Home Again – Jim B.
I turned the TV on to catch the news when I came into the hotel room.
New England was having its worst blizzard of the year. Freezing cold and bitter winds. Just enough snow to make everything difficult, but not enough to justify staying home in front of the fire with a cup of hot chocolate. I changed my clothes and went outside to the pool. If I was going to spend three weeks of February in Australia on business, I might as well take advantage of it.
I felt a little guilty. Yesterday Kathy and I had had a big fight on the telephone. We had planned on her coming with me on this trip, but the cost had been outrageous. So, I was by the pool, and she was stuck shoveling snow and walking the dog in a blizzard.
After my swim, I went back inside and showered. Then I got dressed for dinner. I didn’t want to wake Kathy, but by the time we got back from dinner, she would be off to work. I dialed our telephone number, replaying our argument in my mind. To my delight, she was already awake and in a good mood.
Since she seemed to have forgotten about our argument, I wasn’t about to bring it up. We talked for quite a while, when I told her I had to go. She kept me talking for a few more minutes. Then, just as we were about to hang up, she announced she’d figured out how to “get” me for taking the trip without her.
“Do you remember our trip to New York three summers ago?” she asked.
“Sure,” I answered.
“Do you remember the really cute haircut I got just before that trip?” she reminded me.
THAT haircut. I hated that haircut. “Um, yeah, I remember it,” I replied.
“I think I’m going to go get it cut like that again. Maybe today. I gotta go! Love you!”
Click, she hung up.
The people I had dinner with commented about how distracted I was. I blamed it on lack of sleep. But it was the haircut that was bothering me. One of our last big fights had been over that haircut. Kathy had been about eight months into growing her hair out when she had cut it. One of those short in front and shoulder length in back styles, with none of the advantages of short hair, and not really long enough to have fun with, either.
I had not been able to hide how disappointed I was, it had caused a pretty big fight. If she cut her hair that way now, of course, it would be even worse.
Her hair fell in a perfect thick mass down to her elbows. It was magnificent. We had talked for months about how, next summer, we would get it cut really short. Together.
I had definitely been invited, and I was negotiating for participation.
Before I left on this trip, she had sort of agreed to let me do it myself. Or, at least to seriously consider letting me do it.
Now she was going to get it cut without me.
And, into THAT haircut.
I really didn’t like that particular haircut, and I couldn’t bear to think about being halfway around the world, unable even to watch as all her hair fell to the floor around her. I couldn’t sleep that night. So I stared at the clock, hoping she would call before I had to leave for the office.
She knew my schedule, and waited until just a few minutes before I had to leave before calling. I tried to wait for her to bring up the subject, but she ignored it.
Finally, just before I had to go, I asked, “Did you get your hair cut?”
A very long pause.
“You know, the day just got away from me. Maybe tomorrow,” she answered.
I started to ask, “Could you please wait until…”
She cut me off. “It isn’t your choice, is it? Bye, honey, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said quickly and hung up.
That evening she kept me guessing, and by the next day she refused to even discuss it.
I tried to read her tone of voice, but without being able to see her eyes, I couldn’t tell whether she was bluffing, or if she’d done it. Now I felt a bit guilty.
After a couple more days, I finally completed what I had to do, and packed up for the long flight home. I spent the whole flight trying to reassure myself that she was bluffing. Even if she wasn’t, it was just a haircut. How could I be so immature!
But it’s not immaturity, it’s obsession. And she knows it.
She’s held it over me before, but never like this.
She met me at the gate, wearing a large hat. I kissed her, sensing all was forgiven, and reached to pull the hat off. My hand was slapped away. But then she smiled.
I looked in her eyes, and she was bluffing. There was no way she wasn’t bluffing.
We recovered my luggage and we walked out of the terminal. Even the cold air felt good.
She was bluffing!
When we got home, she took her hat off. Her wonderful hair came cascading over her shoulders, falling just a few inches past her shoulders, layered and parted on the side. I didn’t know how to react. She looked great.
But, all her long hair…
“Well, what do you think?” she asked.
“You’re gorgeous!” I blurted out.
“But?” she asked.
