Holly’s Nightmare

Holly’s Nightmare (in real life) – Ex Dutch

Holly was the type of girl who always pretended that she did not care about her hair. She was also the type that was hated by lots of other girls and women for having such perfect hair. Her hair was mid-back, thick, straight and very blonde. She was a perfect natural blonde. One time, she agonized for months about getting it cut short. Her boyfriend at the time was all for it, but she would refuse to listen to him. Then, seemingly on a whim, she went and got it cut. The cut she got was perfect: a short bob, just below her ears. Her nape was bared and slightly shaved.

When her boyfriend saw her, he almost came instantly. She was not sure about the cut, however, and would not even let him touch her shaved nape. She tried another cut, a bit shorter even, with her hair tapered in small layers in the back. She hated it. Her boyfriend loved it. They broke up soon after this, and she grew her hair back to the original length over the next few years.

Holly had a good job, a few boyfriends and basically nothing to worry about. One night when she was out dancing, a young woman came up to her and handed her a business card. “I work for John Frieda, and I want you to call me.”

Holly knew John Frieda was the guy from the twin blondes in the hair commercials. She even used some of his products. Curious, she called the number on the card the next day.

“I just LOVE your hair! It is all your original color, right?” Holly smiled to herself and said it was. As it turned out, John Frieda was in town for a hair show, and they wanted her to be a model. Holly was startled. All she could think was that models at hair shows got their hair… CUT. That was the last thing she wanted.

Mary, the Frieda representative on the phone, sensed her hesitation. “We want you for your color. You know we specialize in products for blondes. You are the perfect blonde for us.” Holly agreed with that. Mary went on to say, “You can look through a book of famous hairstyles, and pick one. John will cut or style your hair in that manner.” Holly was starting to get excited. This would be like a makeover, by a professional, and everyone would be staring at her gorgeous hair. Then came the clincher: “The Frieda company will give you $1000 plus a year’s supply of product. And maybe you can sign on for a modeling contract with us.”

“Me, a model?” Holly was flushed with excitement. “OK, I will do it!”

On the day that she was booked for the show, Holly was shown to a booth, where there were several binders with pictures. She was told to look through them, and then write the number of the picture on an index card, which she would give to the assistant. She started flipping through the books, fantasizing about a lot of the haircuts. But as she thought about her experience with a short haircut, she shivered, and continued to look at long styles only. When a roar of applause rose up from what seemed just on the other side of the cloth partition behind her, she jumped, and dropped the book. Pictures went flying everywhere, just as the assistant called out to her and told her she had five more minutes, was that enough? Holly, quickly putting the pictures back in the book, assured her it was. She had already made up her mind. With the pictures back in the book, she turned to the page she had selected. It was a picture of Gwen Stefani. Her blonde hair was cascading on both sides of her face. Holly stroked the picture first, and then her own hair. She made note of the number, and continued paging through the book. The next page had a picture of another famous rock-blonde, Annie Lennox. Holly laughed at that picture, and hesitated when she came across a picture of Anna Nicole Smith. Her hair was also flowing luxuriously, but the Gwen Stefani style had more attitude.

The assistant came back to get the index card. Holly was ushered backstage, and she saw the salon chair on stage. She got suddenly nervous. There was just the chair, and a cabinet on wheels. Every imaginable hair tool and product was hanging out of, or sitting on, the cabinet. She heard her name as she was introduced and ushered onto the stage. She sat down and smiled timidly. John Frieda brushed out her hair, and showed how beautiful and strong it was.

“How long have you been using my products?” he asked her.

She was startled to have a talking part in the show, but quickly answered honestly: “Three years or so. I just love it!”

Frieda smiled, and continued brushing, explaining that Holly had picked a famous blonde’s hairstyle for today, and he would give her that style, work in some product suggestions and demo some more of the products.

“Are you ready?”

“Go ahead,” she said.

Holly was relaxed now. The hypnotic effect of the brushing was having its results. She leaned back and the heat of the lights started to push her into a daze. She just loved the feeling of her long hair being stroked and brushed. Frieda was really good with his hands, and was obviously loving her hair and loved playing with it. She wondered if he was seeing anybody.

She was still fantasizing about Frieda and his strong and gentle hands when she heard a sharp scrunch, scrunch, scrunch and felt his hands moving more rapidly through her hair. She was a bit startled, but with no mirror in front of her, she could not see what was happening. She then remembered that Gwen Stefani’s style was layered in some way, and that she had seen stylists use several techniques to create layers. She decided to go back to her thoughts of her and John Frieda.

John Frieda, in the meantime, was excited about his model. She had some of the most beautiful hair he had ever seen, and he was amazed by her daring choice. He took some extra time to play with her hair, and almost told her he would not go ahead with her choice. But he was a professional, and this cut would certainly get some attention. He gathered her hair in his one hand, as he saw her drifting away. In his other hand he had some of the sharpest shears he had. He gently but swiftly closed them on her hair. Again and again and again. A waterfall of hair was cascading down the back, as he cut off a foot and a half of her hair. He always loved this first cut at someone. She had moved and stirred a bit during this cut, but he was amazed at her courage, trust and resolve. She seemed to doze right back off again.

