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On complete Impulse by M

I have shaved my head once before, when I was a senior in high school. However, I let it grow out because I didn't think I'd ever want to be bald again. I liked it, and after letting it grow out I was tempted to shave it again, but I never followed my urge to do so, mostly because my girlfriend at the time liked my hair the way it was. We dated for three years, but then we broke up about six months ago. Oh yeah, I'm a year out of college, if that's relevant to anything.
Where was I?

So last week, I woke up feeling like I needed change. A change in something. But I wasn't sure what. As I ran my fingers through my hair, the idea of shaving my head came to mind. Nah, I shouldn't do it, I thought. My hair looks great. But still, this random desire to change something about my appearance prevailed, and because a drastic haircut was what first came to mind, it is the idea that stayed.

Stayed isn't so appropriate a term. The idea of shedding my hair crowded my thoughts, but I was too hesitant to do anything. A shower will clear my head, I thought. I went into the bathroom, stripped, and hopped into the shower. As I scrubbed shampoo into my hair, I noticed how heavy the wet and soaped hair felt. It felt heavier than normal, as if someone were pressing down onto my scalp. I began to bother me, and shaving my head sounded more and more appealing. Minutes later I got out on the shower, and after I dried off, I glanced towards the mirror.

I remembered how I had looked when I had taken the plunge, and cut it all off. My head was smooth. My jaw looked defined. I looked more masculine.

That's when on impulse, I submitted, and flung open the counter drawer, and pulled out my roommate's clippers. I plugged them in, and turned them on, but before I could ponder any longer, I shoved them through the middle of my head.

Oh how I loved that feeling. I watched in the mirror as the metal graced my scalp, and tore away every hair in it's path. After I completed the motion, all that was left was a path of white scalp in the midst of over looming hair.

I had done it this time. But there was no turning back, because I hadn't attached a guard to the clippers.

After standing still and staring at my reflection, I started to finish the job. I took the clippers and pushed them through again, and again, each time feeling the buzzing on my scalp, each time watching as more and more of my hair fell to the floor.
When the massacre was complete, I was left looking in the mirror at a bald man. Except I could still see the remnants of my black hair on my scalp, except they were only minuscule dots.

I placed the clippers down, and ran my hands over my head. Oh wow! I held my hands on my now somewhat smooth head, and felt around, to check to see if any hair was left. Nope. None.

Even though I was still in some sort of stupor as I saw a bald me staring back, as I brushed the strands of hair off my chest and crotch (I hand't yet gotten dressed, sorry but this is how it happened), as I collected the remnants of hair off the ground into a trash bag, I smiled for the first time that day.

I smiled. I began to embrace this drastic look; I do not mean to sound pompous, but I looked good. The shaved head made me look tougher, it made my already toned body look more muscular, like an army man. My dad was an army man, and I guess I sort of looked like a younger version of him. I mean, he was proud when he saw I had shaved my head that first time.

When my roommate got home from grocery shopping, he did a complete double take. He couldn't believe I had shaved my head! He said he loved it, and all the while, I noticed he was rubbing his head, as if he were thinking about chopping his hair off too.

I offered, but he declined. A minute later, he said why not.

We went back into the bathroom, and he removed his shirt, I plugged in the clippers, and repeated the same motions with which I shaved my head. This time, I got to see the overview of the white scalp which I continuously exposed with every stroke of the clippers. When I finished, we were matching in hairstyle, as in lack there of.

He was happy too. He kept rubbing his head, and then rubbing mine, and then back to his, over and over in disbelief that we had actually done this.
I still was a bit shocked too, but I was happy. I looked great, and surprisingly, so did he.

But then he had an idea. What if we went all the way, with foam and razors? I replied, why not, it won't make much of a difference.
And I was wrong.

AS we lathered our heads together, I noticed the odd weight of the shaving cream, but there was no time for that. WE picked up our razors, and on the count of three, we started making strokes.
This felt amazing, and it was my first time doing so, as last time, I had only used clippers, that's it.

When we were finished, all that was left on our heads was a fantastic shine. It wouldn't make a difference? Hell, it made the look 100% better, cooler, more fashionable.

It's now a week later, and both he and I are wearing a little fuzz on our heads. I would love to shave it again, but I want to let it grow out first, so I can go through the process of feeling the sudden relief of a lack of hair, and then shaving it. It's tempting to just go to the bathroom, lather up, and regain the shine. But not today. I must wait, so it'll be all the more enjoyable.

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