#not that I dislike dresses but just the fact Id look in the mirror and probably dissociate clean out of my skin
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Cressworth Modern Au- Dear Liza
I have a HC that even in a modern setting, Audrey Rose would still write letters to Liza when she was at Uni. Here are some of those letters throughout the first term of school~
Dear Liza,
Well the first week at Uni has been an absolute whirlwind. I miss father and uncle dearly (not to mention you of course). But I have made lots of new friends. You would love my roomate, Ileana. Noah from my anatomy class, and Anna from psychology are really cool too, and I feel lucky to have met such great people so early on. Noah and Anna are in my major study group, along with some stuck up bloke called Andrei and a few other people I don’t really know. It is a good group, all of us are very determined (though it is only the first week).
I have to tell you, Liza, the absolute funniest thing happened at orientation over the weekend. You remember Uncle’s summer intern? For the life of me I can’t remember his name, but, well he tripped coming down the steps to come over and greet uncle and I. I swear to you Liza, I almost died trying not to laugh out loud. Uncle says he is very bright, and that I will probably run into him at some point this term, seeing as he is in my same major, but so far, he seems to have disappeared. I spaced on asking uncle for his name, so it would seem perhaps I won’t encounter him again.
I am going to a party tonight, and I’m wearing that dress you made for me before I left. Ileana says I look ravishing, so cheers to you!
But enough about me, how is the school of design? How are your classes and flatmates? I want to know everything.
Love always,
Audrey Rose
--
Dear Audrey Rose,
The school of design is amazing! Paris is beautiful, and my flatmates are absolutely incredible! You must visit, because you would just die for the culture here. It is so different than home, even if it is just a train ride away.
Anna and Ileana sound just lovely. I think you’d get along swimmingly with my favorite flatmate Daciana. She has the most iconic grunge/vampy look, and it perfectly compliments my summer child vibe. We lovingly refer to one another as our “other halves”. I am dying for you to meet her. And perhaps one day soon you might! She has a brother who actually is enrolled at your school! I’ll be sure to ask if he’s the annoying Andrei. How funny would that be!
But anyway, Daci wants to take the train down to London to visit him in a few weeks time and unless something major happens between us in that time, I’m going to accompany her! It will be so wonderful, cousin!
But now that all that about me is out of the way, let’s talk about your encounter with Uncle’s (super hot) summer apprentice. WHAT LUCK AUDREY ROSE!!! I vividly remember the time the two of you met briefly, and how flustered you were when he walked away. Deny it all you want, but I know you were smitten.
If you see him again, I insist, for the sake of my romantic soul, that you speak to him, instead of laughing at him.
Love you, see you soon,
Liza
Ps- his name is Thomas you absolute fool
--
Dear Liza,
Before I get to my questions about Daci, and about the new aesthetic you’ve seemingly assigned yourself in the few short weeks we’ve been apart, I want to address how ridiculous your claims are.
I have zero feelings for Thomas. Except perhaps feelings of annoyance. True, I found him quite attractive when we met last summer, but i find plenty of people attractive without being “smitten” as you so foolishly put it.
And even if I had been over the summer (which I was not), it is surely gone after working with him this last week. Thomas was a surprise addition to my study group starting at the beginning of this week, and he has proven himself to be most insufferable.
Who has to be right all the time?
And dear Liza, I do not mean “stick to their guns even when they’re wrong” right, I mean, actually, genuinely correct, every damn time. It’s positively infuriating!
Now that we’ve established that the only thing I want between me and Thomas is a brick wall, tell me about your “summer child” aesthetic. Last time I saw you, you were neck deep in prep chic. What has changed?
Daci sounds positively lovely, and I cannot wait to meet her and to see you both.
Anna and I went on this unbelievable night hike last weekend, we went through the forest to the old ruins atop the hill. I’ll have to take you when you come to visit.
Ileana has a friend that goes to your school! She wouldn’t give me a name, saying since it’s such a small school she worries you’d know her, and is keeping her past girlfriends a secret from me ://
Hopefully someday soon I’ll get it out of her. It sounds like she was something special.
Love you, and I excitedly await your visit.
Audrey Rose
--
Dear Audrey Rose,
First off, I am, and have always been, a summer child. It’s too grey in London for me to fully unleash it. But now here, in Paris, it is lively and warm enough for me to embrace who I really am. You just like to imagine I was a prep because your taste is not nearly refined enough to understand my unique look. (Love you cousin, even if you have the fashion sense of an old woman ;) )
I can’t believe I not only go to school with Ileana’s ex, but also the sister of someone at your school! It’s fate! I’m not sure yet if what kind, but it’s something.
As for Thomas, he sounds infuriating. But then again, isn’t “hot-but-annoying” exactly the criteria for a hate sex partner? I’m just saying, maybe it’s time to ditch the sweaters for something a little more showy and get yourself some action ;)
Love you, please don’t disown me for my foul mouth.
Kisses,
Liza
--
Dear Liza,
I made the mistake of reading this in the mail room right after I opened my post box.
And who should I smack right into as my face was burning so hot I was worried my blood may boil?
Thomas.
Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?!
Not that I care what he thinks of me, I would’ve been embarrassed if I’d run into anyone like that.
He asked what I was reading, and because I’m bad at making up lies, I panicked and just mumbled something about having to go.
He had the most infuriating smirk, I swear his already full lips probably doubled in size.
What an absolute buffoon.
Later that night I found him sitting in the (usually vacant) seat besides me in forensics. It’s such a big lecture, I didn’t even know he was in the class. I wasn’t about to ask him to move, even I’m not that harsh. He spent most of the class doodling around the edge of his notebook (he was the only one in the whole lecture who didn’t have a laptop) and yet somehow, he always had the best theories.
Though I don’t like him, I plan to glean everything I can from having him as a new seat mate. He is quite intelligent, but more than that he can insert himself into the situations. It’s fascinating the way his mind works, I intend to steal that trait from him.
As for trading in my sweaters? I will never. They are my truest love. And as for hate sex? Absolutely not. I’m not letting someone I hate be my first time.
Love, your fashion forward cousin,
Audrey Rose
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My Dearest (fashionably challenged) cousin,
So what you’re saying, is if it wasn’t your first time, you would take the handsome Thomas straight to bed? You little slut.
Daci and I have set a date for our trip. It is to be two weeks from tomorrow, for neither of us have classes on fridays. We will take the evening train, and be with you by midnight!
Her brother is to pick us up from the station in his car, and drive us to your school. I can’t wait to see you!!!
My whole heart is bursting at the thought (just as yours is bursting with loooooove for Thomas)
Seriously Audrey Rose, no one can write that much about someone they “hate so much”.
I know just how frank you can be, and if you truly disliked him as much as you say, you’d have told him to move, or simply say somewhere else.
That and you wouldn’t have gone into such detail about how intelligent he is and how much you think you can learn from him (not to mention how full his lips are!!).
Stop denying it, and just embrace the fact that you are not only attracted to his face, but his intellect.
Can’t wait to tease you about it in person,
Liza
--
Dear Liza,
You’re wrong.
Enough about Thomas (though he did bring me a cup of tea to forensics lecture last night when I mentioned earlier that afternoon at study group how tired I was, and how I didn’t have a break until after our night lecture).
I don’t know why I felt compelled to tell you that, maybe just to do him the justice of demonstrating maybe he isn’t all bad.
But still, besides that courtesy he remains an annoyance.
I cannot wait to see you. Ileana and I have found the most wonderful little pub with this incredible live band. They’re from America, and they play this music called “surfer punk”. It is, the strangest thing, but I think you will love them. And if what you’ve said about Daci is true, she will too.
Oh, and speaking of women at your school, Ileana’s ex is apparently “the one who got away”. She told me and Anna the other night when we were all hanging out together in our room. How they only broke up because they were going to different schools. It was the saddest story.
Please don’t stop being my best friend just because you are a Parisian fashion queen surrounded by other Parisian fashion queens.
Love, your bff,
Audrey Rose
--
Dear Audrey Rose,
First of all, unless someone at school with me here can become better than you, they will never replace you as my best friend/future maid of honor. And spoiler alert, they won’t.
Daci is wonderful, but she will never replace you, no matter how alike we are, you complete me as my polar opposite in some aspects, and yet my mirror image in others.
Wow that was pretty, maybe I ought to be a creative writing major.
In regards to your little Thomas situation, i have been teasing you mercilessly, but in all honesty, that tea thing was very sweet. I think he may have a thing for you too. (Even if it’s just a “id smash if given the opportunity” kinda deal)
This feels like it’s going somewhere, I am thrilled to be experiencing this iconic love story second hand.
your bff,
Liza
Ps- if you get to insist Daci and my other fashion friends don’t replace you than I must insist that Anna and Ileana never replace me in your heart. If I find out you confess your feelings about Thomas to them before me, I will be infuriated. (That is mostly a joke, but in every joke there is a little bit of truth.)
Love youuuuu,
Liza
--
Dear Liza,
Of course no one will ever replace you. You’re stuck having me as a best friend forever.
Now that we’re done with that nonsense, I have so much to fill you in on.
We just got slapped with this massive midterm project that is due the day you leave, so naturally I am going to try and get it done before you come. I assumed I was working alone because Thomas didn’t bother asking if I might want to work with him, and I don’t know anyone else in that class. But two days ago, there comes a knock on my door. Naturally, I assumed it was Anna or that Illy had forgotten her keys, so I opened the door.
And who should be leaned against the door frame? You guessed it Liza, Thomas. He handed me a to go cup of Earl Grey and then strode right in like he owned the place.
“Messier than I expected.” was all he said before settling himself at my desk, spreading his notes across my own and launching into his take on the case.
He can be quite captivating when he puts his mind to it, and despite wanting to tell him off for barging in, the longer he talked, the more clear it became that our talents would go better together, and the only way I could get this project done on time would be if we worked together.
So I let him stay, and we have spent the last two days together working day and night trying to finish this. It seems to be driving him mad that he can’t crack it as easily as he can most things in that class. I think that must be what is suddenly making him more tolerable.
Only eight days til I see you, dear cousin. Love always,
Audrey Rose
--
Audrey Rose!!!
You are so smitten!!! When I tell you I canNOT!!! Don’t even try to deny it Audrey Rose!
I have, of course, been keeping Daci in the loop about you and Thomas’ whole “will they or won’t they” scene and she agrees with me that if his actions before hadn’t made it clear he was into you, what he pulled when he came to your room absolutely is. She says you should just make a move, and while I absolutely agree, I told her I bet you wouldn’t because that isn’t very you.
Prove us both wrong?
But even if nothing else comes of it, at least you will (hopefully) get everything done before I get in this weekend! I want every moment with you I can get! Daci and I have the whole thing planned out (of course your American band has made the schedule, Daci is very excited), you, me, her and her brother are going to be like a little posse this weekend, and it’s going to be amazing! And, if Thomas gets jealous you’re spending so much time with another man, you can just invite him. I don’t mind ;)
I’ll see you in six days Audrey!!!!
Love you to America and back,
Liza
--
Dear Liza,
I had not intended on writing you again before you visited, but a LOT happened tonight.
I penned this letter when I got back from Thomas’ room at three in the morning and honestly? The only reason I did was so that I wouldn’t think tonight’s events were some kind of strange fever dream.
We were in my room working on our midterm project to no avail, just as we have every night this week. It was infuriating. But then, suddenly I had this epiphany, and moved everything around, and it all made sense! I yanked Thomas over and I swear, he lit up like a firefly.
Before I knew what was happening, Liza, he had taken me in his arms and pressed his lips to mine. He tasted like chocolate, which mostly attribute to the mocha he’d been nursing all evening.It was the best kiss I have ever had, he put Will Blackburn from high school to shame, but he pulled away much too quickly.
His cheeks were flushed and his eyes had a mix of hunger and nerves. He opened his mouth, I can only assume to apologize, but before he could get a word out, my desire overcome me. I let my hands run through his curls as we kissed again, and as soon as it was clear I wanted it as much as he did, he was lifting me up and pressing me against the wall. My shirt was off faster than you can say “abracadabra” and his lips were making a sweet trail down my collar bone to my chest as I fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.
I had finally gotten his shirt off, and was running my hands over his abs, my legs wrapped around his waist as he left little love bites on my collar bones and upper chest until suddenly, I heard Illy’s voice outside and her key jingling in the door.
And then, the fire in my core was replaced with icy panic. Luckily, Thomas managed to get into the bathroom before she came in, and I managed to pull my shirt back on before Illy got in the door. I explained as casually as I could that Thomas was on his way out, he had just needed to use the bathroom.
When he reentered the room a few moments later, I was so worried he would give us away, but he looked perfectly put together. BUT LIZA THIS IS WHERE THINGS TRULY GOT INSANE!
HE GREETED ILLY LIKE AN OLD FRIEND!!!
Because apparently?? Thomas’ sister is Illy’s ex, and none other than Daciana Cresswell, your mother fucking roomate.
When I tell you I was floored Liza, I mean it.
Then this boy had the audacity to leave like nothing had happened. But at this point, I had nothing to lose, so after a few moments sorting through details and getting caught up with Ileana, I went up to his room to confront him.
He explained he had put it together when he saw me and Uncle because his sister had been telling him about you, her flatmate named Eliza Wadsworth.
You’d think I would be more upset that he had kept me in the dark, wouldn’t you? But surprisingly, I was not. I guess you were right, Liza. I think I have been smitten since he first stumbled down the steps at orientation.
He seemed nervous I would be angry he had held out on me, but when I told him I wasn’t, it’s like he let down a facade and suddenly he was a whole new person. Unfortunately there wasn’t much fooling around after that (besides the considerable ass grabbing that came with my kiss goodnight) because we both agreed finishing the midterm to be most important that way we can spend the most time with you guys this weekend.
He walked me back to my room despite me insisting he didn’t have to, and taunted me with another kiss, and the promise of taking me on a real date tomorrow night, ‘in the time we would have spent on the project you so brilliantly solved tonight’.
I cannot wait to see you, dearest cousin.
Love,
Audrey Rose Wadsworth
Ps- I will be with Thomas when he picks you up on Thursday night :)
~~~~~
Hope you all enjoyed! This is probably my favorite fic I have ever written!!!! I have decided it is going to inspire a tiny mini series of fic’s, so there will be at least two more coming
Thanks, as always, for reading, and let me know if you want to be tagged as I post the next ones in this series
xx
#sjtr#stalking jack the ripper#Thomas cresswell#Audrey rose wadsworth#cressworth#cressworth au#cressworth college au#college au#sjtr fanfiction#sjtr au#hunting prince dracula#escaping from houdini#capturing the devli
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Coming out stories
A heads-up. These are the original stories, however, they are anonymous. This wasn't intentional, I just screwed up and didn't tag. These stories, aren't mine, so if I've posted yours and you want it taken down. Please, just ask me.
Alright.
I am tired of people who are against the LGBTQ+ community. Its alright to have an opinion. It is not alright to put people down for being themselves. The first pride was a riot, a fight for what they believe in. I'm trying to do the same. I'm trying to gather the stories of the fallen, the ones who are still standing, the people who are willing to fight for everything they are. And I am fully willing to take a stand and fight to prove we exist. To prove that we're here, and we aren't backing down.
Hello, my name is Dustyn. I'm here today to collect stories from the LGBTQ+ community. There's a lot of people who are against us, which is exactly why we need to stand our ground. I'm not asking for a fight, I'm asking for your stories. My story is not yet finished, though I'm a bisexual trans male. Our stories are important, because they show who we are and how far we've come. I've struggled a lot in my life, but I've made it. So have others. Here are some of those stories. We'll start with mine. I've gone through many identities, mostly trying to figure myself out. I'm still doing that. My family doesn't accept me for me, but I have many friends who do. There are so many accepting people in life, and I appreciate all of you who are proud to be who you are. Whether closeted or not, you are all valid and amazing.
"Hello my name is Melissa and i am bisexual. My family didn't really have a harsh reaction to it other than the fact that they didn't understand it at first. That was most of my trouble was people saying that bisexual wasnt valid. Im sorry mine is so short but i think the moral is that you are valid. No matter what you identify as on any spectrum in the LGBTQ+ community. Also even if your outside of the LGBTQ+ community and your just an ally. We love you and you are all valid.”
"Salutations everyone. My name is Talan. I am non binary, panromantic and i am currently between asexual and demisexual. I was raised in a very christian household where my mother and father had very strict beliefs. They believed that being anything but straight and to me being anything other than my assigned gender was a sin, and many people still say that to me. When I came out to my dad he flipped, he took me out of school for a year and put me in online school. During this time in my life I had reached a dark time where i thought that it was never going to get better but trust me it does. I am still living with my dad who does not accept me and at this point we don't talk that much, but it does get better. We have gotten to the point where we can have a civil conversation with each other and im back in school. I have an amazing girlfriend and multiple qpps who i love very much. Everybody at school is very loving and supporting. Remember that family is not chosen for you, you make your own family. If you ever feel down than just know that there are so many amazing and kind people in the world who love you for who you are, no matter what that may be. You are loved."
“I'm glad you reached out to me, anything to help people understand more about the LGBTQ+ community. I am 19 now and I came out to my family at the age of 14. My parents were the typical ones who said it was just a phase and it would not last but here I am five years later and I made it through. There was a point where I had no one to turn to but then i met my amazing boyfriend. He helped me through the good and the bad and showed me that there were things to stay for. I am now in college and pursuing a career in photography at the University of Arizona. I hope that could help a bit!”
"Okay. Well. My coming out experience was definitely not expected in the slightest. I was in the 5th grade. Realizing that I liked both boys and girls was quite the revelation. I had a lesbian friend who was the first ever gay person I met or knew. I remember being backstage of a show I was in and just crying through the words, "I know I'm supposed to love guys, but I love girls too". After that. I didn't tell anyone else, until 6th grade. I was a track meet and a group of people I sat with was talking to my lesbian friend about kissing. I forget the exact conversation, but I spoke up and said I would kiss her. A Christian girl in my class was nearby and heard. She was disgusted. Therfore by the end of the week, I was completely outed to my entire school. It was ugly, but it got better over time I guess. I'm a junior in high school now. I have yet to come out to my parents, but at least I know that I am finally comfortable in my my sexual orientation and gender identify (demigirl, which I didn't figure out until a few short months ago)."
"Hey, I haven't actually come out to everyone yet but I have told a few people and all of their reactions were positive "oh you're bi? cool" and that was it. No "so do you like me?" or anything which was super great. So I was "straight" and when I heard about the LGBT community I was "straight" for about another five days. I did some thinking and realised I'd actually liked girls before, and shortly after came out as bi to a few of my close friends at the time. They were all supportive, bar one who said "you're just looking for attention lmao".Coincidentally, she had also come out as pan and had received the usual "you're attracted to pans?". I go to a Christian school, so it would be pretty disastrous if the news leaked out, but naturally it did. Not everyone knows, maybe about 10% of my grade. I suspect some teachers found out about how some people were LGBT (not many though, there's about 5 of us), because our dean of year gave the "you're too young to know that" talk. Mostly at school we get sheltered from all LGBT news and details at all, and my parents hadn't told me much about it either, even though they are supportive and would be okay if I came out as bi."
"I'm bisexual. I first came out to my elementary friends over the phone 3 years after we went to different middle schools. They were mostly all so accepting and I was so overwhelmed I hung up on them. I spent a few minutes laying on the ground clutching that phone to my chest, I'd never felt so loved. I cried and cried and cried because these people atleast the ones who accepted me see me different now but are okay with it. Two years later, now, I still haven't come out to my parents. I still need a few years but I'm a little bit more open at school now most of my friends accept me. Others were cut off, I can't do that with my family so they still don't know. Not as if they would take me seriously either way. I want to get past college get a place a stable life then maybe I'll be ready, just maybe. Thank you for listening to my story."
"I was surrounded by my Uncle and his husband for years. I always knew that gay people existed. When I was younger I never thought anything different of myself; I thought I was one of the boys.
It never really clicked that I was the only one who saw it that way.
When I was 7, my mother and sister suggested I take dance I shot them down saying "that's for girls."
They didn't get it.
I wasn't entirely sure what came over me in that moment either but I know it felt right.
As myself and the people I knew grew up I realised I wasn't happy with the way I looked. I tossed it up as your typical dislike.
~every girl went through that at my age didn't they~
All the girls I knew were so happy that they were becoming women and I just sat in the back wondering why I didn't feel the same way.
I still didn't get it.
Once my depressed state got worse I decided to read into ways to love yourself and your body.
I started taking selfies, dressing up, wearing heels and makeup, forcing myself to sing even though I hated the way I looked and sounded.
It got worse.
I broke down when nobody was looking and acted like it was fine; like I wasn't praying that whatever I was feeling would go away for even a second.
And one day I looked in the mirror and I thought "this isnt right. This isn't me. This isn't what I want. Who in the hell is that person staring back at me?"
And I accepted it. That I would never be who I should be. That I would never be happy. Because nobody would love me. Nobody would want me. And nobody would accept me. Because if I was happy then that meant my family wouldn't have had the little girl theh thought they had gotten.
And up until recently no one knew that I broke down every night, that my thoughts got so bad I wanted to drown in my own tears so that maybe it would all be over. Because to me coming out to them was worse than death.
And here I am years later. My family knows but they don't care. They don't try to comprehend that this repression it kills me all the time. So I gathered my money got myself exactly what they told me they would never let me have and I lie. I go behind their backs and I live like the man I really am online. I bind my chest and I hide from their sight and when they ask I say it's just their eyes.
Because if they knew - if my mother knew - they would rather me suffer day after day than be who I am."
"heyo, i read your post and id like to put something to it.
i am a part of the community, havent came out to my parents yet, because i know for a fact id be sent to a psichologist or thrown out. but i am me online
an old friend of mine is a trans guy and found me a few weeks ago. he said he saw that i support LGBT+ and it was so comforting for him. a friend who i haven't talked with for 9 years!after he told me that he lost half of his family for being himself, his dad ignores him since, but he has a boyfriend and got his life together
and that i could be a little comfort for him is really nice. even the people who are closeted can be helpful in the community."
"Well, my mom took it well. I had gotten stuck in my closet and then she got me unstuck and I told her I was queer.
My brother, we were sitting in the car and he told me he always knew, but I had to keep it a secret from my dad or else bad things would happen.
My friends hugged me and started to use my name and pronounsSo coming out to my dad and stepmom, it wasn't even a coming out but a forced outage.
They took my phone away the night of a Panic attack that I still have nightmares over and searched it. They read all my messages.... everything.
I wanted to scream for it to stop, but I knew it wouldn't. They told me that they loved me, but I had to stop being me and I have to go back to being a girl who was cishet
But once you have a taste of freedom of who you really are, you can never go back ...I couldn't hide again. I just had to wait till I could spread my wings and be free somewhere else."
"Ok so for the thing you tagged me in, I don’t exactly have a coming out story yet, and I’m not sure of my identity entirely. I’ve tried out tons of labels and am sticking with queer at the moment just cuz it takes the stress off of picking an extremely definite word to describe me. I came out as queer last year, but I don’t consider it a coming out story because 1) I only told my friends and not my family, and 2) queer doesn’t completely define me. In real life, I’m doing my best to go back in the closet, but I think my “friends” may have told other people who spread rumors around my school, so it’s been difficult. A bunch of people make random references to me liking boys (I’m amab) and it made me uncomfortable enough that I started telling them I’m straight. I’m planning on staying as far in the closet as possible until people get more accepting and I understand myself fully."
"It's not a coming out story (mostly) but it's a realization of sorts.
