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Impatient Results Part 2 of 2 by Lavro
Impatient Results Part 2 of 2
A True Story
I felt like a different person. My hair was short and spikey. I was in my first serious relationship with a man, Hayden, who just strived to do right. Looking back, we were obsessed with each other, inseparable. Our friends found us disgustingly annoying. Anything that didn’t involve being together seemed mundane or pointless. We were erotically charged. He would randomly touch the back of my head or tease the short hairs on top just to get a reaction from me. After that first haircut, he just seemed to understand, not completely, but enough to show his efforts.
Having shorter hair also meant that it appeared to grow back quicker. Within a couple weeks the hairs were tickling my ear again, and the clean squared neckline was fuzzy and disorderly. A couple of weeks more, and I looked nearly like a sloppy version of my old self, finding comfort in the vague familiarity, and renewed fear at the potential loss of it. I wondered if I could convince Hayden to clean it up, but not go so heavy with the clippers? He pulled off a reasonable haircut by luck the last time, though his temper almost got the better of him.
Meanwhile, his hair seemed almost to not change, the same wavy/curly mop that grew both wild and contained somehow, growing into eternal vortexes at the end of long wavy locks. What did change was his frustration with it. As we transitioned to spending every night together, I began to notice the subtlety of his impatience. It needed to be just-so, or he would be frustrated. He always complained that it was too thick, too frizzy, or too poofy, or too long. It was never right to him, regardless of how good I though it looked.
Hayden also had a touch of noticeable jealousy. Not in the unattractive way, but a kind that picked up on things. He quickly noticed my inability to stop myself from staring at guys with buzzcuts. I would catch him glaring at me whenever one was around. He was keenly aware of my irresistible attraction to them. On one particular circumstance while we were walking around the mall, a fairly attractive guy about my age walked past us, his hair buzzed short enough to show scalp. I was mesmerized, and Hayden noticed, a flare or irritable jealousy igniting.
"You want a buzzcut? I’ll give you one," he said to me, firing up all of my nerves. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. Despite every single obsessive urge in me that wanted a buzzcut, I was enjoying the comfort of the spectacle. Besides, my hair was growing back, and I was feeling more like myself again.
He was not shy to make those sorts of comments, always studying me for a reaction, learning to work me up in this foreign world of haircut kinks. He let me play with his hair as much as I wanted, which was a lot, and never seemed bothered by it as long as I put it back into place. When I would run my fingers through it, tenderly straightening it out, it was easily eight to ten inches long. It seemed his patience had run out entirely at random. Back at my place on an early Friday evening, in the bathroom getting ready to take a shower together, he was ready.
"I’m ready for you to cut it," he told me abruptly, standing there in his underwear.
"Hell yeah. I’m tired of this mess."
"You mean, right now?" I was getting excited.
"Yeah, why not?" he said with some confidence.
"What are you thinking?"
"Just take some of the length off," he leaned in looking at himself with some disgust. "I want to keep it longer though. I definitely want you to use those thinning scissors on me. I am so sick of this crap."
He was quick to move away from his self-evaluation to grab the same folding chair he sat me in a month before. I scrambled excitedly to get the scissors, comb, thinning shears, even the Oster 76 and the guards, unsure if I would need them or not. By the time I had laid them over the countertop, he was already seated behind me, facing the mirror.
"I think you need a cut too," he said grinning up at me, which immediately made me blush a vibrant red. "Maybe another time, if you’re not ready," he winked.
"Don’t do that to me," I under exaggerated my reaction slightly, but was filled with intense relief. "Do me a favor, get your hair wet."
I was doing it. I was finally going to cut his hair. It was not as tantalizing a thrill as being barbered by him, but I was nonetheless excited to chop off some of those curls and get him back into shape. I watched him turn on the sink and lean in, his dry and fluffy hair flattening out and darkening under the water. As he did this, I grabbed a towel and walked behind him. Once his head was thoroughly soaked, I gently wrapped it in a towel and guided him to the chair, delicately drying his long locks. After a moment it was perfectly damp, ready to be cut.
"Can I take it off you neck and ears?" I asked, knowing he would lose a lot.
"Go ahead," he was ready to go with the flow it seemed.
Unlike Hayden, who just brazenly clippered my hair without a thought the first time he ever cut a guy’s hair, I slowly and meticulously combed through his hair at the back. Taking the glimmering scissors, I slid them under the damp, loose curls at the level of his neckline, took a deep breath, then closed the scissors, snipping through the collar length hair. The wet locks fell to his exposed shoulder, clinging to it as I continued to cut them off, combing then cutting, then combing then cutting. They all fell to his neck and shoulders, plastering themselves to his body as if not wanting to let go. But it was too late for them despite their futile hopes.
