HC – You Will Graduate! by Shearingly
She walked through the front door, glanced around the noisy room, hardly seeing anyone or anything and slumped down on the couch. I was a quiet guy, kind of a loner, so even though I liked going to parties I certainly wasn’t the center of attention. I had been sitting in a chair near the corner when I saw her come in. I went to the table, grabbed a cup of the special “punch” and walked over to the couch.
I sat beside her and said, “Hi Lisa. Looks like you could use a little of this,” and offered her the libation.
She looked at me, sighed and said, “Yeah. I guess I could.” She gulped down the liquid, paused for a moment then held out the cup and said, “That was good. May I please have another?”
I brought the cup back and she drank that one, only a little bit slower than the first. I had gotten two cups on that trip and offered the second one to her also. She took it and finally began sipping instead of gulping.
“What’s wrong, Lisa?” I asked her. “You look really down!”
She gritted her teeth and shook her head, making the thick mane of dark hair dance around her face. “Oooooooh, I’m so mad! It’s my mom. I hate her!”
“What did she do?” I prompted her.
“She’s said she’s going to make me attend graduation and walk up there and get my diploma.”
“Oh?” I said noncommittally, wondering why that was a problem. Everyone else I knew was going to graduation and even though they expected it to be boring they knew it was a big deal to their parents and would just endure it.
“Yeah,” Lisa said, looking straight at me. “I’m almost twenty years old, I’ve flunked a couple of times, the rest of the kids think I’m a dumb retard and when I go up there to get my diploma they’re going to laugh and hoot. I’ll be so embarrassed. I’ll just die!”
“Oh,” I said again.
“My mom told me that I will go to graduation, she doesn’t care how embarrassed I might be. She said I ought to be proud that I stuck it out and will get my diploma.”
“I am proud of that,” she continued, “and I do want the diploma. The school said they would send it to me if I couldn’t make graduation. My mom just doesn’t understand.” She burst into tears.
I handed her my handkerchief and went to refill her cup. When I got back she was more composed.
“How can your mom make you go through with it?” I asked her.
“She said she would grab me by the hair and drag me across the platform if I didn’t do it on my own.”
“Oh,” was all I could think to say, knowing I sounded like a broken record.
“Yeah,” she replied.
“You’ve got a lot of it,” I said.
“What?” She was puzzled.
“Hair,” I said, trying to crack a joke.
“Oh, yeah, I guess I do,” she said, still gloomy.
By the time she had downed the fourth cup of “punch” she was more relaxed and mellow. I said, “Lisa?”
“Huh? What, Jim?”
“Do you think your mom meant it when she said that she would drag you by the hair?”
“Oh yes, I’m sure she would!” she said emphatically. “She did it to me once before. A few years ago I had a part in a church program. I was so much bigger than the other girls and always stumbled on my lines. I told her I wasn’t going to go up and do it. She stayed right beside me off stage and when it was my turn I just sat there, but she grabbed me by the hair and pulled me on stage. I could have died right then. Oh yes, she’ll do it! I learned that when she says something, she means it!”
I sat back and studied Lisa. She was a nice looking girl, but her dowdy appearance kind of put people off. Her thick, dark hair hung straight down to the middle of her back and was trimmed in a straight line. She also had thick bangs, like a young girl. I mean a lot of hair was combed forward and cut just above her eyebrows, not just a little fringe at the hairline, but going back two or three inches on the top of her head.
She was wearing her usual, a loose-fitting dress that was stylish in third or fourth grade. It was impossible to tell what kind of figure she had. I knew that she didn’t have a boyfriend – she was quite shy and with her “un-cool” image she scared away all but the most nerdy boys who were too scared to ask anyone out.
“Lisa, I have an idea,” I started out.
“What’s that?” she replied, perking up a little bit.
“What if your mom couldn’t grab you by the hair and drag you across the platform. That would stop her, wouldn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if you didn’t have hair long enough to grab?”
She thought about that for a while, slowly she realized what I was saying. I could see comprehension in her eyes. Her words came out in a rush, “You mean, get my hair cut short? I don’t know, I’ve always had long hair. That sure would be weird. That is what you mean, isn’t it – get my hair cut?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“Maybe I could do that, but graduation is tomorrow. And no way will my mom cut it short. She loves it long.” she frowned again.
“Don’t you get your hair done at a styling salon?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” she replied. “My mom has always trimmed my hair. I’ve never been to a beauty parlor or anything like it!”
That explains the out-dated hairstyle, I thought to myself. Then I told her, “I could cut it for you….”
