SALLY’S HAIRCUTS A story of how a fetish for hair developed. – Sally Megans
“How it all started …” As a young teen, flirting with the boys, swirling and teasing with a cape of shining blonde hair and my Mom’s solution … a first haircut, with clippers.
I guess it started when I was a very little girl, and, like most us, developed sexually very early (and much earlier than the boys around me!). I used to get very excited about certain things to with dressing, bows in my hair, nighties, panties … and boys!!! My Mom must have been aware of my “early development” as she kept a strict eye (and hand!) on me, and the young boys I flirted with. She always insisted on dressing me very ‘girly’ though – lots of satin, flounces, and those big bows in my hair. I have always been blonde (less so these days – I bleach!) – and I loved my hair, it was thick, very straight and shined. I brushed it a lot, even when only 9 or 10. I seemed to know that it’s bright candle was a draw to the boys, like moths to a flame. So I used it, swirling it around my shoulders as I walked, spilling it over my face when flirting (older now – 12-13), and I developed a quick head turn (back and forth) as I talked. It must have been an attraction – and one my Mom decided I should do without – she was having to beat the boys off too much as it was.
So, one day, she announced … “It’s time we had all that hair cut off.”
I remember how I felt to this day – a cold chill in my loins, terror, the need to cry or flee – I STILL get those same feelings now, whenever I think about getting my head clipped or sit in the Barber’s cold leather chair … DELICIOUS!!
I suppose I ‘acted up’ and made a fuss, I do not remember much else, until I was actually told to sit in the hairdresser’s chair. I did as I was told – (I wonder why now, perhaps I was really, underneath enjoying the experience even that young??). The woman tied a floral sheet around my neck, lifting up the shining, heavy blonde wings of my tresses and spreading them on the sheet around my shoulders. My Mom had been chatting to her about me while we had waited – I guess she explained all the ‘boy trouble’ – anyway, the stylist seemed to know what was expected of hair, and picking up a pair of large shears and a comb, began to crunch her cold scissors across the back of my neck!!!! I cried. She said “Shhhhhhh Sally”, and believe it or not those were the ONLY words she spoke to me during the whole brutal, shearing process.
She had cropped off all my hair across the back of my neck before I even caught my breath, my Mom – to whom I am now very close! – sat looking at me in the mirror rather smugly. I sobbed, saw the scissors come around from the back and open up wide on the thick hank of my hair … then, my eyes full of tears and unable to see, I heard them schnap and crunch around the side of my face. When the stylist moved away, great handfuls of my blonde tresses lay in my lap. I did not look up. I concentrated on controlling my crying and tried to get my breath back as I felt the other side of my hair butchered off.
Then I looked. Ohhhhh … I remember the shock, the cold then hot loins, the gasping and sobbing VERY well. My hair was in two thick planks either side of my face (with wet eyes and a red nose now!) The cropped off ends were thick, bristly and dead straight around my head, just about level with my ear lobes.
I heard the woman ask my mother, “Short straight bangs, did you say, Ma’am??”. Against my fleeting hopes, my Mom agreed, and then turned my bowels to ice with the added comment … “and the BOWL-CUT with the clippers in back please”. Now this was in the late 60’s..er, no..early 70″s … and the idea was little girls (Wails – But I was 13!!) – looked ‘real cute’ with a 20’s depression style of clippered off hair in the shape of an upturned pudding bowl, and big, floppy bows.
This I was not willing to bear, so I struggled up out of that chair, and started to pull off the cutting sheet … I froze – all my beautiful long hair was spilling and slithering off my shoulders, breasts and lap into a glistening heap at my feet. while I was so mesmerized, I received one of those real stinging slaps Moms can do, right across the backs of my bare legs! Pretty soon I was back sitting ‘pretty & tidy’ in that chair!
The woman (no, I don’t remember her name) combed down a thick veil of my hair over my forehead and eyes – it still reached my mouth. I felt the VERY cold steel of the shears slide into this fringe (I could not see through it to the mirror) and settle on my forehead. “About here Ma’am ?”, I heard. My heart stopped when my Mom, pretty cross now I could tell, said to go higher … the shears moved up above my eyebrows!!! No, said my Mom, higher !!! They slid up to nearly the top of my forehead, 1/2″ away from the hairline. As she closed the scissors they began to ‘peel’ off my bangs and, with panting and cold shudders, I actually saw the last inch of my new, high, short, thick, bristly bangs cropped!
