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Something Different by burrlypup

November 2005

My hands were near frozen and I faced another night sleeping under a tree. I began to walk back to the diner where I had set up during the day, charging my phone, eating and washing up. After a week on relying on peoples kindness, I realized the days of my carefree existence were numbered as I was stranded just outside of Seattle. As I lit up a cigarette, a felt a soft hand flick my lighter finger away. As I looked up, I saw a thing of beauty staring directly at me: about five foot-seven, perfectly symmetric face, red hair in a short ponytail, light green eyes and a smile that lit up this depressing diner in the middle of nowhere. She exuded the confidence of a woman of 40 but looked about 30. Then, I saw her military ID visible on the cardholder of her wallet.

"Was that you holding up the sign down highway 1?" She asked.

"Yeah, I'm heading down to San Diego." I responded.

"That's a long ride, but it's on my way. Pack up your things, I'm leaving once I finish my coffee." She said softly, then gulped down her mug and got up.

"Great! I can chip in for gas." I offered. Truth be told, I have money and could fly anywhere I want, but I enjoy the free spirit life and meeting people.

"I just like to help a fellow human being out, just don't try anything creepy. I can and will whoop your butt if need be." She said as she winked. She introduced herself as Jane. I was glad that I showered earlier that day as she gave me a sniff over, and I suppose I passed muster as she unlocked my side and soon we were miles away, but still two days driving from our destination. Around 6am, we stopped in Oregon for the night and I offered to pay for a room. She agreed as long as it was two beds and not a sleazy motel.

Just as we were about to settle in after I took a hot shower, I noticed Jane set up a chair and with scissors and a comb - and clippers.

"Come have a seat," she urged me to come over.

"What's this about?" I asked, confused.

"Looks like you could use a trim. No pressure. I was a hair stylist before I joined the marines, so it's nice to use my talents when an opportunity arises." Jane explained.

"Sure, sounds good." I responded as I took the seat, still naked other than the towel wrapped around my waist. I hadn't worked out in about a week, so I felt fat from eating junk food all week, but as I looked down I had to admit I was looking pretty ripped for being 35.

"You have really great hair - it's so thick." Jane almost gushed as she ran both hands through my shoulder length, light brown hair. She played with it for a while, which was very pleasurable for me. Without a word, she began combing it straight down and I could feel the ends reach my shoulder blades. She began snipping and layering. The longest bit cut off was about an inch. She trimmed my beard to half an inch with her clippers, then trimmed it so it was neat around the edges. She used a smaller pair of clippers to trim my neckline. Her body heat felt heavenly as she leaned over me and I was happy the towel hid my excitement.

"All done, why don't you take a look?" She said, admiring her work. I got up and walked into our hotel bathroom. It looked pretty amazing, especially her work on my beard. Though for just having it trimmed, my hair looked long - ridiculously long. Having it cut, or more appropriately, trimmed, made me almost self-conscious about how it looked.

"It looks great Jane, but would you mind taking it shorter?" I almost didn't know the words, they sounded cold and unfamiliar.

"Of course not, would you like me to cut off another inch?" She asked. I ruminated over the idea, the question of how much was enough? Was it really a matter of an inch? I hadn't had a proper haircut in years, so numbers and inches seemed irrelevant. I just wanted to look different. As I pulled my hair down and thinking about how stagant I felt, I found myself open to having it all cut off.

"I'm thinking very short." I said, no hesitation, confidently.

"How short?" She asked, running her fingers through my hair as I sat down.

"My dad wore a flattop. Can you cut a flattop?"

"Sure can, friend." Jane nodded as she picked up her scissors. Soon, my long hair was gone - reduced to a about an inch all over. My head felt lighter and my neck cooler. Jane began clipping my nape and buzzed upwards, repeating around my head until the sides were buzzed down to what felt like a soft velvet. Then she cut the top, using a comb to cut it level as I'd seen my dad cut his hair when I was a child. She tapered the sides after trimming the top perfectly flat.

Her soft hands felt amazing running over what she called the 'landing strip', on the top of my head where the hair is cut closer to the scalp. I remember my dad again, asking him why he cut a bald spot into his otherwise thick head of hair. He would just tell me 'it's part of the haircut son' as he clipped the strip shorter. I recall one summer he even lathered the strip and shaved it and the sides of his head as smooth as his face! He leaned over and let me feel it. I thought it was so cool. I felt hot bare clippers on my neck, snapping me back into the present. Then I realized I had been reminiscing for a while and had mindlessly given the okay for Jane to go shorter. And shorter. I reached up and felt the back of my head - instead of that soft velvet, my hands brushed against stubble all the way up to my crown, over it I still felt the stubble all the way as my palm stroked the landing strip. Then the clippers fell silent.

"Well, can't get much shorter than that, Buddy." Jane smiled as she rubbed my shorter than expected flattop. I enjoyed how tactile she was. I got up and began cleaning up my shorn hair from the floor while she showered. I admired my new flattop in the bathroom mirror - I HAD GOTTEN SCALPED! It looked so extreme, but it looked and felt right. I couldn't get over how good it felt to have short hair.