Yesterday our Social Studies teached asked us to form groups and discuss a contemporary issue that we would present at the front in a few minutes. Long story short I suggested LGBT+ community and rights, which my group mates accepted. I live in a really conservative country (with at least 81% of the entire population identifying as Christians) and that's an extremely taboo topic. It ended up leading the teacher asking us to raise our hands if we believed the lgbt community should be allowed Civil Union, not considering religion an all. I was so afraid to raise my hand, but it was what I believed in and I couldn't live with it if I didn't show it, so I raised my hand. I didn't really do this as a member of the community, I wasn't thinking of myself. I was thinking of a world where this is accepted in my country, where I can go outside and be open and love whoever I wanted to, and I guess the idea of standing up for what I believed in was what pushed me to do that. A big majority of the class was against, and I was just so afraid even though some small logical part of me knew they would not do anything.Today, our Civics teacher had us grouped again to make a live news report and once again, my group (international news) got assigned lgbt+ community because of our listed problems yesterday. I suggested interviewing a member of the community and basically came out to two people I knew were trustworthy (nearly all three other members in that group but thank God I think the third one did not hear) and we agreed that I could be used if I only had my voice recorded and edited to not sound like me. Just a few hours ago I found out that one of my classmates, who I thought was a nice sweet boy, turned out to be a big homophobe. "Sodom and Gomora and Liberals are teaching unnatural things" kind of guy.I guess that broke something in me, because another thing I was really passionate about for when I grew up was this certain job, though no one supported me. I used to want to do that so much the idea of anything else repelled me, sometimes the idea of the other more "acceptable" jobs brought me to tears. Somehow this one admission that I thought everyone should have the right to at least a civil union and finding out my classmates didn't believe in that crushed something in me hard enough that I lost the passion to do that job I wanted. It makes no sense how this connected with that apart from the fact that neither are things I have been or would be supported on, but I guess seeing that this world isn't really safe made me lose hope.I felt scared to raise my hand, almost like I was actually coming out (which I now realize I'm absolutely never doing to many of those people) and the realization that some place I thought was a safe space for me, because all of those people in that class, I thought I could trust them. I've been with them since before I could spell "friend" correctly, they're family to me, I believed I would be safe and accepted, and then came to find out that wasn't quite the case...But well, basically I was terrified then crushed to find out that I could have outted myself to a group of people who would not take my news lightly
Found out some people I thought were friends thought people like me were broken
Found out some people I used to have the biggest crushes on didn't even believe in letting people have a civil union."
"I’m very excited to see brave people like you ready to start a revolution, so I thought I’d share my, sorta, coming out experience.
So I have divorced parents meaning I’d have to come out to four parents. This happened mainly last year. I was pretty sure I was bi, (tho I now identify panromantic demigirl) I knew my dad and stepmom would be great with it, and they were. But when it came to my mother, well, she wasn’t really homophobic, but she had different ideas about how a gay person should behave. She outed me to her after overhearing a convo with my friends. She then told me I was too young, and gave the “its a phase” talk. She knew I was fairly open about it because I lived by a motto to “be so myself that other people feel brave enough to be themselves too” But she believed a gay person should keep it a secret. Nowadays I don’t believe in the process of “coming out” I am open about my sexuality and gender but I don’t do formal coming outs. I always believed that if straights don’t have to, neither should I just because I “don’t fit a default” My mother wants me to come out to my stepfather even tho he already knows. I thought sharing a coming out story that also showed you should never feel obligated to come out. My mother guilt trips me about it, but I remain rooted in my beliefs that I shouldn’t have to come out, which I think is valid.
Hope my story can help anyone and just wanna say you are so so valid, amazing and powerful and should never feel pressured to be open if you don’t want to. Long live the revolution!!!🏳️🌈."
"Hello! I read your post about collecting LGTBQA+ stories and I thought Id share my brief experiences as a bi girl from Germany ^^
Tbh I never made a big deal about coming out, as I personally feel it goes to show that we're revealing a wierd secret, and Id like my sexualtiy to be something normal, not a main identifying characteristic. And everyone of my friends or classmates that I mention it to appear to have no problem with that whatsoever, and as far as I know Im not percieved as predatory either.
My family, however, is a whole different matter. While Im sure that my mums side of the family would be perfectly fine and my parents know already, when youve heard your fathers parents talk about eastern europeans and other immigrants using only slurwords and your uncles parents have expressed their absolute disgust about seeing a gay couple enjoy a nice picnic at the park, you get very cautious about who you tell. Especially since I dont want to put the supportive family in the position of having to consider whom they can talk to about this.
Another thing that Ive noticed after my exchange year in Sweden and seeing my first pride, though not having the time to attend, on my way there in Copenhagen, is how little support my country gives to this community from a social perspective. At my swedish school, all the teachers had a rainbow keyband from a *seminar about LGBTQA+ people*, something Im sure Germany would never do, and all of them kept it. There was no question whether you support us or not, it was an acceped part of social life and no big deal; we even did a private introduction round for pronouns!
And then I came back here. During pride month, there were no rainbow decorations, the most I saw of a parade was two discarded paper flags on the ground afterwards. When I vented about this to my ally friend, she only said that "some people and companies just like to stay neutral". Try all of them in Germany, but sure.
I know our community has come far, but I can also see that it isnt fsr enough, and that is the fight I am still fighting.
Hope this helps ^^."
"Alright. Mine isnt that interesting but I'll do my best :)
I came out as bisexual when i was in the sixth grade. It wasnt a huge deal to my mom. She said okay and we went on with our lives. Around the end of that year, i told her i thought i was trans and she said i wasnt. I came out to her again six months later and she said the same thing. There was a lot of yelling. Mind you, she isnt transphobic at all. The third time... she was so done with me. She yelled and so did i. It took four different times for her to accept me, and even then, i had to do the last time over text because i was scared of her reaction."
"So, my name is Ell. I identify as queer and demigender. I don't know what to say here really early than it's important to find others like you when you're not as close to your family as you used to be. Because of your identity. My family is more accepting than most, but still. The community online is so so important to me, and this project makes me really happy. So thank you. "
"I was at sea world and my mom was in the car I was talking about how my dad was super homophobic. My mom says that my dad acts like it’s a disease I said will if it is then I have got it, My mom is understanding and says that she will love me no matter what."
"So, I’m non-binary and bisexual. That’s a big no-no in a latino family like mine, it’s always grow up, get married with the opposite sex, and have kids. I don’t know why I felt that I could just say anything to my mom one day and she immediately objected. “Are you sure you’re not a lesbian or just confused? You can’t like more than one gender. Also, what’s this about a non gender? You’re either a boy or a girl, that’s it.”
Thankfully after a lecture and me apologizing (though I did nothing but tell her more about me) she let the subject go. I’ve never told my dad because I know mom just will get in the way and say I’m lying again, but at least my friends are understanding and almost completely LGBTQ+."
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Request: Serena x Felix Volturi
You rolled a ball point pen around the booth table. Your eyes on the window beside you, it was the only thing that separated you and the pouring rain.
"Coffee, love?" The kind blonde waitress offered.
You turned to look at her with a gentle smile. The woman was middle aged and was evidently tired. You were observant, so whilst it was apparent to you, no one else seemed to notice or care for that matter.
"I'll just have a water, thank you." She nodded and moved on after jotting down your order. You looked down at your own notepad. You liked writing things down, whilst it wasn't always necessary, you did it as a comfort.
The first note 'Contact Nahuel' and the second being 'Cupcake' followed by 'tape-STRONG'.
The waitress returned with your water and you thanked her again.
You heard a ringing erupt from your pocket. You dug in your jacket pocket to see your father's ID.
"Father?"
"Serena, have you heard from your brother?"
"No. He doesn't particularly like me father."
There was a silence on the other end.
"What's wrong?" You asked.
Your father asked you to do many things but when you were met with silence, something was bothering him.
"He and that woman have ran off somewhere but I don't know where. I don't like it, Serena."
He always spoke like that, as though he expected you to fix everything. You used to think it was since you were the eldest child but in the end it was because you were the most loyal. However you were growing tired of it all, your father, your sisters and your brother as well as Huilen. You felt welcomed by none and no longer did you want to be pushed around. No one knew that though. If anyone did, it would immediately mean someone would try to stop you because your father demands it. He didn't like his children far from him and Nahuel was far enough. Little did he know that you hoped to go much further.
"Have you asked Jennifer? They're on good terms." You suggested.
"I intend to." Your father replied. "She'll be home soon."
"Well, let me know if you need any further assistance if Jenny isn't of much help." You grasped the pen knowing that it was completely empty and hoping you could pull through with having no intention of helping him.
"I'll see you soon, my dearest." He said.
"Goodbye." You hung up before he could say anything else and put your phone on silent.
You weren't attached to your phone, in all honesty, having a phone just gave you more bother. You checked the time, three thirty in the afternoon. You lingered a little longer to finish your water before deciding to face the rain and get to the shops.
By six in the evening you arrived home, greeted by emptiness and quiet. You flicked the light switch out of habit and put your bags on the counter. Your little apartment was cosy but only temporary and had sadly lost its touch since everything making it cosy was now in stacked in boxes, ready for the moving van to collect tomorrow morning. You had yet to pack up the kitchen so you decided you'd have a meal. You didn't eat human food every day. You did if blood wasn't an option which as of late, it wasn't. You wanted something simple though. You dug around the cupboards to find a sauce, a pasta sauce at that. You stared down at it for a moment. "Pasta, it is."
You put the jar on the counter and hunted for pasta, ultimately finding spaghetti. You dug out your phone and lightly tossed it on the counter, not really caring if it broke or cracked. You noticed that you had a voicemail from your father. You put the voicemail on speaker, continuing to cook.
"You have 1 new voice mail at 3:35pm.
'Dearest, I'm afraid you disconnected before I could wish you a happy birthday. I hope to hear from you soon, I love you. Happy birthday, goodbye.'
End of-"
You hung up. "Alright, alright, you did your job- now hush."
It was nice to know your father hadn't forgotten your birthday since you weren't around. You couldn't say you were a big fan of birthdays since you weren't going to run out of them. However, your father thought it important seeing as you and your siblings were half human.
You enjoyed your pasta, intentionally avoiding your text messages. When you finally checked them, you felt completely justified for avoiding them. You had texts from your father and Maysun. That was when the guilt really hit you. It wasn't that you didn't love your father or Maysun. You loved them dearly as any daughter and older sister would.
You followed your father blindly, and still continued to do so. You never questioned him once and yet you felt so damn unappreciated. You were never thanked by your father for raising his other children and his other children sure as hell never thanked you. Nahuel being the most unappreciative of them all. Your father didn't spend much time with Nahuel which surely caused Nahuel to stray but your father learned and made sure he was present for Jennifer to avoid her being left astray. Jennifer was Nahuel's favourite whilst you were the sister he disliked the most.
Your personal opinion of him, you kept very private. You never uttered your feelings on him. He angered you how he could defy his father and for being so ungrateful towards you, it would have served him right if you had just neglected him. However, in saying that, you still loved Nahuel. Maysun had a way of working around Nahuel's stubborn ways. He was fond of her but kept her at a distance. Maysun was trouble to raise, defiant, but she did as she was asked even if she had her moments where she'd forget just who kept her alive. Whilst Jennifer was the Golden child who got everyone's attention.
The first text was from your father. "Jennifer has not heard from your brother. This worries me."
The second from Maysun. "Father has been talking about you a lot. I think he fears you're growing distant. Is everything alright?" Maysun always asked if you were alright even though it was an empty question, she didn't care for the answer.
Truth be told, you knew that none of your siblings liked you which was a lonely predicament to be in. You were too devoted, too much like your father. It was typical, your sisters never called because they knew you'd answer. Texting you, meant they didn't care for a reply and knew that you didn't respond to texts.
With impeccable timing, you got an incoming call from your father. You immediately picked up. "Father, my apologies, I just checked my phone-"
"Serena, where are you?" Your father sounded on edge which always lead to a string of demands.
"I-I can't tell you that."
"What? Serena, this is no time for games. I want you home- now." You stopped listening but could hear Jennifer and Maysun in the background whilst your father got angered and had begun to speak to you very rudely. You took the phone away from your ear and bit your lip as you hung up on him.
'This wasn't permanent.' You told yourself. 'You just needed some time.'
You went back into the kitchen and to get a small cupcake. You bought a packet of small candles intended for celebration cakes but you only needed one. You got your lighter and set it alight, smiling to yourself as you bent down to lean on the counter just to watch the candle for a moment. You told yourself what you told your siblings to do when growing up. Make a wish. You paused keeping a wish in mind before blowing out the candles.
Your wish? That something good would happen to you. Something, life changing.
Once you enjoyed your little birthday treat, you cleaned up and packed up the kitchen, taping shut the remaining boxes with the tape you had bought earlier that day.
You had decided on the outskirts of Italy, figuring it wouldn't be an obvious place to start looking for you. You took in the empty apartment which was now your new home, already planning how you'd decorate it.
Settling in was slow but not too slow. In fact, you enjoyed the speed everything was falling into place. Not long after that, you began to explore Italy, your next stop being Volterra. It did more than impress. It was lovely how history felt locked in every stone.
You didn't have as much experience as others. You were born in 1810 but nevertheless, you were old enough to notice drastic changes in societies. Whilst Volterra had new people, it looked encapsulated in time. You appreciated that indeed.
You slowed to a stop, feeling someone watching you. You slowly turned and saw a very tall man, dressed in grey staring at you and looking slightly puzzled. You were certain your expression mirrored his for a moment. This was a vampire who was staring at you and quite frankly, you didn't know the protocol for strange men staring at you, not to mention a vampire. Slowly, walked away and to your relief, nobody stopped you and nobody followed you.
You saw him twice after that. The second encounter you offered him a quick hello but took off before anything further could be said. However, this time you decided to properly speak to him. When you saw him you came up behind him and tapped his back. He turned to look down at you.
"Oh, you again. Well if this is going to be a regular occurrence then I believe we should be on first name basis."
"My name is Serena...and you are?"
He looked at you as you waited for a response. "Wait, really? You don't know my name?"
"Well, I don't believe we've met before-." You began but were cut off.
"But surely you know of my coven, that's usually as enough information as anyone needs."
You looked him you and down and shook your head.
"Really? Woah, then my name is Felix. Felix Volturi. I'm a guard for the Volturi coven. I don't believe I got a last name off of you?"
"I don't think I have one. Is Volturi your real last name?"
Felix shook his head. "No. It's just easier saying that's our last names because a lot of us don't have a last name or we didn't like it. You know how it is."
You nodded. "Nice to meet you. I'm sorry, I haven't heard of your coven before. My father..." You caught yourself. "He's never mentioned you."
"You're a hybrid, aren't you?" Felix asked and you nodded. "The first. Are hybrids common?"
"Hell no." Felix chuckled. "We didn't know hybrids were possible to until four days ago. Do you know the Cullen's?"
You shook your head.
"Wow, you are kept in the dark- pardon my saying so."
"Don't worry about it. My father intended it that way."
"huh. Anyway, there are around five that we know of, six now that you're here. You say you were the first?"
"Yeah. I was born in 1810, my father is a scientist. I have two sisters and a brother, they're hybrids too."
Felix furrowed his brow. "Sorry, a brother? What is his name? We may know him."
"His name is Nahuel."
"Ah, yes. We met him a little under a week ago. So there is five hybrids then. Forgive me, I must head back but I'm sure this won't be our last meeting. I hope to see you soon, Serena."
Felix returned the night after, seeking you out with a blonde man you didn't know. "How,- how did you know where I live?"
You completely forgot pleasantries.
"It's nice to see you too." Felix smirked. "This is Demetri, he's a tracker- the best in the world."
Demetri nodded to you with a small yet still charming smile. "Our master, Aro, would like to meet you. He sent us to fetch you."
"oh-" A buzzing interrupted you. You leaned to the counter beside your open door, reaching for your phone. Your stomach sank a little to receive another call from your father. You hated how furious he was with you and so you immediately wanted to flee the situation.
Luckily, Felix and Demetri had given you an opportunity.
"Everything alright?" Demetri peered at you, noticing the small spasms in your face as you tried to void any expression. You nodded quickly, putting the phone in your back pocket. "Yeah, and alright. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to meet him."
"We should have you back by dark so you do not need to worry." Demetri assured you.
Meeting the three Volturi leaders was strange. They seemed to be in a bad mood, collectively, yet the dark haired man who introduced himself as Aro was by far the most unsettling. He tried to hide his mood which only concocted a sinister smile. He asked for your hand which you reluctantly gave him. You didn't know why he wanted your hand but it didn't take long for the guesses to come flooding in.
"Ah, sister of Nahuel...Serena. I am pleased we have made your acquaintance."
"Pleasure to meet you sir, Felix told me you met my little brother not too long ago."
"Indeed, we did." Aro titled his head. "You were the first of four. Joham has been...keeping secrets."
"Four of them, at least." The blonde said from his throne in a tone of disgust.
Aro continued. "Experiments, you were watched over Joham for the purpose of science. Your siblings see errors in his ways yet you remain loyal. It deteriorated your bond with them."
"He's my father, it isn't my place to move against him. I love him dearly."
"I'm certain my brothers would agree with me when I say that such loyalty is very much admirable, my dear." Aro looked up from your hand as his brothers on his thrones hummed in a chorus of boredom, approval, agreement and yet still bland in tone. "Yet...you avoid him now as of recently?"
You couldn't respond, you didn't entirely understand it yourself. Your gaze lowered to the floor, ashamed.
"I'd like to ask that you stay with us for a short time. We have recently become aware of hybrids and I'd like to learn more."
You wanted to say no. You never stayed anywhere that wasn't your own home. That was simply just your personality. However, you couldn't help but notice Aro's stare. Bad things would happen if you refused. You didn't want the trouble and you were well acquainted with being a subject. You slowly nodded and even thanked him. He lit up, excited by the opportunities ahead of him.
It became a routine. Aro documented everything about you to the tiniest detail. Once the interrogation was over, you avoided any eye contact with the twins, Caius and Marcus who you weren't even sure was aware of your presence. Then at night, you'd spend time with Felix. Felix was completely opposite of you. You were used to being depended on, responsible, after a lifetime of bringing up your siblings. You didn't really laugh or really get animated with anything you did. Felix was the opposite. He left his responsibility at the door. He was loud, and goofy. You began to think it was a nice connection you had with one another. You balanced each other out.
It was slow and then all at once. You don't knew when you got so attached to him. He noticed it before you did and when he did, he seemed to grow attached to you too. At nights, he'd tell you stories about the days before you were born and you'd be very attentive. However, you noticed that he didn't particularly want to hear about your father. Whereas, he could listen to you talk about yourself for hours. You asked him about it and he answer surprised you. He said he didn't like the dynamic between yourself and your father. You didn't ask him further though you did wonder if perhaps he senses the same discomfort that you did.
One day, Felix rushed into your room, making you jump. "Felix? What's wrong?" You rose to a stand, ready to do whatever he needs.
"Serena, sit down. I need to speak with you." Felix pushed you back down before sitting beside you. "Do you remember that I told you we met your brother first?" You nodded, furrowing your brow in confusion. "He told us about your father and your siblings. I hadn't realized who you were until you mentioned your brother. Aro approached your father who became very very erratic when he heard you were with us. He'd been running from us for a long time-"
"the bad people..." You mumbled, your eyes falling to the floor as you pieced together that you were living with the very people you had been running from since you were born.
"They came to an agreement, Serena. In return for us to leave him be, Joham has offered you to Aro so that he can learn about hybrids."
"What do you mean he's offered me?"
"He doesn't expect you back. You've to stay here from now on."
You inhaled sharply. A sentence you never thought you'd say tumbled out of your mouth before you could even think. "I wasn't his to give."
Before you could follow that train of thought, Felix lifted your face so that you were looking at him. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Serena."
You hated that your father had taken the choice from you for his own benefit but you couldn't hate him, or hold it against him. However, he couldn't say the same for you. About an hour later, you received one last voicemail from your father, one that wasn't kind or showing remorse. Demetri didn't even let you hear the whole thing, as he took your phone, covering it with his hand and shook his head solemnly before silencing it. Demetri was the next to console you, warming up to you when hearing all good things from Felix.
Things got better, your heavy chest lifting after a while.
Soon enough, you had begun to distance yourself from what happened. You weren't angry with him you still loved him dearly but you accepted that he didn't want to speak to you. You had wanted to leave, you weren't secretive about it but you were very respectful. You wanted to carry on your journey to see the world, something the Volturi couldn't provide. However, you still made your loyalties known. You told the leaders that you'd return whenever they liked. That you'd be apart of their coven if they liked as long as they provided you an open freedom. Decisions had begun to be made when Felix asked you about your last name.
"Have you never thought about a last name? It'd be more beneficial to you since your half human in comparison to us."
You shook your head. "No. Do you think I should?"
"Well you offered to join us so naturally your name would be Serena Volturi."
You cracked a smile. "Cute. Thank you for naming me." You put your head on Felix's shoulder.
Felix chuckled. "I'm going to miss you. Are you sure I can't change your mind?"
"How about this, I'll tell you something very personal about me. Judging by what you think afterwards, I'll stay. Sound fair?"
"Definitely, am I going to hear a secret? I love secrets." Felix grinned. He tugged you toward him, urging you to tell him, his hands on your hips.
You looped your arms around Felix's neck, holding him close.
"So when I was a little girl, every birthday was celebrated and just as my father had told me to blow out a candle. I told my siblings the same thing. We eventually learned about the cake part but anyways, call it sentiment or sadness, i wasn't home for my birthday this year and I bought myself a cupcake and got a candle. It was the closest thing to home I had. Just as ritual, I made a wish and blew out the candle. In the past I'd wish for a unicorn and a superhero cape." Felix chuckled with you at that.
"Of course, they never came true and so this year is the first year my wish came true."
"Oh? What did you wish for?" Felix leaned in to press his face against your cheek.
"I wished that something different would happen."
"Different can mean a lot of things, my dear." Felix smiled against your cheek.
"I know, which is why I was a little more specific. I wished for something good and different to happen to me."
You moved your hand to lift Felix's face so he would look at you, your hand then testing on his cheek. "I never thought for a second it would come true yet it did, and in the form of you." Felix leaned against your hand.
"Now, how do you expect me to respond to that?" Felix grinned, pulling you closer to him. "Consider me thoroughly seduced but I should let you know something." Felix took hold of your jaw holding his gaze on you. "I adore you." You were surprised when he pulled you in for a passionate kiss, as though trying to show you what your words meant to him. "I shall also add that I don't think I can let you leave now."
"Oh?" You smiled.
Felix hummed whilst nodding. "Absolutely. I'd be a fool to let you go. I had doubts that I could let you leave but after that, it's simply not a possibility."
Felix blinked. "Hey! Did you two hear what she said!?"
"I most certainly did."
"Hell yeah!" Two new voices said and suddenly Demetri and Santiago turned the corner. You blushed a little.
"I need to find a mate like this one. She has set the bar. My heart was swooning and it wasn't even being said to me." Demetri put a hand to his chest and shook his head as though to clear his head of a haze.
Both Demetri and Felix did a double take looking at Santiago.
"Santiago, are you alright?"
Santiago blinked. "Oh, I'm fine. I'm just falling in love, one sentence at a time."
"By all means, look but don't touch." Felix grinned, pulling you tightly to him again. "I won this beauty over fair and square. I'll be damned if I don't show her off."
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I started this so long ago and really have no idea where I was going with it. Essentially, Sakura is from a normal civilian AU, dies, and wakes up in the shinobi world and thinks she’s gone insane. Basically, it’s civilian Sakura reacting to the shinobi around her. If you want to adopt it, please send me a message!
Mentions of infidelity and M/M.
Sakura was having a shit day.
She supposed there were more eloquent words to describe her current situation; but as she kneeled in the ruins of her once prized and expensive porcelain china—a precious family heirloom passed down from her mother, whose own mother had gifted her after receiving it from her own mother, and so forth until its initial reception—with tears drying on her blotchy face, she reasoned that no other word would suffice.
Her day had been absolute horse shit.
It was a Tuesday, a normal day by any means, and Sakura had woken up the same way she’d been doing for the last four years: she’d risen with a smile at 7 o’ clock sharp, brushed her lips against the soft skin of her darling husband’s forehead (who then turned around and tried to coerce her back to bed with strong arms and affectionate kisses peppered along her shoulders that soon turned heated), rushed to the bathroom with promises of later, babe!, did her usual morning routine, had a nutritious breakfast of overnight oats and egg whites with a side of fruit, and then left to work.