“Oh,” she brightened up. “Would you do that?” Then she looked doubtful, “I’m sure you have more exciting things to do than cut some dumb girl’s hair.”
“Lisa, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do right now! Do you want to go take care of it, right now?” I asked, pressing her gently. She had no idea how much I enjoyed the thought of touching, combing, brushing girls’ hair. The idea that I might get to cut some hair, and even cut it super short was making me quite excited!
“No,” she said. My heart sank. “I’d like another cup of this punch, then let’s go cut my hair.”
I shot out of my seat and brought back a cup of punch in record time. She gulped it down almost as fast as the first one and said, “Let’s go!”
When she stood up she wavered a bit, so I put my hand on her elbow to steady her. She looked at me, then grabbed my arm and started walking toward the door. She giggled nervously, “That wasn’t the regular punch, was it Jim?”
I walked alongside her keeping her steady, and whispered, “No, it wasn’t.”
We got outside and I was afraid the cooler night air might sober her up and make her re-think her decision. But it didn’t, “Where can we go?” she asked me. Then she stopped and looked up at me. “Do you know how to cut hair?” was her next question.
“Let’s go over to my house and yes, I do know how to cut hair. I have everything we will need and we can use the basement, it won’t disturb anyone.”
“O.K.” she said, giggling slightly and allowing me to escort her to my car. I certainly didn’t think it would be safe for her to drive.
When we got to my house the only light on was the front yard light. I told her that my parents would be asleep so we needed to be quiet. Our house was built on a hill so we had a walk-out basement. I unlocked the door at the back and we went in. We walked into the den and I flipped the light switch. “My room is over there,” I pointed across the den. “You sit here and let me get what I need.” I turned the radio on, so if my parents heard voices they would think it was the TV or radio.
She flopped loosely into an easy chair and looked around. I dashed into my room and picked up the hair-cutting tools I’d assembled never dreaming that I’d ever get to use them in a situation like this. When I came back out Lisa was still sitting there, looking around.
I brought a stool over and set it in the middle of the room. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked her, not wanting to be accused of forcing her.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “This should fix my mom! She won’t be able to drag me by the hair anywhere!”
“O.K., come sit on the stool,” I told her. I turned on a few more lights to brighten up the area. She meekly complied.
“Do you want to get hair all over your dress?” I asked her. “It will get kind of prickly and itchy with little hairs on it.”
She thought about that for a minute, then right in front of me she crossed her arms, grabbed the waist of her dress and pulled it up and over her head. I thought she might ask to borrow a tee shirt and then use the bathroom to change. She wiggled out of her slip and tossed it on the floor next to the dress. I almost groaned out loud. The boys at school would never believe this! She had a fantastic figure – an eye-catching chest, tiny waist and nicely curved hips. When she reached around behind her and unhooked her bra I thought I might pass out. She shrugged it off and tossed it on top of her other clothes. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties, but then thought better of it. “I’m going to leave something on,” she said, giggling nervously.
I cautioned her to whisper, I didn’t want to wake up my parents. She nodded that she understood and put a finger to her lips. I stood behind her, and ran my fingers through her thick brunette hair. It was so soft and silky. My knees got weak. I took a wide-toothed comb and slowly began combing it out, gently working out any small tangles I encountered.
“Mmmmm. You sure are good with that, Jim,” she murmured. “That feels so good.” She arched her back as I switched to a brush and massaged her scalp as I brushed.
“How short are you going to cut it?” she asked.
“Short enough so your mom can’t get hold of it.”
“O.K.,” she said, “go ahead! I don’t care how short it is. It’ll grow back quick enough.”
“Does your hair grow fast?” I asked to keep her talking.
“It sure does. Every two weeks my mom trims my bangs to keep them out of my eyes. And usually, once a month she trims the back. If she doesn’t get around to it for a while it will quickly reach my waist. It’s quite a pain when it gets too long.”
“Well, it won’t be a pain for a long time now!” I laughed, and she laughed with me.
“Do you like your bangs like this?” I asked as I brushed them forward.
“No!” she said emphatically. “I’ve told my mom for years that that’s not the style for a girl my age. I’ve showed her pictures of what I’d like, but she just keep telling me that I’m her little girl and she’s going to cut it the way SHE wants it. Like I said, she’s a very determined woman and I’ve found it easier not to fight her.”
“O.K.,” I said, “I’m ready now, are you?” I held scissors in my hand and looked into her eyes.
She blinked a couple of times, then took a deep breath and nodded and said, “Yes, go ahead, Jim.”
