprise.
“Baby, I’m home,” he said, dropping his bag by the coat rack, letting the door sashay itself closed.
She was standing in the hallway, smiling knowingly. She took a step toward him as he came running to meet her. Her reddish mane waved in the breeze his sprint created. It hung just past her shoulders, slightly curly and always well groomed. But she knew what she wanted. And she wanted it today. Their bodies collided together and they hugged, kissed, caressed and fondled one another for a long time, without speaking. They fell to the floor, lumps of flesh and bones too heavy to resist gravity. Clothing flew off at odd angles. Lips smacking and elbows hitting walls were the only sounds as their overeager libidos outweighed any sense of grace or nuance. The two ran each other ragged for the better part of two hours before they were finally done.
“Wow, Sarah,” he said, “should I leave town more often?”
“No Mark, you should stay. I miss you too much when you’re gone.”
They gathered their clothes and made their way to the shower to clean one another up. “So,” Mark asked, “what’s this surprise you told me about?”
“What, that wasn’t incredible enough?”
“Well, sure it was, but…” his voice trailed off in embarrassment.
“Come on,” she said, tousling his hair, and setting the plan in motion. “Wow, your hair has gotten shaggy since you left, hasn’t it?” Her voice was mock surprise, but Mark was oblivious.
“I guess so,” he said, “I’ll get it cut tomorrow.”
“Naw, I’ve got a better idea,” she said, her hazel eyes alight with anticipation.
In the bathroom, Sarah sat Mark down and began combing his hair. “Aren’t you tired of all this hair?” she asked, setting up the second phase of her plot.
“I don’t know, I guess,” he said, “it’s just hair.”
She knew he would say that. And she was prepared.
“Then I think it’s time for a change,” she said, having rehearsed her speech over and over in her head since he said those words last night: ‘…and I’ll give you a buzz in the morning.’ Sarah looked at her Mark, the love of her life and began: “Sweetheart, I love you, and you say something that I can’t quite get out of my head, whenever you’re gone and you call me you end every conversation with ‘…and I’ll give you a buzz in the morning.’ I know you have to leave again next week, so I want you to think of me while you’re gone…” She paused three seconds, like she’d learned in Toastmasters and pulled the new Osters out from under the sink. “I think you’d look so sexy with a buzzcut, and I know you’d enjoy what I have in mind.”
He looked at her, not understanding what was about to happen. “But you said you love my hair?” He said it like a question.
“I do, sweetie,” her fingers massaging the scalp underneath the soon to vanish head of hair, “but summer is coming and it’s going to be very warm,” she said, “and if it isn’t what you like, you can grow it back.”
She plugged the clippers in and handed them to Mark, she already had the number three guard in place. A number three would be short, very short. Just what she wanted on her head. What she’d fill her head with as she’d fall asleep. Visions of Mark’s steady hands, one pushing her head forward, lovingly but forcefully, the other hand plunging the Osters into her full head of hair. She would have to explain to her friends after the fact… but she would not care. Sarah longed to sport short hair. Not just short hair, clippered hair. The sort of stuff that bristled when you rubbed it. The stuff she’d longed for. Ached for. Silently prayed for. It would all happen to her today if she played her cards right. If she drew Mark in.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, looking at the foreign object that felt heavy in his hands. Mark had never had clippers used on his hair; he kept it neat and trimmed. But his stylist didn’t use them. There was something military about them. Something odd. Something almost sinister. Sarah didn’t speak, she just nodded. Her nod turned to this look of lust, pure and powerful lust. She plugged in the power cord to the black beasts as he alternated his stare between Sarah and the clippers.
She took the Osters out of his hand, and pulled off her panties. He sat, stunned. She wrapped her legs around his waist and put his manhood inside her. She writhed down upon him, sending pleasure through his already fatigued body. He was fatigued enough to not put up a fight. And he was enjoying this scenario all too much.
“Beg me,” she said, barely above a whisper. He was erect, inside her and at her mercy.
She flicked the clippers on. They made a piercing “kqqq-pop” sound as they sparked to life.
“Beg me,” she said again, slightly louder.
“Please,” he said.
“Like you want it.” Her voice became a sexual instrument.
“Ohh, baby, I do want it.” His voice numbed in surrender.
“Like you need it.” Pushing him toward the completion of her plan.
“You know I do.” Not noticing he’d played right into her hands.
She tightened her legs around his waist and plunged the Osters into his hairline, reducing his slightly over-grown businessman’s ‘do and watching it fall away. His hands grabbed her shoulder blades and pulled her close. The Osters tingled on the sides of his head as they ran back and forth, leaving stubble behind the humming little machine that she’d purchased the evening before. She moaned in pleasure and kissed his scalp after each pass. Swipe after swipe trimmed away the hair on his head. Kiss after kiss seared the moment into Mark’s memory… he’d never be able to get a haircut again without thinking of Sarah wrapped around him, moaning, kissing, enticing him to beg. His thick hair reduced to a uniform stubble and his libido slaked more than even he ever dreamed, Mark kissed Sarah’s tan, supple, shoulder. “That was incredible,” he said, barely able to remain conscious.
“Take a look,” she said, handing him a mirror. As Mark held it up to get his first look at his new hairstyle, Sarah began nibbling his thighs and grabbing his ass with her soft, loving fingers. She had thought her plan through… he would love this moment so much, he’d love the haircut, even if it looked horrible – it did not. In fact, it updated his appearance nicely. His fatigued eyes saw how dramatically different he looked. He was shocked. He reached up, slowly to touch it. His hand was tentative. Sarah’s was not. Without looking up from between his legs, Sarah grabbed Mark’s hand, and helped him to feel his new pelt of hair. It was much softer than he thought it would be.
His exhausted voice strained through his emerging grin. “I like it,” he said, “I like it a lot.”
“Do you love it?” she asked.
“Uh-huh, I sure do.”
“Good, so do I.”
“I’m glad. I want you to be happy with how I look.”
“I am,” she said, “but you don’t understand…” her voice got soft, musical and enchanting. “I want you to do that to me now.”
His eyes met hers. He picked the clippers up off the sink. They came alive in his hands, struggling to be controlled like a jungle cat suddenly in his clutches. Her face broke into a sly smile as he plunged the Osters down the center of her head, up and over the top toward the back.
And they lived hairlessly ever after.
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