HairSnip.com

I was surprised that the boyfriend situation resolved itself after a couple of weeks. I met Martin in a pub when I was out with some of the girls from work and we hit it off almost immediately. He's a similar age to me and has been lovely. So lovely, in fact, that we moved in together after less than two months together. It seemed a bit silly to be running two places and we had so much more spare cash once we had thrown our lot in together.

I know that you would love to hear that I went back to see Orla the next day or week or something, but the truth is that I didn't. I think that Martin was probably to blame for that and we were caught up in the first flushes of love.

He didn't make any mention of my hair for a while and just seemed to accept that his new girlfriend had very short hair. I forgot about it and adjusted my routine to take advantage of the extra time that I could spend in bed in the morning or the extra time before I had to get ready to go out at night.

It was probably six weeks before Martin said that he needed to get a haircut and that was the spark that set off a discussion about hair for the first time.

'What about you, you're getting a bit shaggy?' he said over our cornflakes.

'It's fine' I said, reaching up to run my fingers through it.

'I thought you were a short-haired girl' he replied.

'This is short' I said. 'You should have seen me before I had it cut, there's a long way to go before I get back to that.' It was then that I told him about my visit to Orla and what she had said about a return visit. He let me talk and didn't pass comment beyond the occasional acknowledgement that he was still awake. 

'Well, I'm going anyway. Sure you're not coming?'

'Sure' I said, wondering why I had just wasted my time telling him about one of the oddest but most significant days of my life in recent times.

He left me to do the dishes and went to town on his own. I spent an hour or so sorting things out and then heard him come back in. There were footsteps on the stairs and then his face appeared at the bedroom door. An altered face.

'What brought that on?' I asked, assessing the "new look Martin". Since I had known him, he had worn his hair in the same style, an inch or an inch and a half long, just over his collar. Much of that was now gone in a clipper cut of some description although I wasn't too sure what grade it was.

'I thought I'd go a bit shorter for the summer' he replied.

'That's more than a bit shorter, you're nearly as bad as me' I replied, at once realising the significance of what I had said.

'The woman asked if I wanted it cut with clippers and I thought that I would give it a go' he replied.

'So what number is that?' I asked.

'Four' I think she said, but she did a lot of fiddling about with guards.

'Suits you' I replied.

'Yours suited you' he said.

I smiled at him, thinking back to that day with Orla.

'Thank you' I replied.

'Don't you fancy doing it again?'

'What?' I asked, knowing full well what he meant.

'Going short' he replied.

'I told you, it's fine at the moment. I might get it coloured or something, but the length is ok.'

'What colour?' he asked.

I was intrigued by his persistence.

'I hadn't thought about it that much. What do you think would suit me?'

'Black would be really sexy on you' he replied.

'And you think that I would do that for you, do you?'

He nodded.

'Well, you'll have to wait and see, won't you' I said.

That was the end of our discussions about hair for a while, but I did notice that in bed that night he did pay particular attention to my hair, caressing it and even pulling it. That was a first for him. I have to admit that I also enjoyed caressing his newly shorn head. Perhaps I was getting close to understanding how he came to ask me out that first time.

It was the following Saturday before I could get an appointment at a salon. I didn't even think of going to see Orla and asked my new stylist just to even up the ends rather than take any of the length off. It had grown out well in those three months and after half an hour or so in the salon I was sitting there admiring my new, sleek black tresses. I hadn't told Martin that I was going to pander to his whim, so I was eager to get home to see what he thought.

He wasn't there. "Gone to Dave's" the note on the table said. That wasn't quite what I needed just then, but it did give me time to have a bath and languish with a glass of wine. I was still in the bath when Martin came home. A hand appeared round the door, clutching some flowers. 

'Thank you' I said 'They're beautiful.'

The rest of him followed and his reaction was a joy to see. He had expected me to be the grateful one, fawning over him, but instead it was his turn.

'For me?' he asked.

'For you' I replied.

