"I have to tell you something," Donna said to me as she trimming my
hair. "This is going to be the last time that I cut your hair. It has
been a great ride but I have decided to retire." Donna was my
hairstylist. She has been cutting my hair ever since I was a little
girl.
My hair was the object of my affection. It was gorgeous, long, down to my waist. It was a wonderful light brown color that had natural blonde highlighs from the sun. It was thick and full and had a natural wave to it. I always wore it loose, and it always bounced about as I walked. I never wanted to cut it short, and I would be very cautious about anyone with a pair of scissors near my hair. However, since Donna had been cutting my hair since I was young, I had grown to trust her, and she had always done what I asked. I came to her for a trim about once every three weeks. She never cut more than a quarter of an inch off. Donna and I always had chats about everything in life, from school when I was young to work as I got older. She was really a very close friend of mine.
"Are you serious?" I gasped.
"Yes, I thought it over long and hard and I decided that I am ready to ride off into the sunset. I really had a lot of fun doing what I loved. Cutting hair was my passion, however as I get older my priorities change and I want to spend more time with my family. You've really been a great client, and moreso a great friend. I really hope we keep it touch down the road."
I was a little taken back. This came as a total surprise, and I was a little worried about finding a new stylist who would leave my hair as long as it is. "I'm so happy for you!" I said truthfully, "but what are you going to do about the salon?"
"Oh, I already have that taken care of," replied Donna. "I sold it to a charming young man named Lorenzo who had been cutting hair for about three years now. He used to work as an assistant in another salon but he is ready to open up one of his own. I will be leaving this place on Sunday, and since I am no longer in need of anything in the salon, I will be leaving it all for him. He may want to redecorate a bit, but he said that he should be ready to open up in a week or two. I am sure he will be able to cut your hair to your liking."
"That's great!" I said half heartedly. I was happy for Donna, I really truly was. I was just sad that I would be losing such a skilled and trusted hairstylist. I couldn't let anyone else cut my beautiful hair! I would ask for a trim and they would probably hack 3 or 4 inches off! I heard stories like that happen to other women and I was really scared that that would happen to me, too. To some stylists, 3 or 4 inches was really a trim, maybe because they were not good at measuring, or maybe just because they were a bit scissor-happy. But I came in for a trim every three weeks. I wanted my hair in tip top condition, and always looking beatiful. I most certainly did not want to lose 3 or 4 inches, as that would take months to regrow! To me, finding a new stylist was not a minor inconveniance. My hair was me. My hair was my shining glory, my identification. I was really going to be stressed out about this up until my next haircut, up until the very point when my new stylist put down the scissors and no more than a quarter of an inch was missing from my hair.
Our conversation moved on to different things and Donna cut my hair as always. When she was finished, I gave her an extra large tip, much larger than I had ever given her before. "Enjoy your retirement," I said, and I walked out of Donna's salon for the last time. I walked out of the salon with my beautiful light brown hair hanging freely down to my waist, bouncing and waving around with life for possibly the last time for a while, as my next haircut might be more than just a trim.
I had gone five weeks after my last haircut with Donna before I finally decided I needed a trim. I was trying to put it off as long as possible. I did not want to go to a new hairstylist who would cut several inches off my hair. However, I couldn't put it off anymore. My ends were splitting and when you had hair as long as mine, it was very important to take care of split ends. So on my day off from work I went into the city in search of a new hair salon.
I had no idea how to pick a new place to go to. There were so many salons, there was no way I could pick one at random and hope that I wound up with a trustworthy stylist. I decided to walk around and see if I could find another woman with long hair. I would simply ask her where she got her trims and then I would go there and request the same stylist. I must have walked around for about an hour, but I couldn't find a woman with hair past the middle of their backs. I never thought it would be so hard to find another woman with long hair, but now that I was actually trying, I realized just how long my hair was.
Since Plan A failed, I decided to walk to different salons and just watch the action through the front window. I did this from time to time, even when Donna was still cutting my hair. I always liked to go up to a salon and gaze inside. It was kind of fun to watch other people get their hair cut. Over the years of window gazing I've seen many different things in salons. I've seen men getting clipper cuts, I've seen women with long hair getting it donated, I've seen piles and piles of hair on the floor. It was always fun walking past a salon and seeing the pile of hair on the floor and guessing what kind of hair the person in the chair had before they got it cut. Seeing large piles always got me a little excited. I always thought about what it would be like to get all my hair cut off, to have my own pile on the floor. I wondered what I would look like with short hair, but I would never actually get it cut short. I loved my hair long, and I wanted to keep it that way. I loved the way it felt when I flipped it over my shoulder, the way it felt when it swung back and forth, the way it danced around when I walked. I would never actually have a pile of hair on the floor, just maybe a little clump. Thats what I looked for in the windows of salons today. I looked especially close at the piles of hair on the floor. The size of the pile showed how much hair was being cut off. The bigger the pile, the more scissor-happy the stylist was. Of course, a bigger pile could have just meant that the client wanted their hair cut shorter, but I couldn't be too safe.
I walked from salon to salon. Each time I looked in the window, I watched for a few minutes to see what was going on inside. A few salons were just ugly and dirty, and not really places I wanted to get my hair done.
One salon was extremely crowded. While that told me they were probably a good salon, I didn't want my stylist rushing my haircut to get to the next client, so I scratched that place off the list.
I went to a salon where I saw a pretty woman about my age sitting in the chair with her hair wet as if it was just washed. She was showing her stylist a picture in a book of the style she wanted. I couldn't see the picture, but I watched the stylist work for a few minutes and although the haircut suited the woman very nicely, the stylist was taking a few inches off. Her hair was still down to mid-back length, and I wasn't sure if the woman wanted to cut so much hair off, but I didn't want to be sorry, so I kept looking.
The next salon I went to, I saw a woman sitting in the chair with a short bob to about her chin. I looked at the floor and there wasn't really much hair in the pile, but at the same time, there was a salon assistant sweeping up hair with a broom, so for all I know the client could have had quite a bit cut off. Like I said, I couldn't be too safe with my decision, so I decided not to go inside.
I kept walking and eventually I came to salon with a big blue banner that caught my attention. It said, "Unisex Hair Salon, All Haircuts 50% Off!!!" My first thought was that they must only be giving such a big discount because they are such a terrible salon that this was the only way they could get business. Then I had a second thought and realized that they could probably only afford to offer such a great deal if they were doing very well, so I decided to stick around a few minutes and see what it was like. I peered inside and immediately I was struck by the sight of an absolutely huge pile of gorgeous blonde hair on the floor. A young girl in her teens was sitting in the chair crying while a little old man was cutting her hair. She did not look happy at all, and I guessed that she must have lost at least a foot of hair. I immediately left the salon and kept up my search.
I must have spent a few hours that day walking around the city looking for a good salon. Every salon I went to had big pile of hair on the floor, or an unhappy looking client, or an unprofessional looking stylist. I couldn't believe how hard it was to find a salon where a woman with long hair was getting a simple half inch trim. This went a long way to me to show that way too many stylists took the meaning of a "trim" to be a few inches off, and it made me appreciate the way Donna had cut my hair much more. The day was getting old, and I didn't have another day off from work for another week, so I really wanted to find a good salon soon. I was getting restless and I didn't want to settle for a bad salon just because I was running out of time. I decided to go home, and try to find somewhere to get a trim after work the next day.