My forehead shone pinkly, and my neck (which actually IS very long) looked like a yard long to me … I thought I looked “stupid” and began to cry all over again. The comb banged on my ears as the hair was bullied into a perfectly straight center parting, each thick side wedge of hair shared carefully between the two halves. The high and ‘girly’ fringe made a short, straight line across my forehead, WAY above my eyebrows. When I did my “special head turn” – that used to send my thick blonde mane swirling and flirting around my head … nothing happened. If I tipped my head forward onto my breasts – as the stylist made me do now – two thick hanks of hair flopped onto my cheeks, but that was all. Having pushed my head down so far that I got doubled up chins, the woman began to repeatedly comb and clip my neck hair. The scissors – a smaller, sharper pair I saw later – raced up and down in back of my head. Up & down, clip!! Clip! up & down. My neck was becoming quite sore with the repeated combing, and the cropped off bristles stung and prickled on my neck, face and inside my blouse.
Finally, she stopped, and on instinct, my hand fluttered up to the nape of my neck to seek for the hair that usually nestled there. GONE! Now a harsh humming made me start.
I had seen electric clipper used before, on my brother, and watched, giggling (it was HIS hair) as they peeled him bald in a ‘summer cut’ crew cut. (yes!! Just like I like mine now!).
I nearly screamed aloud when I realized she was going to use them on ME ! Pushing my head firmly down onto my chest again, the woman ran the nibbling cold teeth up, and up into my hair in back. Clumps plopped onto the sheet around me (I saved one) and I felt the air grow cold on my denuded and shaved neck. They buzzed and purred, shearing away the layers she had already cropped up the back of my head, laying my pink scalp open to view.
She switched the horrible things off, my fingers fluttered up to the smoothly bristled nape of my neck … scrabbling at the unbelievable high clippered line of stubble. The sheet was swept off me, Mom collecting one of the longest swatches of cropped blonde tresses, we left the salon. I was cropped, clipper-shaved and sobbing …
“What happened when Sally’s friends first saw her new haircut …” The cruel taunts, a friend who liked it, the arrangements for the brother’s visit to a barbers.
The shock … even by suppertime that night I was still sobbing at odd moments, or when I instinctively tried to do my ‘special head turn’ that usually spilt my long blonde cape swirling around my head, or when I passed a mirror, a pane of glass, or even when someone just looked at me.
My Mom was consoling now, still trying to justify (to herself perhaps ?) one minute it was “… well, you deserved it” and the next “Awww! It looks so cute!”. I did not agree, and kept dashing off to my bedroom, chased by the usual cruel comments from my brother. My Mom heard one, about “shaved head” and blew her stack at him. The row finished with the announcement from Mom that next Saturday was his turn, and it was my brother’s turn to grew afraid – now when he stared at my clippered neck, he was thinking of what his would look like! To help him along I announced “I’ll take him for you Mom.” … now his eyes grew fierce and I enjoyed a moment of respite from my own chilled stomach, red ears and sobs.
I did sleep that night, eventually. My nightmares were a rehearsal for the shocked stares and cruel taunts of my school friends the next day. However; they in no way helped prepare me for how much the teasing so hurt and wounded me. My girl friends were, of course, the worst. The initial girly screams of “AAawwwww! What HAVE you done to your hair!!” turned quickly into supercilious taunting, all quite confidently hissed at me from under their own unviolated manes of hair.
My Dream Guy of the moment, (Junior Varsity team and all) did still acknowledge me with a smile and “Hey Chopped Locks!” that was far kinder than anything anyone else had used, but, I noticed, he did not stop to talk, call me his “pretty lass” as he usually did, or say my new cropped head looked nice. Now I was REALLY low.
One of the girls I was friendly with, not a ‘special’ friend, just one I knew, seemed both horrified AND fascinated by my cropped and butchered hair. Eventually, her courage bolstered by her interest, she asked if she could feel what my clippered, bristly neck actually felt like. Grateful for any kindness and attention, I let her run her cool fingers up my neck, over the rasping stubble and up into the warm weight of the bob. We both liked the sensation, my re-action was to blush, hers to gasp “Oh Sally!”
Her fingers were a balm to my red neck, and to my sore heart. I was pitifully grateful for this attention, and at various times of that first day, particularly when wounded by a snub or bitchy comment from my ‘friends’ I would invite her to “Go ahead, feel the bristles!