There are safer situations in which to make love than being dripping wet, just having got out of the bath, bent forward, clutching the edge of the hand-basin, but it seemed entirley apppropriate. In the time that it took me to get out of the bath, Martin had stripped his clothes off and was ready. And when I say '"ready", I mean "ready."

'So you like it then?' I panted as he thrust into me.

He grunted his response and thrust harder.

'I take it that's a "Yes"' I managed.

He confirmed it with a final thrust and then encircled me in his arms. We lay together on the towel on the bathroom floor for ages, Martin stroking my hair, nuzzling me gently. I kissed him and then got up and climbed back into the bath. I climbed out to allow him to get in and started to dry myself. He smiled up at me and blew a kiss. I put my fingers down my throat to show him what I thought of that and as I walked past him on my way out of the bathroom I ruffled his hair and said 'Shorter next time'. I didn't wait for a response or a reaction.

Martin enjoyed the new version of me for a month or so paying less and less attention to my hair as familiarity settled in. Or perhaps it was the ever more obvious re-growth that was putting him off, I thought as I looked at myself in the mirror one morning.

I managed to get into the salon that evening after work and was able to confirm my theory later that night. It was indeed the re-growth that had dampened Martin's interest. Either that, or he was partial to the deep burgundy colour that I now sported. Let's just say that we were both pleased with the result.

Despite my hint in the bathroom, Martin had not got his hair cut again and seemed to be well on the way to growing it back to its former length. It wasn't something that we spoke about, it just happened that way. I took it that he wanted to stay in his comfort zone and that was what he was doing. It was much the same with me. I had my colour touched up every three of four weeks for the next six months or so, going back to black on my most recent trip. I had the ends snipped with each visit, but it was getting progressively longer and was on its way to my shoulders by now.

It had become more and more noticeable that my colour changes weren't really registering with Martin anymore. I still liked them, but I was starting to think that it wasn't worth the expense anymore. Our 'hair thing' would appear to have peaked very early and then fizzled out. It was time for a re-think.

I bought a couple of hairstyle magazines and left them on the coffee table after I had flicked through them. There was nothing much in them that caught my attention, but I thought that I would have another look after dinner. 

Martin came home and called a greeting to me in the kitchen. I shouted back that it would be a few minutes. When I took our food through to the lounge, Martin was glancing through one of the magazines.

'Thinking of a change?' he asked.

'Maybe' I replied. 'What do you think?'

You've got the scope for it now' he replied.'Length-wise, I mean.'

'You can talk' I said.

He smiled.

I motioned to him to eat his dinner.

'Did you see anything you liked?' I asked him after a couple of minutes.

'Nothing to match you, my dear.'

'Not while I'm eating, please!' I begged.

'It's true, there's nothing in there that would get me excited' he said.

Now we were getting down to it.

'That begs an obvious question' I replied.

There was a pause while Martin finished chewing, although I did get the impression that he was dragging it out to give himself time to think.

'I liked you when it was short' he said.

'Fair enough' I said 'does that mean that you want me to cut my hair?'

'Only if you want' he replied.

'And what if I wanted you to cut yours?'

'Just say the word' he replied.

'And you would?'

'It is getting a bit long' he replied.

It was true. He had had a buzz-cut just that one time and then he had gone back to the way that he was before. It was probably my fault for not being a bit more persuasive and clearly he needed a bit more encouragement than me ruffling his hair as I left the bathroom that day.

We changed the topic and spent the rest of our meal swapping work stories.

I cleared away the dishes and went back in to the lounge.

'I thought we could nip in to town for a look. It's late night after all' I said.

He gave me that typical look that only a man can muster when there is the prospect of shopping. To be fair to him, he didn't protest verbally. Well, apart from a very long sigh that is. 

We were in town in a matter of minutes and after parking the car I took his hand and walked towards the shopping mall with a purposeful stride. He sensed that there was no point in resisting and that the sooner I had found what I was looking for, the sooner he could go home. I slowed my pace as we neared my intended destination and then came to a halt. He looked around to see what shop could possibly interest me.