I kept going with the scissors across the entire back of his neck, euphoric satisfaction swelling within me. My pace quickened as I continued around, tilting the scissors upward at an angle, and taking off the hair behind his ear flush with his natural growth line. It took several layers of cutting to get through the thick growth, before revealing pale skin untouched by the sun. I bent the top of his ear forward, cutting off every single lock of hair between the back of his ear and his sideburn, including the ends of the long top that hung down over the side of his head. He raised his eyebrow at the sight of so much hair falling to his body, but never flinched.
"That’s maybe a bit shorter than I expected but it’s ok," he said with some humor in his voice. "Better than it was."
I just smiled at him in the mirror as I continued my task, snipping off any overhang and more. His hair began to dry as I worked, the curls returning slightly from their wet, weighted down version. Anything that curled, I cut as if I were scratching an itch, piece by piece, and onto the other side. I cut all of the overhang off of his sideburns too, slowly debulking his wild mane, until the sides looked much cleaner, and much tighter, but still not remarkably short. For the top, even less damp now, I drew it up with a comb. Running my fingers through where I was combing, I held more than two inches above them to cut.
"How’s this?" I asked, not wanting to go too crazy.
"A little more," he insisted. I combed through again, a full three inches held above my fingers, bending forward slightly. "Perfect."
I sliced through the hair, still leaving at least five or more inches of length on top for him. Due to countless hours of watching haircut videos, I knew my way around a head of hair, unlike Hayden who haphazardly botched the top of my head. I drew up the next section, using the one I just cut as a guide, and cut the same amount off. Piece by piece, I cut the top down until I got to his fringe. Just for a moment the thought of vengeance crossed my mind. I could cut it uneven, having to cut it shorter and shorter until he didn’t have much of a curly mop left at all. The thought followed me to the point of drawing a section of his bangs between my fingers, though I snipped the appropriate amount off. Less even, leaving the fringe longer so he could keep a bit of his flow. A few more snips, and his bangs fell, resting well below his eye. Hayden looked sharp, trimmed, neat, even as his hair was nearly completely dry, and the top began to swell in loose curls.
"Ok, thin this s**t out please," he said taking the scissors from me and handing me the thinning shears.
I set to work, grabbing large chunks of his hair, and using the toothed blade to severely reduce the bulk of his hair. Every few snips I would comb, releasing large wads of loose hair, again and again until I was satisfied with my work. In fact, Hayden looked more attractive than ever. I set the thinning shears down, running my hands through his hair now, feeling turned on, having lived a moment I had been fantasizing about. I ruffled his hair until it fell into place.
"You mess with it and see if I need to make any adjustments," I said, wanting to make sure he was satisfied. "I’ll get the broom to clean up."
I was gone for no more than twenty seconds, returning to the bathroom to find Hayden aggressively taking the thinning shears to the top of his head, a grin on his face as if satisfying some impulsive irritation. Massive chunks of dry hair fell all around him as I set the broom down and stepped closer to him.
"Babe, I wouldn’t" I started before he cut me off.
"It’s just too damn thick," he wasn’t listening to me.
I watched in excited awe as he grabbed his whole, thick fringe, and closed the thinning shears on them high on his forehead, once, twice, three times. He shook his head slightly to release the loose hairs. I saw the color in his face drain to pale white as he passed the comb through his hair for the first time, balls of long hair accumulating in the comb, including several thick locks of his fringe, thinned too much, revealing small patches in his hairline. He stared at himself for a moment before frantically using his hands to push his hair to cover the spots. More hair fell as he did this. He looked at me in shock.
I approached him putting a calm hand on his shoulder. I assessed the damage. Hayden got what he wanted. The top was absolutely thin now. Thin. Patchy. A complete disaster. As he studied himself and my own reaction, his pale complexion began to turn red. He looked ridiculous.
"Hayden, I hate to say it, but we are going to have to use the clippers on this." I didn’t hate to say it. He shouldn’t have done that.
"What do you mean? You can’t fix it?" that subtle irritation of his was more than evident now.
"I can’t believe you did that… you shouldn’t have done that." It was, frankly, almost funny to me.
"Well yeah, I know that now!" some anger. "Whatever. I don’t care. I guess we have to cut it off." He let out a frustrated sigh.
