Reasons – Bald and Proud

Since becoming a fully-fledged member of the bald-by-choice community, I have been interested to discover what has motivated other people to also shave their heads, or varying degrees thereof.

As many of you will know from reading my first story, ‘The Traveller’, I became bald in stages as I took a long holiday from my home town near Seattle Washington. As I am still on that voyage of discovery, and as one of the discoveries was that I had a bald fetish, I decided to seek out the real stories behind others and their style choices, especially women.

The first person I really sat down and talked about this was a woman in a mall in Jacksonville, Florida. In fact she was the one who told me about all these internet sites. Here is her story. I shall call her Marina, as she asked.

Marina was five years old when she first noticed that cutting hair was a secret passion. She had gone to bed at her usual time, had her story read to her by her mother, been tucked in and gone to sleep secure in her loving family. However, she awoke in the dark, in the middle of the night to hear voices and giggling from the kitchen. She crept out of bed and went to the kitchen for a drink of water and startled her parents. There they were, Mother in a chair with a plastic cape around her neck and Father standing with a pair of scissors behind her. “What are you doing up?” asked her mother. Marina rubbed her eyes and explained that she was thirsty and she was getting a drink. “Alright,” said Mother, “then back to bed.”

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“What are you doing?” asked Marina. Her mother responded that Daddy was going to cut her hair. “But I like your hair!” said Marina. Both parents looked at each other, and then said for her to sit down. Whereupon her mother reached up and pulled off a wig revealing a very short head of hair underneath, perhaps 2 inches long. Marina gasped, she had never known her mother wore a wig.

“Would you like to watch?” asked her father. Marina said she would, and asked why her mother didn’t just wear her own hair. The answer stayed with Marina all these years later.

“I love it when Daddy pampers me, cutting and shaving my head is a pampering I love, and Daddy is very good at it. It makes me and Daddy love each other more because we share this intimacy.”

At that moment her father started clipping away her mother’s two inches of hair with the scissors. She watched as he moved from the back to the sides, clipping and clipping. The snip sounds echoing in her ears, the hair on the cape and floor growing more abundant, the hair on her mother’s head getting shorter and shorter.

Every once in a while they would stop and ask Marina if she wanted to go back to bed, but having now been transfixed, Marina wanted to stay. After Daddy had finished the back and sides, Marina came over and ran her hand up the uneven stubble. “Oooh, it tickles,” she squealed. Next, her Father took out his electric shaver and asked his wife what she wanted next. “Shave the back and sides right up to the crown please. I want nothing there at all. Then you can make a nice and short military flat-top for me.” Marina’s father switched on the shaver and began.

Marina was totally absorbed in what she was seeing. Her mother bent her head forward and the shaver ran up the back of her neck and head leaving a white strip where there had been honey-blond stubble. It was done slowly, her father taking great care, and cleaning out the razor after each pass. It was obvious to Marina, even at that young age, that this was a bonding ritual with her parents. Something they did together that they both enjoyed. She could tell by the way they whispered to each other and their little secret touches, that something more than a haircut was going on here.

Marina began to fall asleep in the chair and awoke when her father picked her up to take her back to bed. She glanced at her mother and saw her pulling her frock back down and rubbing her hand over her newly-shaven scalp. She had slept during the rest of the shave and the flat-top trimming.

Over the years, she saw several other shaves of her mother. One in particular stood out as it was at the cottage on the lake they used to go to in the summer. She was close to 14 at that time, and had a fair idea by now that this was something special between her parents, more than her childish notions of “mummy and daddy”. She didn’t know if they both loved it, or if only one did and was making the other do it, but she never forgot the haircut that answered that question for her.

The day was on the cooler side for central Florida in summer. One of those days when the breeze wafts across the pasture and stirs the grasses and makes everything feel silky soft. Marina had just come home from her friend’s cottage on her bicycle and went to put it away in the shed. A low moan on the back porch of the house alerted her that she was not alone. She looked up and saw her mother and father. Both were nearly naked and her father was pulling off her mother’s wig. Neither of them could see her, she was on the far side of the trees and shed, but she had a full view of them.

