My Wife

My Wife

My Wife

Sheila and I met a little over five years ago and have been married three years. When I first met her she had kind of short brown hair that was growing out from a rather short page-boy cut. Her hair was shiny and quite attractive. After we had dated a couple of months the subject of her hair had come up. She wanted my opinion on how she should wear her hair. “Dave, I’ve been growing out my hair for about six months now, and am due for a trim. What do you think of me with short hair?”

I told her rather strongly that I liked women with long hair, the longer the better. I think that Sheila found my desires threatening to our relationship as she dared not cut her hair. Two years later we were married, and her hair had grown well below her shoulders. On our wedding day, Sheila had her hair fixed up and it was gorgeous. That night as we settled for bed, I pulled the pins that held her carefully coiffured hairdo and nestled her into my arms.

As the months wore on, Sheila’s hair kept getting longer. No love making session would be complete without me running my fingers through her hair, kissing it and smelling its wonderful fragrance. On rare occasions, as a reward for something I either gave Sheila or did for her, she would let me style her hair. Usually I would style it by pinning it up in a seductive style. To hold it in place I would go overboard with the hair spray and mousse. She would always complain which resulted in my not styling it again for several months.

After we had been married for a little over two years, Sheila’s complaints about her hair kept getting louder and stronger. Over and over I would hear her complain about the tangles that she would have to undo each time she washed her hair. At least once a week I would take a shower with her and wash her hair. It was a most sensual experience. Then, when possible, I would help her untangle the tangles after shampooing. But whether I untangled the brown mane or whether she did, she did not enjoy the torture of her hair being pulled. She then started asking me each time we made love if was I making love to her or to her hair.

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Finally our third anniversary came and Sheila’s hair was almost to her waist. It had been well over five years since her last trim. She had decided it was time for a cut. She informed me that she would call her sister, who was a hairdresser and make an appointment.

It was a Thursday morning when Sheila told me she was going to call her sister. She agreed that she would make the appointment for the following Tuesday, which would give me time to style her hair before she got it cut and to generally get used to the idea of her getting a haircut. She also agreed that I could go with her to watch. I think that she enjoyed that part of the deal for she figured it would be torture for me to see her lose her locks.

That evening when I came home from work, I asked Sheila if she called her sister Cathy for the hair appointment. “Yes”, said Sheila very cautiously, “but I have some news that you are not going to like”.

“What is that?” I shot back.

“Well, Cathy can’t take me next Tuesday, but she can take me tomorrow night, so I made the appointment for 7:30 tomorrow”.

“But I’m not ready for you to lose your hair tomorrow. I need more time.”

“Well Don, I am really sorry. I tried to get an appointment for next week, but she is booked. Look, you can fix my hair tonight. You can use as much hair spray as you want and I promise not to complain. Also, I will let you pick out the hair style tomorrow when we get to the salon.”

“You mean I can determine how much hair you get cut off?” I asked with a surprised tone to my voice.

“Yes,” said Sheila, “but my hair cannot touch my shoulders when I am done.”

I felt a little crestfallen as I was just going to have Cathy give her a little trim.

“Okay,” I said rather sluggishly. “The deal is that I can fix your hair tonight and tomorrow I select any hairstyle I want as long as it is shorter than shoulder length.”

“We have a deal,” said Sheila. “Now let’s kiss on it.”

After I kissed her, we had dinner. As evening wore on the only thing I could think about was her beautiful hair that would soon going to be much shorter. As promised, Sheila let me style her hair. I put her hair in a sensual French twist, using lots of hairpins and hairspray to hold it obediently in place. And she was true to her word as she did not complain once about the overabundance of hair spray. I think it is the combination of the fragrance and the stiffness of her hair that gave me this incredible turn-on whenever I would fix her hair. But she was a good sport for she knew that come tomorrow, there would be no opportunity for a lavish French twist.

Friday evening came quickly enough. We left the house at around 7:00 since Cathy’s salon was about a half hour away. When we arrived, Cathy was finishing up her last customer. Sheila sat down to wait her turn. As Cathy said goodbye to the customer she just finished, she motioned for Sheila to approach the chair. “You haven’t been to the shop in years, Sheila, are you here for a trim or a good haircut?” asked her sister.