I nodded towards the haidressing salon and he turned his head to follow my gaze.

'No discussion. Not a word. Number one. Now.' I said.

He looked at me and started to open his mouth.

I placed a finger on his lips.

'The spare room isn't as comfortable as it looks and if you're good we'll go and buy something slutty for me to wear, how about that?' I said. He shrugged, keeping to his newly imposed vow of silence.

He walked into the salon and just before he reached the counter, he turned around to look at me, making his best sad puppy face. I waited outside until he had got taken to a styling station and then went in. I sat where I could watch the action and marvelled as the clippers made light work of his hair. It brought back memories of my experience with Orla, it was exciting. I was actually starting to regret my suggestion that we prolong our shopping trip, thinking only of my growing need just to get him home.

He was being brushed, the hairdryer user to banish any rogue bits of hair that were clinging to him in desparation. He got up and came back out to reception where he paid and then came over to me. I hugged him. 'You look gorgeous' I said.

'What about you?' he asked.

'I look gorgeous too, now come on' I said, tugging his arm.

Despite the my growing need, I took him to a store and let him choose something for me, fighting the objections that I would normally raise to one of his choices. It was a fact that I would always choose sexy and pretty whereas he would always choose downright dirty. That evening though, downright dirty suited me just fine. I took a long, hard look at the assistant's face, trying to commit it to memory in case I was ever back in that department. There was no way that I would want her to remember me as the slut that she clearly thought I was for buying that outfit!  

Suffice it to say that we went straight home. I went upstairs to put on my new outfit, what there was of it anyway. Martin opened the wine and the rest I shall leave to your imagination.

Over the coming days I got used to Martin with his shorter hair and he certainly seemed to be happy enough with it. He took obvious pleasure in my rubbing his head when we made love, but made no comment about it beyond the occasional expression of pleasure at the appropriate time.

With Martin's birthday fast approaching I decided to make his present myself. I waited for him to go to the pub one evening and then took to the PC. I made him a little card to insert into his proper birthday card. I gave it a border of hearts and in the middle I wrote simply 'ORLA 0778 56325'. I would see how much he remembered about I had told him and wait and see what he chose to do with it.

Martin's birthday fell on a Tuesday and I could see him at breakfast looking around for clues as to what I had bought him. He found a book that I had got for him quite quickly and was resigned to that being his only present since I didn't give any indication that there was more to come. 

'What no card?' was the best that he could muster faced with the evident lack of gifts.

'Sorry, I almost forgot' I said and got up to fetch his card from the drawer.

'Happy Birthday!' I said handing it over. I kissed him as he took it.

'Thanks' he said, turning it over to open it.

As he opened it, my little insert fell out. He looked at the message inside the card and then bent down to pick up the oblong piece of card that had fallen out. He read it, his expression not changing.

'I was hoping for a day test-driving a fast car on a race-track or paintballing or something' he said.

'You could do that if you want' I said. 'Anyway, I have to run' and with that I got up and went to work.

When I got home that evening there was no mention of the card and nothing over the coming days either. It was not until almost two weeks later when Martin appeared eager for us both to go shopping that there was any clue.

We had looked half-heartedly in a couple of shops under the pretence that he wanted to buy me "something nice", but wanted to respect my wish that he not buy clothes for me unaccompanied by a responsible adult.

It did not take long for his plan to become obvious, because he was even more impatient than normal in the shops that he had led me to and we were getting progressively closer to Orla's salon. He was holding up a totally unsuitable dress for me and I told him to put it back.

'What time is the appointment?' I asked.

'I've been rumbled' he said with a grin. I nodded.

He looked at his watch and told me it was in five minutes.

'We'd better go and get your belated birthday present then, hadn't we?' I said, taking him by the arm.

'What took you so long?' I asked as we walked.