Embarrassed, Marina coughed an identifying cough to let them know she was home. Her father stopped running his hand over the surprisingly longish hair mother had under the wig and called out, “That you Marrie?”

“Yes Daddy!” she replied. “Can I come in or do you want me to go back to Jenny’s?”

Her mother and father whispered together and finally her Mother said, “It is alright dear, you can come in, just leave your father and me some privacy.”

“Wow!” thought Marina. She really had the coolest parents around. In the mid 1960’s it was the twenty-somethings that were open with their expressions of lovemaking, yet here were her parents, old fogies to her young mind, being just as open.

Marina busied herself sorting out her summer reading material, her girl fashion mags, her comics her cousin sent her from England, her puzzle books that she liked to do in the evenings next to her folks on the wooden table. She couldn’t hear very much from the back porch, and she didn’t want to intrude, but then the door opened and her father came into the kitchen. He had on a pair of shorts and he went through into the bathroom and came out with the scissors, a new set of Wahl clippers, several attachments and a cape.

“Want to come and watch?” he asked Marina. She looked up and said, “Sure,” and followed her father outside.

Sitting in the lawn chair was her mother. Her hair was about four inches long all over and slightly wavy. Marina sat down, a little embarrassed at knowing her parents had been making love while she was occupied in the cottage, but she couldn’t resist, so she finally asked them the question that had been burning in her since she was 5. “Why do you guys do this? she asked. “Which one of you likes it? I don’t get it! Mum, you have pretty hair, why do you shave it off and wear that awful wig? Dad, why do you do it? Wouldn’t you rather Mum with a full head of hair?” After all that tumbled out of her mouth she sat and waited for the reply. Neither parent seemed the slightest embarrassed and the answer was succinct.

Her father looked up from sorting his haircutting tools, looked at his wife and they smiled and giggled. “Marrie,” he said, “A long time ago your mother and I were expecting you. Here you were on the way and your mother had a fall. She sustained a concussion and had to have her head stitched in 3 places. She was in a lot of discomfort and the hair had to be kept clipped away from the stitches. I would do it for her.”

At this point her mother interjected. “And that is how it started. We both loved it so much, it felt so good, it was something your father could do for me and I for him that was our own private little shared intimacy. No-one else would know or be a part of it. Every couple have their rituals that they perform for each other, now why don’t you sit and enjoy.” Marina sat there stunned as her parents revealed the extent of their love and trust for each other. In doing this she felt included in their love, a warm and wonderful secret that was theirs alone.

As she sat there her father snipped all the hair with the scissors very close to the scalp.

“What shall it be today my dear?” he asked.

Her mother ran her hand over her partly clipped head and said, “A shave with front bangs today please.”

With that the Wahl clippers roared to life and very slowly, very sensually, Marina’s father denuded his wife’s scalp. He ran the clippers up the back first, moving to the left side and up and over the top of the head. Next he moved to the right side and repeated the process. Marina saw the hair sliding off her mother’s head and blowing away with the slight breeze into the yard. She was once again transfixed as her father shaved her mother’s head. After a few minutes the buzzing stopped and Marina noticed there was still a lot of hair.

“I thought you were going to shave it?” she said.

“Don’t you worry about that,” replied her father. “That was the number 3 guard. I need to make sure it is the style she wants before we shave.” Her mother looked in the mirror and indicated where the hair was to remain and he carefully, using the tip of the clippers, shaved a hint of a border. Mother was having her front bangs left in place with hair on her head back as far as the front of her ears, but nothing at the sides. Sort of a patch of bangs the width of the top of the head.

“Cool” said Marina, as she settled in to watch stage two.

Next her father took the guard off the clippers completely and brought the clippers to life. They eagerly chewed up the remaining hair on her mother’s head and Marina could see the scalp in the path left behind. He carefully shaved away the stubble right up to the part he had earlier shaved in with the clipper tips. Now Mother had a patch of inch-long hair on the top front of her head. Father switched off the clippers and ran his hands over, and kissed all the denuded areas of her head. It was patently obvious that her parents were growing oblivious to Marina’s presence. She squirmed as she watched her parents become aroused and made another uncomfortable cough. They snapped alert and smiled at each other.