As I was walking to the bus stop, I came across the old salon where Donna had worked. I hadn't seen this place since my last trim, as it was out of the way and I rarely came to this part of the city for reasons other than getting my hair cut. I saw the new banner over the window. "Lorenzo's Haircutting Salon." I remembered Donna telling me that she sold the salon to a Lorenzo, and she said that he would be open in a few short weeks, so I didn't really take much surprise to the new banner. I remember that Donna said this was Lorenzo's first salon of his own, and he only had three years of experience, so I worried that he might be too scissor-happy and cut too much. However, she also suggested that Lorenzo should be able to trim my hair just fine, so I figured, 'Hey, I'm already here, so why not look inside?'
I took a look inside the window and saw that Lorenzo had completely redesigned the interior of the salon. The walls were painted fresh, the tiles on the floor had been changed, and he had gotten all new leather salon chairs. It looked very stylish and professional inside. I looked to see if there were any clients getting their hair done but at that time the salon was empty. The only person inside was a young man sitting at the desk. He was very attractive, tall and thin and he had the most amazing blue eyes that contrasted perfectly to his curly blonde hair. I assumed he was Lorenzo. Donna was right, he really was charming!
The man noticed me looking at him. He got up and came outside to greet me. "Hello, hello there! I am Lorenzo, and I want to cut your hair off." This seemed like a bit of a strange thing to say to a potential customer, "I want to cut your hair off," but I didn't really think much of it at the time. I was too busy looking at how handsome he was. 'I would love to have such an attractive man working with my hair!' I thought.
"Yes, I hoping to have my hair cut today!" I squeeled eagerly.
"Well then let's step inside, shall we?"
After we stepped inside the salon, the first thing Lorenzo did was lead my over to the new and improved hair washing station. He had replaced the old tattered seats with new leather ones, and the sink looked new as well.
Lorenzo sat me down and splashed the water through my hair. After making sure it was all wet, he took the shampoo and began rubbing my scalp. It felt so good. He worked his way through my hair and made sure to shampoo every bit of it, even though my hair was so long. Donna had always taken extra time to shampoo my hair because of its length. I always tipped her a good amount because of this, and it was totally worth it. When you have long hair like me, it is very important to shampoo it well so that it stays healthy. Lorenzo took great care with my hair and it felt so relaxing the way he worked his magical fingers through my hair. If his hair cutting skills were nearly as good as his hair washing skills, then I would definitely be sure to come back here just as much as I came here for Donna!
I got up and Lorenzo lead me over to the big haircutting chair. I sat down and held my hair up as he flung the cape over my body. As he fastened the cape around my neck my excitement was replaced with a terrible feeling.
A lump came up in my throat and my stomach was filled with butterflies. Lorenzo was a very handsome and charming man indeed, but I couldn't forget the fact that he was a new stylist and he would be cutting my hair for the first time. I knew that I had waited some extra time between haircuts, and I recognized the fact that he was cutting my hair for the first time, and I wouldn't even be upset if Lorenzo cut up to a fill inch, but I was still very worried that he would lop off several inches. However, I had already been caped and now there was no backing out. I wanted to just get up out of the chair and leave, but I knew I couldn't do that. I would look like a fool in front of this gorgeous man.
"I would like just a small trim, please," I said with a slight wavering in my otherwise confident voice. "I have had very long hair my whole life and I would like to keep it that way. Don't cut off more than a quarter of an inch." There. I said it. I said it as specifically as possible. I made sure to include the exact length he could cut off. I avoided the mistake of simply asking for a "trim" and leaving the meaning of a trim up to the stylist to decide. I said that I only wanted a quarter of an inch to be cut off, no more, and now there was no way the stylist could get confused as to what to do.
"Of course," replied Lorenzo. "Just a trim. No more than a quarter of an inch cut off. Is that what you want?"
"Yes." I was very happy that Lorenzo clarified with me what he would be doing. My worries faded away and I began to relax and enjoy the feel of his magical fingers running through my hair.
After Lorenzo got a feel for my hair, he reached over to his table and picked up a comb. He ran the comb through my hair many times, and it felt amazing. I loved the feel of another person giving all that attention to my hair. I had always enjoyed getting my hair done by Donna, but she was another woman. This was the first time in my life that I had my hair done by a man. And an incredibly attractive man at that. I was really getting turned on.
Lorenzo reached back over to the table and picked up a pair of scissors. He combed my hair a few more times, all the way through my ends, and I figured he was probably sectioning it off to trim. Then very quickly, I felt Lorenzo's hand graze my shoulderblade, and I heard the first snips. I watched in the mirror as his hand glided across the back of my shoulders, and then I saw my beautiful light brown waist length hair falling to the floor. Holy shit! It had been chopped all the way up to my shoulders! Just like that, 25 inches of my hair had been cut. It would take years to grow back! This couldn't be! I had literally just told Lorenzo a minute ago not to cut off more than a quarter of an inch, and he told me specifically that thats what he would be doing. In disbelief, I quickly glanced down at the floor. There I saw a huge pile of my long lifeless hair, just sitting there.
A pile of my hair. My pile. On the floor. I thought I would never have my own pile, just tiny clumps. But in a matter of seconds, my very first pile was created, and it was huge. I thought back to that Unisex Hair Salon that I passed earlier in the day, the one where they were offering all haircuts at 50% off price. I thought back to that teenage girl sitting in the chair, crying, as right under her sat a large pile of her previously gorgeous blonde hair. My pile must have been at least twice as big as hers was. And when I saw the size of my pile, I gasped. It was amazing. I had a rush come over me, and I felt strange. It felt good though. I didn't know how to explain that feeling, but I was very excited and turned on by the sheer amount of hair on the floor. But at the same time, it was no longer on my head. That hair was supposed to be on my head.
I was mortified. I didn't know what to do. My hair hadn't been this short since I was a toddler. I loved my long hair. It was who I was! I wanted to say something to Lorenzo, but I had no idea what to say. I thought I should have just got up and left, but I couldn't. I couldn't do anything. I was paralyzed, mesmerized. I just sat there and waited to see what would happen next.
That was when Lorenzo said to me, in a completely casual voice, "Is it alright if I cut some layers for you? I think it would look very nice." I couldn't believe it! He had actually just asked permission to cut layers into my hair. Right after chopping off two and a half feet of hair from my head. Right after agreeing to only trim a quarter of an inch.
I wanted to scream at him, but amazingly, but I couldn't do it. I just gave him a little nod in the mirror. What the hell was I doing? I came in for a quarter inch trim and now I was agreeing to layers!
Lorenzo sprayed a little bit of water into my hair, and then got at it with the comb and scissors. Before he resumed cutting, he held the scissors high up in the air, as if to say, "Here we go!" I looked at them through the mirror. Something about haircutting scissors fascinated me. They were smaller than most other scissors, yet the blades were sharper. Much sharper. I liked the way stylists held the scissors in their fingers, the motions of their hands when they cut hair with the scissors. I loved the sight of the scissors slicing through the hair, so easily, so effortlessly. And the way the scissors acted like the boss, the way they determined everything about my hair. I could tell the stylist how to cut it, but once I get in that cape, everything is out of my control. And as Lorenzo had just demonstrated, the fate of my hair is in those scissors and what they decide to do. The scissors were so hard, so cold, so strong. So empowering.
I have to admit something. All those years, when I would walk to random salons and watch people getting their hair cuts in the window, there was a reason I did that. I got really turned on by watching other women get their hair cut short. I loved watching stylists take the scissors and make whatever they wanted of these women's hair. I always watched the scissors mercilessly cut through many inches of hair, and I imagined what those women were feeling. A rush would go through my spine and I would shiver just thinking about it. I imagined what it would be like if that was me getting all my hair cut off, but of course that would never happen. Except that it did just happen.