"Can you hand me the shaving kit on the dresser?" Jane called from behind the shower curtain. I cleared my throat, holding the shaving gel and razor past the shower curtain, so she was out of view. Instead of taking the items, she tugged on my arm and slowly pulled me into the shower. I let my towel drop off as I entered.

"Just figured you needed to rinse off before bed," Jane smiled as she soaped me up. I stared straight into her eyes, smiling, as not to be tempted to ogle her nakedness.

"You can look but you can't touch." She told me playfully, shooting shaving gel into her palm, and lathering her legs which she shaved in front of me. She was incredibly sexy and it was impossible for me to hide my arousal.

I rinsed off and excused myself. As I dried off, I was amused by how much hair I'd lost, but so glad it only took 5 seconds to dry my new haircut. I reached up and couldn't believe how good it felt.

I slipped into bed and was falling asleep when I felt the covers lift and felt Jane's warm body drape over mine. Her smooth legs felt heavenly as she wrapped them around my waist. She rubbed my shorn head, focusing on the landing strip, where, incidentally her hand would be for the rest of the trip as we drove. She held onto me tight as she fell asleep and I was happy - euphorically happy - for the first time in years. I was a free spirit and Jane felt kindred, yet complex in her own way.

After we slept, there was no awkwardness. She threw me the keys.

"You're driving today, I'll be taking in the breeze and sun." Jane told me, winking and throwing her duffle bag over her shoulder.

"As you wish." Was my response as I rubbed my landing strip, taking one last look at the pile of hair that filled the waste bin, as I shut the hotel door.

We were crossing into California after spending a few hours in comfortable silence. Every so often I glanced over and our eyes met, we both smiled. It was that comfortable silence you feel with close friends. And we met barely 12 hours prior. Her soft hand gently rested on my nape, migrating to the top of my head frequently to rub the strip. And then it was over. We reached San Diego.

"Well, we're here." I announced as I parked the car in my sandy driveway, overlooking the ocean next to my beach house.

"This is your house?" She asked, surprised and taking in the views.

"Yeah, would you like to come in?" I replied, and she nodded yes. A few hours later, I had her under my arm as we watched the sunset over the ocean. Of course, I had to explain why I was hitchhiking when I had so much money. I still don't think she gets my reasoning, but I justified it by saying that I've been searching but I think I've found what I needed.

"You can stay the night. I'd like it a lot. And I promise I won't try anything creepy."

"Sure, let me grab my bag. I need a long hot shower and you better be in it," Jane smiled as she made her requests. We spend the next day together and said goodbye the following morning to ship off to Iraq.

JULY 2007

I hadn't heard from Jane in months. Early on it was easy to call or video conference. Even in war she looked beautiful. I was doing pull ups on my patio when I heard a truck shut off behind me. I looked back and there she was, head to toe in her marine attire, yet beautiful as when I last saw her. She jumped out of her truck and we ran for each other, kissing for what seemed like hours.


"Guess you didn't care much for the short hair?" Jane asked as she ran her fingers through my grown out locks, stroking my chest with her other back as we lay in bed.

"It's a lot of work, and I couldn't find a barber who can cut a flattop nearly as good as you. My hair is yours to do with as you please." I offered up. Later in the day, after letting Jane rest up and making her dinner, she called me from the master bathroom. She set up her clippers and beckoned me towards her as she sat on the edge of my tub.

"Any requests?" She asked, pawing at my hair that now almost reached my shoulders.

"Short," I told her.

"How short?" She asked.

"Short as you can, ma'am." I played back.

"Don't call me ma'am, unless you want to end up bald." Jane told me.

"Yes, ma'am!" I shouted, and smiled.

Five minutes later, Jane had clipped my head bare, everything down to an even millimeter. As she drew a bath, she soaked my buzzed head and lathered it up. We soaked in the bath together as she shaved my head. I loved the flattop, but this level of attention sent chills down my spine. Her every stroke of the razor felt divine. After she rinsed my freshly shaved head, she leaned back and let her breasts cradle the back of my scalp as I leaned back. She kissed and rubbed my head until our finger tips started to get wrinkly from being in the water for so long. We made love for the first time that night. After a year of proper dating and getting to know one another, I proposed to Jane and she accepted. Seven years later, we have two sons and she's long finished with her eight years in the service.

I wore a flattop for the last three years, and my son Chad asks why I shave the top, and I tell him, 'It's just part of the haircut', and I let him rub the landingstrip just as I rubbed my fathers. Now, I made a mistake last week and the flattop is gone. I called Jane ma'am and the next time she cut my hair, she sent my flattop to the floor in three clipper strokes, and had my head smooth as glass in under five minutes. She rubbed my head and something clicked, and every night before bed for the last week she's shaved my head for me, after which we make out like rabbits.

I think she wants a baby girl.


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