For about two and a half years now, Sakura had gotten used to the motions of starting up her expensive white Range Rover (a gift from her husband’s wealthy parents), to taking one last glance in the rearview mirror to make sure her makeup was perfect, before driving to her job as a clerical assistant at a law firm in the city.
She was a glorified secretary and though Sakura didn’t necessarily like her job, it paid the bills while she pursued her Doctorates in pediatric medicine and that was good enough for her. Some might—and have—argue that her husband was wealthy enough to support them both until she finished her studies, but Sakura came from a low to mid income family and felt uncomfortable with the idea of not working for what she had.
Besides, she would be graduating in two semesters and starting a paid internship at the hospital under the tutelage of the city’s most decorated and awarded pediatric surgeon, Senju Tsunade, so it wasn’t like this job was for forever. Sakura had fought tooth and nail—or rather, studied until her eyes melted out of her head—to get noticed by the prestigious and hard to impress woman, and it was by sheer stroke of luck that she had managed to make a favorable impression with her research on child cancer.
So, by all respects, today was supposed to have been an absolutely normal and optimistic day like all the rest. Greeting the gate guard with a smile, Sakura had pulled into the parking lot of the well-known Uchiha & Sons law firm, parked her car, grabbed her tote with all her daily supplies (i.e. her lunch, her laptop, important case files, etc.), and made her way to the entrance.
Upon entering the large and extravagant building, Sakura waved and smiled at employees stationed at the welcome desk as she flashed her ID before entering the elevators. The inside was purposely surrounded by mirrors and, as per routine, she dutifully looked herself over to make certain that not a hair was out of place.
The law firm’s CEO, Uchiha Itachi-sama, was a firm believer that presentation of one’s self was key and Sakura agreed. If you dressed like a slob, people would assume you were a slob—at least, that’s what her mother always told her—and Sakura was pleased with the day’s choice of a white textured top, high waisted navy trousers cut at the ankles, and gray suede pointed pumps.
The elevators pinged as she arrived at her floor and Sakura took one last look at her long, perfectly curled hair, adjusted her necklace, and fingered her diamond earrings before taking a step out towards her desk.
As per usual.
Sakura had always taken comfort in the boring routine of her work life because it was so very easy compared to the stress of medical research on top of school work. So imagine her surprise when she came upon a cardboard box on top of her neat and tidy desk.
That had certainly not been part of her routine, and neither was being told by a mousy coworker that she had been ordered to meet with her boss as soon as she arrived.
Apprehension had risen in her chest high enough to smother her confusion and Sakura had nervously shuffled her way to the elevators, mindful of the sympathetic stares thrown her way. It had felt like a funeral procession.
As the doors to the elevators shut, Sakura wrung her hands anxiously at the thought of meeting her boss. She wasn’t stupid; she knew what cardboard boxes on people’s desks meant, but she hadn’t a clue as to why it was on hers.
She knew for an absolute fact that the CEO thought her a model worker and, frankly, had a bit on a crush on her. In fact, it wasn’t even a secret that Itachi-sama pined after Sakura the way a schoolgirl fawned over a crush. He was awfully attentive of her actions and, while his flirtations were subtle, Sakura knew as well as she knew that the sun was hot that if she ever divorced her husband, Uchiha Itachi would come running with expensive flowers and diamonds to woo her into being his.
As if that would ever happen.
Therefore, she had safely assumed that he wouldn’t be the one letting her go; which was odd in and of itself, considering that all lay-offs would have to be approved by the CEO or directly sanctioned by the CFO.
Which, as Sakura soon came to learn from her boss’s secretary’s apologetic words, was the case.
Uchiha & Sons’ CFO—a dazzlingly beautiful but surly man by the name of Uchiha Sasuke—had never really liked her. She’d only officially met him once, but it appeared that once was enough, for when she saw him again two months later he had treated her like the dirt beneath his designer shoes.
At first she thought he disliked how much Itachi-sama fawned and showed preference over her—it was rather unprofessional, and it was no secret that Sasuke had a bit of a brother complex—then she thought he disliked her charismatic and friendly nature, but after a few insults thrown her way, she figured that some people just didn’t need a reason to hate someone.
In fact, he had such little regard for her that he didn’t find it worth his time to fire her himself.
But now, as she picked herself up from porcelain shards that bit into her skin with as much dignity as she could possibly muster, Sakura mused that she had been fucking naïve.
She had returned to her desk and set about packing up her belongings in silent shock, unable to look at her coworkers who were staring at her humiliation in pity, as if she needed the damn job to live.
She would admit that she was a bit sad to go—mostly because she would miss her friendly coworkers and despite being a married woman, she quite liked Itachi’s attention and found it flattering—but she was also glad that she’d be able to spend more time with her wonderful husband—her husband who shone like the sun, whose eyes held all the world’s oceans, whose smile lit up her life.
So, though she had been a bit gloomy as she got into her car and bid the firm one last good-bye, she saw the silver lining in the prospect of affection and intimacy waiting for her at home.
Driving out the city towards her lovely house, Sakura’s thoughts had danced with the image of Uzumaki Naruto’s smile when she surprised him at their home. She imagined how he’d sweep her up into his strong arms, declaring how great it was that his Sakura-chan was home to make him ramen at all hours of the day before she called him an idiot and reminded him that she was competing in a body-building show and needed to watch her carb intake if she wanted to come first in bikini—again.
As usual when thoughts of her sunshine boy came to mind, Sakura had sighed lovingly like a lovestruck fool. She and Naruto had met as children when he’d scraped his knee after taking a tumble from a slide and, being the loving and innocent child that she was, she had rushed to him to brush away his tears and lay a sloppy kiss on his dirty cheek to make him feel better. When he’d looked at her like she was crazy, she had explained with all the wisdom of a five year old child, that, “Mama says kisses make booboos feel better!”
After seeing her point, he’d asked her name, she’d learned he was Naruto, and he then proceeded to grab her hand, drag her up to the highest point in the playground (which so happened to be the slide) and declare to all who would listen that he was going to marry her someday.
Sakura had been so embarrassed she had punched him in the nose.
Such was the start of their odd friendship.
A few years later, at the age of twelve, Naruto moved away to another city and Sakura was devastated. He was her best friend and, though she didn’t return his affections, he was her everything.
It was really no surprise that when his family moved back 7 years later, he was still her everything. Except by that time they had both loved and had their heartbroken in return enough to realize where their love truly lay.
Obviously with each other.
Needless to say, when Uzumaki Naruto made Haruno Sakura his wife at the age of twenty, it was with the promise of forever; and on this Tuesday when she had woken up, she had loved him with the same ferocity and passion as the day she said, “I do.”
So, clearly, something must have gone horribly wrong in their seven years of marriage to warrant her currently shaking hands and stomach churning with burning rage and agony in her silent home, right?
You’re not wrong.
See, Sakura had parked her car in her driveway with a bright smile, had glanced at the Maybach coupe across the street with an appreciative whistle (they lived in a wealthy neighborhood, but a Maybach was still a Maybach), and had opened the side door to her home quietly because it was 10 in the morning and, of course, Naruto would still be asleep.
She had set her box of items down on her kitchen island, slipped off her shoes, and quietly made her way to the master bedroom to pounce on the love of her life to wake him up with kisses.
Except, where there was supposed to be silence, there were grunts and hisses and moans and other wanton noises that would, under any other circumstances, make her blush.
The closer she got to her room—her room with her bed and clothes and perfumes and jewelry and her husband—the louder the noises became.
She had pressed her back to the wall next to the closed door, her heart pounding and feeling like she was going to be sick. A cold sweat broke out along her lower back, her hands shaking as she pressed them to her mouth to muffle her gasps that were quickly dissolving into sobs, and she gingerly leaned her head against the wall.
She recognized the sounds of pleasure coming from behind the door, knew them as well as the back of her hand, and for a moment she had the fleeting hope that perhaps he was doing it to himself. Naruto had a voracious sexual appetite and she knew that he masturbated constantly whenever she wasn’t available—which was a lot.
But when a low mewl pierced through the silence of the hall, one that Sakura absolutely did not recognize, she purged herself of such delusions.
Now, you must be wondering why she hadn’t burst into the room right then and there to catch them in the act and humiliate them the way they humiliated her; but in a stunning moment of clarity, Sakura questioned whether it was wise to burn that image into her mind. It wouldn’t make her feel better, for she knew without a doubt that her heart was broken and her marriage was over, but then again…she had a burning need to know who was behind that door.
After all, she hadn’t ever suspected that her darling Naruto had been entertaining a mistress.
Was the knowledge worth the lasting pain? Would seeing it with her own eyes make it more real?
The sounds from her bedroom reached a crescendo and she pushed off the wall resolutely. Sakura could either hold the upper hand in catching them unawares, or she could wait in the living room until they left the (her!) bedroom and met her knowing eyes.
But she couldn’t exactly tell how long they’d been in there and how long they planned to be there—she’d only been gone for two hours, after all—and that awful pain was giving way to a deep, corrosive anger.
Could she stand to sit on her couch, or at the dining table, and wait for them to finish with all of these tumultuous emotions churning and raging in her gut? Could she stand to listen to another second of their rigorous lovemaking? At this rate, they were going to make a hole in her wall and, Lord, she was seeing red.
Because how dare they?
She could place all the blame on Naruto, but she knew for a fact that whoever was in there would have noticed Sakura’s vanity, her display of perfumes and jewelry and trinkets.
God, did she wear her perfumes when she wasn’t around? Did that unknown woman take her Louboutin heels and Hermes bags for a spin while the madam of the house devoted her time to her research? Could she have possibly, at some point, worn her mother’s pearls?
And Naruto—her dear, precious, loving, perfect, darling Naruto—had been so affectionate that morning as he begged her to come back to bed, even as he planned to see his mistress as soon as his wife left. He had been so passionate when they had sex the night before; and as he whispered familiar declarations of love against her lips, she had been none the wiser.
Worst of all was the fact that they were fucking on her bed! Her parents’ wedding gift!
The thought and speculations made her chest heave with fury and disgust and Sakura had pushed off the wall ferociously before facing the door with flaring nostrils and clenched fists.
How fucking dare they!
With the type of strength that would have made her workout partner—her dear friend Hatake Kakashi from medical school—proud, Sakura kicked open her bedroom door hard enough to make it slam against the wall.
The two bodies on the bed cried out in alarm as they separated and struggled to cover themselves with silk sheets and Sakura could only stare, aghast, at the other occupant of the room.
Even sweaty and completely disheveled—hair sticking out in unruly spikes, cheeks flushed with exertion, and what was clearly semen on his chest—Uchiha Sasuke looked the definition of beauty.
And, boy, did that piss her off.
Not as much as the fact that they were having dirty, dirty sex on her bed did, though.
“Sa-Sakura-chan!” Naruto cried, his blue eyes as large as saucers. “It’s not—“
“Shut the fuck up,” she said, her voice icy as her eyes remained glued to the other male in the room. “And get dressed—both of you.”
She felt no sympathy for Naruto when he flinched at her words, as she had never cursed at him and spoken to him in such a manner, and the Uchiha had the audacity to glare at her.
When no man made to move towards their discarded clothing—well, one man, because Naruto slept in the nude—Sakura turned her cold glare onto Naruto.
“Now, Naruto,” she spat and again, neither man moved.
Patience gone and fury mounting, Sakura screeched, “I said, get up and get fucking dressed!”
She grabbed the closest thing to her, which so happened to be a priceless, one of a kind Lalique Bacchantes crystal vase, and threw it at their heads. It shattered over the headboard and both men lunged out of bed to avoid the raining glass. Her chest heaving with ill suppressed rage, Sakura paid no mind to their nudity as they stared at her with various degrees of shock.
Pity; that had been a wedding gift from her darling in-laws.
Unable to withstand looking at their faces any longer, Sakura spun around on her heel and marched out of her bedroom. She had no idea what she intended by making them get out of bed in the nude, what was even the point?! All she had seen were hickeys and scratches and bodily fluids and penises and, oh god, she felt sick.
“Sakura!” Naruto called after her as she made her way to her discarded heels. She heard him trip as he no doubt tried to pull on some sweat pants and her lips pulled into a tight line.
Hastily gathering her things to go—to go anywhere but here, Sakura turned around at the sound of her husband’s approaching foot falls. He looked as beautiful as he always did, and the plain panic in his face almost made her burst into tears, but then Sasuke came from around the corner and she held her ground.
His hands reached out to her in supplication. “Sakura—Sakura-chan, please—“
“When?”
Cobalt eyes blinked in confusion and Sakura hissed, “When did this start?”
Both men looked distinctly uncomfortable and avoided her gaze but, surprisingly, it was the Uchiha who answered, “Two years ago.”
It felt like her whole world had been ripped from beneath her feet, and as her knees threatened to give out from under her, Sakura gripped onto the kitchen island to steady herself.
Two years they had been having this sordid affair. For two years she had been the loving wife, believing her husband to be loyal and faithful when he apparently found pleasure in someone else. It didn’t even matter that it was with a man—she knew that Naruto was bisexual—what mattered was that he had been unfaithful, disrespectful, and lied to her.
From between gritted teeth she spat, “How?”
At this, Naruto took a step towards her but her hand quickly curling around a crystal candle holder stopped him in his tracks. “Listen to me, Sakura-chan—“
“How, Naruto?”
She followed his Adam’s apple as he swallowed nervously before recanting the tale of how, two years ago, he had gone to surprise her at her office with lunch. He hadn’t found her because, in true Naruto fashion, he had forgotten that she had taken that day off to devote her time to her research and was at the library. On his way out, he had bumped into Uchiha Sasuke and as they exchanged insults, sparks had clearly flown. It started as meeting for simple drinks, then lunches and dinners, then going over to his place to check out his dojo, and then it somehow dissolved into a sexual relationship.
He gracefully spared her the details of how that all started out, but couldn’t she see that he still loved her? That he loved them both and wanted to be with them? He had never meant to hurt her! He only felt lonely as she was always so busy and worked so much and Sasuke understood him.
But as he spoke, all Sakura could think about was the fact that it all made perfect sense as to why Sasuke disliked her so much. It was clear as day that the Uchiha was in love with Naruto; she could tell by the way he gently curled his hand around the blonde’s wrist when he blatantly became distressed. All she could think about was how she had complained to her husband each time the Uchiha insulted her or treated her poorly and he had known why and lied.
Directing her glare at the Uchiha’s hand, then at his face, she said, “So this is why you had me fired.”
Naruto glanced at the Uchiha sharply. “Teme! You had her fired?!”
Sasuke narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing; which was fine for Sakura because she turned her attention to her darling husband.
“I want a divorce.”
And Naruto, her star-shine and heaven, looked stricken as the words fell from her lips; were she a weaker woman, she would have taken them back. Of course, divorce had never been a thought in their heads—why would it? They loved each other—but Sakura was a woman scorned with a broken heart and had no such sympathy for the deep hurt painting his face.
Naruto shook his head, hands reaching towards her once more as he took a step, and his voice was thick when he said, “You don’t mean that, Sakura. Y-you don’t mean that.”
Nodding as she took a step back, closer to her china cabinet, Sakura nodded as her gemstone eyes narrowed. “I do. I will be going to a lawyer today and serving you with divorce papers as soon as possible. As this house is currently under my name, I expect you to vacate the premises as soon as possible. You may return to gather your belongings when I am not around.”
She saw how deeply her words hurt him, but he continued towards her, eyes imploring her to forgive him as he said, “We didn’t want you to find out this way.”
And it was like a flip was switched.
Awful, empty laughter filled the kitchen as Sakura stared at him incredulously. In the back of her mind, she noted that she was quickly dissolving into hysterics.
“Find out this way?!” She parroted, her eyebrows hiked up in disbelief. “How else did you want me to find out?!”
Sasuke looked incredibly uncomfortable, but he moved to stand next to his lover as the small woman lost her marbles.
“What,” She breathed, “Did you want me to find out over dinner? Is that it? You wanted to break it to me over a nice glass of Dom Perignon?”
Naruto’s lips pulled into a frown as he shook his head. “Sakura-chan—“
“Get out.”
He blinked at her, uncomprehending, and she had had enough. Reaching behind her, she grabbed the closest thing to her and threw it at his head. “Get out!”
Uncaring of the fact that she was hurling her precious, irreplaceable China at her lying, cheating, deceitful husband and his lover, Sakura continued to rage. Fat tears carved their way down her cheeks as she launched plate after plate, teacup after teacup, at their stupid faces.
The words “get out!” and insults were a mantra on her lips until both men scurried out of her house, half-dressed and covered in small scratches from where porcelain had shattered on their skin. As she crumpled to her knees, sobs wracking her small frame, she watched from the wide open front door as the love of her life and the love of his life got into the Maybach across the street and drove off into the sunset.
In the mess of her own making, Sakura curled into herself and wept for all that she had lost and how, despite everything, she still fucking loved that man.
And this is where we find her, picking herself up from heartbreak and gathering the pieces.
Sakura looked around her and grimaced at the mess she made, her heart breaking a little more at the thought of her mother’s inevitable tears at knowing the loss of such precious heirlooms, but she squared her shoulders and made her way to the guest bathroom in the living room.
There was no way she was going into that master bedroom today and she was definitely calling a cleaning service to get those soiled bed sheets burned. Turning on the lights to the bathroom, Sakura winced at her reflection. She looked an absolute mess with her eyeliner and mascara running down her face and her blotchy skin showing from beneath her CC cream.
Going back to the kitchen to grab her makeup bag from her tote and returning to the bathroom, Sakura set about removing her makeup and reapplying it. She was not going to walk into that law firm looking like a basket of misery. Reaching under the sink, she grabbed a spare curling iron and fixed up her hair. It was unfortunate that Uchiha & Sons was the only damned law firm in the city that handled rapid divorce cases, but she was going to walk in there with all the pride she possessed in her body and her head held high.
She was going to be strong. She was going to look Uchiha Itachi in the eye and tell him she wanted to divorce Uzumaki Naruto on the basis of infidelity and she was going to tell him the details with a straight face and even voice and she was not going to cry.
--
She ended up sobbing as soon as she saw the poor man’s face.
Itachi hurriedly closed his door behind her as he ushered her to the couch he kept in his office. Reaching behind her, he grabbed a tissue box and set in on her lap before brushing petal soft hair behind her ear as he settled beside her.
His kindness made her cry even harder and her cries turned to gasping sobs as she told him about her morning and how his brother was fucking her husband—or maybe her husband was fucking his brother—for the last two years and how much it hurt and she wanted Itachi to draft up divorce papers as quickly as he could.
By the end of her wailed spiel, Itachi looked a little green but he nodded as he moved to his desk to pull up the standard divorce template on his desktop. His hands hovered over his keyboard as he leveled apologetic eyes in her direction.
“I was not aware that you had been fired,” He said, his brows furrowing. “Had I known, I would have never let it happen. On behalf of the firm, I apologize.”
Sakura sniffled as she dabbed at the corner of her eyes. The apology was only a formality; it was common knowledge that she could sue for being wrongfully terminated from the work place, but by apologizing, Itachi had technically righted their wrongs.
Except that Itachi was sincere; she could feel it from where she was sitting and it made her feel a little better that there was at least one man who wasn’t scum.
“It’s not your fault,” She sniffed, sending him a wobbly smile. “You didn’t know what Sasuke was up to.”
At the mention of his little brother, Itachi’s face darkened but he said nothing. He returned to typing and things were quiet for a while. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but Sakura knew how these things usually went and wanted to get it out of the way as soon as possible.
“I want nothing.”
Itachi turned his head and blinked at her slowly. “Pardon?”
Swallowing, Sakura wrung the tissue between her shaking hands, her eyes focused on the anxious twisting of her fingers. “I want nothing from him. I don’t want his money, I don’t want the house, I don’t want the cars or the properties or the furniture. I want what’s mine and mine alone.”
Itachi’s brow furrowed in confusion and Sakura was struck by how handsome he was. She always knew the man was attractive—it was a fact of life; the sky was blue, the grass was green, and Uchiha Itachi was gorgeous—but she knew it in an objective manner. Now, because her heart was hurting for comfort, she was aware of him and felt awful.
Someone as kind as Itachi deserved better than being her rebound.
“Sakura,” He started gently, his hands folding on top of his desk, “You know you’re owed half of the estates because of the affair. You’d be well off for the rest of your life. Why wouldn’t you want that?”
Sakura sighed, lips pulling into a frown. “Because I don’t want any reminders of him. Besides, that’s not even his money—it’s his parents’ money. I want this to be a clean divorce. To hold onto those sorts of things, to be paid alimony by a man I no longer want in my life...I think it’d be too much.”
Looking into his eyes, she found understanding and Sakura smiled sadly. “You know what I mean?”
Nodding, Itachi went back to typing away at his desk top. “Very well.”
Twenty minutes later saw Sakura with a draft of divorce papers slipped neatly inside a manila envelope. Itachi handed them to her with instructions to serve them to her soon to be ex-husband. She could either serve them herself, or she could get someone else to do it. A part of her balked at the idea of seeing Naruto again, but a larger part of her wanted this over and done with.
Once the divorce was finalized, she was planning to move somewhere far, far away from there to settle in some obscure city where no one knew her and maybe adopt three dogs and become a spinster and maybe yell at rowdy neighborhood kids who stepped on her petunias and—
“Sakura.”
Itachi’s velvety voice cut through her miserable thoughts and she glanced at him guiltily, as if he could read her mind, and was surprised to find him so close. He was only an arms’ distance away and Sakura could smell his wonderful sandalwood and rainwater cologne and she shivered when his large hand fell gently on her shoulder.
Far enough to be proper, close enough to show interest—such was the way Itachi flirted with her.
Tilting her chin to look him in the eye, Itachi held her gaze as he said, “Whatever you need, I’m here for you. Do you have a place to stay?”
Sakura nodded, her hand lifting to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes, I was planning on renting a hotel for the night—“
“Unacceptable.”
Mouth going slack, Sakura could only watch as the man before her moved back to his desk to hurriedly gather his things into a satchel before pulling on his suit coat.
Unable to help herself because she was so very confused, Sakura blurted, “What are you doing?”
Itachi chuckled softly as he walked towards her stunned figure. “I’m offering you a room at my house and driving you there. Is that to your liking?”
Sakura almost groaned but held it in. It was sweet of him to offer her a place to stay, but she barely even knew him. Yes, there was a form of mutual attraction but Sakura was still very much in love with her ex-husband and felt sort of sick at the thought of being with someone new. Plus, Itachi was being too forward and she had a feeling it was uncharacteristic of him. There was always something about her that clouded his judgement.
Besides, she needed some time to herself.
“Oh, Itachi,” She sighed, not noticing how the man stiffened at the way she said his name, “That would be great, but I really need time to myself. Is that okay?”
Despite feeling a little disappointed, Itachi nodded and she gave him a hug as a reward for his kindness before she left. It wasn’t every day that a handsome multi millionaire showed such interest in you, but Sakura needed time.
A lot of time.
Feeling tired as she made her way to her car—which was parked across the street now that she wasn’t an employee and the visitor’s lot was packed—she wished she had taken the time to switch out her heels for some flats.
When Sakura had been four, her mother told her to look both ways before crossing the street; and you’d think that 27 year old Sakura would remember that, or at least remember to not stop in the middle of it, but nope.
Sakura, a grown woman of 27 years, crossed the street without looking, stopped in the middle to adjust her heel, and was promptly hit by a truck.
It was the fly to her already shit day, but what made it worse was that when she finally awoke from what she was sure was death, she was laying in the middle of a forest with no clue as to how she got there.
Waking up in the middle of nowhere with her head hurting like she’d just been hit by a truck—which actually happened—was not on Sakura’s bucket list. Things like skydiving, owning a chinchilla, and ziplining through the rainforest were on her bucket list.
Standing on wobbly legs, she groaned as her head pounded with each step she took. She could tell she was still in her grey pumps and she really wished she had switched them out for some flats. Turning around in a circle, she tried to find her tote, but she couldn’t find it anywhere and that meant she was without aspirin.