Lorenzo lowered his arm and combed my hair again, sectioning off a piece. Then he took the scissors and put them to my hair. I heard the commanding snipping sound of the scissors and I was very worried to see how much hair he was cutting off now. I tilted my head to the side a bit and saw in the mirror a lock of hair falling to the ground. The lock was about two inches long, and I could guess that when this was over my hair would be sitting right around the top of my shoulders. Lorenzo combed my hair once more and sectioned off another lock, which he then sliced through with the scissors and I watched as two more inches of hair fell to the floor. He kept it up, and I watched in horror, excitement, and amazement as my pile grew and grew. I was masturbating under the cape, and the larger the pile grew, the harder I masturbated.
After a few minutes, Lorenzo moved from behind me and stood in front of me. I did not like his change of position one bit as he was now blocking my view of the mirror and I could not see what he was doing. He took his comb and brought down the front portion of my hair down over my face. Now I really couldn't see what he was doing. I was infuriated, but at the same time, I was really getting some pleasure out of this. I had absolutely no idea what in the world he was covering my face for, and I really got turned on by the hair just hanging their, over my eyes. He ran the comb through my hair and then placed his fingers around the hair at my eyes in the shape of scissors, as if to get a feel for where he wanted to cut it. And thats when I realized what he was doing. He was going to give me bangs.
"Oh, silly me, I almost forgot to ask for permission!" Lorenzo exclaimed. "I was going to cut bangs for you. Is that alright?"
He did it again! I couldn't believe that once again Lorenzo asked for my permission to do something with my hair. As if it was just an unspoken agreement that he would cut off over two and a half feet of hair!
And even worse was my reaction. I wanted to speak up, I wanted to tell him, "Absolutely not, I do not want bangs and I did not want you to ruin my hair!" But I didn't do that. I couldn't. I just wimpered a soft, "Mmmhmmm." There, I did it again. I gave him permission. I have no idea why, but I gave him the green light to give me bangs. There was no way to back out of this one. I couldn't believe myself. I came in for a quarter inch trim and now I was agreeing to bangs!
He combed my hair one last time to make sure he had it lined up right, and then he placed the scissors at my eyes. Sssssssssssssssnnnnnnnnnipppppppppppp. A big clump of hair fell from my face and landed onto my lap. Shit. I had never had bangs before, ever. I looked down at my lap and was surprised to see just how much he had actually cut off. Several inches of hair sat in my lap for the first time in my life. I had never had so much hair in my lap.
All those times when I would watch women getting their hair cut in random salons, I didn't just watch the scissors slice through the hair. I didn't just admire the long hair sliding down the client's back and falling freely to a large pile on the floor. I also looked at all the hair that was sitting on the cape. For me, I never had hair in my lap. Donna always combed my hair down as it was hanging over the back of the chair, and she would trim the end and everything would end up on the floor. I never had hair on my lap. But other women did all the time. One of my favorite things was when a stylist sectioned off some hair on top of the client's head, and pull it straight up high in the air. I loved when the stylist placed the scissors towards the ends of the hair, or if I was lucky enough to witness a long to short haircut, towards the middle or bottom of the hair, and chop it all off with those scissors that simply sliced through the hair. The best part was watching the cut off hair fall down over the client's face and land in their lap. I also loved watching women get bangs for the first time, just as I had just gotten them. I loved watching te stylist comb all of the long hair over the client's face and leave it hanging there for a few seconds to let the client reconsider chopping off so much hair. And then, just as the client would open her mouth to say something, the stylist would split the scissors shut and the hair would fall down into the client's lap. Sometimes, there would be almost as much hair on the client's lap as there was on the floor.
The thing that was especially strange about the pile of hair on my lap was the fact that I could see it. It was unlike the pile on the floor. If I wanted to see all of my hair that had been cut off, I would have to look down, and then I would see what I usually considered to be the garbage hair, the hair that I wanted cut off, the hair that was no longer wanted. There was a reason it was on the floor. But the hair on my lap was much different. It was right there, right in plain view, just sitting in obvious sight. I didn't have to make a special effort if I wanted to see this hair. I just had to have my eyes open, and there, I could see all my hair just sitting dead. Sitting on the cape, sitting on me. There was a reason this hair was still on me, because it was supposed to stay on my head. I did not want bangs. And now it was right there to serve as a constant reminder that I couldn't trust anybody with my hair. I shouldn't have let anybody other than Donna near my head with scissors.
Lorenzo came back around my back. He combed my hair a bit but did not cut anymore. We both looked at my new look in the mirror. My light brown hair was now sitting at my shoulders, with lively layers around the back and sides giving volume to it, and a set of bangs nicely framing my wonderful green eyes. The new length really made my hair look a lot stronger and healthier. I hate to say, but it actually looked kind of nice.
"Hmmmm...." Lorenzo thought out loud. "I don't think this is quite short enough."
Oh my god, I thought. Please don't tell me he is going to cut any more off. Please. I came in with my beautiful hair at my waist. I couldn't leave the salon like this. What would everybody say? My hair was already much too short, there was no way in hell I could allow him to cut it any shorter!
"I want to bring it shorter, much shorter," he continued. "Is that alright with you?
I couldn't believe he asked me once again for permission! It was really pissing me off. Well, obviously this was exactly what I wanted my new stylist to do, to ask me permission before doing something. But I still couldn't understand why he didn't ask me if it was ok to cut off years and years of growth! Well at least he was asking me now. I didn't know what he meant by "much shorter" but I sure as hell did not like the way it sounded. For all I knew he would cut off another year's worth of growth. I couldn't put the rest of the hair back on my head, but I could prevent any more from coming off. All I had to do was say, "No, I want you to stop cutting now."
So I said, quite enthusiastically in fact, "Yes, I would love my hair cut shorter!" Wow. I honestly had no idea I was even capable of saying those words. I wanted to kill myself. I had just committed treason. I had just broken my own selfcode. It was one thing before when Lorenzo cut my hair off without asking, but now I literally said the words that I never wanted to say in my life, ever. Another chill went through my body. I was getting so incredibly horny, and I fingered myself furiously.
"Great!" exclaimed Lorenzo. "You are going to absolutely adore the way you will look with short hair!"
That really did it. About a half hour ago I came in here with waist length hair and I asked for a quarter inch trim. Now I was agreeing to short hair. I had no idea how short he was going to cut it, but just imagining the powerful scissors slicing through my locks any more got me so incredibly excited. I couldn't help myself. I started laughing. I kept laughing, and laughing, and laughing. I was now giggling like a little girl. "Cut it short!" I squeeled. "Please, cut my hair really short!" I didn't know why I was saying that. I really did not want my hair to be cut short. I think maybe, deep down inside, subconsciously, I realized that I was never going to voluntary go this short again, so while I was already there, I decided to go for it. But still, I couldn't believe that I was telling Lorenzo to cut my hair really short, and that I was giggling like a psycomaniac.
"Don't worry!" said Lorenzo, "I will give you the shortest, most beautiful haircut you have ever had in your entire life!" He gathered my hair in the back into a loose ponytail. I knew what was coming next, but I still couldn't believe it when it happened. He stuck the scissors at the base of my neck and chopped the whole thing off. I looked in the mirror. I had never seen my face the way I was seeing it now. My big green eyes stuck out and they looked gorgeous. I had never known I had such pretty eyes. I guess they must have been hidden by my hair my whole life.
