She Said Yes – DoctorB
I met her last year while shopping for a dress for my 20th high school reunion. She worked at the dress shop in the mall and asked if she could help me. I explained my need.
“Yes, I need to find something to drive the men wild and make the women green with envy” I told her.
“Yes ma’am, not that you don’t look gorgeous now,” she said. I was instantly intrigued.
I had been away from home for over 10 years. I went to college locally but couldn’t find a job in my field so I was forced go west which had turned out to be a saving grace for me. My home town is (was) very conservative and my sexual orientation just didn’t fit in, so San Francisco had been exactly what the doctor, my father, ordered.
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My father and I are very close. I had confided to him in high school of my fondness for other women. He took it in his stride and was quite accepting unlike my mother. My father and I have become quite close over the years. “We have something very basic in common,” as he puts it. Anyway I digress.
My stock brokerage position in San Francisco had proved quite lucrative and I was able to strike out on my own to start a ‘women only’ brokerage in my home town. That decision coincided with my 20th high school reunion thus the need for the new dress.
Things in my home town had changed considerably since I was younger. No longer a conservative backwater the place had become rather cosmopolitan. Kids with piercings and tattoos roamed the malls (there were two now where there had been none). The population had tripled in the last ten years alone due to the high-tech industry influx. Quite a few things changed as I was to find out.
She had short blond hair rather like Lisa McCrea from Good Morning America. She was fit, very pretty and rather enjoyed helping me find just the perfect dress. She was very pert and her short hair set her face off beautifully. Her hair was sort of a riot of lengths on her head. I normally don’t like short hair on women but she made it work. Feeling bolder than normal I asked her if she had a break coming and would she like getting a cup of coffee with me. She said yes, told her partner in the back room she would be gone for a half hour. Off we went to the food court.
We chatted for a time about the changes in the old home town and I got a good vibe from her. I told her my name, that I was gay, found her very attractive and wanted to have dinner with her. She smiled and said yes. Her name was Cynthia. It was late April and the flowers were blooming. So was my heart.
Two days later we had our first date. A week later another, then another. By mid-June we were a couple so I introduced her to dad. Dad thought she was great and told me privately that he thought Cynthia would make a wonderful daughter-in-law. That sealed it. I asked Cynthia to move in with me the next week. She said yes. I was in love. It was July.
Over the summer we walked and talked. She, being the outdoors type, took me camping a couple of times. Never having done that I was apprehensive. Cynthia was completely at ease in the outdoors which helped put me at ease. I had a great time. I even tied her to a tree in the woods and made love to her for hours. It was August.
Me not being the outdoors type took her to the nearest large city to see the opera ‘La Boheme’, my favorite. She enjoyed it. We had dinner at fancy restaurant. She tied me to the four poster in our hotel suite and made love to me for hours. It was September
Cynthia’s hair was getting longer as the months passed and her look changed as well. Not in bad way mind you, just different. I liked it. But, I had to admit that her shorter hair did her earthy features more justice. Cynthia is a woman who looks incredible no matter what she wears, be it a Halston gown or hiking pants, pumps or boots, she’s a knockout. It’s just that she looked better with shorter hair.
One night in October I mentioned this to her over dinner. A cloud came over her face. I immediately regretted what I had said. Cynthia took note of my embarrassment. “Listen,” she said, “I cut my hair once a year at Christmas time. If you can wait till then you’ll get a look at the real me.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
Cynthia just looked at me, smiled and said, “Trust me. You’re going to love how I look on Christmas Day!” Her tone reassured me. Her look melted me. I didn’t think anything more of it.
We had dinner with my father on Thanksgiving. As usual he made Cynthia and I feel at home. We had a great meal and talked long into the night about my childhood, my future as a broker and Cynthia’s passion for life.
That night I asked Cynthia if I could shave her pussy. She said yes. We made love well into the next day.
December was consumed with shopping and setting in place the last of my stock market positions of the year. Nearly hundred-hour weeks were killing me. I wanted a relaxing holiday for once in my life so I could devote more time to Cynthia, and two weeks of hell were worth it. I had set up a trust fund for her so that she would never want for anything again. The papers were ready and all I needed to do was package them properly. Tied to a diamond engagement ring seemed to be the best route to take. It was Christmas Eve and I was about to ask the woman I loved to marry me.