Fortunately for her, she still had her phone tucked into the back pocket of her trousers. Pulling it out as she gaged her surroundings, Sakura figured she was probably in some park somewhere. She didn’t know how she got to said park, but she’d save the panicking for when her brain didn’t feel like it was hosting a mosh pit.
All she had to do was open her phone’s GPS and figure out what nature trail she was on and make her way back to her shitty house to grab some clothes and rent a hotel.
However, Sakura quickly discovered the absence of cell phone reception and no amount of waving it around like an idiot would magically make a bar appear. Sakura huffed in frustration as she crossed her arms over her chest—her relatively unharmed chest. She’d dwell on the fact that she was hit by a truck later because, clearly, she was in a predicament.
Sakura had no idea where the hell she was.
Not for the first time, the pink haired woman wished she had learned something more useful in Girl’s Scouts than selling cookies - like telling North from South, for instance.
Maybe this was some type of messed up Heaven; one where new souls had to find their way out of a labyrinth to the pearly gates. But Sakura thought that couldn’t be right…she still felt the urge to pee.
Sighing, she went behind the nearest bush and relieved herself. Once done with that, she picked up a nearest stick with a leaf at the end, closed her eyes, tossed it in the air, and opened them when she heard it hit the floor.
The leaf pointed to the right, so Sakura pivoted on the ball of her foot and started walking to what she thought was eastward.
--
Glancing at her phone, it told her that she had been walking for about five minutes before she hit a well traveled road and she blinked upon looking towards the skyline and not seeing any skyscrapers. She couldn’t even hear any cars!
Licking her lips, Sakura wished she had some water and walked up the road in hopes that she’d encounter someone who could tell her where the heck she was. Her feet hurt like hell, and though she so badly wanted to take off her heels, she knew the one rule of wearing heels out in public: ‘Til Home Do Us Part.
She rolled her ankles a few times and she was just about to curse the rule to Hell when she came upon the biggest gates she’d ever seen. Staring at them in blatant wonder, Sakura noted how they looked like the gates from that Jurassic Park movie and she quickly spun around. Shutting her eyes, she counted to ten before peeking over her shoulder at what most definitely should not be in her city.
Unless they were the gates to Heaven…?
But these gates sure looked dingy…and somehow, she thought that Heaven’s gates would be a lot shinier and clean.
Taking a step closer in contemplation, she didn’t hear the warning shout until they were upon her and she cried out when the biggest dog she’d ever seen came barreling into her and knocked her to the ground.
As she lay there, stunned, sea glass eyes staring dazedly up at the sky, she wondered in what damn world she was in that random men fell from the trees with mutant sized dogs crashing into unsuspecting women.
Uchiha Shisui hated being on a team with Inuzuka’s. They were loud, didn’t really like being ordered around, and their ninken listened to no one but their masters. At least, that was the case with Inuzuka Kiba. Outside of a mission, he quite liked the kid, but outside of village gates, Shisui found him to be a nuisance. Formidable shinobi he may be, but professional he was not.
Such was the case when Kiba goaded Genma into a race back to the village. You’d think that two jonin would be over such childish behavior, but this was not the case. Both men took to the trees and Shisui shook his head as they disappeared. He would normally be in the middle of the tomfoolery, but he was annoyed at the fluke of a mission they were sent on.
There had been a startling large burst of chakra outside the gates before disappearing completely and the three, by virtue of being in the Hokage’s office at the time, had been sent to investigate. They’d found nothing and it was puzzling that something that powerful had simply vanished.
Shrugging, Shisui combed a hand through his curly hair. Well, it was no sweat off his back. They investigated and there was nothing there, that was the report he’d give the Hokage.
Pumping chakra to his legs, he quickly caught up to them with the speed he was famous for and Konoha’s gates were coming up on them fast.
Kiba whined that he’d cheated, but Shisui only smirked. That was until he caught sight of a petite figure standing in front of the closed gates and he shouted Kiba’s name in alarm.
It was too late.
Akamaru crashed into the poor girl with the strength of a boulder and she fell back with a pained shout. Jumping of the branch he was perched in, Shisui quickly made his way to her side.
“Are you alright, miss?!” He asked as he came around a whimpering Akamaru and was struck dumb at the sight of her.
In his defense, it wasn’t every day that you saw someone with such coloring as her. She gaped up at him in clear shock, unmindful of the way her hair laid in disarray and dirt streaking across her cheek.
With her odd petal pink hair, eyes as green as emeralds, fair skin and even fairer face, Shisui thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Even disheveled and confused, mouth hanging open, she looked every bit a forest nymph.
He chanced a glance at both Genma and Kiba and found both staring at her with clear wonder. So it seemed that they, too, were not immune to her beauty.
“I’m sorry, but did you just jump out of that tree?!” She cried, eyes darting to him and then back to the tree he came from. “And land all the way over here?!”
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Imagine Marrying Jamie
Requested on wattpad. To read more Jamie Reagan imagines and fanfictions click here.
- - -
Something new, something old, something blue, and something borrowed. - You had everything didn't you? Oh, no! Something blue was missing! But wait... You didn't need a something blue when this wedding was blue. You were marrying a cop, weren't you? And his whole family - a family of cops - were there, so... what else could you really need to bring the blue to the wedding?
You had everything you needed, and you and Jamie had everything it takes to make a marriage work. If you're being honest, marrying was the only thing left for you, really - you moved in together (and you were living with each other long enough to know that you could bear one another's special likes and dislikes), you had two beautiful kids - Emma and Joe - that you raised the best you could, until now, and for a six and four year old, you think they were turning out fine. But of course, you were biased. You both had steady jobs, so all there was left to do was to tie the knot.
While looking in the mirror for what must have been the one hundredth time that morning, you heard your phone ring and picked it up immediately, knowing who it was. Your guess was confirmed when you silently read what it said on the ID - Jamie .
"Hey!"
"Hi! How are you feeling?"
"Nervous. You?"
"Nervous, but happy. I'm about to marry the love of my life, can't feel anything but joy."
"I know the feeling." You said with a smile that he couldn't see, but definitely knew it was there. "I miss you."
"Me too! Have we ever even been this long apart?"
"It's been almost twenty-four hours so, I think we have." You giggled. "Only now the reason for that time apart is different, it's better."
"You're right, like always."
"How is Joe?"
"Having a blast! He's really loving it over here. How's princess Emma?"
"She's doing okay - absolutely loving it here, I think she might go for the wedding planner business and ditch the NYPD. She's with your sister and Nicky, I'm all alone in the dressing room."
"Are you really? So, If I came there no one would know?"
"Jamie! It's bad luck!"
You were really scolding both you and your future husband because deep down, you wanted him there with you. It's a stupid rule if you think about it - If a wedding is about the couple that's getting married, about those two people, why on Earth can they only see each other on the aisle? What's the point of celebrating their love for each other if they have to go through the process of marriage by themselves, alone, until the moment the priest pronounces them husband and wife? You and Jamie were already that anyways.
"I'll be quick!"
"Fine, but I'll hide my dress!"
"Fine."
You grabbed the robe that was hanging behind the door and quickly put it on while checking yourself out in the mirror, making sure not one single thread was showing. He could see you now, but you were saving the jaw dropping dress for the altar.
Not too long after, you heard a knock and got a text on your phone that read "It's me." from Jamie.
With a beaming smile, you turned the knob on the door and looked up (he was taller than you) to see him - the man of your dreams, the man of your life, your best friend, the best person you know, your future husband.
"Hey handsome." You said while pulling him inside the room and closing the door behind you before making sure there was no one outside that could see what you were up to.
"You look beautiful." He said, not able to take his eyes off of you.
Wait 'til you see the dress, you thought.
"I'm wearing a robe." You stated, motioning your hand down in a demonstration that you were in fact wearing a robe over that killer wedding dress.
"I can see, but despite that, I can still see that you look, you are absolutely beautiful." He said before wrapping his arms around your waist, lacing his fingers behind you.
"Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself." You replied while looking him up and down. God, suits really suited him. Pun intended.
"I love you."
"I love you too." You replied again, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him a little closer to you, now feeling his breath on your face. After all these years, it still sent chills down your spine.
"Ready to be Mrs.Reagan?"
"Yes! Ready to deal with me for the rest of your life?"
"I wouldn't want it any other way." He threw back, before leaning down and capturing your lips in a soft and swift movement. You kissed him back, pulling him down on your lips a bit more, ignoring the fact that what you were doing was "wrong", and devouring each other with all the passion you had for one another.
* * *
"To all present I say : we are gathered here, not to witness the beginning of what will be, but rather what already is. We do not create this marriage, because we cannot. We can and do, however, celebrate with (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Jameson Reagan the wondrous and joyful occurrence that has already taken place in their lives, and the commitment they make today."
With your father by your side, the second you started seeing Nicky and Emma moving forward, you really started feeling the nerves. But you were also at your highest level of happiness (maybe the one below of when you had your kids).
As much as you tried to savor the moment and make it last, it was impossible to, and right now, it was your turn to take the first step to meeting Jamie at the altar.
The music went on and on, and everyone around had their eyes on you, but from the moment you looked at Jamie, and from the moment he looked at you (now in your wedding dress), you could not think about anything else - it was truly like you were the only two people in the whole wide world.
Like before, getting to the altar was pretty quick no matter how slow you were walking, and now you found yourself already in front of Jamie, ready to take the biggest step of any couple's life.
"Jameson, would you like to start with your vows?" The voice who interrupted you and who somehow burst the little bubble you were in, cleared his throat, before Jamie started reading his vows to you.
"(Y/N), we have always been two peas in a pod. We complement each other, we're not perfect but you are perfect to me. Being able to be here today and to commit to you for the rest of our lives is the greatest honour I will ever have. You have always been my best friend, through the ups and downs and you have always been there for me, and for that I can only thank you. But I could never thank you enough for giving me these flawless human beings that are our children. We both have been through hell and back and there is no one else in the world I would rather spend the rest of my life with. I promise to always be faithful to you, and to cherrish you, and to make you feel like the most important woman in the world because, to me, you are. I love you."
You were a mess. And it wasn't just you - you could hear sobs from everywhere around that church. The man really had his ways with words, huh? You whispered an "I love you" back before started reading your own vows.
"Dear Everything, I love you. You are the most important person in the world to me, my rock, my anchor. Words can't explain how much you mean to me so I just decided to use one - Everything. Because you are my everything - you're my partner for life, the father of my children, my lover, my best friend, my prince charming. You're a great cop, a great boyfriend, and a fantastic father, and I could not love you any more than I do. You are the most amazing person I have ever met and I will spend every single day for the rest of my life making sure you know that, and that I love you. Because I do, and because I do, I will always tell you how amazing you are and I will never let you down. I promise to be the best wife because that's what you deserve. You deserve the best and I'm far from it but I will do everything I can to be that. I love you."
Clearly, in the writting game, his was stronger. The people who were sobbing were probably still sobbing from his vows and not yours... or it was your father who was emotional.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Just like the priest asked, Jamie pulled you in closer and smashed his lips against yours, marking this moment. Your mind went racing a little during the kiss, thinking back to your first kiss - when his lips brushed yours you remembered you could not make the butterflies inside your stomach stay still. It was happening again in this precise moment.
Two of the happiest moments of your life.
#excerpt from a book i'll never write#excerpt from a story i'll never write#jamie reagan#will estes#blue bloods#jamie reagan imagines#jamie reagan x reader#jamie x reader#wedding#marriage#happy#writing#writer#tumbl#artists on tumblr#danny reagan#erin reagan#frank reagan#henry reagan#cbs
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So About That...
So in my Extremely Dumb Opinion™, things are much easier to do over the internet than they are in real life, so if my real-life counterparts happen to see this and you weren’t given the bulletin before, here it is ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ As for all my followers, consider this both an announcement and a discussion of sorts, as well as, uh, coming-out practice, I guess?
So as with my last self-identification-situations, I have been deliberating this for an extremely long while; I’ve been reading articles and first-hand accounts, patrolling tags, taking quizzes, lying awake at 11am thinking... and it all comes back to the same strange situation. If you’d like to lend an opinion, perchance, then my confusions continue under the cut (just so my rambling isn’t too long).
Am I a demi-girl? We’re here today to figure out if that’s the case or if I’m Just Weird. If it’s the former, well, hi, I Am A Demigirl And This Is A Coming Out Story(ish?)
I was born (am a?) cisgender girl. About 4.5 years ago, I learned I was demisexual - that I was not, in fact, straight hetero like I figured. It took me a lot of deliberation, even after the discovery, to accept it. I’d spent a life condensing girl-crushes and admirations down in favor of being ordinary. I’d been bullied beforehand, including being called ‘gay’, and since I automatically wanted to be the opposite of whatever they called me - to prove them wrong, to be something ‘better’ - I focused on ‘boy-crushes’ to disregard the part of me that really didn’t care about romance overall, especially who it came from.
Anyway tl;dr I eventually realized I was a demisexual. I recently chose to undertake ‘biromantic’ as my SAM ID (Split-Attraction Model Identification).
It was around that time that I also came across gender diversity. My very close friend first came out to me as agender - an absence of gender. I didn’t understand it very well, but I chose to accept and support them anyway since that is who they were (that has been my attitude about pretty much everything for years now). Eventually, ‘they’ transformed into ‘he’, and he fully came out as transgender. A few years later, another dear friend of mine, one whom I consider a little brother, also came out as transgender. So I am familiar with it.
And then a bunch of friends also came out. One is genderfluid, one is agender, one is nonbinary; I learned all of this in the span of a year. And to see them so diverse in presentation and identity made me turn around, sit down, and begin to question it myself.
Where do I draw a line? How do I tell that I’m a demigirl, if at all, or if I’m just an extremely indifferent cisgirl?
In terms of clothing and presentation, I typically showcase femininity. I wear short-shorts, lots of fluffy scarves, and t-shirts. But I have also sat down and desired to wear boys’ jeans (I hear they’re very comfy and have actual pockets) and I wonder what boys’ shirts are like (are they better than girl shirts? do I get them for the designs? Flannel????) I dislike long hair for the excessive maintenance and choose to keep it in my signature, shoulder-length, extremely puff-curled bobcut. I only wear make-up for special ocassions or brief periods of ‘I feel cute so why not’ but I don’t really enjoy the high level of work and tediousity it involves. I have frequently almost-stabbed my eye with the eyeliner pencil, because the eyeliner pencil is my enemy. And it is my enemy because when I see my failure, years of an abstainment from make-up and hair-styling, and how it has resulted in my complete inability to draw a decent line on my eyelid, I get frustrated, immediately clean off all make-up I’m wearing, forego wearing any at all that day, and avoid looking in the mirror for a while.
In terms of physical dysphoria, I’m... okay with my body, barring the intensive self-esteem issues I’ve had (thank you, adult in my life, for consistently telling me my hair is an ugly pain and I could stand to lose weight even when I wasn’t actually fat, and I’m also pretty sure I’m still not actually fat but I can’t tell anymore because of the psychological damage). In particular, I’m okay with the top half. When it comes to down there... between the legs... let’s just say I have my days where I could totally see myself performing self-operation to remove a certain something. I’ve even made the statement, “I want removal surgery”, and have been told (by that adult in my life who is mentioned above) “Even if there was a doctor who’d do that surgery for you, I wouldn’t let you get it because you’d have to be on estrogen hormone injections for the rest of your life and that’s not good :)”
When I prod at my own psyche, I can see myself being demigirl - a mix of the girliness I’ve always loved, the soft scarves and the cute dresses and the pink - but I can also see a certain agenderness to it, a someone who wears boys’ shirts and jeans with chains and bowties, someone who isn’t a perfect girl, someone and somewhere ‘other’. But I can’t tell if it’s because I AM a demigirl, or if it’s just... me being me. Me being an indifferent, unusual person who wears pink and fluffy one day, the next decked in jeans with a scrunchie and a black-tee and baggy hoodie (I love both fashion styles).
I can’t tell if I’m a demigirl because that’s who I am, or if it’s because all my friends are not binary, and I’m feeling deep psychological pressure to also not be binary?? Am I an indifferent cisgirl, or a secret demigirl who’s confused??
And thus I’ve abstained from coming out to my friends and family. It was easy to do it when I was demisexual - even the biromanticism. Those I KNOW to be true, they fit, they ARE. I can’t deny it. I can see it clear as crystal inside me.
But the demigirl is blurry, and I can’t tell if it’s because I need to clean my mirror to see it or if it’s just a hazy disillusion.
I’m... confused.
And the repercussions for saying I’m a demigirl here... they aren’t the ones I faced when I came out as demi. People accepted the demisexuality. Hell, my hick-bo town accepted the bisexuality with distant indifference (mostly because I won respect through open-mindedness, charisma, kindness, and consideration).
But if I come out as a demigirl, and I’m not absolute in it, I’m afraid the questions will drive it all away, and then I won’t even be left with ‘cisgirl’. I’ll be left with nothing.
I’m confused. I’m terrified. And I want someone else, someone who knows this, someone who understands to give me a little light.
Sorry for the real long ramble. But sometimes we just have to talk about it, you know?
~ Mod Lyca
#DemiAce Blog Stuff#Mod Lyca#rambly#DemiAce Blog Notification#gender#questioning#demigirl#cisgirl#agender#demigender#LGBTQ+#Please somebody help I have no clue how to navigate this#Am I a fool? Or have I found a piece of myself I supressed for the sake of 'normality'?#:C
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60 Days || Kim Taehyung (01)
pairing : taehyung x original character + rest of the members
genre : slow burn romance/ ceo kim taehyung
warning : (no warning, just it’s a slow burn romance yall gotta bear the suffering :”) )
summary :
"It's like you flipped a coin, heads or tails but nevertheless, your luck is written"
So much for staying under the shadows, not wanting to announce her return to Seoul, Kwon Risa wakes up one morning, with her bestfriend of 6 years showing a magazine with her photo and an heir she met previous morning at the lobby of her sister's office. The guy she dislikes instantly for his lack of manners.
Detail by detail, she ends up caught in a ball of horidious mess, dealing with this man not from her circle. The high-society; the rich and the wealthy, expensive suits and gossips.
But she holds one little secret from everyone, and that's going to change everything.
-
"60 days"
"60 days what ?"
"Give me 60 days to fix this"
"And what do I do for the next 60 days ?"
"We be what they want us to be- we date"
CHAPTER 1
"How do people fall in love? Wait let's rephrase that question. How do two people fall in love with each other, at the same time? What do we have to do in order to fall in love with the right person, and at the right time? Does it happen just like that? Or does it require a little bit of magic?"
Wait, do we have to fall in love ?
-
"What do you mean I have to send the file to you?", Risa groans on the phone, rubbing her sleepy eyes frowning at the fact her beauty sleep has been disrupted.
"Please please Risa! I know you just came back yesterday but that file is important for today's meeting. Just come to the building and I'll meet you at the lobby, pleaseeeee!"
Risa rolled her eyes as she listens to her sister, Yuna, at the other end of the call begging her to come to her building which is a 15 minutes train ride from home just to send the file she accidentally left on the coffee table of their home.
Kwon Risa, just returned from the US and she is still trying to get used to the time difference and now her sister is pestering her to help her.
"Fine, just because you're my only sister", Risa answered as she fumbled through her thick fluffy white blanket she has been in for the past 12 hours.
"I'll text you the directions to my building, give me a call once you're almost here okay!"
Risa finally got up and showered after lazing in her comfy bed. She has been in bed the moment she arrived home after such a long tiring flight. She didn't even eat anything and her last meal was the one on her flight. She wrapped herself in her towel as she looks at her massive amount of unpacked stuffs and baggage sitting at one corner of her room.
"Now how do I find my clothes?"
Risa grabbed the closest thing she could reach and didn't even bother to put anything on her face. She grabbed her favorite blackcap to cover her messy uncombed medium-length black hair. Taking one quick look at the mirror and got out instantly.
She rushed down the stairs just to find her mother watching the television as she sips her tea comfortably.
"Are you already going out?", her mother asked as she looks at Risa weirdly.
"Blame your first daughter, she asked me to send this file to her", Risa waved the yellow file as she walks towards the main door.
"Are you sure you won't get lost? Seoul has changed a lot you know, for the past 5 years", her mother laughs as Risa rummaged through her shoes bag, trying to get a proper pair of loafers for her to wear.
"I'll survive. Bye mom!"
" I am leaving tonight so don't be late!"
" I wont !!!"
Her mother chuckles lightly as she heard Risa's high pitched scream as she runs out the house.
-
"Thank you ! I love you!", Yuna leans close to give a peck on Risa's cheek but Risa pushed her away and rolled her eyes.
"You're a grown up, behave"
"Oh, come on, not that anyone can see me", Yuna lets out a laugh as she watched her sister scanning the whole empty lobby.
"Is this even an office?", Risa arched an eyebrow, looking at the space in front of her suspiciously. "Why are they nobody here?"
"This is a new building. Not many offices yet. You can count the people here with your fingers. Alright, I'll make a move now. Go home right away and don't wander around. You're still jet lagged", Yuna said as she turns around to enter the lift area which she needs to scan her id card in order to access the lifts.
Risa looked around the lobby and held her breath as she digests the fact she has returned home after leaving 5 years ago. She has never once come back to Seoul after making the decision to move to the states for her studies.
The best decision she ever made, she thought. Furthering her study wasn't the main reason she decided to leave Seoul 5 years ago.
But, no one should know that.
Risa adjusted her cap as she turns to exit the building thru the automatic doors that leads to a big green and white marble stairs facing the main road. As she was about to leave, she caught a sight of a few men dressed in black suits getting out of a black car parked right in front of the main entrance.
Businessmen
She decided not to give the clout these men might be expecting but suddenly she saw one of the men was walking pass a young woman dressed in an office attire and he accidentally bump into the woman's shoulder thus her bag slipped off, vomiting all the contents in it.
But to her surprise, the man didn't turn around.
Risa watches as the young woman tries to grab all her stuffs before it rolls all over the ground. She quickly ran to woman to help her. She grabbed everything and hand it to the woman.
Did he just ignore this woman ? What on earth ?
Turning around furiously, she head straight to the men despite having so many eyes glued on her as she walks attentively towards the man that caused her blood to boil early in the morning.
And with a swift motion, she pulled the tall broad-shouldered man around to face her.
"Apologize to that lady", Risa said sternly with a straight face.
She may have lived in the states for years, but she knows manners are still manners. No matter where you are or who you are.
She observes as the tall man looks at her confusedly and perhaps ,disgustedly. This man is so tall that he towered her distinctively as they stand face-to-face.
"What are you doing?". His voice was deep and husky.
As deep as the ocean but okay this is not the time to be admiring someone's voice ,Risa.
"I can see that you are clearly not blind, so apologize to that lady", Risa said sounding unbothered despite the other two men looking at her as if she looks entirely inhuman.
"Excuse me, young lady?"
"Don't try to sound superior to me. All you need to do is apologize for bumping into her",
Risa gestured that man to turn around and look at the young lady whom are standing still, frozen as she clenched her fists onto her tote bag's straps, not knowing what to do as all pairs of eyes locked on her.
"What did I do? Why do I have to apologize? And who are you to be touching me with that filthy hands of yours?"
"Apologize", Risa said again, but now her eyes staring deep into the man's eyes. Not flinching even once.
"I bumped into her? When?"
Risa raised her eyebrows questionably as she realized this man standing in front of her sounded absurd as if he can't remember what he just did 5 minutes ago. Risa tilts her head as she narrowed her eyes, digesting that this man has no idea that she's actually holding herself from punching his arrogant face.
God, she has not punched anyone yet and she intends to stay that way. Like her mother always says, she has fast hands. And it's dangerous.
"For the love of god, you, blindly, bumped into that woman causing her bag to slip off her shoulders and everything in her bag fell onto the ground. And yet, you didn't turn around to say sorry or yet help her collect all her belongings? Are you dumb or you are just lacking of brain cells?" Risa said mid-shouting trying to control her rage.
"Oh"
Her jaw dropped when she heard his unbothered short respond.
"Mr Kim, should I call security?"
One of the two men finally spoke, his eyes looking concern at the tall man in front of her.