He turned to me and wagged his finger.

'Oh no, no questions. My present, I get what I want!' he said.

'Okay' I said, nodding at his new-found assertiveness.

He opened the salon door and let me go in first, but he then overtook me and went up to the receptionist.

'Hi' he said 'Ann Hunter, for Orla.'

I looked at the receptionist and said 'Actually, I'm Ann Hunter' immediately regretting my weak humour. The receptionist smiled politely, but then appeared relieved as Orla came into view. She hadn't changed in the time since I saw her last, still immaculately turned out, hair still perfectly groomed.

'My, that was a long two weeks, and look at you, all long and black' she said, reaching up to touch my hair.

'Hi Orla, I've been busy' I replied.

'So I see' she said, looking at Martin.

'Oh, sorry, this is Martin' I said.

'And Martin's come to keep you company?'

'It's his birthday treat' I said.

'Happy Birthday' she smiled.

He nodded his thanks.

'So, Martin, grab a seat, find something to read and I'll have her back to you in no time' she said.

'I thought I..' he started to say.

'Only people who are having haircuts get to come into my lair' she replied.

'I'd like to watch' he said softly.

'Okay' she said and indicated to us both that we should move into the salon.

She settled me into a seat and pulled up a spare for Martin. The gown went around me.

'I see you've been experimenting a bit' she said.

'Yeah, that was Martin who prompted that and I just stuck with it' I replied.

'And grew it out too' she said, her words mingling with the sound of the clippers that she had just turned on.

That was it, no further comment, no reference to me or Martin, just the clippers across the top of my scalp. No guard and now no hair.

'You remembered' I said, using the mirror to look at Martin. He was captivated.

'Oh yes, I was looking forward to it and then you made me wait all this time' she replied, cutting strip after strip across my scalp. I closed my eyes, intent on enjoying the sensation, happy that Martin was happy. The clippers caressed my head as they moved, from the crown round to the sides and then the back. It was over all too soon, the clippers fell silent and I was left to admire my virtually hairless scalp. There was no light dusting of stubble or the hint of any length on top like last time. This was it and I was surprised at the difference that a few millimetres could make. I turned my head to Martin so that he could see. His eyes went from me to the lengths of black hair lying all around me. He grinned his "happy grin".

Orla had busied herself while we were staring at each other like lovesick teenagers. I heard the canned squirt and then felt the foam on my scalp as she smoothed it over my skin. I closed my eyes again. Orla was silent while she shaved me, taking her time, stroking me gently with the blade. The fact that she had finished was indicated by gentle rubbing with a towel. I sighed quietly and smiled at myself in the mirror. That was it, I had done it, and this time it wasn't just for me.

'Enjoy that?' she asked. I nodded. She looked at Martin 'How about you?' she asked him.

'Definitely' he replied.

'How about you, Orla.' I asked.

'Loved every minute of it' she replied, unfastening the gown at my neck.

'Hang on a sec' Martin said. Orla paused.

'Since it's my birthday..' he said. We both waited. 'Could you do her eyebrows for me?' he said, looking at Orla and steadfastly avoiding looking at me.

Orla raised her own eyebrows, first at Martin and then at me. She said nothing.

'Where has that come from all of a sudden?' I asked. It was his turn to pause.

'I did a bit of research on the internet and it looked interesting' he replied slowly.

'There's a lot of stuff you can see on the internet, but that doesn't mean that you have to do it too' Orla said.

'It was a girl with a shaved head and she'd done her brows too, it looked good, that's all' he said, attempting to justify himself.

'You're sure?' I asked him, making a mental note to talk to him about his "internet research."

'My last birthday wish' he said.

'You've no idea how close to the truth you are' I replied and turned back to face the mirror.

'Sure?' she asked.

'The things we do for men' I replied, conspiratorially.

I heard the squirting sound of the can again and then closed my eyes as Orla's foam-laden hand approached my face.