That night over dinner Cynthia seemed a little ill-at-ease. I asked what was wrong. “Just a little nervous,” she said. Did she know? Had my surprise been spoiled? It was then that Cynthia reminded me of the conversation we had had months ago about her hair. “Tonight is when I cut my hair, remember?”
“Yes, I remember.” Actually I had forgotten. She stood, took my hand and led me upstairs.
Arranged in the middle of our ‘play room’ were two chairs. One in the middle of a sheet. Next to it an end table covered with hair cutting tools, one of them a pair of electric clippers. Another a straight razor. I looked at her with big questioning eyes. She led me to the other chair. She sat in the one in the middle of the sheet.
What Cynthia said next electrified me. “For the past several years I have shaved my head at Christmas. It is a ritual of mine. Shaving away the old to allow the new to grow. I am going to show you what I really look like, who I really am and why I adore you so much.”
With that she picked up the clippers, turned them on, and plunged them into the hair on her forehead. The effect was amazing. A white patch was left behind in stark contrast to the rest of her head. Over and over the clippers moved, methodical, practiced, serenely. Cynthia’s face was one of inner calm and stoic beauty.
She was down to a very fine buzz and her earthy features were revealed once more. She was again stunning. She was to become prettier still.
Cynthia picked up the shaving cream and spread it over her head. With obviously practiced hands she stropped the razor and began to shave her head clean. Her face stayed calm but filled with concentration as she carefully removed all the lather. She repeated the process again.
I was transfixed. The woman I met in April was gorgeous. The woman I fell in love with in June was beautiful. The woman before me now was simply beyond words. Cynthia stood up, walked over and kissed me. “This is who I am. This is what I am. This is me.” She bent over and I kissed nude skull. I was in awe of her.
“I’ll be right back. I need to rinse this lather off,” she said with a playful grin.
I couldn’t believe what had just happened.
I looked at the hair on the sheet. I looked at the wet spot in the crotch of my dress. I stood, sat down in the other chair and hefted the clippers. Warm to the touch. Alive. She had given me a gift beyond monetary value. I started to cry.
Cynthia returned and mistook the meaning of my tears. “NO,” I said. “I’m overjoyed. Thank you for the gift.” I picked up the clippers, snapped them on and handed them to her. “Please,” was all I said. Cynthia just nodded.
The feeling of the clippers riding over my head was intense. You could hear them as if they were within you. Hair fell on my shoulders and cascaded down my back. The feeling was like feathers. Over and over again front to back they went. The clippers fell suddenly silent. The quiet was in stark contrast to the loud hum in my head.
Next came the lather, warm and reassuring. Cynthia spread it slowly, starting in the middle and expanding outward massaging my scalp as she went. It felt like heaven. The razor tugged a little. The scraping noise also sounded like it came from within. Slowly the lather disappeared leaving a patch of white behind. My head glistened with the leftover wetness. What I was feeling was nothing short of rapture.
Twenty minutes after she began I was bald. I looked incredible. Cynthia kissed my now bald head. “Thank you,” she said. Cynthia looked incredible too. Her long neck revealed, her eyes huge and inviting. Her face calm and warm.
I stood and kissed her as if I had never kissed another soul. I said, “Stay right here!” I ran to the bedroom and grabbed my gift.
When I returned I knelt before my bald goddess, handed her the package and asked her to be my wife. I told her how much what had just happened meant to me. I told her how I felt about her over the past few months. I told her that I loved her. She said, “Yes.”
It’s now April again. Cynthia’s hair looks as it did when we met. I stopped shaving in mid-March and now sport a trendy-looking crew cut length style. The wedding is set for late June. Cynthia has a wonderful dress picked out. I a black gown with a bow tie. My father will give me away. We’ll take a short honeymoon after. The real honeymoon will be over Christmas. My wedding gift to Cynthia? A hand-crafted Damascus steel straight razor with an ivory handle engraved with a message of love. Her gift to me? You should know the answer to that one by now.