The guy shook his head as he put his phone inside the pocket of his perfectly tailored black suit. He crossed his arms and look down at Risa.
"You had the guts or perhaps the audacity to talk to me, I am taken aback"
Who does he think he is ? The prime minister ?
"Apologize to her"
The man arched an eyebrow, scanning her top to bottom making Risa feels slightly uncomfortable.
He observes the look on her small face, eyes blazing with anger as she insists him apologizing to the woman. To be honest, he did not realize at all about the little accident he caused, perhaps he was so immersed in replying his emails. He would have not ignored the lady if he knows he caused the whole commotion.
But it seems like his morning has taken a new turn.
Here he is, standing at the lobby of the building his family owns, bickering with an unknown young lady teaching him about the importance of manners.
How interesting turn of events
"Okay then, I will"
-
Risa was still half-awake when the door to her room swung opened and suddenly she felt her blanket being snatched from her body.
"Good morning sleeping beast, look who made into the gossips today! Just 2 days back home and you are already a topic", Eri's loud sarcastic voice made Risa got up instantly as she tries to fathom the words she just heard.
"What are you saying", Risa finally gets up, hair tousled, eyes half-opened. She turns to look at Eri, standing at the edge of her bed with her phone in one hand and a magazine in the other.
"I may be bad when it comes to identifying people, but this is definitely you", Eri shoved the magazine right onto Risa's face.
"What in the world are you—"
"Read the headlines, and maybe, look at your own photo as well", Eri said as she slumps herself beside Risa. " That is you, am I right ?"
Risa half-heartedly took the magazine and rubs her eyes before finally focusing on the writings and photos printed on the front page of the magazine. She read it once and then she read it all over again.
"What?", Risa reads the description written beside a small photo of two people at the corner of the front page.
"The most eligible bachelor in town finally dates, the couple were seen at the main building early morning yesterday"
"And now Risa, this is the time you explain, what happened when you went to your sister's office?", Eri finally got up into a sitting position as she grabs the magazine from Risa's hands.
"Wait, what, who is he?"
" Don't ask me, I wasn't here for the past 5 years too" Eri laughs cynically as she watches Risa looking dumbfounded.
Who wouldn't be dumbfounded finding a photo of yourself with a man you don't even know his name on the front page of a magazine stating misleading headlines? Who wouldn't?
"Let me search for his name and—"
"I have to see him", Risa jumped off her bed heading straight to the shower. She couldn't waste any more second without finding the real reason behind this mess.
Who is this guy ?
#btsfic#bts#bts taehyung#btsv#taehyung#tae#slow burn#ceokimtaehyung#kimtaehyung#bangtan sonyeondan#jimin#namjoon#seokjin#jungkook#btsjungkook#btsjimin#jhope#junghoseok#hoseok
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The Badness
Andrea always hated the point in the new relationship where the question of old girlfriends was raised. Three weeks after getting together with Zoe it finally happened while they were relaxing in Andrea's flat. “Have you had any serious relationships before?”
It would have been her preference to start afresh, to let the past remain obscure, but that would seem evasive, like she had some terrible secrets to hide. “I only had one girlfriend that I saw for more than six months,” she admitted, blushing at the admission. Was it such an awful thing to say? She knew that most girls her age had had more experience. Zoe didn't say anything, just looked at her expectantly. The awkward silence demanded to be filled. “It was when I was in my early twenties, just out of university. We were together about eighteen months.”
“Was she really horrible?” Zoe said, her face breaking into a big smile. Andrea wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “It's just that you look like you don't want to tell me about her. I've never seen you look so embarrassed.”
“I just hate talking about the past,” she sighed. “I feel like I missed out on so much. I was always shy about liking girls, then I got ill and it felt like I just skipped a few years. I can hardly remember anything about those years. I was thinking about some women I knew in hospital the other day and I can't remember any of their names. Like there's a block there, something unconscious.”
Zoe put her arms around Andrea and pulled her tight to her. “It's understandable. Trauma. I can't imagine how frightening it must have been for you. You were so brave, but now you're well, aren't you?” She nodded. “You're in perfect health and you can start living again. So tell me about this girl you loved. What was her name, what was she like?”
“I didn't say I loved her,” Andrea protested. “I certainly didn't by the end...”
Zoe interrupted her. “I don't want to hear negatives. Tell about the nice stuff, how you met.”
Andrea took a deep breath as she reminisced. “Her name was Brea. We met in a club. She was older and very bossy. I was never really comfortable with her, to be honest.”
“Are you comfortable with me?” Zoe asked.
“Of course I am! From the moment we first spoke I felt like we'd known each other for ages. You're so unlike her.” Zoe gave her a little kiss on the cheek. “Brea was... controlling, jealous. She hated me spending time with other girls, even my straight friends. She changed how I dressed, my hair.”
“What did she do with your hair?”
“Oh god, we went on holiday in Spain and because it was so hot we went to get our hair cut. She talked me into trying a short cut and I ended up looking like a boy. Hers was just the same too. I hated it.”
Zoe seemed disproportionately interested. “I can't imagine you with short hair. Let me see. Have you got pictures?”
“I don't think so,” Andrea said moodily.
“You're lying. You're a terrible liar. Let me see.”
The more that Andrea tried to put her off the more Zoe pressed her. Eventually she relented and pulled out some old photo albums. She soon found a picture of herself and Brea on the beach, freshly shorn.
“No fucking way...” Zoe drawled as she looked at the picture. “Look at you! You're so skinny there. And that haircut!” She gave a chuckle. “You look like a sexy little boy. I wouldn't even have recognised you.”
Andrea made herself look at the picture, though it hurt her to do so. She was reminded of how thin she'd been before her illness, and how she'd never managed to lose weight since her recovery. But the sight of the haircut brought back memories of the shearing she'd undergone in the hotel salon. She'd had the back and sides clippered to almost stubble, then the top had been left thick and full and swept back from her forehead. She remembered vividly how she'd been numbed at the loss of her long hair, how she'd retreated to their room and sobbed as she looked in the mirror.
“It's hard for me to see.” She tugged at a strand of her hair. “I wish I was thin again. I got so fat.”
“Don't say that!” Zoe said. “I think you're far cuter now. I love my little pixie girl!” She hugged Andrea and kissed her excitedly. “And you don't look a day older than you did there. I really keep thinking you're younger than me.” No one tended to believe that Andrea was twenty seven, and she still carried ID everywhere to prove her age. Her small stature (four foot eleven inches) added to the impression of youth. In fact, Zoe was three years her junior.
“The hair's terrible though, you can't deny that.”
Zoe laughed. “I think it's so cute that you both had the same haircut. She looks like your mum though. It is quite a bad haircut, but I like it on you. You should try short again. I bet it felt lovely.”
Andrea was astonished to hear Zoe's suggestion. Her hair had grown long again, a good six inches past her shoulders and cut to a blunt line. “I like my long hair,” she said defensively. “I thought you did too.”
“You've got really pretty hair but I still think it would be fun if we got haircuts. You'll cut yours if I cut mine, won't you?”
“I don't want you to cut yours either.” Andrea didn't like how this was heading. Zoe's hair was cut in a long bob, almost to her shoulders, bleached and dyed a silvery lavender. It was a little untidy, obviously grown out considerably since the last cut, but the slightly dishevelled look seemed to suit Zoe. Andrea couldn't imagine her with a neat short cut.
“I can't bear it this long, sweetie.” Zoe ran her hands through her thick hair. “Every few months I get an urge to do something wild and right now I think it's going to be my hair that gets it. I'll book an appointment with Yulia as soon as I can and let her do something crazy. Will you come with me?”
“To get mine cut or just to hold your hand?”
“I'd prefer the first but the latter would be nice enough,” she smiled.
Even though Andrea and Zoe had been together for only a few weeks, they'd first met many years earlier. Zoe's older sister was an acquaintance of Andrea's from her university days. She remembered seeing a teenaged Zoe at their graduation, long blonde hair, painfully thin. Zoe was quite open about her struggles with an eating disorder and with self harming, which she'd now brought under some degree of control, though she still experienced those same negative impulses. When Andrea tried to talk her out of a radical haircut she shook her head.
“I've got an itch, sweetie. It has to come out in some way, something to shock me. Cutting off most of my hair will calm me down. Otherwise I'll end up doing something else. It could be a new piercing, or something more negative. So think of it as therapeutic. You'll like what Yulia does anyway. She's always imaginative.”
Andrea hugged Zoe close to her. She was trying her best to understand Zoe's complex personality but it wasn't easy. She seemed so confident on the surface, yet there were troubled depths. She'd already warned Andrea that she couldn't process compliments; she'd always had esteem issues and when she was told how nice she was it made her feel even worse, because that meant that she'd deceived the person who thought that. As a teenager she'd tended to react against expectations, deliberately acting out to provoke a backlash, trying to make people dislike her. Andrea had learnt that she had to control her naturally warm and nurturing manner, to show her affection for Zoe physically rather than verbally.
Still, the idea of Zoe getting cropped worried Andrea. Zoe was passionately interested in fashion, and liked very quirky styles that often left Andrea baffled. She hadn't yet met Yulia, but suspected her tastes were just as left-field. Would Zoe soon have a new cut and colour that Andrea would find bizarre and unattractive? She felt deeply uncomfortable, so much so that she couldn't bring herself to think about it. She sensed that it was triggering unsettling memories, feelings she'd suppressed and had yet to come to terms with. It was something she had to avoid thinking about, yet it was like a dark shadow at the edge of her consciousness, a constant source of anxiety.
Yulia didn't do anything as conventional as work in a salon. She mostly did her work as a favour to friends, working out of her home or occasionally doing home visits. Andrea suspected that, like most of Zoe's friends, she worked for her own pleasure rather than from financial necessity; mostly they were wealthy enough from trusts provided by their parents that paid work wasn't essential. Yulia had agreed to see Zoe on Friday. Andrea would have been nervous enough going to visit a stranger (she was always anxious in unfamiliar social settings, and found a lot of Zoe's friends overconfident and intimidating) but the added knowledge that Zoe might be unrecognisable in a couple of hours had her feeling unbearably tense.
She was relieved to find Yulia was friendly and possessed of a disarming charm. She was, Andrea knew, half Russian but she had not the faintest trace of an accent. She was blonde (possibly a natural blonde, Andrea guessed, her hair showed no signs of being dyed), with a messily hacked pixie with a long fringe, which suited her. She had broad cheekbones and a wide mouth which fell easily into a smile. She liked the effect she had on Zoe too. They became mischievous and laughed all the time, but she never felt left out. She was much the nicest of Zoe's friends that she'd met.
Once the two girls had caught up on the latest gossip from their social circle and relaxed over a beer, Yulia decided it was time to begin the makeover. “Did you have a plan?” she asked.
“Not as such. Just fed up with this length, so take off as much as you want, as long as you cut plenty. And I want something fresh with the colour too. Roots are showing.” Yulia dug into her locks and nodded. “I was hoping you could persuade this little cutie to do something new too. She showed me an old pic when she had a lovely boyish crop and it's got me all of a flutter.”
“Oh, yes, she'd look just so pretty with short,” Yulia said, inducing a bright blush in Andrea's cheeks.
“Oh really, Yulia, I'm just here to keep madame company tonight. I wouldn't want to trouble you. Anyway, I've only just got my hair to a length I like.”
“Oh just ignore her.” Zoe took a swig of beer. “Once she's relaxed a bit and seen how good you are we'll have more success convincing her.”
“Relaxed? You mean we get her drunk and then we have our way?” Yulia and Zoe broke into intense giggling.
“I think I should become a teetotaller,” Andrea sighed.
The demonstration of Yulia's latest acquisition made Andrea feel sure she was going to regret this evening. She'd just bought a set of Wahl clippers which she assured Zoe were powered by a motor of industrial potency. Zoe was decked out in a cape, the surface shiny red vinyl, and her bob was soon suspended at her crown with a series of clips, except that the nape and sides had been left free. Andrea's fears were now proven as Yulia turned on the new machine.
With a casual flick of her wrist she sheared a path through Zoe's nape. The small guard left a path of bristles, a soft pale brown, in contrast to the surrounding long silvery hair. Andrea grunted her disapproval, but her exclamation was lost beneath Zoe's rather more enthusiastic crowing. “Oh wow, I can't feel them dragging at all. Did they really cut it?” She squealed excitedly as her fingers played with her nape. “Oh shit,” she whispered. “That's... dreamy. Andrea, sweetie, come and feel it.”
Andrea, flustered, could find no reason to refuse and stroked at the cut hair. Memories of her own crop, and Brea's came back to her. But where her memories of the sensation of short hair in her youth were of something sad and incomplete, she now felt something silky and delightful. She was utterly taken aback by the unexpected reaction and let out a loud coo.
She felt her embarrassment renewed at the laughter of her friends. “You do like that,” Yulia giggled. “I bet you two are going to have fun tonight.”
She couldn't say anything. Zoe took her hand and squeezed, and shot her most engaging smile.
The clippers were soon whirring their way around the back and sides of Zoe's skull. All of the length was falling free, leaving a boyish crop that extended over the entirety of her nape and left close cropped bands over each ear. Zoe's sideburns had been buzzed to mere millimetres.
If Andrea was uncomfortable at how short the cut was, she was certain that the feeling of the short hair would compensate her. She couldn't wait to feel the close buzz again, though she was sure she didn't want to give any more away about her excitement in front of Yulia. She knew she'd be shy enough admitting to her pleasure to Zoe in private.
Now the guard was withdrawn from the clippers and Yulia set to her work again. She carefully touched the blades to the clippered hair and Andrea watched in fascination as they etched a line to Zoe's scalp. A V shape was delineated across the base of her nape, and once Yulia had established a neat guideline she pressed the blades up her neck to shave away the short hair completely from below the line. The pale skin of Zoe's scalp was now bared, only a faint greyness indicating the region which had once been copiously dressed in long silky hair. Now it was all but indistinguishable from the hairlessness of her neck.
Yulia now used the bare blades to shave away Zoe's sideburns, then blended the remaining hair, which she felt protruded rather too much. She pressed a comb up the truncated sideburns and ran the clippers over to produce a short taper in front of the ear. Andrea watched in hushed silence as her girlfriend's cut became ever more severe.
As the clippers were turned off Zoe explored the unfamiliar sensations of her new cut with exclamations of delight. “Oh shit Yulia, that just feels so sweet. I love it. I'd forgotten how I love undercuts. I don't think I'll ever let it grow out again.”
There was a change of pace now as Yulia bleached Zoe's hair, at least the longer part. She suggested that the undercut might be dyed dark to give a contrast, an idea that Zoe accepted without hesitation. She seemed utterly relaxed by Yulia's work, even to the extent of displaying no reluctance when Yulia daubed her thick eyebrows with bleach. Andrea wasn't so calm. “What are you doing?” she asked Yulia, her anxiety undisguised.
“It looks really cool when Zoe bleaches her eyebrows. She looks like an angel with blonde brows.”
“Doesn't make me act like one.” Zoe grabbed another beer and took a big swig.
“And aren't we all glad,” Yulia said, clinking her own bottle on Zoe's in celebration.
As the chemicals stripped the colour from Zoe's hair there was a lull in Yulia's activity. The conversation soon turned toward Andrea's appearance, steered by Zoe, who was certainly not behaving angelically. Andrea felt herself becoming desperate to deflect the conversation away but her friends appeared determined to draw her in.
“That cut I told you about, Yulia,” Zoe said, “she had the back and sides clippered closer than mine is. It was very boyish.”
“Is that right?” Yulia asked, and Andrea found herself unable to fend off the stylist from starting to play with her long hair.
“I don't know, it was a long time ago. I suppose it was as short.”
“Oh, no, definitely shorter. Your hair is thicker than mine and the scalp was showing through. I reckon it was a number one, at least on the lower part. Did she fade it?” Zoe asked.
Andrea shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I don't really remember much about it.” Andrea hoped her lack of enthusiasm would bring this subject to a close.
“Your hair is lovely and thick,” Yulia said. “I'd say you'd really have to take it to a one to have the scalp showing. Shall we find out?”
“What? No,” Andrea gulped. “I've been growing it for years and it's finally a length I like. Please don't cut it.”
“The poor little thing is scared of you, Yulia,” Zoe teased. “She knows your reputation for not letting anyone out of your studio until they've been chopped and dyed, and now she knows it's her turn.”
“You'd better get the cape on then, hadn't you, Andrea?” Yulia said, but couldn't remain serious and began to giggle.
“You know, sweetie, she could leave your hair long and give you a little undercut. I saw how much you liked mine, and I think it would please both of us if we both had nice short napes.”
Andrea felt her cheeks burning again at the mention of her pleasure in the feeling of Zoe's new cut. She was tongue-tied as she tried to deflect the suggestions of the two girls, who were now ganging up on her.
“Did you like it when you had short hair, Andrea? I bet it felt lovely, didn't it?”
“It was five years ago. I hated it at the time. I suppose I might think differently now, but then I just felt it was a mistake to get my hair cut.”
“Right, so you think you'd like it now?” Zoe quizzed.
“No, that's not what I meant. I just want to keep it long.”
Zoe pulled her over. “Just feel it. If you can honestly say that you don't like how that feels then you shouldn't get yours undercut.” Andrea guiltily ran her finger lightly over the base of Zoe's nape where the hair had been shaved. “Ooh, it tickles,” Zoe said, her shoulders convulsing at the touch of her girlfriend. “It's lovely though, don't stop.”
The presence of a third person made the intimacy awkward for Andrea, though in truth she was struggling to come to terms with the unexpected delight her girlfriend's shearing was inducing. Andrea felt consciously that she should have disliked seeing Zoe with her bob shorn away high up her head, yet even with the remains of her hair doused in bleach and her brows similarly covered by the whitish paste Andrea felt herself becoming turned on by seeing Zoe, the unflattering nature of her treatment only adding to Andrea's excitement. For a moment she was taken outside of herself and was alone with the glorious feeling of the buzzed hair and Zoe's bizarre appearance. It was Yulia's voice that brought her back to earth.
“So we're doing an undercut?” She'd somehow swapped places with Zoe and was astonished to find that she appeared to have seated herself to allow her hair to be cut.
“I... no, please.”
Zoe was more strict than Yulia. “Either you get an undercut or you go the whole hog and get your boy cut again. Which is it?”
“Undercut,” Andrea said, though it seemed like someone else had taken charge of her voice.
“Oh, honey, you're so brave,” Yulia said excitedly. “I promise you'll love it.”
Andrea was now treated to being caped, an identical garment to Zoe's falling heavy over her body and fitted tightly around her neck, where it seemed to induce perspiration immediately.
“Are we just doing the nape?” Yulia asked
“Over ears too,” Zoe insisted, but Andrea denied her demand. “If we just do the back it has to be really high. Top of ears and arching up. You've got such thick hair it would look better.”
“No, that's too much,” Andrea protested.
“I think not that high in the back but a little bit clippered over your ears would look best,” Yulia said calmly. Andrea found herself agreeing to this more reasonable request, but suddenly came to her senses. It was anything but sensible, she realised, yet already she'd bowed her head to allow Yulia to shear her.
She felt her long hair being combed, and once it was free of tangles Yulia decided how to shape her undercut. Andrea peered at herself in the mirror, turning her head to assess where the parting was. Her hair was bundled on top of her head, loosely twisted, and the parting formed a V-shape, passing within half an inch of her ears, but because the section ran diagonally it ended high on her temple. She reached out from under the cape to feel the sides of her head, as if to convince herself that what she saw in the mirror wasn't illusory.
“It's very high up on my temple,” she said nervously.
“It'll look fine, and with your hair down it won't show,” Yulia said calmly.
“You can keep your sideburns and go for the high arched back,” Zoe said challengingly.
Andrea was breathing heavily as she imagined how it would look with the sideburns mown close. She felt breathless, knew it would look too extreme, but something inside made her want it. “OK, let's do it,” she said solemnly to Yulia. Zoe and Yulia appeared so surprised by her acquiescence that they said nothing, only exchanging pleased expressions.
Andrea's composure started to melt as soon as she felt the clippers nibbling away at her nape. She remembered Brea pushing her into her last encounter, how powerless she'd felt. And yet now the powerlessness thrilled her too. “Oh, sweetie,” Zoe squealed happily, “I'm so pleased that you're doing this. I'm going to be so nice to you when we get home.”
As the right side was clippered before her ear, Andrea groaned. “Shit, that's loads shorter than yours, Zoe. It's like... shaved!” She felt tearful at how closely the clippers were cutting, yet she acknowledged that it was too late to do anything about it.
“Yeah, it's the number one, like we said,” Yulia smiled. “Looks great and feels... better.”
As Yulia tidied up the remains of her long hair, Andrea could see her sideburn reduced to stubble, a wide triangle of clippered hair extending high up her temple. Yulia moved around her to make the left side match and as she did Zoe began caressing the newly shorn scalp. It felt like velvet and within a moment all of Andrea's fears were gone, at least when she closed her eyes. Suddenly she was consumed with ecstasy and wanted to feel Zoe touching her like this forever. She crossed her legs tightly and became aware that she was getting too excited. She pressed her thighs tightly together; was she trying to control her growing lust or inciting it? She let the feeling grow as much as she dared, but then had to fight it. She lowered her head to her shoulder to break Zoe's touch, but she was sure her face gave away her guilty secret.
There were long ribbons of hair now gathered in the lap of Andrea's cape. Zoe lifted one and twisted and coiled it into a ring as a souvenir. Yulia was finished clippering and now played with Andrea's long hair. She combed it forward over her face, then combed in a centre part. As she smoothed Andrea's hair back behind her ears she gave an excited moan. “Oh babe, it looks so sweet like this with your sideburns all gone. It reminds of a picture.”
She seemed overcome with curiosity and went to her bookshelf where she looked for the necessary volume. She selected a large hardback catalogue, “Masterpieces of Early Renaissance Painting from the National Gallery”. Within a minutes she was pointing to a Virgin and Child. The virgin, set against a dark ground, looked down demurely at a richly attired baby Jesus, which looked like an older child of tiny proportions. The woman's dark hair was swept back from a centre part, her ears exposed, and her cheeks utterly devoid of hair, her sideburns plucked or shaved.
“Wow, that is odd,” Zoe observed. “Who painted it?”
“Antonello da Messina.”
“So he was Sicilian? Was that hairstyle a Sicilian thing then? I've seen medieval paintings where the forehead is shaved back but not sure I saw that before.”
“I don't know. He was Sicilian but her worked in Northern Italy too. He might even have gone to Flanders. I think that look would be amazing for you, Andrea.”
Andrea looked at the painting, which was undoubtedly very beautiful, but the hairstyle was odd.
“You mean shave her sideburns?” Zoe asked enthusiastically. It was already apparent that she favoured it.
“That would look even weirder,” Andrea said, peering at the faint remains of her recently abundant side locks.
“Oh come on, sweetie,” Zoe coaxed, “it's hardly any more coming off. I mean it would only be a few days till your hair was this long again. And like we said, you can hide it with your hair down.”
Against her better judgement, Andrea found herself agreeing, starting to feel that she couldn't resist anything that her friends pushed her into. She felt weak, eager to accommodate, but more, part of her wanted to give in to them, to please them, even if it did result in her humiliation. The clippers were once more set to scalp, but this time no guard spared the blades from her hair and they shaved the scalp to a raw bareness. Yulia made her bow her head.
“Are you shaving the nape too? I thought you could just shave the sides?”
“No, it's all coming off,” Yulia said. The blades whirred, then rattled louder. “I'll just raise the line a little, make it sharper,” she said, as more of Andrea's long hair was shaved away. Zoe was seemingly so excited by this development that she was reduced to encouraging squeaks, unable to make more coherent speech.
And the shaving with the clippers was insufficient to satisfy Yulia's imagined design. Andrea had to endure her freshly shorn undercut being dabbed with shaving gel. It was sticky and slippery and she would have disliked the feeling, except that Yulia's caresses on her shaved skin were thrilling. She shouldn't allow this to arouse her so much, Andrea thought, especially in the presence of her girlfriend. But neither of her companions seemed to be aware of anything inappropriate in Andrea's behaviour, since they were almost equally excited.