Lorenzo ran the scissors and comb through my hair. Snip, snip, snip. Sssssssssnnnnnipppppp. The scissors were extremely close to my head. My hair was being chopped very short, much shorter than I ever wanted it. The scissors couldn't have been more than 2 inches away from my head the whole time. Lorenzo kept on cutting, it felt like he was never going to stop. It felt like he kept cutting the same area over and over and over again. I thought I was going to end up bald. It seemed like he never stopped cutting.
First, he cut the back of my head. He placed the scissors at the base of my neck and cut my hair very short. For the first time in my life, my neck was exposed, and it felt amazing without the weight of all that hair on it. Little by little, Lorenzo brought the scissors higher up my head and he kept snipping and snipping. It felt incredible having the scissors so close to my head. He then combed down the sides, and the scissors slowly went behind my ears. Lorenzo cut this part with great care. I could feel the cold steel blades of the scissors on my skin, and I loved it. Because the scissors were so close to my ears, the next few snips was louder that all the other ones. Ssssssssnnnnnnippppppppp. Ssssssssssnnnnnnnnipppppppp. Snnnnnnnnnnnipppppppppp. I watched in amazement as my hair fell down freely and I saw my ear for the first time in forever. I barely knew I had an ear. I had always worn my hair down free, and I don't think my ears were exposed since I used to wear ponytails back in fifth grade. Lorenzo went to the other side of my head and repeated the same process, placing the scissors right up against my skin right behind my other ear. Sssssssssssssnnnnnnnnnnnnnippppppppppp. Sssssssssssssnnnnnnnnnnnnnipppppppppp. Sssssssssssnnnnnnnnnnnnnipppppppppppp. More hair fell freely down and my other ear was exposed.
When Lorenzo was finally finished, he stepped behind me again and we both looked at the new me in the mirror. My light brown hair was now styled into a short but feminine pixie cut. It made my hair look so soft, and it really framed my face nicely. I can't believe I'm admitting this, but I actually really liked it.
Of all the times I went window watching at salons, there was one experience that was more exciting then any other one. This memory stood out in my mind the most. I watched through the window as a woman with beautiful blonde waist length hair similar to mine got up from the waiting area and sat down in the styling chair. The front door was open and so I heard everything inside the salon clearly as I watched through the window. I remember the woman said to the stylist, "Chop it off. Chop it all off." The stylist seemed very shocked at the request, as the woman had a terrific head of hair. The stylist asked the woman why she wanted to cut it all off and the woman simply replied, "I need a change." I watched very very closely as the stylist used a freestyle cutting technique to quickly cut off most of the length. She then proceeded to cut an absolutely gorgeous pixie cut. It was an extremely dramatic change. On the floor under that styling chair was a pile of hair. It was the biggest pile of hair that I had ever seen, a mountain of hair. If I had just seen the pile of hair without seeing the actually haircut occur, I would think that it was so sad that someone cut off such amazing hair. But having watched the whole event actually take place, I experienced a real thrill and I was actually inspired to go right into the salon as soon as the haircut was finished and ask for my hair to be cut the same way. I actually did walk into the salon, and before I could say a word, I walked past a mirror and saw my reflection in it. I saw my long hair hanging down and I realized that I did not actually want to cut. I began to cry and I said, "I'm sorry, I have to go." Then I ran out of the salon sobbing that I had come so close to cutting off my gorgeous hair. I vowed that I would never let anybody other than Donna cut my hair, and I would never ever cut it short.
Obviously my vow had been broken. I had let a different stylist cut my hair and he cut it all off. I shouldn't have done that. I could have found a way to have Donna keep cutting my hair. I know she was retiring but she had me forever. She said she wanted to stay in touch, so maybe she could have done a house call or something. But that didn't happen. I chose to let Lorenzo cut my hair. I fell into his charming trap. I looked down at the floor. My pile was just as big as the blonde woman's was from many years ago. I looked at my mountain of hair and I felt mixed emotions. My best friend was now dead, but at the same time I felt so...... liberated. I felt so much stronger without all of that hair to hide behind. To be quite honest, I was actually quite glad that Lorenzo had cut all of my hair off.
"Do you like it?" asked Lorenzo proudly.
"I absolutely love it," I said, 100% completely honest.
"I am so glad," he replied. "I was worried that you would hate me and want to kill me."
"Well to be honest, I was pretty shocked. Not to say I don't love it, but why did you cut off all my hair? We agreed that you would only give me a quarter inch trim."
"I was going to give you a quarter inch trim. I really was. But when you said that you have had long hair your entire life, I knew that you would never cut it short on your own. I knew that unless some stylist went and cut it all off without your permission, you would never cut it short. And you have such a pretty face, I knew you would look great with short hair. I really wanted you to get it cut short and I knew you would never do it on your own, so I had take matters into my own hands."
It might sense, but I was still a little puzzled. "But then why did you ask for my permission to cut layers and to cut bangs?"
"Because at that point I had already taken off the length. I had already given you short hair, and if you wanted to be adventurous and trust the hairsylist and try something new, I knew that you would give me the ok. If you really hated it, I didn't want you to hate it anymore." Lorenzo winked at me and said, "But you seemed to be really enjoying the experience."
Embarassed, I blushed a bit, but then realized there was no reason not to be honest with him. "Oh yes, it was one of the most amazing experiences of my entire life! Getting all of my hair cut off, it just felt so.... it just felt so surreal. It felt like a fantasy. And then when you decided to cut it really short, oh my god, all these thoughts went racing through my mind and I couldn't wait to see what I would look like! I have always been a long haired girl and now out of nowhere, in just minutes I was becoming a short haired girl. It felt like I was becoming a different person. It was just so exhillerating!"
"Well I'm glad you enjoyed it," said Lorenzo.
"How much do I owe you?" I asked, ready to give a very large tip.
"No charge," he replied with a smile on his face.
"Oh thank you so much, Lorenzo! I 'm not kidding, I really feel like you changed my life. But I just want to know one more thing. Just how much hair did you cut off?"
"Well, let's find out!" he proclaimed. He went to the closet and pulled out a broom, and began sweeping up all the hair on the floor into one nice neat pile. One enormous gigantic mountain of hair.
"They say a picture's worth a thousand words," smiled Lorenzo, as he pulled out his Polaroid camera, snapped a shot of my mountain, and gave me the printout. We said our goodbyes, and I walked out the shop beaming, feeling like a brand new person, like I had a whole new life ahead of me. Before I walked away, I sent one last look back into the salon. Lorenzo was sweeping up all of my hair, that used to be on my head, that used to be down to my waist, that was supposed to be trimmed a quarter of an inch, that was sliced through with the scissors, that fell down my face and into my lap, that was now a story.
From then on, I kept my hair short. I kept going back to Lorenzo and he always did something new to my hair without even asking me. Not only was I ok with it, I even encouraged it. I just loved the feeling of not knowing what I was getting, the feeling of being locked into the chair under the cape, the feeling of knowing that the fate of my hair is up to the stylist and his scissors. I just trusted Lorenzo that much. Occassionally I would grow my hair out a bit longer, just so I could experience having it all cut off again. The longest I ever let it grow was back to my shoulders, but Lorenzo didn't let me keep it that way for long. When I walked into his salon with my hair to my shoulders, I told him I was thinking of getting a long bob type haircut. He said that sounded marvelous and so he proceeded to chop it into a short pixie. Absolutely not what I asked for, but I loved it anyway. Thats why I loved Lorenzo. He always keeps me on my toes and gives me a great thrill while also giving me a great haircut.
To this day I still go to Lorenzo's salon and get my hair cut. I never got over my little crush on Lorenzo, although we never got into a relationship. But I'm fine with that, as long as keeps sweeping me up into a world of snipping, slicing, and piles. And of course I still have that picture to remind me of my favorite haircut experience. The picture of the pile of long hair Lorenzo took when he chopped it all. My pile.