The attention was like a caress, and I needed soothing. Now to counter the barbed comments I was retorting that ‘some people’ liked my cropped off hair like this. Sheila, who was our own home-coming queen, in EVERY way – was the cruellest. I guess, (after mine!) hers was the loveliest hair in school. I lusted for a pair of shears to scalp her!
When she saw the bristly neck stroking later that afternoon, she screamed that we were a ‘couple of Lessies!’. The thought stunned me, and, with typical teenage insecurity I blushed deeply and thought that it might be true. I resolved to give up this comfort, (after letting my friend have a few more strokes!) and devise a better defense.
That night, at supper, Mom confirmed the arrangements for me to take my brother to the barber’s on Saturday, and his muttered protests were silenced. My Mom shampooed my hair for me that night, and dried it off a little fluffy … it looked better. However, I was not in a forgiving mood, particularly after a day like that at school, and in an effort to hurt her feelings, I said I did not like it all ‘fussy & fluffy’ and wet it down into the two thick slabs either side of my face.
I even tucked the front behind my ears, making my hair seem flat and close. My Mom was hurt. “Oh no Sally !” she said, “that looks too boyish.” I was quick … and cruel … to retort, “I believe that’s what you wanted??” and from that barb, an idea jumped into my mouth and head that came my ‘new defense’ against the other kids’ cruel taunts.”in fact,” I added, “I like it cropped. I might get it even shorter on Saturday … like my brothers”.
My Mother was really shocked … her face went white, then slowly grim … “That’s fine by me young lady, both of you can get summer cuts, it will save my money and time.” I knew she did not mean it, but I was there and then determined to twist the knife I had so clearly inserted into her guilt, so I heard myself say ” OK, I will.” Now there were two of us pretending that we didn’t care, two posing away … two suggesting and agreeing that I would get my head clippered like a little boy!
Of course, just because I did not mean this wild statement, did not mean that I could not use it to similarly shock the cruel taunters at school … I was determined to use this as a counter and defense, if they continued the jibes. If they had settled down and were kinder to me, that day, then of course I would never had mentioned it again. I put a lot of work into my hair that second morning, trying to get it to look as nice as my Mom had. I wore a big blue bow that she had always liked (It SO matches your eyes Sally!) and went down for breakfast. Mom gave me a slow look, taking in the style that was an imitation of hers, she understood and smiled at me. “Shall I do it like I did last night for you love?” she asked, and I nearly wept with relief. It did look OK when she had finished, and I went to school fairly happy.
That soon tumbled … my happy lift did not last until even the gates … Sheila went by in her Dad’s car and was waiting. When I was within earshot, it started, orchestrated no doubt by Sheila “… here comes the lessie! … why do you need a bow in that??!! … it didn’t grow out then!”. I fought my tears, and was doing well until my Dream Guy, (trying to be kind I now think from maturity’s hindsight) said “Hi Puddin’ Bowl”. I ran inside and we started yet another school day’s grind. By first recess, I had decided it was time to wheel out defense. First shot to Sheila (of course), with a flick at my cropped nape she said it reminded her of a yard brush. This time it was temper, not tears that welled up inside me.
I blazed away with both barrels … “you are only jealous because it suits me”, then the “everybody else likes it” salvo followed by the rehearsed lines of: “… and besides, I like it short so much I am thinking of getting it cut again.” There! It was out … and already I was longing to put it back, the gleam of sheer viciousness on their faces told me what an error this bold plan was!
All day I suffered the taunts, alternating between tears and rage. I tried to hold my own, repeating with increasing bravado that I liked it and was going to get it shorter. The size of my error in adopting this tactic staggered me … from becoming the butt of cruelty of the clique in my grade, I became the scandal of the entire school.
The next two days were exhausting, even my brother heard about it and on Thursday evening he sent shivers of horror up my spine when he announced that he had “… told ’em you were getting it done the same as mine, like you told Mom on Monday.” He had heard me yelling this brave boast then!! … and now it was all round school?? I shook him hard then hissed “What else did you say ??”
He was ‘Mr. Cool” this time, knowing that my shaking of him was from terror, not the usual brother & sister scuffle. He backed away from me, looked me straight in the eye and said “I told them we were both getting ‘summer cuts’ on Saturday.” and left me trembling in my room.