Marina’s mother ran her hands over her head, the part with hair, and the part without. “Let’s make this a bit shorter shall we?” she said. Her father picked up the comb and scissors and asked what she wanted him to do. She replied that he should comb down the area fringing her brows, just a thin line of hairs, then take the ones behind, and scissor them down to a half inch, the next row to a quarter inch and the next row to an eighth of an inch. Whatever was left could be one sixteenth, or the #1 guard. Watching the loving care with which her father executed her mother’s wishes made Marina think in terms of her own relationships. She was almost 14, and beginning to get interested in boys, but she knew there and then that no boy would be good enough. It had to be someone with whom she could share her own intimacies, her own secret desires.

Marina fingered her own long honey-blond hair. Her mother watched her. “Mine was just like yours,” said her mother, “but now it is just how we want it. Marina, it is important that you always be true to your needs and desires as long as they don’t hurt anyone else. What you do with your life is up to you and we can only guide you to teach you how to make choices. This is my and your father’s personal choice, decided because of our love and trust in one another and the physical thrill it gives us both. May you have that same reconciliation of peace in your own life.”

With that, Marina gave her mother a hug and stood and rubbed her hands over her mother’s head. It felt wonderful. She looked at her Dad. “Can I have a crew-cut?” she asked.

“If it is your choice, if you can deal with the consequences, and if you are doing it because you want to express your inner desires,” replied her father.

Her mother nodded. “Let him finish me first and then I will get you one of my older wigs, one that looks like your hair now, only a bit shorter. That way you won’t have to ‘go public’ before you want to, if ever.”

Marina’s father quickly lathered up her mother and carefully, with the same attention shown earlier, shaved every tiny hair from her mother’s head except for the small patch and bangs. Then he took a small amount of warm oil and rubbed it over her head and kissed her shaved crown. “I adore you bald,” he breathed huskily. “I love being shaved by you,” she returned and they began to hungrily explore one another. Marina knew it would be a while before she would get that crew-cut.

Three days later, Marina decided that it was a good time. She approached her father as he was tidying up the garden. Her mother was bustling about the house cleaning up after a night of visitors. “Dad,” said Marina, “Can you buzz my head today?” He stopped what he was doing and took her inside. As they walked in, Mother looked up and nodded: they seemed to have a secret understanding between them like mind-reading. This always fascinated Marina. Her mother came and slid her hands through Marina’s shoulder-length hair and stroked it. “Come and sit down,” she said, motioning to the chair on the back porch. Marina did and then her father appeared with the array of tools that he had used on her mother. They both asked her again: “Is this what YOU want?” She nodded and her mother went and got the mirrors.

Marina felt the first tug on her hair and heard the schnik of the scissors closing. As it had happened at the back she couldn’t see. Her father picked up another piece of hair and scissored it off about 3 inches from her head. Once he had finished doing this all over, she had a cute and perfect little frame of hair all around her head and face. “I thought you were going to make is shorter?” she said.

“First we have to check your head for moles and other things. If you have some we have to be very careful not to cut them off, or we have to leave some length to cover them. A head full of warts and moles isn’t attractive. Your mother’s head is perfectly unblemished, but mine has lots of moles and I can’t shave mine without risk.”

At that point Marina felt both her mother and father checking over each part of her scalp. “Clean,” pronounced mother. “Let the cut begin!”

Marina breathed in as she heard the clippers leap to life. Her father pushed her chin down to her chest and she felt the steel against her neck. Her father had put on a guard that would cut the hair off to an inch all over and he ran the clippers up her nape and flicked the hair aside. “Comes off like yours, mother!” he exclaimed. Meanwhile Marina was feeling a very new and interesting internal sizzle, deep within her pelvis. She shuddered a little with delight each time her father made a new pass up the back of her head.

She put her head up as he moved to the sides and watched in fascination as he placed the clippers below her temple and drove them upward, flicking his hand at the top of the temple. She watched as he sheared away all the years of growth leaving her with one inch of hair all over. Marina couldn’t resist feeling it. The soft bristles where her honey-blond mane had been. She loved the feel. Both her parents looked on approvingly.

Then her father asked, “And what will we do today, my dear?” just like he asked her mother.