My hair was the object of my affection. It was gorgeous, long, down to my waist. It was a wonderful light brown color that had natural blonde highlighs from the sun. It was thick and full and had a natural wave to it. I always wore it loose, and it always bounced about as I walked. I never wanted to cut it short, and I would be very cautious about anyone with a pair of scissors near my hair. However, since Donna had been cutting my hair since I was young, I had grown to trust her, and she had always done what I asked. I came to her for a trim about once every three weeks. She never cut more than a quarter of an inch off. Donna and I always had chats about everything in life, from school when I was young to work as I got older. She was really a very close friend of mine.
"Are you serious?" I gasped.
"Yes, I thought it over long and hard and I decided that I am ready to ride off into the sunset. I really had a lot of fun doing what I loved. Cutting hair was my passion, however as I get older my priorities change and I want to spend more time with my family. You've really been a great client, and moreso a great friend. I really hope we keep it touch down the road."
I was a little taken back. This came as a total surprise, and I was a little worried about finding a new stylist who would leave my hair as long as it is. "I'm so happy for you!" I said truthfully, "but what are you going to do about the salon?"
"Oh, I already have that taken care of," replied Donna. "I sold it to a charming young man named Lorenzo who had been cutting hair for about three years now. He used to work as an assistant in another salon but he is ready to open up one of his own. I will be leaving this place on Sunday, and since I am no longer in need of anything in the salon, I will be leaving it all for him. He may want to redecorate a bit, but he said that he should be ready to open up in a week or two. I am sure he will be able to cut your hair to your liking."
"That's great!" I said half heartedly. I was happy for Donna, I really truly was. I was just sad that I would be losing such a skilled and trusted hairstylist. I couldn't let anyone else cut my beautiful hair! I would ask for a trim and they would probably hack 3 or 4 inches off! I heard stories like that happen to other women and I was really scared that that would happen to me, too. To some stylists, 3 or 4 inches was really a trim, maybe because they were not good at measuring, or maybe just because they were a bit scissor-happy. But I came in for a trim every three weeks. I wanted my hair in tip top condition, and always looking beatiful. I most certainly did not want to lose 3 or 4 inches, as that would take months to regrow! To me, finding a new stylist was not a minor inconveniance. My hair was me. My hair was my shining glory, my identification. I was really going to be stressed out about this up until my next haircut, up until the very point when my new stylist put down the scissors and no more than a quarter of an inch was missing from my hair.
Our conversation moved on to different things and Donna cut my hair as always. When she was finished, I gave her an extra large tip, much larger than I had ever given her before. "Enjoy your retirement," I said, and I walked out of Donna's salon for the last time. I walked out of the salon with my beautiful light brown hair hanging freely down to my waist, bouncing and waving around with life for possibly the last time for a while, as my next haircut might be more than just a trim.
I had gone five weeks after my last haircut with Donna before I finally decided I needed a trim. I was trying to put it off as long as possible. I did not want to go to a new hairstylist who would cut several inches off my hair. However, I couldn't put it off anymore. My ends were splitting and when you had hair as long as mine, it was very important to take care of split ends. So on my day off from work I went into the city in search of a new hair salon.
I had no idea how to pick a new place to go to. There were so many salons, there was no way I could pick one at random and hope that I wound up with a trustworthy stylist. I decided to walk around and see if I could find another woman with long hair. I would simply ask her where she got her trims and then I would go there and request the same stylist. I must have walked around for about an hour, but I couldn't find a woman with hair past the middle of their backs. I never thought it would be so hard to find another woman with long hair, but now that I was actually trying, I realized just how long my hair was.
Since Plan A failed, I decided to walk to different salons and just watch the action through the front window. I did this from time to time, even when Donna was still cutting my hair. I always liked to go up to a salon and gaze inside. It was kind of fun to watch other people get their hair cut. Over the years of window gazing I've seen many different things in salons. I've seen men getting clipper cuts, I've seen women with long hair getting it donated, I've seen piles and piles of hair on the floor. It was always fun walking past a salon and seeing the pile of hair on the floor and guessing what kind of hair the person in the chair had before they got it cut. Seeing large piles always got me a little excited. I always thought about what it would be like to get all my hair cut off, to have my own pile on the floor. I wondered what I would look like with short hair, but I would never actually get it cut short. I loved my hair long, and I wanted to keep it that way. I loved the way it felt when I flipped it over my shoulder, the way it felt when it swung back and forth, the way it danced around when I walked. I would never actually have a pile of hair on the floor, just maybe a little clump. Thats what I looked for in the windows of salons today. I looked especially close at the piles of hair on the floor. The size of the pile showed how much hair was being cut off. The bigger the pile, the more scissor-happy the stylist was. Of course, a bigger pile could have just meant that the client wanted their hair cut shorter, but I couldn't be too safe.
I walked from salon to salon. Each time I looked in the window, I watched for a few minutes to see what was going on inside. A few salons were just ugly and dirty, and not really places I wanted to get my hair done.
One salon was extremely crowded. While that told me they were probably a good salon, I didn't want my stylist rushing my haircut to get to the next client, so I scratched that place off the list.
I went to a salon where I saw a pretty woman about my age sitting in the chair with her hair wet as if it was just washed. She was showing her stylist a picture in a book of the style she wanted. I couldn't see the picture, but I watched the stylist work for a few minutes and although the haircut suited the woman very nicely, the stylist was taking a few inches off. Her hair was still down to mid-back length, and I wasn't sure if the woman wanted to cut so much hair off, but I didn't want to be sorry, so I kept looking.
The next salon I went to, I saw a woman sitting in the chair with a short bob to about her chin. I looked at the floor and there wasn't really much hair in the pile, but at the same time, there was a salon assistant sweeping up hair with a broom, so for all I know the client could have had quite a bit cut off. Like I said, I couldn't be too safe with my decision, so I decided not to go inside.
I kept walking and eventually I came to salon with a big blue banner that caught my attention. It said, "Unisex Hair Salon, All Haircuts 50% Off!!!" My first thought was that they must only be giving such a big discount because they are such a terrible salon that this was the only way they could get business. Then I had a second thought and realized that they could probably only afford to offer such a great deal if they were doing very well, so I decided to stick around a few minutes and see what it was like. I peered inside and immediately I was struck by the sight of an absolutely huge pile of gorgeous blonde hair on the floor. A young girl in her teens was sitting in the chair crying while a little old man was cutting her hair. She did not look happy at all, and I guessed that she must have lost at least a foot of hair. I immediately left the salon and kept up my search.
I must have spent a few hours that day walking around the city looking for a good salon. Every salon I went to had big pile of hair on the floor, or an unhappy looking client, or an unprofessional looking stylist. I couldn't believe how hard it was to find a salon where a woman with long hair was getting a simple half inch trim. This went a long way to me to show that way too many stylists took the meaning of a "trim" to be a few inches off, and it made me appreciate the way Donna had cut my hair much more. The day was getting old, and I didn't have another day off from work for another week, so I really wanted to find a good salon soon. I was getting restless and I didn't want to settle for a bad salon just because I was running out of time. I decided to go home, and try to find somewhere to get a trim after work the next day.