“But… I wish I could’ve watched. I’ve been waiting a long time,” I told her. She kissed me, slowly. I wasn’t going to get anywhere with that discussion anyway. I was informed I was to get at least five hours sleep, take a shower, and shave. Then, she would consider joining me in bed. I slept soundly, and for a lot more than five hours.
I woke up, showered, shaved, and put on some sweats. It was the middle of the day, so I didn’t know when Kathy would be home. I read the mail, caught up on the computer, and eventually heard her key in the lock.
Her hair was gorgeous. She knew this was one of my favorite styles, even though I was disappointed she had gotten so much cut off without me.
We sat on the bed, and I brushed her hair. Eventually, I stopped brushing and started kissing. Soon, we were under the covers.
Her hair spread out like a halo on the bed around her head, and I played with it as we made love. I imagined how much longer it had been, and I imagined cutting off the hair that was left. I imagined how it would look, snipped free from her head, lying in piles on the pillow and the bed. I didn’t say anything, but she probably knew what I was thinking.
After we finished, she lay across the bed with her head on my chest. She spread her hair across my chest, and ran her fingers through it. Caressing me with it, picking it up so it would fall softly on my chest. We talked about my trip, and what she did while I was gone. She asked if I would like her to tell me about getting her hair cut.
I said yes. She continued to play with her hair with one hand, while the other reached down towards my crotch and gently began to stroke me.
“I had planned on making an appointment for late in the day, because I wanted to spend the whole day thinking about you, and about my haircut. So I’d remember all the details for you. I knew I would want to describe it to you.
“I washed my hair real slowly that morning, to feel it one last time because I was going to have a lot cut off. I didn’t know what kind of haircut I was going to get, only I wanted a lot cut off. So, I washed it real slow, and I dried it afterwards, and wore it down. You should have seen it – I was having a great hair day. It was soft and silky, and it moved against my back. I wore those silk undies that you bought me and a yellow silk blouse. I wanted to feel sexy all day while I thought about getting my hair cut.
“I waited for the salon to open so I could make an appointment. I watched the clock, and thought about you! What you would’ve been doing if you were here with me, waiting for me to call. You’d be playing with my beautiful hair, thinking how I was going to get it cut. You’d be pretending to cut it yourself, imagining how it would look as it fell on the floor.
“Finally, when the salon opened, I called to make my appointment. I wanted to go there right away and tell her to start cutting, but I made an appointment for late in the afternoon. So, I’d have all day to think about my long hair and how she was going to cut it off. When I made the appointment, I wondered if she could tell how excited I was! How it wasn’t going to be just an ordinary trim this time, but she just made the appointment like it was no big deal. I hung up and I wanted to call you, to tell you I had made the appointment, but I couldn’t.
“All day long, I ran my fingers through my hair. I felt how soft and silky it was. I listened to it move against my silk shirt.
“Do you remember how long it was?” she asked.
“I wondered how short I should cut it! I wanted to have a lot cut off, but I didn’t know how much. I thought about going really, really short. It would have been so exciting. I knew you’d be disappointed because you would have wanted to watch. So, I compromised. I decided not to tell her to cut off as much as I really wanted her to.
“Finally, it was time to go to the salon. I went early, so I would have to wait. I wanted to sit in the salon, waiting and knowing I was going to get my hair cut. I looked at the books of different styles. I looked at some really short haircuts, and imagined having my hair cut that short.
“Finally, it was my turn. She sat me in her chair and brushed my beautiful long hair, and asked if I just wanted a trim. I said, ‘No, I want a major haircut.’
“She asked what I wanted. I said, ‘I don’t know, you have to help me decide.’ I told her I wanted to cut a lot off. I wanted people to see me and be surprised I cut off so much of my beautiful hair. But I also told her I didn’t want to disappoint you. She still thinks you only like long hair. She doesn’t know the disappointment for you would be in not watching as all my hair was cut off. All she knew was I was going to let her cut off a lot of my hair.