Andrea couldn't stop raising her hands to stroke at the shaved sides of her head. She'd initially been appalled by the feeling, smooth and almost rubbery, most unlike the feeling of her real scalp, as she thought of the areas that hadn't been razored. There was still something of that shock each time she stroked her scalp but now the repulsion was mixed with intense feelings of pleasure and she knew that being shaved could become an addiction for her. She felt wired, her emotions running out of check and was gulping down beer in an attempt to dampen these crazy thoughts. She'd allowed Yulia to cover her hair in dye now (her brows covered to match too) and she was trembling as she thought how people would react to her makeover.
But she had more than her own looks to occupy her. Zoe had just returned from having her hair rinsed and now had pastel blue hair, except that the undercut was a dark muted purple. The baby blue was long enough to cover all of the undercut, but that was about to change, since Yulia was preparing for the cut. She brushed back Zoe's hair and smiled at Andrea. “You can't keep your hands off your sideburns, can you, darling? I'm so pleased you like it. What do you think of Zoe's brows?”
Andrea had been shocked to see that her girlfriend's brows hadn't merely faded, they'd become virtually invisible on her pale skin. Only a close examination could detect their faint hairiness, though in tone they were almost identical to the surrounding skin. It made Zoe look like a stranger, and there was something odd, bold, though less pretty about her now. Andrea regretted the loss, yet felt it only added to her out of control libido. “I dunno. I guess it's sexy,” she giggled, but felt something inside adding to her discomfort.
She watched in terror as Yulia chopped the long bob, beginning with a heavy fringe. It was blunt and blocky, and because Yulia had combed the top hair forward it was extremely full and heavy. Now she began extending the line through the side, angling down only slightly. Slabs of thick hair fell heavily on the cape, and only the upper fraction of Zoe's ear was now concealed by her hair. Her buzzed sideburn was now on display.
As the back was cropped high above Zoe's nape, Andrea felt an urge to touch herself. Her girlfriend's pretty bob was gone and she was being given an ugly bowlcut, and Andrea felt that she could only accept it by sexualising this vision. She didn't understand what was going on; how could this cut be simultaneously ugly and sexy? Yet that was what she felt.
“Oh, that's a real pudding bowl,” Zoe giggled, not without a little embarrassment.
“You're just perfect for this cut,” Yulia reassured as she began to chip at the ends of the bowl, softening the contour, which would be absurdly heavy with Zoe's thick hair.
The finished style bloomed like a pale mushroom over Zoe's delicate skull. Yulia had teased the lower layers violently to add a lot of volume to the style, then smoothed the upper layer, curling the ends under. The fringe was especially rounded, and had lost something of its length as a result, which had the dubious benefit of showing off something of Zoe's pale brows, or at least exposing their near absence.
Zoe had been treated to Yulia's skills as a make-up artist. Her face looked as smooth as marble, her eyes delicately rimmed on the upper lid with a fine black line, her lashes darkened, but her full, deep red lips dominated her features now. “Your girl has the most perfect lips,” Yulia had stated, and Andrea fully agreed, though she merely nodded, knowing Zoe disdain for compliments.
Freed of the cape, Zoe stood close to the mirror and explored the look and feel of her new image. “Oh shit, Yulia, I love it,” she sighed, then giggled. “Do you like it, Andrea? I got a mushroom head now!”
What could she say? Consciously, Andrea felt it was quite ridiculous, an ugly, silly style, and she knew that it would draw attention, largely negative, when they were out together. And yet, it made her feel more desire than ever for Zoe. She'd somehow been made less beautiful yet more erotic. She hugged her girl tight to her and whispered in her ear, “You look so sexy, my princess.”
As Yulia and Zoe turned their attention to completing Andrea's makeover she was overcome with a fearful curiosity to see herself, though she would be denied a view of a mirror until Yulia's work was complete. Her newly tinted hair was smoothed dry, a brush curling and dragging at her locks as Yulia blasted with a dryer. The sensations were tantalising, a delicious sensual tugging and a sweet odour of hot, perfumed hair. She could see the length of her mane so could tell that her hair was much darker, though the actual shade was hard to determine, since Yulia tried to keep it swept back behind her shoulders.
Nor was Yulia content to leave her hair loose; Andrea felt her hair being sculptured into an updo. The hair at her crown was teased, Yulia aggressively backcombing into the roots to give lift. She felt the comb then form a straight part at the middle of her forehead, the hair smoothed to flow back over her temples, pinned tightly. She felt cool air on her shaved temples, and knew that the style would reveal the boldness of her undercut. For all her nervousness, Andrea felt a wonderful cleanness over the sides of her head where she'd been shaved. “I love how it feels,” a voice in her head repeated over and over.
And as Yulia and Zoe dreamed up new touches for her style she felt as passive as their doll, and yet she adored being in their power. “She's so cute,” Yulia smiled, and she had to fight against letting herself dream of Yulia and Zoe as her lovers. Every compliment seemed to erode her will more. She felt a panic as her brows were discussed, her more stylish companions determining that her newly darkened brows looked too full and untamed. The panic increased as Yulia pressed a comb over her eyebrows, then zipped her clippers over the tines. She could feel the remains fall as a dust on her cheeks. But merely cropping her brows wasn't sufficient. Yulia now took a straight razor to them, making Andrea fear that she would be rendered browless. She didn't dare breathe, so afraid was she of being cut, and yet as she pressed her thighs together to steel her body she felt a warmth suffuse her entire being, and she knew that she was on the cusp of a climax.
Andrea didn't know how to react when she finally saw a mirror. Her emotions were too jumbled to extricate, particularly since she'd drunk more than she could handle. “Oh shit, oh shit...” she sighed over and over. Her hair was darker than she'd imagined, a purplish tint to the dark brown giving an unnatural hue. It would look almost black in some lights, she was sure.
And it was styled into a shiny, helmet-like dome, surely too over-styled to suit her. It was pinned into a twist high enough on the back of her head to expose the shaved area of her nape. Her make-up was just as overdone as her hair: heavy foundation, blusher on her cheeks, brick red matte lips, harshly outlined eyes. The biggest surprise was that her brows were very dark, angular, thin, hard edged. She looked utterly unlike Andrea, so much so that she started to imagine that this manifestation should be renamed.
“She looks so hot,” Zoe said, drawing enthusiastic agreement from her friend. “I can see you love it, don't you sweetie?”
Andrea nodded and gave a dopey smile. “I think so. I can hardly believe it's me.”
“What will your friends say in work when they see new superglam Andrea?”
“I think I'll tone it down for work,” Andrea said bashfully.
“Do you think that's acceptable?” Yulia said mischievously.
“Not at all. No hiding your haircut, Andrea.”
“Yes, and you should really make her dress better, Zoe. She obviously doesn't know how to dress so you should choose for her. You'd like that, wouldn't you Andrea?” Yulia brushed Andrea's neck and slid the cape free.
“Yes, tomorrow you'll be the best dressed girl in your office,” Zoe agreed. “No more greys and browns, we're going to make you colourful.”
“What is it she does?” Yulia asked, no longer addressing questions to Andrea.
“She works in a contemporary art museum.”
“Oh, great. I bet a lot of the women there dress nicely. She should definitely start to look more edgy, Zoe.”
Zoe kissed Andrea on the cheek. “That's decided then.”
Andrea woke the next morning feeling like she'd been dreaming for a long time, longer than the few hours sleep she'd managed. Long into the morning she'd been unable to stem her ebullient feelings for her transformed girlfriend, and Zoe had appeared equally energised by Andrea's makeover. She'd felt emboldened by her new image, yet even as she celebrated she knew that the disinhibition of the alcohol had much to do with it. Now she looked in the bathroom mirror and winced as she saw how much hair Yulia had shaved. Her thin, dark brows looked so strange too, giving her face a new character, unfamiliar and unsettling. And yet even now she felt a thrill as she rubbed her fingertips over the bared sideburns. There was a slight graininess now where some regrowth had already made itself felt. It was nicer smooth, but she wouldn't dare shave it again. It needed to regrow, awkward though that would be. Or did she really want Zoe to pin up her long hair and shave her smooth again right now? Even thinking about it made her feel the swell of excitement rekindle, the energy that had consumed her last night.
Zoe looked like a ghost as she entered the kitchen where Andrea was preparing breakfast. She looked so pale now that her brows were bleached, and her hair was wildly dishevelled. She kissed Andrea before wishing her a good morning. “You were possessed last night. I never saw you like that before.”
Andrea felt her cheeks redden and she started to try to apologise but could only make a sad groan.
“Hush, baby! You were so lovely. I've never been happier in my life. Never!” She sat alongside Andrea and hugged her tightly for a full minute in silence. “We really tapped into something in you, didn't we? I never imagined you'd become so wild because of a haircut.”
“I don't know what happened to me,” Andrea admitted. “I think I need a few days to try and make sense of my thoughts. I went too far.”
“Stop that! You were happy and excited. I loved to see you like that. You've had such a tough time and you have no reason to feel guilty when something makes you feel alive. You have to stop fighting against feeling happy.”
Andrea gave a little chuckle. “But you're just like that too! You can't accept that you're such a lovely person.”
Zoe kissed her on the cheek. “OK, you got me. But just because I'm screwed up doesn't mean I'm going to let you get away with it.”
Andrea returned her kiss. “If you're going to therapise me then you have to let me do the same back. We should be good for each other. I'm sure we'll be happier together if we're both a bit less neurotic.”
Zoe gave a snort. “Lots have tried and lots have failed. My psychologists used to despair when I'd see them. 'Very deep-rooted problems' was a phrase they used a lot.”
Andrea hugged her. “But look at you! You're so hard on yourself but you've come a long way. You're a lot healthier than the girl I saw five or six years ago, not just physically but emotionally. Aren't you? Don't just scowl, answer me objectively. You're functionally much better aren't you?”
“I suppose I am,” Zoe said softly. She suddenly seemed vulnerable, dangerously delicate when talking about herself.
“If you want me to move past my anxieties then you have to work just as hard. You can admit to yourself that you have good points. I'd love to be able to say honestly how I felt about you, but I know that's too much for you.”
“I've gone as far down that path as I can for one day, just admitting that I've made some progress. Please don't push me any more, it'll make me go backwards.”
“OK, nothing more to say.” Instead Andrea put her lips to Zoe's and hoped that her kiss would say more than any words about her feelings.
Andrea insisted that it was folly to allow Zoe to style her for work. “I don't have time. I'll be late if I don't hurry.” Zoe was insistent that she'd work fast, and that her efforts wouldn't significantly delay Andrea's departure.
She was wrong. Her insistence that Andrea should bare her undershave, and that it should be reshaved, had Andrea quivering with excitement. Once the razor had done its work it took only a caress from Zoe to stir passions beyond containment. Once more Andrea and Zoe were transported to the ecstasies of the previous night. Andrea did indeed feel like something alien had possessed her. Only after half an hour had elapsed did she realise with a shock that she'd completely forgotten about her work. “Oh shit, what am I doing?” she said confusedly. “Zoe, I'm late. I'm going to be in so much trouble. I need to go.”
Yet Zoe wouldn't let her go without completing her look. Andrea was squirming as she looked in the mirror. “No, I can't!” she gasped. “I don't ever dress like this. It's not me.”
Zoe had rapidly applied make-up, bright red on her lips, lime green and yellow eye shadow blending over thickly lined eyes, a blush of warm pink over her cheekbones. The satin top was just as garish, a vintage eighties garment, rather too big for Andrea, although Zoe assured her that it was meant to be baggy. A short flared skirt completed the outfit.
“We need to get you some better shoes,” Zoe tutted. “Everything you have is flat. You're not even five foot, Andrea. Didn't you ever think a bit of height could work in your favour?” She was now adding a couple of heavy chains around Andrea's neck; she already wore some thick bangles and oversized tooled copper discs hung from her ears. Her hair had been wound into a large bun at her nape, though Zoe had retained the severe centre part, the sides neatly swept over ears to expose the bald area before Andrea's ears.”
“Oh, Zoe, please! It's too much. I feel like a little girl who raided mum's wardrobe. And I need to wear my hair down. I hate the undershave!”
A touch from Zoe's fingertips gave the lie to the last statement as Andrea moaned excitedly. “You need to trust me. I work as a stylist and you look wonderful. There's no time to argue, I'm going to drive you to work. You're in no state to drive. Even if you weren't so stressed I think you're still drunk from last night. I'll pick you up tonight and we can get dinner.”
Andrea looked at Zoe as they snuggled together into the booth at the restaurant. “So? You said you'd tell me how your first day as the new Andrea went.”
“I was on edge all the time. I felt like everyone was staring. And I did have a lot of questions. Being an hour late didn't help. There was a meeting I was supposed to be at and I could feel the eyes on me when I came in. I knew everyone was thinking 'What the fuck has she done?'”
“And afterwards, did everyone say: 'Oh, Andrea, you look awful! What an awful haircut!'?”
“No, of course not. They're much too nice to say anything like that. Actually... a few seemed to like it.”
“Aw, you're blushing. You got turned on by all the attention, didn't you?” Andrea looked down shyly. “I bet your fingers were playing with your shaved nape all day weren't they? I bet you've not stopped feeling horny at all since we got to Yulia's last night.”
“You're not far wrong,” Andrea sighed.
“Do you like my hair tonight, sweetie?” Zoe had given herself a centre parting now, the sides of her fringe held in place by black wire hair clips, arranged in x-shaped pairs. Her make-up was even more extreme, her eyelashes now coated with white mascara, only her dark lips disturbing the strange pallor.
Andrea giggled. “You look weird. Sexy but weird.”
“I'll take that,” Zoe said happily. “You don't like my new haircut, do you? You preferred the bob.”
Andrea paused too long before answering. “It's... complicated. The bob was prettier, but this is sexier.” Zoe stared at her in silence. “I guess a bowlcut... It's not a nice cut, it's sort of bad, but it's irresistible on you. It just suits you. Or doesn't suit you maybe, but that just makes it even sexier.”
“Right, so you want me to have bad haircuts?”
“Oh Zoe, it's not like that, I'm just not expressing myself well.”
“I think I understand you. I like to be anti-style. My whole taste in how I dress is based on an anti-aesthetic. I agree, this isn't a pretty cut. I used to have long 'pretty' hair, but it got really unhealthy when my eating was at its worst. I decided to buzz it all off one day. I did it to lash out, to hurt myself, to shock people. But then some people told me it looked good and I realised I'd freed myself of something. Once I accepted that convention wasn't the only way to judge beauty I started to feel I had some control again.” She started to laugh. “I was crazy at the time though. One of my psychologists told me getting a pet would help me, that responsibility would make me take control, so my parents bought me a cat, Pyewacket. It was a little ginger tabby with long hair, but I decided that I'd give her a haircut too. I wasn't the only one who got clippered.”
“Oh, you didn't!”
“Yeah, I did. Poor little thing looked so odd. I didn't do her head so she looked like a lion. She was tiny without all that fur. Of course, I wasn't allowed pets after that...”
“What happened to her?”
“My cousin took her in. She's living a happy life somewhere in Herefordshire. I'm sure I'd look after a pet properly now. Do you want to be my little Pyewacket? I can't guarantee you'll be any safer from the clippers but I'll make sure you're well loved.”
Andrea took Zoe's hand and slipped it inside the waistband of her skirt. She gave a warbling sigh as Zoe's fingers traced a path over the moist fabric covering her mound.
“Let's forget about dinner. Drink up and let's make our apologies. I'm going to take my little Pyewacket home and shave her body. Nothing left except on your head.”
Andrea had only had a small glass of wine but felt drunk already.
“It feels gorgeous. I think I want you shaved like this always.” Andrea was unable to disagree. Submitting her body to Zoe's razor had made her feel as wired as she had the previous night. She stroked her arm, which had had only the finest covering of down, yet the sensation of her skin was transformed. But it was the shaving of her most intimate hair that had had the greatest effect. She was experiencing bliss as Zoe leaned over her and blew delicately on her shorn mound.
“Do you think I could make you come doing this? Not even touching you?”
“I wouldn't be surprised. I think you're a witch and you've enchanted me.”
Zoe giggled. “Funny you should say that. Pyewacket. Do you know where your name comes from?” Andrea shook her head. “You've heard of Matthew Hopkins, the witchfinder general? He interrogated a witch in Essex and her familiar spirits appeared to him. Pyewacket was some sort of imp.”
“Oh, so I'm not a cat, I'm a demon?”
“You're a familiar spirit, and that means, if I'm a witch, that you have to serve me. Do you promise to serve me, Pyewacket?” Now Zoe was straddling Andrea's body, kneeling forward so that their faces came close.
“What would I have to do?”
“Everything I ask! Obviously.”
“You'll be cruel,” Andrea teased. “You were mean to the last Pyewacket.”
“She didn't mind at all. She was like a rag doll, just lay there while I shaved off her fur. And it was such a hot summer I'm sure she was more comfortable. But this new one has to be more obedient. If you like me with bad haircuts then yours is going to be bad too.”
“Oh shit, Zoe, you're scaring me,” Andrea wailed. Zoe pinned her wrists to the bed and kissed her hard on the lips.
“That didn't taste of fear,” she whispered as their lips finally parted. “You want this. You want it so much. Don't you?”
“I... don't know, I do and I don't.”
“You have to serve me though, look how exciting it is when you do as I ask. You want it, don't you? You want me to tell Yulia how to cut your hair, a really bad haircut!”
Andrea couldn't control her arousal as she felt her pussy press against Zoe's. She felt herself slip into a huge orgasm, crying out a garbled hymn of praise to Zoe. Included in the words were a solemn vow that her hair was now in the hands of her girlfriend.
Passions spent, Andrea now had to come to terms with her promise. They discussed plans over a takeaway pizza. “I'll let you cut it, but please don't make me do it straight away. I freaked out the people at work enough. If I get another makeover two days after the first it'll just look weird, like it's a fetish or something.”
“It is a fetish,” Zoe giggled. “You've so got a fetish about this, Pyewacket.”
“Well, maybe,” a blushing Andrea had to admit. “But I'm shy. Private. I don't want everyone in work gossiping, suspecting things about me.”
“OK, that's reasonable,” Zoe agreed, filling her mouth with a huge bite of pizza. “So... how long before we get you chopped?”
“Er... four weeks?” Andrea suggested as a negotiating position.
“I can live with that. So you're saying that when you get a haircut I can't change it, except for maintenance trims, in less than four weeks?” Andrea nodded. “If we kiss on it it's a set-in-stone promise.” They kissed.
The following weeks were a delicious agony for Andrea. Zoe seemed to be able to make her confess to passions she wasn't consciously aware of in herself. Not only would she receive a drastic new cut once the four weeks had elapsed, she'd discovered in herself a desire to undergo heavy processing of her hair, inspired by the vision of Zoe's bleaching and colouring. Yulia had been taken into their confidence, though a tearful Andrea had begged her to keep her strange desires a secret. Yulia had been admirably calm and reasonable about the disclosure, assuring Andrea that she would always treat her as a friend and respect her.
The three friends were seldom apart for more than a couple of days. Yulia would visit frequently, or else Zoe and Andrea would go to her home to have a few beers, eat some food or watch a film. But as the day of Andrea's impending makeover approached, more and more time was spent discussing the options for her new style.
“Her hair grows so fast,” Yulia observed one night, as she rubbed at the soft fur that had reclaimed Andrea's nape.
“Even so, I don't want all this lovely hair chopped in one go. We're planning monthly makeovers, and I envisaged that the first really short cut wouldn't be for three or four months, tempting though it is to go from long to ultra short.”
“Oh, that would be fun,” Yulia said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She pulled Andrea's long hair back tightly. “I could give her a really butch, barbered look. Maybe a flattop, really square and boxy. Is that bad enough to turn you on, Andrea?”
Andrea could only look pleadingly at Zoe in the hope she'd be spared such brutal treatment. Her lover seemed intent on adding to Andrea's anxiety, however. Undoubtedly she sensed that Andrea took as much pleasure in this game as anyone else, despite her genuine nervousness.
“Maybe you could leave a bit on the back and sides and shave in a hair tattoo. That would make her look like a gang banger. Shall we start looking to see what's popular with criminals these days, sweetie?”
“I'd hoped for something more feminine,” Andrea admitted.
“I'm not sure we believe that, do we, Yulia?” Zoe said coldly. “You want to relive your awful cut from the only time you went short. I think you'd be so turned on if Yulia made you look like a boy.” Andrea was trembling, suddenly aware that in a few days she'd agreed to her hair being cut into whatever style was decided for her. She regretted her decision, yet Zoe was right: the more real it seemed, the more intense her fear, the greater her excitement.
“We could keep some length but it would have to be something really fugly,” Yulia now suggested. “We could go for some retro look. Permed eighties big hair.”
“Oh, she'd adore that. She'd been telling me how the processing excites her and a perm would mean hours of work. Can you do perms, Yulia?”
“I never have. We could take her to a salon, find an older stylist who did perming in the eighties, then I'll do the cut for her.”
Andrea listened in silence. This was something she hadn't anticipated. The idea of being put in the hands of a stranger for a perm was intimidating. She could admit, though with enormous difficulty, to her true feelings before Yulia and Zoe, but in a salon she'd struggle to hide her fear and excitement. She'd be sure to shame herself. Yet even this humiliation seemed to inflame her passions.
“Perms stink though. Would you like to have to endure the awful smell of your hair being turned to frizz, Pyewacket?”
Andrea nodded shyly and felt her cheeks redden. She knew that she'd endure any humiliation that Zoe suggested.
Yulia was giggling uncontrollably. “What's this nickname, Pyewacket? Am I missing something.”
“Pyewacket was my little cat, you remember her?”
“Oh god, yes! The one you shaved?”
“Well this one gets shaved too. She likes me to shave her entire body. We do it every few days.”
Yulia was now caressing Andrea's arm. “Is she very hairy?”
“Oh yes, she's like a monkey when I don't take the razor to her.” Andrea was giggling too now. Despite her make insecurities, she knew that she wasn't hirsute.
“You should let her hair grow out for six weeks then let me wax her.”
“Oh, she'd be so smooth, wouldn't she. I'm sure it would be lovely, but then she'd have to undress in front of you. She'd be so shy. I know she has a crush on you too, Yulia. Isn't that right, Andrea?”
Andrea wanted to cry as Zoe taunted her mercilessly. It was true that she liked Yulia a lot, though she hardly dared admit it, since she was deeply in love with Zoe.”I like you, Yulia, it's true, but not a crush.”
“Oh, it's OK, you can say what you really feel. I won't be upset and nor will Yulia. We both know it's true. It was obvious on the first night you met her that you more than liked her. If she gives you a nice haircut would you let her be our lover?”
Andrea was astonished. “But I thought you had a boyfriend,” she said nervously to Yulia.
“I've had boyfriends. But I'm bi. Anyway, Andrea, I'm not giving you a nice haircut, am I? Tell me what you want.”
“A bad haircut,” she said tremulously. “I want you to make it look bad.”
“OK, this is what happens on Saturday. Yulia comes and cuts my hair and colours it while my little Pyewacket watches and behaves herself. Then she sits for Yulia and has her hair completely transformed into something very bad. And then the newly coiffed ladies welcome Yulia to our bed and show her our appreciation.”
“Andrea, sweetie. If I see you trying to touch yourself furtively like that again I'll be putting you in mittens. You need to be patient and you'll enjoy yourself so much more later.”
Andrea blushed at Zoe's admonishment. She felt ashamed that she had tried to touch herself. But the sight of Zoe was more than she could easily bear.
Yulia had been at work for a couple of hours now and Zoe's roots had been bleached and her hair dyed a vivid acid yellow, top and undercut alike. Her eyebrows were now a mid brown, full and well-shaped. It looked pretty, and Andrea liked the change from the bleached look. Now Yulia had trimmed the undercut to a smooth short layer of yellow (the texture made her think of a small feathered bird, at least viewed from a distance) and now her scissors were reshaping the bowl.