As I was walking to the bus stop, I came across the old salon where Donna had worked. I hadn't seen this place since my last trim, as it was out of the way and I rarely came to this part of the city for reasons other than getting my hair cut. I saw the new banner over the window. "Lorenzo's Haircutting Salon." I remembered Donna telling me that she sold the salon to a Lorenzo, and she said that he would be open in a few short weeks, so I didn't really take much surprise to the new banner. I remember that Donna said this was Lorenzo's first salon of his own, and he only had three years of experience, so I worried that he might be too scissor-happy and cut too much. However, she also suggested that Lorenzo should be able to trim my hair just fine, so I figured, 'Hey, I'm already here, so why not look inside?'
I took a look inside the window and saw that Lorenzo had completely redesigned the interior of the salon. The walls were painted fresh, the tiles on the floor had been changed, and he had gotten all new leather salon chairs. It looked very stylish and professional inside. I looked to see if there were any clients getting their hair done but at that time the salon was empty. The only person inside was a young man sitting at the desk. He was very attractive, tall and thin and he had the most amazing blue eyes that contrasted perfectly to his curly blonde hair. I assumed he was Lorenzo. Donna was right, he really was charming!
The man noticed me looking at him. He got up and came outside to greet me. "Hello, hello there! I am Lorenzo, and I want to cut your hair off." This seemed like a bit of a strange thing to say to a potential customer, "I want to cut your hair off," but I didn't really think much of it at the time. I was too busy looking at how handsome he was. 'I would love to have such an attractive man working with my hair!' I thought.
"Yes, I hoping to have my hair cut today!" I squeeled eagerly.
"Well then let's step inside, shall we?"
After we stepped inside the salon, the first thing Lorenzo did was lead my over to the new and improved hair washing station. He had replaced the old tattered seats with new leather ones, and the sink looked new as well.
Lorenzo sat me down and splashed the water through my hair. After making sure it was all wet, he took the shampoo and began rubbing my scalp. It felt so good. He worked his way through my hair and made sure to shampoo every bit of it, even though my hair was so long. Donna had always taken extra time to shampoo my hair because of its length. I always tipped her a good amount because of this, and it was totally worth it. When you have long hair like me, it is very important to shampoo it well so that it stays healthy. Lorenzo took great care with my hair and it felt so relaxing the way he worked his magical fingers through my hair. If his hair cutting skills were nearly as good as his hair washing skills, then I would definitely be sure to come back here just as much as I came here for Donna!
I got up and Lorenzo lead me over to the big haircutting chair. I sat down and held my hair up as he flung the cape over my body. As he fastened the cape around my neck my excitement was replaced with a terrible feeling.
A lump came up in my throat and my stomach was filled with butterflies. Lorenzo was a very handsome and charming man indeed, but I couldn't forget the fact that he was a new stylist and he would be cutting my hair for the first time. I knew that I had waited some extra time between haircuts, and I recognized the fact that he was cutting my hair for the first time, and I wouldn't even be upset if Lorenzo cut up to a fill inch, but I was still very worried that he would lop off several inches. However, I had already been caped and now there was no backing out. I wanted to just get up out of the chair and leave, but I knew I couldn't do that. I would look like a fool in front of this gorgeous man.
"I would like just a small trim, please," I said with a slight wavering in my otherwise confident voice. "I have had very long hair my whole life and I would like to keep it that way. Don't cut off more than a quarter of an inch." There. I said it. I said it as specifically as possible. I made sure to include the exact length he could cut off. I avoided the mistake of simply asking for a "trim" and leaving the meaning of a trim up to the stylist to decide. I said that I only wanted a quarter of an inch to be cut off, no more, and now there was no way the stylist could get confused as to what to do.
"Of course," replied Lorenzo. "Just a trim. No more than a quarter of an inch cut off. Is that what you want?"
"Yes." I was very happy that Lorenzo clarified with me what he would be doing. My worries faded away and I began to relax and enjoy the feel of his magical fingers running through my hair.
After Lorenzo got a feel for my hair, he reached over to his table and picked up a comb. He ran the comb through my hair many times, and it felt amazing. I loved the feel of another person giving all that attention to my hair. I had always enjoyed getting my hair done by Donna, but she was another woman. This was the first time in my life that I had my hair done by a man. And an incredibly attractive man at that. I was really getting turned on.
Lorenzo reached back over to the table and picked up a pair of scissors. He combed my hair a few more times, all the way through my ends, and I figured he was probably sectioning it off to trim. Then very quickly, I felt Lorenzo's hand graze my shoulderblade, and I heard the first snips. I watched in the mirror as his hand glided across the back of my shoulders, and then I saw my beautiful light brown waist length hair falling to the floor. Holy shit! It had been chopped all the way up to my shoulders! Just like that, 25 inches of my hair had been cut. It would take years to grow back! This couldn't be! I had literally just told Lorenzo a minute ago not to cut off more than a quarter of an inch, and he told me specifically that thats what he would be doing. In disbelief, I quickly glanced down at the floor. There I saw a huge pile of my long lifeless hair, just sitting there.
A pile of my hair. My pile. On the floor. I thought I would never have my own pile, just tiny clumps. But in a matter of seconds, my very first pile was created, and it was huge. I thought back to that Unisex Hair Salon that I passed earlier in the day, the one where they were offering all haircuts at 50% off price. I thought back to that teenage girl sitting in the chair, crying, as right under her sat a large pile of her previously gorgeous blonde hair. My pile must have been at least twice as big as hers was. And when I saw the size of my pile, I gasped. It was amazing. I had a rush come over me, and I felt strange. It felt good though. I didn't know how to explain that feeling, but I was very excited and turned on by the sheer amount of hair on the floor. But at the same time, it was no longer on my head. That hair was supposed to be on my head.
I was mortified. I didn't know what to do. My hair hadn't been this short since I was a toddler. I loved my long hair. It was who I was! I wanted to say something to Lorenzo, but I had no idea what to say. I thought I should have just got up and left, but I couldn't. I couldn't do anything. I was paralyzed, mesmerized. I just sat there and waited to see what would happen next.
That was when Lorenzo said to me, in a completely casual voice, "Is it alright if I cut some layers for you? I think it would look very nice." I couldn't believe it! He had actually just asked permission to cut layers into my hair. Right after chopping off two and a half feet of hair from my head. Right after agreeing to only trim a quarter of an inch.
I wanted to scream at him, but amazingly, but I couldn't do it. I just gave him a little nod in the mirror. What the hell was I doing? I came in for a quarter inch trim and now I was agreeing to layers!
Lorenzo sprayed a little bit of water into my hair, and then got at it with the comb and scissors. Before he resumed cutting, he held the scissors high up in the air, as if to say, "Here we go!" I looked at them through the mirror. Something about haircutting scissors fascinated me. They were smaller than most other scissors, yet the blades were sharper. Much sharper. I liked the way stylists held the scissors in their fingers, the motions of their hands when they cut hair with the scissors. I loved the sight of the scissors slicing through the hair, so easily, so effortlessly. And the way the scissors acted like the boss, the way they determined everything about my hair. I could tell the stylist how to cut it, but once I get in that cape, everything is out of my control. And as Lorenzo had just demonstrated, the fate of my hair is in those scissors and what they decide to do. The scissors were so hard, so cold, so strong. So empowering.
I have to admit something. All those years, when I would walk to random salons and watch people getting their hair cuts in the window, there was a reason I did that. I got really turned on by watching other women get their hair cut short. I loved watching stylists take the scissors and make whatever they wanted of these women's hair. I always watched the scissors mercilessly cut through many inches of hair, and I imagined what those women were feeling. A rush would go through my spine and I would shiver just thinking about it. I imagined what it would be like if that was me getting all my hair cut off, but of course that would never happen. Except that it did just happen.