Frieda had decided to demonstrate a new technique he had been working on. This was one of the reasons he did not want to dissuade her from this style. He pulled out a straight razor and a comb and started working on her hair. By now, all the length was gone, and what was left was a shaggy bob. He moved his hands and the comb through it rapidly, cutting away at large sections at a time. Holly’s neck was being bared and he could see her skin starting to show through her shortening hair.

Holly was still daydreaming about the wonderful hands of John Frieda. She realized she was in danger of slipping away into a wet fantasy, so she forced herself to be more alert. She was facing the crowd and focused on them. They were a concentrated bunch. All watching her with rapt attention. She could get used to this modeling thing. The man of her recent daydream was still moving his hands through her hair. She started thinking that there was a new sensation around her head. The lights seemed to be burning down on her scalp more than before, and at the same time, it almost felt that Frieda moving around her was creating a breath of air against the skin of her neck. But that couldn’t be… Now she started feeling Frieda’s hands against her skin. Through her hair. It felt like he was holding a comb to her skin, and there it was, a light rapid clicking noise as he moved something past the teeth of the comb, and a slight tingle on her neck right below his hands. Still, she had no idea what John was doing, as she could not imagine what was going on.

In the meantime, John was making rapid progress on Holly’s new cut. He only had a maximum of an inch or less left on the top of her head, and was now radically shortening the sides. The crowd of professionals was amazed at how accurate this new technique was, and how much more elegant than using clippers. As Frieda was working his way back from Holly’s temples, basically denuding her head completely on the sides, he left just the barest fuzz. He blended this to the top, to create a perfect cut. As a finishing touch, he used the dry straight razor to completely rid the hair at the bottom of the cut.

Holly now had a sharp pain moving through her stomach. Frieda was scraping something at the back and sides of her head. She watched the crowd, which was looking very excited. They were all intently looking at her. She resolved to not show any fear, no matter what had happened. She thought back to the shorter haircut she had had, the one just past her ears, and remembered that her stylist then had also scraped her neck. That wasn’t too bad, she thought. My boyfriend really, really loved that cut. And she had looked longingly at those pictures not too long ago. She remembered the time she saved in the shower, and how that cut did get a lot of looks from interesting guys. As she was psyching herself up, Frieda was putting the finishing touches on her hair. Holly did not understand the sensations she was feeling. It seemed he was pulling at her hair in quick motions.

Frieda finished spiking her hair with his products, and presented her to the audience. The roar that arose startled her with its intensity. Cameras were clicking and flashes were going off like it was the fourth of July. She smiled shyly, not knowing what she looked like. After a minute or two, Frieda leaned over and told her she could now walk off and admire her new look. For some reason she never looked down. If she had, she would have seen the pool of gorgeous blonde hair, which a few minutes ago had still been hers.

As she walked backstage, she started looking for a mirror. The assistants were busy getting the next model ready, and she could not see a mirror. Her hand reached up to her hair. Or better, where her hair used to be. Her skin tingled as her fingers touched its bareness. At first, moving up her hand, she could not feel any hair. Then she felt stubble at first, and then fuzz. As she reached the top of her head, she felt the crunchy spikes that Frieda had given her. She froze. In a daze she walked around until she found a mirror. She did not recognize the face that stared back at her, but realized that the tear in its eye was hers. She was almost bald. In his excitement in working his new technique on her, Frieda had given her the shortest cut he had ever done. She furtively thought that it looked kind of like Annie Lennox, but even shorter. A lot shorter. She was handed an index card. The voice that accompanied it sounded vaguely familiar. It was the card she had handed to the assistant before. Except the number of the style she had picked was crossed out. Another number showed next to it, with the comment “I think I finally have the courage to make the change I have been dreaming of for years. Please do this without asking, as I may just change my mind. The shorter the better.” The handwriting almost matched hers, but not quite.

“I like your hair!” the familiar voice said. She looked up, and straight into the grin of her old boyfriend. The one that had liked her shorter hair so much. He reached out and rubbed her near-bald head. She cringed and shuddered, confused by the sudden rush of feelings and emotions she was experiencing. Her knees started to buckle and she collapsed into his arms. Still confused, she let him lead her out. His hotel room was in the next building, and he took her up there. She stood in front of a full-length mirror, touching her hair. The tingling feeling still came with each touch. He was right behind her, stroking the back of her neck, and up her naked skull. She shuddered with a sudden release of tension, and gave in to passionate and repeated sex for the rest of the night.

When she awoke the next morning, she did not know where she was. She thought she had had a long arousing dream, and started a smile. Then the memories rushed back in. She quickly reached for her head, and found it was not a nightmare, but reality. She sat up in bed to look at herself in the mirror. In the dim light it almost looked like she was completely bald. Her old boyfriend was gone.

I am very new to the writing of stories like these. Please tell me what you think, and any other feedback you may have. Email me at exdutch@yahoo.com

 

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