It did appear that Zoe would still have a bowlcut but it was far shorter than the previous incarnation. Yulia started by chopping a short fringe, a wide strip of skin separating the blunt line from Zoe's eyebrows. With the previous line still intact it changed the bowl into a short bob, but this was now being remedied. The short line of the fringe was extended through the sides, so that an area of clippered hair was on show above each ear. The cut would be far more boyish than the previous heavy bowl.
The back was cropped to a line just above Zoe's occipital bone, closer to her crown than her hairline. Her nape was clear now, the short yellow fur following the delicate sculptured contours of her skull. Now that the line of the bowl was cut around the entirety of Zoe's head, Yulia set to reshaping the contour, graduating it so that there wouldn't be such a heavy line. It removed a lot of weight from the bowl, which was now less mushroom-like, and yet more boyish. It was so short that Yulia could blast it dry in half the time it had taken previously. She smoothed it into a precise form and finished it with a heavy coating of hairspray.
“Ooh, it's short!” Zoe said excitedly as she was released from the cape and went to the mirror to study herself. She kept caressing the shorn nape, which had been shaved to a squarish contour. “I do like it. Maybe even shorter next time? Lose the bowl completely? It hasn't been this short since I had my buzzcut.”
She suddenly turned to smile at Andrea. “And do you approve? Is it sufficiently... unflattering to please you?”
“It's lovely,” Andrea blushed. “It's too short but I love the clippered part anyway and the colour is amazing.”
“Shall we get some lunch now? Then I can see to our little friend here. I can see she's so excited that she might just explode,” Yulia giggled.
“I couldn't eat a thing,” Andrea sighed. “I'm not sure I ever felt this nervous when I had to have surgery.”
“Well I have to eat,” Yulia said. “I'm on my feet working for you two, who just sit and relax. And of course, I'll need lots of energy later.”
Zoe prepared sandwiches, and delicious as they were, Andrea was true to her word. She managed only a couple of mouthfuls before abandoning her attempts to eat. “What happens now then?” she asked.
“You get undressed and put on your cape like a good girl,” Yulia said. “We'll begin with the colour, which is going to take ages. We'll certainly need to bleach you twice before we can colour it. Once you have your new colour you'll put on the outfit that Zoe's chosen for you and I'll do your make-up. Then you get your cut.”
“Yes, sweetie, undress now. No need to be shy in front of Yulia.”
Andrea felt light headed as she undressed. She looked down at the floor as she felt Yulia's eyes scanning her, assessing her. “You poor little thing. Such a big scar!”
“Yes, I had surgery for a big cyst in my abdomen. I had to have a second op later, there were complications.” She turned to show the scar on the right side of her back. “Now you know why I don't wear bikinis,” she said with a shy smile.
“It's nothing to be ashamed of. You have a nice body,” Yulia reassured. “They've healed well. They're flat and pale.”
“She has a lovely body, but she's sure she's too chubby. She has such lovely curves, doesn't she? Much more attractive than mine,” Zoe said.
“Oh dear,” Yulia groaned. “You two are both so pretty but you seem to think you're like the ugly twins. You need to get some decent mirrors in your place.”
Now Yulia took Andrea's hand and guided her into the chair. She turned her to face the mirror. “Take a last look, Andrea. You'll be different, a lot different next time you look in a mirror. Zoe, honey, put the cape on her while I mix the bleach.”
Zoe obliged, smiling happily at Andrea. “Are you OK if I cover the mirror now? I want you to have the surprise of seeing the completed look.”
Andrea nodded. “Zoe, that cut's so short! The fringe especially. Don't go shorter next time, please.”
“You're just being silly,” Zoe giggled. “You love it, don't you? I bet when you feel my nape later you'll be begging Yulia to buzz me all over. Now just concentrate on your own look for the next couple of hours.”
Andrea tried to fix a last memory of her long hair as Zoe clipped a towel in front of the mirror. Moments later Yulia began to cover her dark locks with a blue-grey paste with a sharp odour. There was so much hair that despite the efficiency of her work, the process seemed to take forever. “It might feel a bit hot and itchy,” Zoe warned, “so don't freak out and think your hair's falling out. That hardly ever happens to Yulia's clients.”
“Don't be mean,” Yulia snapped back. “It never happened to anyone. Ignore her.”
Andrea's attempts to maintain her composure suffered a blow as she felt the bleach being dabbed on her eyebrows. “Oh shit, am I going to have invisible eyebrows like Zoe's?”
Zoe pulled a face of exaggerated hurt. “Would that be so bad? You told me you liked it.”
“It was sort of sexy... on you. I'll just look weird and fat.”
Yulia interrupted her. “Enough with the self doubt! You'll get what you're given. If you ask me what you're getting again or complain about what I'm doing your next makeover gets brought forward a week. Now will you be good?” Andrea nodded glumly.
“Now give me a big smile. If you can't look in the mirror I'm going to take lots of photos so you can see how pretty you look with your hair covered in bleach.”
After two applications of bleach and two rinses Andrea could see that her hair was now as pale as straw. “Oh shit,” she groaned, lifting a strand of hair to examine the colour. “I'm blonde! Does it look weird.”
Zoe took more pictures. “Yep, it does actually,” she said, relishing Andrea's discomfort. “Those blonde brows, phew!”
“Now comes the fun part,” Yulia said, mixing up three different colours of dye. “Well, sort of fun. The real fun is chopping off all this hair.”
Andrea was soon hidden under a mass of foils, and the hair that had been spared being wrapped in aluminium was covered heavily in dye. Zoe could barely contain her joy. “Your hair's going to look amazing. Really beautiful colour and a really bad cut.”
Yulia giggled. “It's going to be cut beautifully, just that the style won't be to everyone's tastes.”
“Hardly anyone's, let's be honest. I can't wait to hear what your work friends make of the new look Andrea. You'll really surprise them.”
Yulia joined in the teasing. “Yes, and the thing is you'll get something radical every month. Your colleagues will probably be putting bets on what you'll look like after the first weekend of the month. There'll probably be an office sweepstake.”
“But me and Yulia will make sure that your cuts are so outlandish that they'll never guess.”
“Stop it,” Andrea sneered. “You're being cruel now.”
“We are, but you love it. She's probably begging us to stop because she's getting so aroused, but the cape's too short to allow her any privacy.”
“Oh, you naughty girl,” Yulia laughed. “It turns you on to get a bad haircut?”
“I guess we'll know in about an hour,” Zoe giggled.
It was red, or at least predominantly so, Andrea could see that much. It was a very intense shade, a deep ruby colour, far bolder than she'd ever imagined her hair would be, at least until a few weeks previously, since the time when she'd realised that anything was possible. Now Andrea was dressing in the outfit that her friends had chosen. “You'll wear this to work on Monday so don't mess it up,” Zoe cautioned.
Andrea was sure it wasn't suitable for work, although she didn't voice her concerns. She was wearing a red cavalry top which buttoned at the right side, and had a tight high collar. She was wearing tapered, pleated waist trousers, and knew that the effect was very retro eighties. “Wow, very futurist,” Yulia said admiringly. “I think I know exactly the look for your make-up. Come on and let's finish you off.”
Andrea felt her excitement rise to a new level as before her make-up was begun Yulia reshaped her eyebrows (no longer blonde, she knew, and suspected that they'd been dyed as brightly as her hair). Yulia again snipped the hairs short over a comb, then took her straight razor to the edges. Andrea felt her skin being pulled tight as the blade shaved them into shape.
“I think I need a drink,” Andrea sighed. “Please, Zoe, get me a beer. I'm going to have a breakdown if I don't have something to calm me.”
“It's not even three o'clock. Too early, sweetie. Besides, I want you to feel everything about your haircut without anything to settle you. This will be something you'll remember forever. Your first proper haircut.”
Now that her eyebrows were shaped to perfection, Yulia lavished time and care on her cosmetics. “Oh my god, she looks so different,” Zoe gasped. “I really love it! Now give her a haircut to go with it.”
Andrea was breathing heavily as Yulia combed her damp hair over the cape. “Keep your head up straight, babe,” she said softly. “Here goes...” There was the sound of scissors cutting now behind Andrea. She could sense that she was going to have hair no longer than her shoulders now.
“Wow, it's shorter than I thought it'd be,” Zoe said. Yulia ignored her comments and worked on in silence, combing through the hair, then extending the line across Andrea's neck. As she cut through the side Andrea saw a piece of hair slide down the cape, coming to rest in her lap. It was at least six inches.
“Shit, you are cutting a lot,” Andrea gasped. “Oh god, Yulia, I'm not sure I can do this. I don't need beer, I need vodka.”
“Stop being a drama queen,” Zoe laughed. “You'll look wonderful. And don't get teary. If you ruin Yulia's make-up I'll never forgive you.”
As more hair fell Zoe took pity on her and pulled up a stool. She reached out and took Andrea's hand, gazing into her face with an expression of real happiness. “You will look great,” she said softly. “Don't worry.”
Yulia seemed to take an eternity to bring the blunt line of Andrea's new cut to a finish that satisfied her. Eventually the snipping ceased and Andrea felt her new shortened tresses being pinned atop her head. Yulia turned her attention to the right side. The sight of clippers made Andrea's stomach flutter.
“Don't look so scared,” Yulia said and rubbed at the short fur that had grown over her undercut. “Just tidying this up. It's not going to be shaved like last time.”
The clippers began to roar, almost deafening as Yulia pressed them close to Andrea's ear. She was raising a comb through the short hair, then clippering over the tines. “I'm not sure she's happy about not being shaved.” Zoe squeezed more tightly at Andrea's clammy hand. “She loved her smooth scalp. It was very erotic for you, wasn't it, Pyewacket?”
“It did feel nice,” a bashful Andrea admitted.
“Is that right?” Yulia smiled. “I was going to just tidy up your nape but if you prefer I can shave it. It won't interfere with this style. It's not like you're going to be wearing it up.”
“Do you want her to?” Zoe asked softly. Andrea was tongue-tied. “I think you should, Yulia. She's too shy to say but she wants it.”
Yulia had trimmed the undercut and now took the edge of the blades in an arc around Andrea's folded down ear, without any comb in place, as she shaped the hair into a tidy curve. Happy that the cut was satisfactory, Yulia pressed the edge to the sideburn, then drew the clippers down her cheek, leaving only a short point of hair.
A long strand of hair was freed on the right side now and Yulia combed through it, then rasped the clippers over the comb. Andrea gave a fearful exclamation as she saw more long pieces of hair fall. She realised immediately that she had little length remaining over her right ear. Yulia combed through the hair again and clippered more away, working ever more precisely.
“It's short over my ear!” she said incredulously.
“It is,” Zoe smiled. “You have such pretty little ears, it seems a shame to hide them.”
“You won't be hiding this ear for a while.” Yulia released more hair from the side and clippered it over the comb. “She's right though. You do have adorable ears, so perfect and tiny.”
Yulia busily worked at the right side, sculpting the style with clipper and comb. Now, though, the comb was held away from Andrea's head so that there would be some length, even if it wouldn't more than brush her ear.
The clippers were now pressed up Andrea's nape, the blades hot on her skin. They chafed at her soft skin, making it feel raw, but Andrea liked the sensation. She longed to feel smooth, shaved scalp, though she was relieved that her hair was still long enough to hide it. It seemed to be an ideal compromise.
Yulia's caress on her clippershaved nape was delightful for Andrea, but her stylist seemed less happy with the result of the clippering. She rubbed a musky-scented oil over the skin, which made the rawness turn to a stinging. But even as Andrea moaned at the pain she knew it was something she desired.
Now the skin of her nape was treated to a keen razor, a safety razor pulled firmly up Andrea's nape. There was a faint dragging as it passed over her scalp that was gone as the blades made a second transit over the same area, now utterly hairless. Zoe couldn't resist stroking the bared nape and declared that it was delicious. “Should we keep this shaved smooth every day, sweetie?” Andrea was melting at the sensitivity of her scalp and willingly agreed.
“When you next sit for me I'll cut it short enough in the back to show off your shaved nape,” Yulia promised. “It'll look so cute. A bit weird though.”
Andrea's imagination began to take flight as she imagined how she'd look with her hair cut short over a shaved nape. She was sure it would be humiliating, yet erotic. She'd be unable to resist allowing herself to be transformed again. So enmeshed in these thoughts was she that it took a minute or two to realise that her cut appeared to be complete. Yulia now styled it, misting her hair with a sweet, aromatic spray before turning the dryer on it. It felt strange as she tugged a brush at the right side; the hair there was so short, only inches long. Yulia twisted the brush tightly at each strand and blasted it with hot air to make it hold its new form. Andrea blushed as she saw Zoe's expression. She looked slyly amused at what she saw.
The longer hair was blasted until it was barely damp, then most of it was pinned up once more as Yulia began to use what Andrea assumed were straighteners. She'd rarely had the patience to straighten her hair, since it was so thick and long. Had been long, she realised with a start. She recalled how it was now cut to her shoulders, except that it was short on the right, radically asymmetric.
And now that she was more attentive to Yulia's work she realised that the irons were being pressed to her hair rather than being drawn along the length of the hair. “Are you crimping it?” she asked.
“Yes, aren't you a clever girl?” Zoe laughed. “You're getting a real eighties look. I'm watching closely so that I can crimp it for you. You'll be keeping it just like this for the entire month.”
Yulia worked on fine sections to ensure a good finish, but it did mean that Andrea's style took a long time to complete. It was far from finished when she realised that her hair fell across her left eye. “That'll drive you mad, won't it, sweetie? The peek-a-boo fringe?”
“You're kidding? You want me to have one eye covered with hair all the time?”
“I'm afraid that's the style you have for the next month. You don't have any choice. I want you to realise that sometimes looking stylish is more important than practicality.”
Finally the cape was gone and Andrea was declared ready. She stood awkwardly, her knees trembling as she prepared herself to see how she looked now. The mirror was uncovered and Andrea gasped. “Oh shit. Oh shit. Look at me.”
Her friends laughed. “We both said you'd say 'Oh shit',” Zoe laughed. “You're so predictable.”
Andrea's deep red hair was streaked with wisps of orange through the front so that it appeared to be burnished. The lower layers were streaked with a deep purple-blue which only made itself visible when her hair moved, although her tiny point of a sideburn was this dark shade too.
The hair on the right was stiffly bulging out in a very bold wedge, only covering the very top of her ear. The rest of her hair looked impossibly big, the crimping seemingly adding an absurd level of volume. It was chopped very bluntly, hovering clear of shoulder, but it was cut at a slight angle getting shorter toward the back. The front swept over her face, touching the left side of nose and obscuring her eye completely. Andrea nervously brushed it aside to take in her make-up. She was ridiculously pale, a strong streak of purple under each cheekbone. Her lips were orange-red and her eyes thickly outlined with a cat's-eye shape. Her thinner-than-ever eyebrows were the same deep red as her hair.
“It's sort of goth...” she said, astonished.
“No, it's futurist. You're very Phil Oakey inspired, Pyewacket.”
Yulia was primping at her hair, caressing it back over her eye. Then she began stroking her ear. “You know, babe, I think you'd look great with more piercings here. You have lovely ears. And now we can see that you should draw attention to it.”
“Oh, wow, that's such a good idea,” Zoe agreed. “It's still early, you could get it done this afternoon.” Zoe had several piercings in her ears but hadn't ever previously seemed keen on Andrea adding to the pair of studs which were her only piercings. “If you do it I'll get my septum piercing.”
Zoe had mentioned a few times that she wanted her nose pierced but Andrea was fairly neutral about it. It hardly seemed an inducement to experience pain and mutilation. Yulia was clearly more enthusiastic. “Yes, you so should. And I don't want to be left out. What should I get done?”
“Well, let's see... Andrea's getting her ear done, I'm doing nose, so you should get something in your lips.”
Yulia wrinkled her nose. “That'll hurt though.”
“Septum can be really tough,” Zoe laughed. “I love medusas. Your lips are so pretty and it would suit you.”
Yulia's misgivings were slight and soon the three friends were in the town, approaching the piercing shop. A call had already been made to ensure they could be accommodated.
“You should go first,” Yulia said gently to Andrea. “You're most worried and if you had to watch ours it would distress you. But really, ears hardly hurt at all. You'll be fine.” She squeezed her hand and gave a warm smile as they went inside.
Andrea was trembling as the piercer examined her ear. “We were thinking another two piercings up the edge of the lobe and a ring higher up in the cartilage,” Zoe stated. In fact, there'd been no real discussion of the details and Andrea had never thought that she would get three new piercings. But as she was asked about this she found herself nodding. Moments later she was nodding again as she looked in a mirror to view dots that marked the suggested placements. She found herself staring at the reflection that she couldn't accept as being a true image of how she looked now. She'd been crazy to allow Yulia to go so far.
The new studs went easily into her lobe. There was only a brief stinging as the needle penetrated her, no worse than a mild scratch. She felt the new weight, and smiled proudly at Zoe, pleased that she'd taken the pain so well. “The top is going through cartilage. It will sting a bit more but nothing too bad. Your ears are quite delicate and normally that means there's less pain and less swelling afterwards,” the piercer said. She was softly spoken and gave off a calmness that appeared to affect others in her presence.
As the needle pressed against her ear Andrea groaned then swore. It passed through with a distinct popping sensation. “Ah, that really hurt,” she hissed. She sat rigid as a ring was fitted. It felt heavy in her wounded ear, uncomfortably so.
Andrea grimaced as she looked in the mirror. She'd been fitted with a new ring in her existing piercing and now this and the piercing high on her ear were linked with a loop of fine black chain. It was all too ostentatious, and her haircut prohibited hiding it. Zoe and Yulia, however, looked enchanted, and decided it matched her new look perfectly.
The wisdom of letting her go first was soon revealed to Andrea. Both of her friends bled considerably as they were pierced, and Yulia was obviously fairly distressed by the pain she experienced. Zoe's piercing was clearly very painful too, yet she took her suffering with dignity. Andrea saw her grow pale, and beads of sweat appeared, yet she was always in control and remained silent. As the ring was placed through her nose, a smile spread across her lips and Andrea sensed that the suffering had given Zoe something she needed. Andrea took her hand and smiled at her. The little ring looping around her septum looked pretty.
It had been agreed that the planned tryst would take place in Yulia's house, since she had more space and better heating. There was an air of excitement, and not a little trepidation as the friends tried to adapt to this change in their relationships. Yulia started to undress first, and said softly “I have something I want to show you.”
As she slipped out of her heavy sweater she turned her left arm to show that the inside of her lower left arm was now marked by a simply drawn quincunx, a square with the diagonals marked, with a larger dot at each of the vertices.
“You got a tattoo?” Zoe said excitedly, rushing to examine it more closely.
“I did it myself,” Yulia said proudly. “A stick and poke.”
“It's so fucking cool,” Zoe laughed. “Oh wow, I want one too. You have to show me how to do it.”
Andrea too was fascinated to see the fine inked lines against Yulia's pale skin. It seemed like a disfigurement, a violation of the purity of her smooth flesh, yet somehow it was beautiful and daring and erotic too. It took her a moment to realise what Zoe had said.
“No, Zoe! Don't do that. You shouldn't rush into stuff. A tattoo lasts forever. You could end up regretting it for a long time.”
Andrea's caution seemed to amuse her friends. Yulia spoke: “Actually stick and poke tattoos fade after a a few years and in ten years there'll probably be nothing left of this. And I don't think it's healthy to go through life not doing things in case you later regret them. That sort of attitude is stifling. I think I'd die of boredom if I thought like that.”
“Agreed,” Zoe chipped in. “I'm going to let Yulia give me a tattoo and then I think it would be nice if you got one too, Andrea.”
“Oh! We should all get matching quincunxes,” Yulia said excitedly.
“Yes, it would be something to mark our friendship. And it would be like you signing your work. Your beautiful styling.” Zoe rubbed her hand up her nape and softly pumped the edge of her bowlcut. “And since Andrea's is the most lovely work you've ever done, you should definitely sign her. Oh, come on, my little baby, do this. It's so sexy and I'd love it.”
Andrea felt her natural revulsion at this mutilation more keenly than ever, yet she simultaneously felt her resistance being eroded. Was she so easily given to falling into line by peer pressure? “It's such a tiny little thing, and you'll be able to hide it easily when you need to. And I won't get mine till you agree. I want you to go first.”
“But I know what you're like, Zoe. Obsessive. I worry that you'll get this tattoo then start to add to your collection. I worry that if you do this in a few months you'll be covered in tattoos.”
Zoe giggled mischievously. “You shouldn't put ideas like that in my head, baby! Anyway, would it be so bad if your girlfriend was covered in beautiful art? I've seen you looking at tattoos on other girls. I know you like some tattoos.”
“Oh, is that true?” Yulia added. “Maybe we should all get tattoos. I mean of all of us, you look like the one who should have a tattoo, Andrea. You're the one with the most extreme hair, make-up and clothes.”
“This isn't helping!” Andrea wailed. “You were telling me this is just a little thing to do, but now you're saying it'll be the start of all of us getting loads of tattoos! So if I say no it'll put an end to it?”
Zoe snuggled alongside Andrea and started to kiss her neck and her wounded ear, now exposed by her short haircut. “I'm very sorry, my little doll. You're right, we're getting ahead of ourselves. Just a tiny little stick and poke would be lovely and sexy.”
Now Yulia came to sit on the other side of Andrea and began to unfasten her clothes. She lifted her perfumed hair and put her lips to Andrea's bare nape. “Yes, you're a very pretty girl and a tiny tattoo would look very nice on you. Please say yes. You'd make Zoe and me very happy.”
The caresses and flattery was irresistible. Within minutes Andrea was shivering with delight, naked between the two girls she most adored. As Yulia left her side, Zoe continued to kiss her, and each time their eyes met she could see how enchanted Zoe was by her metamorphosis. She felt a spasm in her abdomen as she realised that she'd consented to being tattooed, and that Yulia was now preparing the equipment to mark her. “OK, I'm ready,” Yulia called.
Andrea's legs quivered as she walked over to the table. Zoe's excitement was evident, and she demanded that Yulia instruct her in every aspect of the process. First, using a ruler, Yulia drew on the design on the inside of Andrea's left arm, a few centimetres below the inside of her elbow. “It looks bigger than yours,” Andrea complained.
“Two point five centimetres, exactly the same. You're smaller than me, so I guess it looks bigger on your tiny arm.” She turned to Zoe. “These pens are good. You have to scrub the area with alcohol and the ink is still visible. I tried some pens and where the alcohol removed every trace of the drawing.”
Now that the square and diagonals were marked Yulia added small circles, drawn freehand, at each vertex. “All good with the drawing and placement?” Yulia asked. Andrea looked to Zoe for confirmation.
“Yes, very nice. Just like yours.”
Now Yulia took a new sewing needle and carefully tied a length of thread near the tip. Around two millimetres protruded. “This will allow each poke to go to the same depth.” Andrea grimaced as she imagined the needle repeatedly stabbing her.
She didn't have to spend long with her imagination of the pain. Now it was a reality. Yulia dipped the needle into a little dish of Indian ink and pricked it into Andrea's arm. She had to fight the urge to flinch at each jab. A sharp sting that initially made her give a little exclamation. And she wanted to cry out at each new injury, but it would seem absurd to cry “Ow!” hundreds of times.
She did have the consolation of Zoe's flattery pouring like honey in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was, how much she loved her for having her hair cut and dyed, for having herself pierced and now tattooed.
Yulia worked methodically and slowly; so slowly, the suffering seeming to prolong itself through hours. There were times when Andrea just wanted to call an end to the pain, but when she did she'd ask Zoe to kiss her and somehow the suffering became bearable. Nevertheless, it was a huge relief when Yulia announced that she'd finished. She wiped at Andrea's arm, scrubbing away the excess ink and the blood that had oozed free. Gradually the image came into focus, fine black lines, a slight unevenness showing their hand-crafted origin. “Wow, look at that. You have a tattoo, Andrea!” Zoe proclaimed admiringly.