Lorenzo lowered his arm and combed my hair again, sectioning off a piece. Then he took the scissors and put them to my hair. I heard the commanding snipping sound of the scissors and I was very worried to see how much hair he was cutting off now. I tilted my head to the side a bit and saw in the mirror a lock of hair falling to the ground. The lock was about two inches long, and I could guess that when this was over my hair would be sitting right around the top of my shoulders. Lorenzo combed my hair once more and sectioned off another lock, which he then sliced through with the scissors and I watched as two more inches of hair fell to the floor. He kept it up, and I watched in horror, excitement, and amazement as my pile grew and grew. I was masturbating under the cape, and the larger the pile grew, the harder I masturbated.
After a few minutes, Lorenzo moved from behind me and stood in front of me. I did not like his change of position one bit as he was now blocking my view of the mirror and I could not see what he was doing. He took his comb and brought down the front portion of my hair down over my face. Now I really couldn't see what he was doing. I was infuriated, but at the same time, I was really getting some pleasure out of this. I had absolutely no idea what in the world he was covering my face for, and I really got turned on by the hair just hanging their, over my eyes. He ran the comb through my hair and then placed his fingers around the hair at my eyes in the shape of scissors, as if to get a feel for where he wanted to cut it. And thats when I realized what he was doing. He was going to give me bangs.
"Oh, silly me, I almost forgot to ask for permission!" Lorenzo exclaimed. "I was going to cut bangs for you. Is that alright?"
He did it again! I couldn't believe that once again Lorenzo asked for my permission to do something with my hair. As if it was just an unspoken agreement that he would cut off over two and a half feet of hair!
And even worse was my reaction. I wanted to speak up, I wanted to tell him, "Absolutely not, I do not want bangs and I did not want you to ruin my hair!" But I didn't do that. I couldn't. I just wimpered a soft, "Mmmhmmm." There, I did it again. I gave him permission. I have no idea why, but I gave him the green light to give me bangs. There was no way to back out of this one. I couldn't believe myself. I came in for a quarter inch trim and now I was agreeing to bangs!
He combed my hair one last time to make sure he had it lined up right, and then he placed the scissors at my eyes. Sssssssssssssssnnnnnnnnnipppppppppppp. A big clump of hair fell from my face and landed onto my lap. Shit. I had never had bangs before, ever. I looked down at my lap and was surprised to see just how much he had actually cut off. Several inches of hair sat in my lap for the first time in my life. I had never had so much hair in my lap.
All those times when I would watch women getting their hair cut in random salons, I didn't just watch the scissors slice through the hair. I didn't just admire the long hair sliding down the client's back and falling freely to a large pile on the floor. I also looked at all the hair that was sitting on the cape. For me, I never had hair in my lap. Donna always combed my hair down as it was hanging over the back of the chair, and she would trim the end and everything would end up on the floor. I never had hair on my lap. But other women did all the time. One of my favorite things was when a stylist sectioned off some hair on top of the client's head, and pull it straight up high in the air. I loved when the stylist placed the scissors towards the ends of the hair, or if I was lucky enough to witness a long to short haircut, towards the middle or bottom of the hair, and chop it all off with those scissors that simply sliced through the hair. The best part was watching the cut off hair fall down over the client's face and land in their lap. I also loved watching women get bangs for the first time, just as I had just gotten them. I loved watching te stylist comb all of the long hair over the client's face and leave it hanging there for a few seconds to let the client reconsider chopping off so much hair. And then, just as the client would open her mouth to say something, the stylist would split the scissors shut and the hair would fall down into the client's lap. Sometimes, there would be almost as much hair on the client's lap as there was on the floor.
The thing that was especially strange about the pile of hair on my lap was the fact that I could see it. It was unlike the pile on the floor. If I wanted to see all of my hair that had been cut off, I would have to look down, and then I would see what I usually considered to be the garbage hair, the hair that I wanted cut off, the hair that was no longer wanted. There was a reason it was on the floor. But the hair on my lap was much different. It was right there, right in plain view, just sitting in obvious sight. I didn't have to make a special effort if I wanted to see this hair. I just had to have my eyes open, and there, I could see all my hair just sitting dead. Sitting on the cape, sitting on me. There was a reason this hair was still on me, because it was supposed to stay on my head. I did not want bangs. And now it was right there to serve as a constant reminder that I couldn't trust anybody with my hair. I shouldn't have let anybody other than Donna near my head with scissors.
Lorenzo came back around my back. He combed my hair a bit but did not cut anymore. We both looked at my new look in the mirror. My light brown hair was now sitting at my shoulders, with lively layers around the back and sides giving volume to it, and a set of bangs nicely framing my wonderful green eyes. The new length really made my hair look a lot stronger and healthier. I hate to say, but it actually looked kind of nice.
"Hmmmm...." Lorenzo thought out loud. "I don't think this is quite short enough."
Oh my god, I thought. Please don't tell me he is going to cut any more off. Please. I came in with my beautiful hair at my waist. I couldn't leave the salon like this. What would everybody say? My hair was already much too short, there was no way in hell I could allow him to cut it any shorter!
"I want to bring it shorter, much shorter," he continued. "Is that alright with you?
I couldn't believe he asked me once again for permission! It was really pissing me off. Well, obviously this was exactly what I wanted my new stylist to do, to ask me permission before doing something. But I still couldn't understand why he didn't ask me if it was ok to cut off years and years of growth! Well at least he was asking me now. I didn't know what he meant by "much shorter" but I sure as hell did not like the way it sounded. For all I knew he would cut off another year's worth of growth. I couldn't put the rest of the hair back on my head, but I could prevent any more from coming off. All I had to do was say, "No, I want you to stop cutting now."
So I said, quite enthusiastically in fact, "Yes, I would love my hair cut shorter!" Wow. I honestly had no idea I was even capable of saying those words. I wanted to kill myself. I had just committed treason. I had just broken my own selfcode. It was one thing before when Lorenzo cut my hair off without asking, but now I literally said the words that I never wanted to say in my life, ever. Another chill went through my body. I was getting so incredibly horny, and I fingered myself furiously.
"Great!" exclaimed Lorenzo. "You are going to absolutely adore the way you will look with short hair!"
That really did it. About a half hour ago I came in here with waist length hair and I asked for a quarter inch trim. Now I was agreeing to short hair. I had no idea how short he was going to cut it, but just imagining the powerful scissors slicing through my locks any more got me so incredibly excited. I couldn't help myself. I started laughing. I kept laughing, and laughing, and laughing. I was now giggling like a little girl. "Cut it short!" I squeeled. "Please, cut my hair really short!" I didn't know why I was saying that. I really did not want my hair to be cut short. I think maybe, deep down inside, subconsciously, I realized that I was never going to voluntary go this short again, so while I was already there, I decided to go for it. But still, I couldn't believe that I was telling Lorenzo to cut my hair really short, and that I was giggling like a psycomaniac.
"Don't worry!" said Lorenzo, "I will give you the shortest, most beautiful haircut you have ever had in your entire life!" He gathered my hair in the back into a loose ponytail. I knew what was coming next, but I still couldn't believe it when it happened. He stuck the scissors at the base of my neck and chopped the whole thing off. I looked in the mirror. I had never seen my face the way I was seeing it now. My big green eyes stuck out and they looked gorgeous. I had never known I had such pretty eyes. I guess they must have been hidden by my hair my whole life.
Lorenzo ran the scissors and comb through my hair. Snip, snip, snip. Sssssssssnnnnnipppppp. The scissors were extremely close to my head. My hair was being chopped very short, much shorter than I ever wanted it. The scissors couldn't have been more than 2 inches away from my head the whole time. Lorenzo kept on cutting, it felt like he was never going to stop. It felt like he kept cutting the same area over and over and over again. I thought I was going to end up bald. It seemed like he never stopped cutting.