"Hey, babe, relax. You are going to look awesome, ok?" I reassured him as I eagerly plugged in the clippers. "What guard do you want?"
"I have no idea. I was just guessing last time, and I don’t even remember what I used."
"Well, the damage is pretty bad… I can do a #2, but that’s pretty short," I suggested.
"Fine. Do it."
"Are you sure? I’m telling you; it’ll be short…"
"Just do it, please," he interrupted again.
Despite the situation and his unfortunate frustration, I still found immense joy in the sound of the clipper guard snapping on, and the machine humming to life in my hand. This was going to be very short, and I wasn’t convinced that he actually knew it. I had never given a buzzcut before. Where do I begin? Impulsively, I placed the Oster 76 against his forehead slightly off center, where pieces of his thinned fringe dangled, and began running the clipper over the top of his head, front to back.
"Dude, no!" his reaction came at only half the pass of a clipper, leaving a trail of longer stubble as I worked to buzz a whole section on top of his head to a #2. "Why is that so short?!"
"You said to do this," I protested, continuing the slow stroke of the clippers, and dumping large piles of hair on him.
This was necessary. Maybe we could have spared him some length. Maybe we could have started with a #4 or a #5. But he did this to himself. I ran the clippers up the sides, taking all the bulk off. I moved back to the top, against the forehead, a few precise strokes across his entire front hairline, and his thin fringe was gone, no longer covering his red forehead. I could feel he was not happy, as I glided the clippers over the top of his head over and over. I noticed him see my unconcealable smile.
"When I’m done, you’re next," his tone was serious.
"What?" No. Please, no.
"You think I’m joking? If I’m looking like this, so are you."
That can’t be… he wouldn’t. Would he? I decided to take it slower. Maybe he will calm down. He can’t actually make me do anything, and there was no way he was buzzing my hair. I looked at his head as I worked to clear off anything more the tiny bristles left from the clipper. My hair cannot be cut that short. No way. There was almost nothing there after the clipper passed. It only took a couple more minutes to finish giving Hayden his buzzcut. I ran over everything one more time to make sure it was all even. A knot has formed in my stomach.
"This looks so good," I told him. The sensation of touching his buzzcut was electrifying. "Come on, let’s shower."
Hayden rose from the chair, but not to shower. He never looked at himself or ran his hand over his fresh cut. He grabbed my arm in one hand, the Oster 76 in the other. He pulled me firmly, though not aggressively, and made me sit in the chair in front of the mirror, my shaggy, scared, and aroused self looking back at me. Behind me, my boyfriend stood menacingly with a short buzzcut and a powerful set of clippers.
"Hayden, please don’t." I tried to get up, but he pushed me back down. I could have fought harder. I could have run, but I was paralyzed with excitement.
It was only a flash of a second before Hayden ran the clippers is a big diagonal sweep across the top of my head, starting in the front corner and ending at the back. I felt the hair mass between my sweaty back and the chair, before Hayden did it again, peeling the hair away from my head front to back again, dumping it on my neck and shoulders. I stared in awe as the clippers ate through the top half of my head, leaving a mere shadow for a hairline that clashed against my fringe. I didn’t have time to react. I could hear the blood pumping in my body, in a near state of shock, the only sensation was the rough clipper on top of my head and the brutal sound it made as it ate through my hair. Everything else was silent.
Hayden was smiling now, continually running the clippers over my hairline, chipping away at the bangs until my forehead was completely exposed, hair amassing in my lap and on the floor. He pushed my head down, chin into my chest, running the clippers up the back. On the floor, his whole head of curls danced around my feet. I could tell the difference between his hair and mine, even if all of it was on the floor. I tried to look back at myself but felt him force my head down again. The clippers glided over my neck and crown, meeting with the devastatingly short hair on top. I realized it only then that I was getting a severe buzzcut, for the first time in my life, against my request, without any power to resist.
It only took a few more moments for him to take it off the sides and clean up the neck and ears. Hayden powered off the clippers and stared at me in the mirror. I was speechless. Numb. I couldn’t focus on him and how excellent he looked with a clean buzzcut, because I was focused on myself and how bad I looked. My whole image was now face, and nose, and eyes. My hair was nothing more than a suggestion, and there was nothing I could do to change that. Hayden started to rub my head, bringing me back to reality. He brushed the remains of my hair off my lap, his fingers searching and finding what was evident in my underwear. He turned to the mirror again, rubbing his own head now, then mine again.
"Yeah," he said, slowly running his hand from my exposed forehead across the top of my bristly head, "you’re definitely keeping this."