I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until she said “Yes.” I felt light-headed, but standing in front of her I reached toward her bangs with my left hand and held up a section between my fingers. I placed the blades of the scissors UNDER my fingers, close to her scalp and closed the scissors with an exhilarating snick. The severed hair slowly rained down into her lap as I opened my fingers and released my hold. After snipping her bangs I reached back to the top of her head and held up a long lock of hair. Once again, holding the scissors close to her scalp I closed them on the hair, squeezing until the blades sliced through and set them free. I took the twenty-four inch length of hair and with the ends tickled her breasts.
She smiled up at me and giggled, “That tickles…. In a nice way.” I laid the lock of hair across her bare legs and cut off another and then another, adding them to the pile. I worked my way across the top of her head and then on each side, around both ears. Finally I attacked the back and finished snipping off the last of her pretty, long hair.
When I finished and stood back, she said, “Are you done?” She reached up and rubbed her hands over the short fuzz on her head. “It feels so soft!” she exclaimed. “Do you have a mirror?”
She took the mirror I handed her and held it up. She gasped, “Wow! I do look different! Are you done?”
“Well, let’s see if your mom can still grab a hold of it.” In the back I’d left it a little longer so when I ran my hand up the back of her head and squeezed my fingers together there was enough to hold on.
“Ouch,” she exclaimed. I tugged her head this way and that, showing that her mom would still be able to get a grip.
“I guess, it’s not short enough, is it Jim?” she said.
“No, not for your purpose. Do you want me to make it even shorter?”
She set her jaw firmly and said, “Yes, finish the job!”
I pulled out the electric clippers my mom had used on me when I was a boy and showed them to her. “I can use these – it will finish the job smoothly and evenly, so there aren’t any funny looking tufts. Is that O.K.?” She nodded her agreement and I plugged them in.
When I was scissoring her hair I noticed her wiggling around on the stool and every once in a while she reached down between her legs and pressed her fist against herself, then let go. I rubbed my hand across the downy softness on her head. “Lisa,” I whispered in her ear, “is this exciting you – to get your hair cut like this?”
Her cheeks colored bright red, but she nodded her head. “It’s O.K.,” I reassured her. I took her hand and brought it down between her legs. “Spread your legs,” I whispered quietly. She obediently opened her legs wide. With one hand I pulled the elastic of her panties open and with the other guided her hand down to the top of her opening. I said, “Rub yourself right here, it will feel even better.”
She gasped, jerked her hands out of her panties and said, “My mom told me that I should never touch myself there. It’s a dirty thing to do!”
“Try it, and see if she’s right?” I shrugged.
I flipped on the clippers and started at the nape of her neck began clippering her already short hair. I hadn’t put a guide on the clippers so it was as good as shaving her head. It left, maybe, a sixteenth of an inch of stubble. Certainly not enough for her mom to grab.
By the time I had worked up the back of her head and was going around her ears, I noticed that her hand had crept back inside her panties. Soon she was panting and moaning. I kept close watch and when she erupted in a series of shudders and jerks I pulled the clippers away so they wouldn’t cut her. I finished up just as the last of her tremors came and went. She turned to me and put her arms around me.
“Jim, that was something else!” she exclaimed. “I’ve never felt anything like that before in my life!”
I gave her the mirror and she nodded in satisfaction. “Yes, that should put a stop to my mom’s plans!” She rubbed her hand over her stubble and smiled at herself. She looked like a different person. Without those heavy bangs and all that hair, her features were distinctive. She was a very pretty girl and I told her so. She grabbed me again and kissed me, right on the mouth!
When she stepped back, she said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Jim. I’ve gotten hair all over you. Do you have a shower down here? I’d like to shower before I go home.” I pointed to the bathroom. She pealed off her panties as she pranced over to the bathroom and over her shoulder she said, “Do you want to take a shower with me?”
I’ll spare you the details of the rest of that night, but I got her home early in the morning. She tried to sneak in her house, but her mom was waiting for her. I could hear her mom’s shriek clear out at the road where I was parked. Lisa had told me she would be fine and could take care of herself, not to worry about her. She seemed to have a new-found confidence. Along with losing her hair, she lost her little-girl meekness. I listened for a while, but didn’t hear any sounds of violence so I drove off to get ready for graduation.
I didn’t think I’d see Lisa at graduation, but there she was – in the audience, with her mom right next to her. Her mom looked really mad. I think she was trying to figure out who had done this to her precious little girl. She was glaring mostly at the other girls, so I don’t think she suspected it was a boy who had shaved Lisa’s head.
Our strategy worked, when Lisa’s name was read she remained sitting in the audience watching. Her mom just sat there next to her, finally realizing that her little girl had grown up and had a mind and life of her own.