Her Fantasy by Sabrina S.
“Shave my head,” she softly said
As we lay entwined on her old brass bed.
Her eyes were wide, their colour bright
And her russet waves gleamed in the light.
Her hair smelled sweet, spread over the sheet.
To shave it would make her dream complete.
In a tangled billow across her pillow
Her hair was soft and still though
Beautifully long, healthy and strong
When my scissors began to sing their song.
Against her head with no touch of dread
I placed the blades and not a tear she shed.
With a sensual “snit” I cut the first bit
And dropped the tendril at her feet.
More hair fell away on that cold winter’s day
As the shears in her hair continued to play.
The sides I clipped, and cut, and snipped,
As against the pillow her head she tipped.
She lifted her head up off the bed
So I could shear the back of its fall of red.
It lay cut on the sheet, snipped off all neat
And her new shorn head all warm with heat.
Once it was cropped the scissors I dropped
And the can of shaving foam I popped.
She closed her eyes and gave small sighs
And shivered gently in surprise
As I softly spread the foam on her head
And prepared the razor’s path to tread.
Then the blade touched her skin and she breathed right in
As I shaved the first hairs away slick and clean.
The white fluffy mop that sat on her top
Was shaved by a hand that just wouldn’t stop.
My name she called as I rendered her bald –
Beside her hirsute women palled.
Then at her beck I shaved her neck.
And the last of her locks gently hit the deck.
In a tender hush I saw her flush
And climax with a shuddering rush.
Devoid of hair, her scalp shaved bare,
I loved the vision lying there.
Shorn hair on the sheet, on our bodies, our feet,
What ecstasy could be more complete?
(c) Copyright 1999, Sabrina S.