I was amazed at the ease with which she rendered me browless. Two or three strokes of the razor and I was transformed.

'Now that will take some getting used to' I said as I assessed Orla's latest handiwork in the mirror.

'It looks good on you' she said in an attempt to reassure me.

'What you expected?' I said, turning to Martin.

'Not really, because I didn't think that you would do it' he said.

I slapped him on the arm, playfully I think, although I would have to wait until I got home to see whether I was in the mood to be playful or not.

'Come on birthday boy, your turn' Orla said as I got out of the chair.

Martin sat down slowly, his eyes fixed on me. He smiled nervously. I just smiled, torn between looking at Martin and looking at myself in the numerous mirrors dotted about the salon. 

Orla flicked the switch on the clippers and peeled off Martin's hair expertly. I marvelled at how little overlap there was on the swathes that she cut; she would have been hard-pressed to make her actions any more efficient. In little over a minute the clippers were silent once more and being put back on the shelf. Orla didn't ask Martin if he wanted her to razor shave him and I could tell from the change in his posture in the chair that it wasn't something that he wanted. Nevertheless, he sat there and allowed her to spread the foam over his scalp, her fingers moving a little more slowly now than was really necessary. Perhaps Orla sensed his unease too and was trying to calm him down. Or maybe she was just trying to tease him, I don't know. Even if it wasn't turning him on, it was certainly having an effect on me.  

Orla turned to me and smiled as she started to shave him. Her movements were smooth and practised, and I tried to decide whether I found it more of a turn-on to watch him being shaved or to be shaved myself. There was too little between the two to be conclusive.

She finished with Martin and wiped his head with the towel.

'So, eyebrows too?' she asked him.

'Er..' he started.

'Leave them this time' I said to her, taking pity on him. After all it was not so long ago that he had been practically frog-marched to the mall to get his first 'number one'. I could see the relaxation spread through his body as Orla whisked the gown off him. He rubbed his head and looked at me a little sheepishly.

'Let's get you home' I said.

'Are you sure you two will make it that far?' Orla said with a leer.

I could feel myself blush.'

'That obvious?' I asked.

She nodded. 'I'm just jealous' she said.

'You know what you have to do to join our club' I said.

'I'm not sure that my husband is ready for that yet' she answered.

'The shaved head or the swapping?' Martin said a little too fast.

'Either' she answered, not smiling quite as much as she had been.

'Ask him, see what he thinks' Martin added, not quite knowing when to stop.

'Martin, if you value your eyebrows, you should stop now!' I chastised.

I turned to Orla. 'I'm sorry Orla, too much internet research, obviously!' I said, trying to re-capture the lighter atmosphere.'

'Don't worry about it' she replied. 'There's no way my hubby would go for the headshaving thing' she said.

I could see Martin about to fall into the trap that Orla had set for him and raised my finger. 'Just don't!' I said playfully. Orla laughed.

'Well, folks, I think that's all you need from me. I'll let you get on' she said.

'Thanks so much, Orla, I'll make sure it's a bit sooner before I come back next time' I said.

'You know I'll keep you short if you do' she said.

'I don't think I'd want anything else now' I said and hugged her. I took one last look at myself in the mirror, pleased now with my unusual appearance, and reached out to take Martin's hand. 'Make sure you pay the nice lady' I said to him. He pulled a face and bent to kiss the top of my head. I couldn't think of anything nicer at that moment. Not in public anyway!

We went home and did what you expect us to have done. Twice. The question now is "Will we be back for more?" I think that in Martin's case, the answer is "no". I don't think that he was comfortable with the comments that he drew from his work-mates. On the other hand, he said that if I ever went to a hairdresser other than Orla, that he would leave me.

It's about for weeks since our joint session with Orla. I'm booked in with her again in about half an hour. I've been trying to decide what to do about my eyebrows, but I think I'll just leave that up to Orla. But then it's fairly obvious what the outcome of that strategy will be, isn't it?

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