Marina looked at herself, at her mother and, through the mirror, at her father. She shrugged and said, “I think I want a crew-cut but how short should it be?”

“That’s up to you, Marrie,” said her Mom, “but for a first timer, why not just a half inch with tapered sides and shaved hairline.”

Marina agreed and her father changed the blade. Marina watched again as he brought her remaining hair to a half inch fuzz that looked inviting to touch, Her whole face seemed to change and her profile become more featured. Without any hair to hide her delicate ears, nose and eyes, Marina was a real blossoming beauty. She sat there enjoying the feel of the clippers buzzing her head. Soon, Father turned them off and changed the guard again. This was crunch time. No more hair on the sides or the back, just the hint or promise, nothing else. Off came the fuzz leaving a stark whiteness peeping through the tiny furry stubble. Marina gasped when she felt it.

“My heavens! Daddy, there is nothing there, just my head!”

“And a beautiful head it is,” said her father, “but there is hair there, you just can’t see it from your vantage point.”

Her mother brought a second mirror and Marina saw a slight downy fawn shadow from her ears up to where the head began to curve. In the back it was downy fawn up to and just beyond the crown. “Too late to change your mind about this one, eh, Marrie?” Marina sat there looking at her shorn head wondering what all her friends would say when they saw her.

The next stage came as a surprise to Marina. Her father took out a comb and fired up the clippers again. He gently lifted the hair on the top of her head that wasn’t already standing up and sheared it off over the comb. The one inch that had been standing alone against the clipper onslaught began to diminish. Shorter and shorter until Marina saw her father try to actually pick up and tug her hair and couldn’t. “Short enough, Mother?” and she answered with a grin and a nod. With that he proceeded to do the same thing to the entire top of her head. Once it had all been reduced to a vestige of its former self the lathering around her hairline began.

“I’ll do that,” her mother said. “I should contribute something to our daughter’s new look.” Carefully her mother took the straight razor, stropped it and bent Marina’s head to the side. Carefully she shaved around the ears, taking any fuzz from the sideburn area to half way between the ears and crown. She continued around her daughter’s head until the hairline was a half inch higher than the natural line. “That makes it cleaner longer,” said mother, feeling her own baldness and smiling. In the front she eased the hairline back a fraction of an inch to give the high forehead look, wiped the residual foam away with a towel and presented her newly shaved daughter the mirror. Marina sat there speechless. She wasn’t sure if she liked it, but it sure was different. Her mother then gave her a wig to put on, but Marina decided no.

“Mom, you wear a wig for certain reasons. I don’t want to. People will either like me or not and how I choose to wear my hair will have nothing to do with it. I am going to stay natural.” She turned to her father. “Thank you Daddy for doing it, and Thank you Mom for letting me.”

I sat in the coffee shop listening to this tale of Marina and looking at her perfectly symmetrical skull. She had bangs down to her eyebrows but absolutely nothing else anywhere on her head. A fringed billiard ball, she termed it. She was now in her late 40’s and had only ever worn a wig for work. She had become an accountant, and had deferred to the wig for professional reasons, but on the whole, outside of work, it was bare headed. I marvelled at her resilience in the face of stares. I asked her about that. She looked at me and said “Stares? Oh yes, people stare and they even ask me if they can touch my head. I let them. It diminishes their stereotyping. I don’t want to be thought of as ugly, or a skin-head or anything faintly sickly. I want them to know this is a choice and I like my head shaved. You know, since that very first day I saw Mom being shaved I wanted to do it. It has never been longer than a mid-ear bob in all these years.”

At that point two little shaved to the scalp children wandered in and came up to her. “Hi Gran,” they said. I nearly choked.

“Gran?” I said.

“Yup, they are my daughter’s children.” Along came the daughter sporting a very short flat-top and we were introduced.

“Keeping up the family tradition I see?” I said, and Marina smiled.

“If it is what they want,” she said. At that point I felt my own denuded scalp and wondered what other reasons other people had. Marina had certainly opened my eyes to this world of bald-by-choice. My quest had begun.

Thank you ‘Marina’ of Jacksonville Florida for your insight and your reassurance, and for allowing me to tell your story.

Bald and Proud


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