“I’m tired of the long hair,” responded Sheila. “I want a short haircut. Don is here to select the hairstyle.” While the sisters were conversing, I was looking at a hairstyle book to see what style I wanted for Sheila. Cathy led Sheila to the sink for a shampoo. With hair all wet and clean, Sheila was led back to the styling chair. While Sheila grunted as Cathy combed out her tangles one last time, I had come upon a style that sort of startled me. There was a model with a super short cut, maybe only an inch or so in length all around with short bangs and trim around the ears. My pulse skipped a beat at the thought of Sheila with such a hairstyle. How could a guy who was infatuated with long hair suddenly get excited over such a change in style? And Sheila, although she had short hair before we met, had never had it this short. What would she think?

“Don, I want you to surprise me. Go in the other room and show Cathy what style you selected,” Sheila requested. I went into the shampoo room with Cathy and showed her the style that I selected. She looked up at me in great surprise.

“I thought you liked Sheila’s hair long?” she asked with great bewilderment. “You’ve selected a scalp job.”

“I know that it is radical, but that is what I want to go with,” I replied.

“Well, all right,” said Cathy. “But it’s going to be quite a change.” Cathy and I returned to Sheila who sat patiently in her chair.

“You guys decide something good?” she asked. “Yes,” responded Cathy. “Just sit back and relax.” Cathy proceeded by starting with the mane of hair in the back. Even though it was long, she still cut it in layers. Pinning up most of her hair in top of her head, she let the inner layer cascade down for the first shearing. For the first time in six years Sheila heard the snip of the scissors, as the long thin strands of the innermost layer slid to the floor. Sheila could not see what was happening and could not determine how much of her hair had departed. Cathy then proceeded with the next layer and cut it shorter than the first. Then a third and fourth layer until the back was done. The long brown hair so shiny now lay on the floor. But Sheila still did not sense how much was actually to be shorn. Cathy then proceeded to the side. Peering into the mirror, this is when Sheila seemed a bit amazed as Cathy cut away the first layer trimming well above the ear. As she proceeded, I could tell Sheila was getting nervous. She had no control over her destiny as she had agreed to whatever style I had chosen. But she was also worried that maybe Cathy was taking more liberties than I had permitted her. Since Cathy was an older and more domineering sister, Sheila dared not question how much hair was being cut.

As Cathy finished each side, she proceeded to the front where she generously trimmed Sheila’s bangs over an inch above her eyes. Hair that once was a nuisance getting in her eyes, was no longer going to be so. Sheila glanced at me several times wondering why I did not say anything. As Cathy finished with her bangs, Sheila had a look of fright as if I would not love her any more. But Cathy was not finished. Although there was only a couple of inches of hair left on the top, it was too much. With her special scissors, Cathy whacked away leaving only an inch of hair all around. Sheila looked at all of the hair in her lap but nearly freaked at the mound of hair on the floor. After several more snips here and there, Cathy removed the sheet from Sheila and let her examine the new style. Sheila did not know what to say. Her only reply was, “Well, I really look different.”

After we left Cathy’s shop, Sheila and I did not say a word to each other for several minutes. Sheila was convinced that I was mad at her for getting her hair cut. What she didn’t realize was that I was quite aroused at her new look. Finally she asked, “Well Don, how do you like it? No, never mind, please don’t answer, I know you hate it and now you hate me. But it will grow back.”

At this point I knew that I was in a win-win situation. Here Sheila thought that I hated her, when in reality I was even more infatuated with her as a result of her new look. Maybe I could exploit this situation. I continued to keep silent for the rest of our trip back home, all the time thinking of how I could take advantage of this situation. When we entered our house, Sheila put her arms around me and started to cry. “I’ll do anything for you, just tell me you love me,” she sobbed. She then grabbed my hand and ran it through her oh so short hair. The feel of running my fingers through the new haircut was more sensuous than I could bear. My plan of deceit crumbled apart as I could no longer contain myself. I led my surprised wife to the bedroom where I quickly undressed her and made passionate love. I couldn’t help myself as I told her how wonderful she looked as I kept running my hands through her one inch of hair. Suddenly, she then knew what the new style had done to me. And she knew that she could control my destiny with her hair, either long or short. The tables were turned and there was nothing I could do.

When we had finished making love, Sheila turned to me and said, “hey lover boy, you can fix my hair as soon as you buy me the new necklace I want”. It was purchased the next day.

The end

 

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