First, he cut the back of my head. He placed the scissors at the base of my neck and cut my hair very short. For the first time in my life, my neck was exposed, and it felt amazing without the weight of all that hair on it. Little by little, Lorenzo brought the scissors higher up my head and he kept snipping and snipping. It felt incredible having the scissors so close to my head. He then combed down the sides, and the scissors slowly went behind my ears. Lorenzo cut this part with great care. I could feel the cold steel blades of the scissors on my skin, and I loved it. Because the scissors were so close to my ears, the next few snips was louder that all the other ones. Ssssssssnnnnnnippppppppp. Ssssssssssnnnnnnnnipppppppp. Snnnnnnnnnnnipppppppppp. I watched in amazement as my hair fell down freely and I saw my ear for the first time in forever. I barely knew I had an ear. I had always worn my hair down free, and I don't think my ears were exposed since I used to wear ponytails back in fifth grade. Lorenzo went to the other side of my head and repeated the same process, placing the scissors right up against my skin right behind my other ear. Sssssssssssssnnnnnnnnnnnnnippppppppppp. Sssssssssssssnnnnnnnnnnnnnipppppppppp. Sssssssssssnnnnnnnnnnnnnipppppppppppp. More hair fell freely down and my other ear was exposed.
When Lorenzo was finally finished, he stepped behind me again and we both looked at the new me in the mirror. My light brown hair was now styled into a short but feminine pixie cut. It made my hair look so soft, and it really framed my face nicely. I can't believe I'm admitting this, but I actually really liked it.
Of all the times I went window watching at salons, there was one experience that was more exciting then any other one. This memory stood out in my mind the most. I watched through the window as a woman with beautiful blonde waist length hair similar to mine got up from the waiting area and sat down in the styling chair. The front door was open and so I heard everything inside the salon clearly as I watched through the window. I remember the woman said to the stylist, "Chop it off. Chop it all off." The stylist seemed very shocked at the request, as the woman had a terrific head of hair. The stylist asked the woman why she wanted to cut it all off and the woman simply replied, "I need a change." I watched very very closely as the stylist used a freestyle cutting technique to quickly cut off most of the length. She then proceeded to cut an absolutely gorgeous pixie cut. It was an extremely dramatic change. On the floor under that styling chair was a pile of hair. It was the biggest pile of hair that I had ever seen, a mountain of hair. If I had just seen the pile of hair without seeing the actually haircut occur, I would think that it was so sad that someone cut off such amazing hair. But having watched the whole event actually take place, I experienced a real thrill and I was actually inspired to go right into the salon as soon as the haircut was finished and ask for my hair to be cut the same way. I actually did walk into the salon, and before I could say a word, I walked past a mirror and saw my reflection in it. I saw my long hair hanging down and I realized that I did not actually want to cut. I began to cry and I said, "I'm sorry, I have to go." Then I ran out of the salon sobbing that I had come so close to cutting off my gorgeous hair. I vowed that I would never let anybody other than Donna cut my hair, and I would never ever cut it short.
Obviously my vow had been broken. I had let a different stylist cut my hair and he cut it all off. I shouldn't have done that. I could have found a way to have Donna keep cutting my hair. I know she was retiring but she had me forever. She said she wanted to stay in touch, so maybe she could have done a house call or something. But that didn't happen. I chose to let Lorenzo cut my hair. I fell into his charming trap. I looked down at the floor. My pile was just as big as the blonde woman's was from many years ago. I looked at my mountain of hair and I felt mixed emotions. My best friend was now dead, but at the same time I felt so...... liberated. I felt so much stronger without all of that hair to hide behind. To be quite honest, I was actually quite glad that Lorenzo had cut all of my hair off.
"Do you like it?" asked Lorenzo proudly.
"I absolutely love it," I said, 100% completely honest.
"I am so glad," he replied. "I was worried that you would hate me and want to kill me."
"Well to be honest, I was pretty shocked. Not to say I don't love it, but why did you cut off all my hair? We agreed that you would only give me a quarter inch trim."
"I was going to give you a quarter inch trim. I really was. But when you said that you have had long hair your entire life, I knew that you would never cut it short on your own. I knew that unless some stylist went and cut it all off without your permission, you would never cut it short. And you have such a pretty face, I knew you would look great with short hair. I really wanted you to get it cut short and I knew you would never do it on your own, so I had take matters into my own hands."
It might sense, but I was still a little puzzled. "But then why did you ask for my permission to cut layers and to cut bangs?"
"Because at that point I had already taken off the length. I had already given you short hair, and if you wanted to be adventurous and trust the hairsylist and try something new, I knew that you would give me the ok. If you really hated it, I didn't want you to hate it anymore." Lorenzo winked at me and said, "But you seemed to be really enjoying the experience."
Embarassed, I blushed a bit, but then realized there was no reason not to be honest with him. "Oh yes, it was one of the most amazing experiences of my entire life! Getting all of my hair cut off, it just felt so.... it just felt so surreal. It felt like a fantasy. And then when you decided to cut it really short, oh my god, all these thoughts went racing through my mind and I couldn't wait to see what I would look like! I have always been a long haired girl and now out of nowhere, in just minutes I was becoming a short haired girl. It felt like I was becoming a different person. It was just so exhillerating!"
"Well I'm glad you enjoyed it," said Lorenzo.
"How much do I owe you?" I asked, ready to give a very large tip.
"No charge," he replied with a smile on his face.
"Oh thank you so much, Lorenzo! I 'm not kidding, I really feel like you changed my life. But I just want to know one more thing. Just how much hair did you cut off?"
"Well, let's find out!" he proclaimed. He went to the closet and pulled out a broom, and began sweeping up all the hair on the floor into one nice neat pile. One enormous gigantic mountain of hair.
"They say a picture's worth a thousand words," smiled Lorenzo, as he pulled out his Polaroid camera, snapped a shot of my mountain, and gave me the printout. We said our goodbyes, and I walked out the shop beaming, feeling like a brand new person, like I had a whole new life ahead of me. Before I walked away, I sent one last look back into the salon. Lorenzo was sweeping up all of my hair, that used to be on my head, that used to be down to my waist, that was supposed to be trimmed a quarter of an inch, that was sliced through with the scissors, that fell down my face and into my lap, that was now a story.
From then on, I kept my hair short. I kept going back to Lorenzo and he always did something new to my hair without even asking me. Not only was I ok with it, I even encouraged it. I just loved the feeling of not knowing what I was getting, the feeling of being locked into the chair under the cape, the feeling of knowing that the fate of my hair is up to the stylist and his scissors. I just trusted Lorenzo that much. Occassionally I would grow my hair out a bit longer, just so I could experience having it all cut off again. The longest I ever let it grow was back to my shoulders, but Lorenzo didn't let me keep it that way for long. When I walked into his salon with my hair to my shoulders, I told him I was thinking of getting a long bob type haircut. He said that sounded marvelous and so he proceeded to chop it into a short pixie. Absolutely not what I asked for, but I loved it anyway. Thats why I loved Lorenzo. He always keeps me on my toes and gives me a great thrill while also giving me a great haircut.
To this day I still go to Lorenzo's salon and get my hair cut. I never got over my little crush on Lorenzo, although we never got into a relationship. But I'm fine with that, as long as keeps sweeping me up into a world of snipping, slicing, and piles. And of course I still have that picture to remind me of my favorite haircut experience. The picture of the pile of long hair Lorenzo took when he chopped it all. My pile.
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