“She pulled it back and held it up, and looked from different angles. She asked how short I wanted to go. I suggested we cut it to my chin. She held it up and showed me how short it would be, and asked if I really wanted to go that short. I said I wanted to, but I was afraid you would be upset. She suggested we leave it longer, because if I wanted I could always go back and ask her to cut more of my hair off. She suggested I leave it longer than my shoulders, so you would still feel like I have long hair. She suggested we layer it a little, because she remembered it looked really good like that.
“So, we agreed that she should cut it like that.
“She took me in back and washed my hair. She did it really slowly, massaging my scalp. It felt wonderful. I sat there, leaning back over the sink, imagining how you would react if you were watching. Seeing her with her hands in my hair, knowing she was about to cut it.
“When she finished she took me back to the chair, and covered me with the cape. She combed out my hair, asking me if I really wanted to cut it. I was so excited, waiting for that first cut. I told her to go ahead. I wanted to tell her to cut it even shorter than we discussed, to shear it all off, but I didn’t. She finished combing it, and took the first cut. I heard the scissors as they cut through my hair, and I heard the hair fall, sliding down the cape landing with a damp plop on the floor.
“She snipped again, and again.
“Snip, slide, plop. Snip, slide, plop.
“I couldn’t see how much was being cut, but I could hear it really clearly. It seemed to go really fast. Then, she dried and styled my hair. I finally got to look and see the piles of hair on the floor. I wish you could have seen it! There was so much of my hair, in piles all around the chair.”
She climbed on top of me, and we began to make love again. She ran her fingers through her hair.
“Can you imagine what it would have been like if I had cut it shorter?” she teased.
“I wanted it cut to my chin,” I told her.
“All this hair would’ve had to be cut off,” she said, holding out a lock of her hair for my inspection. “Can you imagine if this was all cut off?”
She reached to the nightstand, and pulled a pair of scissors out of the drawer. Without a word, she snipped the five-inch lock of hair off. Moving slowly up and down on top of me, she held the hair in her hand and looked at it, then slowly caressed her cheek with it. She reached down and rubbed it against my chest and neck. Then, across my cheek, before dropping it on my chest. She cut another lock, letting it fall to my chest. Then a third, this time holding it up to her nose and smelling the perfume of her shampoo before dropping it on my chest. She looked down at me, one side of her hair cut unevenly to her chin and the other side cascading softly over her shoulder.
“She played with the pile of cut hair on my chest, caressing me with it. Then she took my right hand and held it up to where she had just cut. Then she took my left hand and held it up to the long side.
“Which side do you like better?” she inquired. “Do you like long like this?” She moved my hand, running my fingers through the longer side. “Or do you like it cropped like this?” she asked. She did the same on the chin-length side. “Or, do you think I should go shorter?”
I was stunned into silence. I couldn’t believe she just did that. The only thing that had kept me from exploding, as she cut her hair, was that we had made love less than an hour before. I’m not as young as I used to be, and the second time is always slow. The good news was we were able to keep making love.
She started to brush her hair forward into her face.
“What about bangs?” I asked sexually. “Would it look good with bangs?”
She handed me the scissors. I cut thick bangs, halfway up her forehead. She knew they were uneven, both because I’m not skilful and because she didn’t stop moving. It didn’t seem to matter. She bent down and turned her head, so the side with the longer hair was directly in front of me.
“Cut it!” she whispered. “Cut it all off!”
I began cutting around her ear. We were both moving wildly. I knew I was making a mess of her hair, but she didn’t seem to mind. I would grab a clump of hair in my fingers and cut it off. I was cutting randomly all over her head now. Hair was raining down on both of us, as we both orgasmed. We collapsed in each other’s arms. I played with the piles of cut hair that surrounded us. And with the unevenly cropped hair left on her head. It was a real mess, just an inch long in places and four inches long in others.
We eventually got out of bed and showered off all the loose hair, and changed the now itchy sheets on our bed.
After our shower, we climbed into bed to sleep for the night. Just after I turned out the light, Kathy turned it back on and handed me a brightly wrapped gift box.
As I opened the package, she smiled widely.
“If you make me a nice breakfast in bed tomorrow, I’ll let you use these after…,” she told me, as I unwrapped the chrome-plated professional clippers.