And an hour later Zoe had a near identical mark on her arm. “Keep them dry until the scab heals. And no picking or scratching,” Yulia insisted. “They might look a bit uneven once they heal but I can do a touch up. I think they're pretty good considering they're my first efforts.”
“And now we're sisters,” Andrea said proudly. “The quincunx sisterhood.”
“Sisters? Sisters shouldn't do this...” Zoe dragged her to the bed and fell atop her.
Andrea's night was ecstatic, her inhibitions relaxed by alcohol, her doubts about her makeover assuaged by the constant flattery of her lovers. And she found herself beginning to adore Zoe's new cut, sure now that she liked the new, shorter cut. She even began to encourage Yulia to try a new cut, something bolder. Zoe and Yulia rewarded her with heavenly delights.
But facing the indifferent outer world was different. Monday morning arrived and an almost unrecognisable Andrea had to face the world alone, without the nurturing support of her friends. Zoe had spent an eternity crimping her hair and applying make-up: heavy, dark cat's-eye liner, purplish eye shadow, deep red lips, magenta blush. She felt trepidation about how her colleagues would judge her. Her look was far too extreme for an everyday work look, and she felt her cheeks redden as she met each person, felt sure that they were shocked by her rapid changes, felt certain that they judged her negatively, despite being complimented by most.
Despite her begging, there was to be no toning down of her look. “You look so pretty and it's what Yulia and I want for you,” Zoe insisted. “This style has to be crimped, and the make-up is an essential part of your look now. From now on, you're to always look stylish, no matter how demanding that is. I want people to notice you. And if some people don't like what they see, then so be it. Better to be adored by a few than ignored by everyone.”
Each trip to see Yulia meant a more lavish treatment of Andrea's hair; Yulia liked nothing better than to tease the hair at the roots and douse it with hairspray until the red hair formed a huge cloud about Andrea's head. Despite her protestations about how ridiculous it looked, Andrea was thrilled to see herself with such a wild coiffure, and every moment of Yulia's treatment was a pleasure to her. “What should we do with the nape?” Yulia queried, stroking the soft stubble that had grown. “Should we shave it smooth again? I know you loved the feeling, Andrea.”
Andrea sat passively, wanting to be mercilessly shaved again, wanting to feel Zoe's lips touch her nape and feel silky scalp, unblemished by a trace of hair. But she was surprised to hear some caution from Zoe. “I think we should let it grow. If her nape were still bare when you cut her short you'd have to shave all the back and sides. Would you like that, baby doll? Bald back and sides and a big quiff on top?”
Andrea shook her head. Her stomach convulsed at the thought that she would soon have to endure another makeover, and the described style sounded far too extreme. She realised that if she had to forego the pleasures of her smooth nape to earn a less extreme cut then she would have to live with it. Still, the realisation that her partial acceptance of her new image would soon be erased, as Yulia and Zoe devised a new metamorphosis, was unsettling. Every few weeks she would be pushed outside any comfort zone that she'd be able to establish.
Andrea's new beauty regime imposed other hardships. Her hair and make-up took nearly two hours so that she had to rise earlier than ever on work days. A couple of weeks after her cut she woke late, following a night over at Yulia's. She didn't have the heart to wake Zoe, who looked so angelic as she slept, particularly since Zoe wasn't working that day and had no reason to interrupt her rest.
Andrea's hair was a tangled mess and she washed it in the shower to ease out the sticky spray. She'd never actually crimped it herself and as she looked at the clock she realised if she were to arrive to work on time she would have to forego her now accustomed style. She left the house with her hair sleek and flatter than it had appeared since it had been cut. Her make-up was far simpler than anything that Zoe would have permitted, though more daring than anything she'd have attempted only a few weeks earlier; she'd learnt much from the hours of watching Zoe work and was encouraged to see that she could apply her liner so competently.
She arrived home pleased that her toned down look had been well received by her colleagues. As soon as she entered she could smell Yulia's fragrance and knew that they had a welcome visitor. She greeted her lovers, who looked at her frostily.
“What the hell, Andrea? Why didn't you wake me this morning? You look half dressed!” Zoe admonished.
“I overslept. I couldn't be late today so there wasn't time to do my hair. It seemed pointless to wake you, since I'd have had to leave before you could have styled my hair.”
“But Yulia did your hair last night. You could have just not washed it.”
“I had the worst bed head. I needed to wash it out. Sorry.” She could see her friends disapproved of her actions. She was beckoned to sit between them on the sofa.
“You're a very naughty girl, Andrea,” Yulia scolded. “This style was meant to be worn crimped. I told you that. And you're washing it too often, it's making the colour fade. Now you've been disobedient. Do you want me to cut your hair short already?”
Andrea shook her head. She hated being spoken to like this, felt a revival of the awful sensation of being scolded when she was a little girl. She'd nearly always been well behaved and on the rare occasions when she'd got into trouble she'd been almost incapable of bearing the guilt and shame of letting others down. Now she'd let down Zoe and Yulia. And yet, something within her craved this shame, wanted to be made to atone for her error of judgement with a severe punishment. She was, she was astonished to note, aroused by her chastisement.
“Maybe that's what she needs,” Zoe stated coldly. “A buzzcut would be easy to care for. How do you like the idea of going to work tomorrow with all your hair cut as short as your nape, Andrea? And bleached white.”
“Oh shit, no!” Andrea blurted. Could I bear such a terrible punishment? she wondered. She realised that it would look virtually bald. Was there a part of her that could actually desire this?
“I think it would teach you a lesson. Wouldn't it?”
“I do have another idea,” Yulia said softly, “that would cut down on maintenance time. Andrea, darling, would you accept a perm?”
“A perm? Shit, I don't know. I don't really like the idea.”
Zoe's sternness had dissipated. “Oh, I suppose I could live with that. Do you want a perm or should we go with the buzz?”
Yulia put a finger to Andrea's lips. “Actually, I don't think giving her a choice is a good idea. When you encourage her to decide for herself she ends up plain and boring.”
“Yulia, you're right. Let's get the little pixie permed.”
“And I think if she wants to be forgiven she should accept a new tattoo. You were saying you wanted to do one, Zoe. It'd be far easier to do your first tattoo on Andrea rather than on yourself. What do you say, Andrea? Are you going to be a good girl and get a perm and a tattoo?”
Andrea felt tongue-tied by the promise of permanent curls. Her mind was racing, imagining how it would limit the options of her next cut, which was only a week or two away. Besides, she preferred straight hair, and the idea of having tight curls seemed absurd. The delay in her response provoked Zoe. “Oh shit, you want the buzzcut, don't you?”
“Nooo!,” Andrea wailed. “Please don't shave me! Yes, I'll agree to a perm.” Yulia looked at her inquisitively. “And you can do a little tattoo, Zoe. As long as it's somewhere I can keep it concealed.”
“You should have more faith in your girlfriend's creativity,” Yulia laughed. “She's very good at drawing and I'm sure she could do a lovely tattoo.”
Zoe didn't seem offended by Andrea's reticence, however. “It is going to be my first attempt. It's probably sensible to go with a more discreet placement, since I'm not going to try anything ambitious and it could turn out horrible.”
“Don't be silly. You'll do fine. It's really easy.” Yulia began to play with a strand of Andrea's fringe. “Anyway, we'd better get you to a salon. I have a friend who works in a salon in town and they're open till eight tonight. Let's see if she can fit you in.”
“What, tonight? But it's six thirty already. She'd never be able to perm me by eight. Shouldn't we wait?”
“You'd better hope she's willing to work late, Andrea. Otherwise... BZZZZZ!” She ran her hand over the top of Andrea's head, miming the action of clippering.
“Oh come on, this is crazy. Zoe, tell her. We don't need to rush this.”
Zoe kissed her. “I'm with Yulia on this. You need to have your hair fixed before tomorrow. I wouldn't want you going out looking slovenly again. You need to be taught, Andrea. Now be quiet while Yulia is making the call.”
Andrea hardly had time to process what was going on. The three friends got into Zoe's car to make the short journey to the salon, Yulia's friend having agreed to accept Andrea as her client on the condition that she arrived before seven. They arrived in the deserted salon with ten minutes to spare.
“I thought I was going to have a chance to close up early,” Xenia said. “My six thirty cancelled and the owner called in sick today, so I'm locking up. Now I'll probably be here till nine. Still, it's not every day I get to do a perm, and they are fun.”
Xenia was more than a little intimidating to Andrea. She was very tall (at least five foot ten), and heavily built. The salon was cool and modern in its décor, and Xenia seemed a little out of place: she was heavily tattooed on her arms and hands, her heavy make-up rather gothic. She had olive skin and her thick, black hair, which was bleached though the ends and dyed a copper red, was cut in a very precise bob. The sides were shaved to stubble and the short fringe was extended back over her ears to expose the undercut. Her ears were weighed down with thick rings and her lobes were stretched by discs of glass, two inches in diameter.
“Andrea is so grateful that you agreed to this,” Yulia said happily. “She's been very naughty, not looking after her appearance and we decided that if you couldn't fit her in for a perm we were going to give her a bleached buzz.”
Xenia chuckled. “Don't you get a say in what happens with your hair, Andrea? Do you always let Yulia decide what's done?”
Andrea blushed at the revelation of her secret. She didn't know how to reply. “She's very shy,” Zoe said. “And she likes it when we tell her what to do. Her secret is that she loves being made to wear bad hairstyles, and styles that get a lot of attention. She likes humiliation. Look at her little face now. She hates me telling this to you, but she loves the shame of it too.”
Xenia looked amused by the revelations and stared into Andrea's eyes, forcing her to break her eye contact. “Is that right? You crave embarrassing haircuts?”
“I suppose I do,” Andrea whispered guiltily.
“And do I get to choose your cut tonight, Andrea?”
“Oh, I think it's just a perm tonight. Yulia's planning another cut soon.”
“Oh, is that right? Yulia, since I'm giving up my own time to do this I think the least you could do it let me cut Andrea a new style as well as perming her. Otherwise I might decide I don't have enough time. I could be down the pub with my friends now.”
Zoe spoke. “Well, Andrea. You should decide. Are you going to let Xenia go and meet her friends or will you let her give you a nice new cut?”
“No one said it would be nice,” Xenia said, relishing her power over Andrea.
Andrea felt utterly helpless. She knew that if she didn't beg Xenia to inflict a new cut and perm on her then Yulia would buzz her hair, and she knew she wasn't ready for that.
“Please, Xenia, I'd like it very much if you gave me a new cut and perm.”
“And I have carte blanche? I can do as I please with your hair?”
“Yes, Xenia.” Andrea felt sick as she gave permission.
Yulia was evidently unsure. “I'll be giving her another makeover in a month though. You have to leave enough length to give some options for new cuts, so it can't be very short. Otherwise, do as you please.”
“It won't be. I thought I'd go with the eighties retro thing she seems to be going with.” (Apart from her hair and make-up, Andrea was dressed in vintage eighties fashions, a short ruffled skirt and a jacket with broad shoulder pads). “So I thought I'd cut the sides...”
Zoe interrupted. “We trust you, Xenia. Why don't you just surprise us?”
“Oh, Zoe, I like the way you think.”
“Just make it look sexy. Something wild and sexy, OK?”
“I can do just that,” Xenia said with satisfaction.
Andrea was fastened into a shiny black cape and the chair was pumped to its maximum height, so that her feet dangled well clear of the floor. “I'll start with clippers. We'll do all the cutting dry. This short side needs a tidy up, doesn't it?”
Andrea didn't feel able to disagree. The slight shagginess of the short hair over her right ear was soon tamed. Xenia wasn't working the clippers over a comb, as Yulia had, but was pressing the blades firmly to her scalp. The short guard left an even coating of bristles, just a quarter of an inch long, and devoid of the dye that Yulia had applied.
Xenia moved the clippers high up the side, and the longer hair fell in feathery clumps. All the softness was being stripped, leaving a harsh, close buzz. The low parting was now violated by the whirring blades, and Xenia pulled away long strands of hair as she ensured the entire side was to be sheared.
The clippers were silenced and now Xenia moved to the left. She used her comb to form a part high on the side and gathered the long hair on top into a twist, holding it in place with a clip. Now the motor of the clippers roared once more and a dispirited Andrea watched in grim fascination as the longer left side was mown to a mirror image of the closely cropped right side.
“You know, you're really pretty, Andrea. You shouldn't hide that pretty face under all this hair.” She waved a long strand that had come to rest on the shoulder of the cape. “Well, I suppose that won't be an option now.”
Now that the sides were neatly buzzed, Xenia put away the clippers. Andrea hated what she saw in the mirror. The sides were boyishly short, the top tied back and she had no difficulty in imaging herself with the threatened buzz. She was sure she didn't suit short hair and felt like crying.
“Fringe next,” Xenia announced. “Have you had one before?”
“I tried one when I was in my teens but didn't like it.”
Xenia combed a thin veil of hair over Andrea's face, then clipped back the rest of the hair on top. “This will suit you.” She snipped carefully, cutting the hair to a blunt line which almost caressed Andrea's eyelashes. If there was relief that the peek-a-boo style was now gone, Andrea was aware that the long fringe would soon grow to reach her eyes. It seemed she was destined to have annoying hair in her face.
Another layer of hair was combed forward and snipped to the required length, then another, and another. Soon a heavy fringe had been created, which Andrea was pleased to see softened the look, though she wasn't sure whether it suited her.
Xenia now made Andrea bow her head and made a parting just below the crown, gathering the back into a short ponytail. “I like this shaved nape. Should I trim that?”
Andrea realised it was Yulia who was being addressed. “No, I want her to grow that out. It will give more options when she goes short.
“Yeah, cool,” Xenia said. “Still, it looks untidy. How about I clean up the contour later?”
“Oh sure, that'll be really nice. Clean her neck up, by all means.”
Now Xenia allowed Andrea to raise her head. Alarmingly, she was now holding a razor in her right hand. She lifted a thick strand of the long hair from the top of Andrea's head and set the blade to it with a chopping motion. A tuft, not much more than two inches, was all that was left after a couple of seconds.
And Xenia didn't stop there. To the amusement of Zoe and Yulia, the top of Andrea's head was soon reduced to short, uneven spikes.
“Oh wow, look at you with your mullet!” Zoe laughed. “I'm sure no one has worn a style like that for about thirty years, Andrea. Well maybe in the American south or little outback towns in Australia.”
“She looks adorable,” Xenia smiled. “Maybe you'll inspire an eighties mullet revival. Of course for true authenticity the back should be permed. Which is why you came to me, wasn't it?”
“Yes, Xenia,” Andrea murmured. Despite her sadness at seeing her hair reduced to this unflattering cut Andrea had been furtively touching herself under the cape for almost the entire time she'd been in the chair. The thought of leaving the salon with the back tightly permed made her almost lose control of her erotic impulses.
Yulia took a great interest in watching Xenia's work as she wound in the rods. “It'll probably be a long time before she's permed again but I'd like to know how to do it.”
“Oh, Yulia, you should take a course! I don't think it's right that I should teach you how to do a perm so that next time you can do it without my involvement. I'm losing business for the salon!”
Yulia kissed her friend. “I'm sorry. But I love being in charge of her hair. I'm sure we can bring her by once or twice a year if we like what you do tonight.”
“Of course you'll like it! And anyway, your hair is such a mess, Yulia. How about you sit for me? We'll have plenty of time while the perm takes for your makeover and you're always saying you'd like me to give you a nice cut.”
“Oh, say yes, Yulia,” Zoe encouraged. “I can see Andrea wants it, and she's being such a brave little doll it would be churlish of you not to indulge her.”
“Urgh, OK,” Yulia said, with feigned indignity. “I suppose I'm outvoted. I don't suppose it would be any use asking you not to go too short, Xenia?”
“Bald would perhaps be too short (although perhaps not) and you won't be going home bald. So yes, I'll indulge you. It won't be too short.”
Andrea found her excitement increasing. The idea of seeing Yulia with something short and neat, rather than her self cut, rather unfinished style thrilled her. It might even be worth enduring this makeover, she tried to tell herself, although she felt appalled each time she looked in the mirror. The fringe seemed the only part of the cut that looked vaguely flattering.
Yulia's acceptance of the offer seemed to induce a wave of adrenalin, or at least a heavy-handedness in Xenia. She began to tug harder on each strand as she wound it onto the rod, pulling so hard that it hurt. Andrea winced but didn't complain. Perhaps part of her liked this roughness. The rods were about a half inch thick, but Andrea failed to imagine how her curls would look. Already the changes were difficult to accept as she stared in the mirror.
“My poor little Pyewacket,” Zoe giggled. “What has she done to you? You smell horrible, you know? And you can't wash your hair for a few days after this so you're going to have this smell lingering on. I can see why perms went out of fashion.”
Andrea nervously stroked her temple and groaned at the severity of the buzz. “Oh, Zoe, it looks bad, doesn't it?”
Zoe nodded. “It does, really. I'm sure you'd have looked very fashionable in 1984, but now it just looks peculiar. Luckily, I have an interest in fashion history so I find you intriguing. But I can't imagine what your colleagues will say tomorrow. Anyway, stop thinking about yourself and look at what poor Yulia's getting. I'm sure it will cheer you up.”
Andrea was finding it difficult to think about anybody but herself. Her scalp at the back was starting to itch, whether from the tension of the winding, the irritant effects of the chemicals or a combination thereof she couldn't say. The longer hair that remained between her crown and the undercut nape was now all tightly wound and engulfed in plastic film which was intended to prevent drying, but seemed to do nothing to diminish the unpleasant odour of the perm lotion. The ludicrousness of her appearance was enhanced by the rubber shields which Xenia had placed over her ears. Zoe and Yulia had gleefully photographed her appearance on their phones.
Now Yulia was caped and Xenia combed through her shaggy pixie cut, separating the top section and pinning it in place with eight or ten clips. Andrea's heart quickened as she saw Xenia ready the clippers and adjust the guard.
“Are you leaving me a bit more length than Andrea's mullet?” Yulia asked. Despite her efforts to appear nonchalant it was clear that she was experiencing some nerves.
Xenia flicked the switch and pushed Yulia's head forward. She directed the clippers in a long, slow stroke from neck to crown. “Wow, that's short!” Zoe exclaimed.
“How short?” Yulia queried. “As short as Andrea's?”
“No, it's practically shaved,” Zoe said excitedly.
“It's a number one,” Xenia said drily. “Your hair is light coloured so it looks shorter.”
“Number one is pretty damn short!” Yulia complained and added something in Russian, which Andrea assumed was a curse.
“You have a nicely shaped head. This cut will look sexy on you.” Xenia mowed away more of the ragged hair from the back of Yulia's head, leaving a pale suede.
Xenia obviously liked to cut quickly. Within minutes Yulia was being treated to a buzz on the sides of her head and now she could observe for herself how short the cut was. “Oh god, Xenia, you've scalped me! If I'd known how upset you were for making you stay late I've never have agreed to this.”
Xenia laughed. “Yulia, darling, I'm not upset in the slightest. You look so much better now. I never realised how insecure you were. Please, ladies, tell her this is an improvement. A major improvement.”
“I have to agree with Xenia,” Zoe said. “It looks really cool. You could let her do the top just as short. It would look great with your bone structure.”
“She's probably right, but tonight you're keeping a bit up top. Did I mention you're getting a colour too? If you want me staying on late you can at least pay me a decent amount of money.”
Soon Yulia was neatly shorn over her entire back and sides. Xenia turned her attention to the top, and, as she had with Andrea's cut, rapidly reduced the length using a razor. Whereas Andrea's had been hacked quite crudely, she put more refinement into Yulia's cut. The hair was directed forward as the razor slowly sliced away the length, and provided a feathery texture, reducing the weight of Yulia's thick locks.
“Looks good, honey,” Zoe said encouragingly. Andrea was astonished to see how short and boyish her friend's new cut was. She stared in wonder at the back and sides, which appeared almost bald. Xenia was now mixing up some dyes. “We should have time to get this on before I have to deal with Miss Curly there.”
The near shaved hair was now covered with bleach, despite the paleness of Yulia's hair. “I want this really light and sparkly,” Xenia said. “I love the look of a fresh buzz with a new bleaching. It's such a sexy look on someone who can pull it off.”
“And you really do, Yulia,” Zoe agreed.
“I've noticed Andrea isn't saying much. I know she's not convinced. Are you, baby?”
“If you think I don't like it then wait till I get you home,” Andrea said, then immediately regretted the baseness of her reply. It caused laughter from everyone.
“She doesn't say much, then says what no one else dared to say. I can see why you two like her so much,” Xenia laughed. “I mean beside her obvious cuteness...”
Andrea welcomed Zoe taking her hand and kissing her cheek to reassure her. She was a little alarmed by Xenia's flirting, and still found the stylist rather intimidating, no less so than because of the brutal cut she'd inflicted on Yulia.
And now Yulia's remaining hair was being brushed with darker dyes, bluish in tone. Two shades were used, with each section being wrapped in a foil parcel. The bleached section had been covered with a plastic film to prevent the darker shade bleeding and discolouring the buzz.
A rather crestfallen Yulia returned to sit with her friends, though as soon as she did Andrea was summoned by Xenia. She sat as the gloved hairdresser partially unwound a section to assess the progress of the perming. “Looks good. I'll apply the neutraliser,” was her judgement.
Andrea had to sit on a couple of cushions to allow her to settle her head comfortably into the backwash sink; it had clearly been designed to accommodate taller people than her. “It almost seems a pity that so little of your hair is being permed,” Xenia sighed. “Just that little section at the back, and your nape is buzzed too. Zoe was saying you had long hair till a few weeks ago.” Andrea nodded as best she could. “I'd have loved to have permed that. Luscious spiral curls. Still, I can't deny how much I enjoyed cutting your hair tonight.”
“She is a good model,” Yulia agreed. “It's not every girl that desires something so extreme. It's really a weird experience to find someone who's only satisfied if you give her a style she hates.”
Xenia laughed. “I always wanted to do a style like this. I mean I've done a few mullets, but those are the type that are fashionable now, and not many people round here go for such bold looks. But I always liked the cuts from the eighties and I suppose I always wished I'd been around then to cut them. You've made me very happy tonight, Andrea.”
“Awww, I'm so pleased you've enjoyed working on her,” Zoe said. “But Yulia will be doing most of her makeovers in the future, I'm afraid.”
“You should bring her in occasionally though. I can do more technical work than Yulia. I know her limitations. I'm better at everything: cutting, perming, colouring. Yulia, don't pout! I know you are very creative, but you have to admit your technique isn't top notch. I could do lovely hair tattoos for little Andrea. Here, have a look...” She pulled off her gloves and picked up a tablet, which she passed to Yulia and Zoe.
“That's pretty simple,” Zoe said, looking at an image of a closely cropped girl. The side of her head had a line shaved across the temple and the hair below the line was buzzed very closely. The contour around her temple and ear had been shaved into a flowing sinuous line. “I think I could do that.”
Xenia swiped the image to bring up a picture of the other side of the same girl's cut. Rather than a simple straight line, this side had a sigmoid curve carved in, the width subtly modulating. It was, Yulia had to admit, beautifully done. And the following images were rather more showy examples of Xenia's barbering craft.
“Xenia, these are outstanding,” Zoe said, and Yulia reluctantly nodded. “I can imagine that Andrea would love something like this at some point. By which I mean she'd hate it. If Yulia can put aside her pride I'm sure there'll be times when we can all benefit from your expertise. Not least Yulia herself. I think it's time she stopped chopping her own hair and acknowledged that letting someone else cut and colour her can have very nice results.”
“And you do owe me, Yulia,” Xenia added. “I stayed open late for you tonight.”
“And you nearly shaved me! I think my debt is repaid in full. But I do appreciate what you've done for Andrea. You'll get a nice tip, don't worry.”
“Stop talking, Yulia. While the neutraliser is working I can wash out your colour. Come and sit here.”
She wrapped a towel around Yulia's shoulders as she guided her into the sink next to Andrea. She blasted away the dyes as she pulled away the plastic film and the oblongs of foil. Zoe approached to look at the new colour. “Ooh, it's dark! I never imagined you with dark hair, Yulia. Didn't you tell me you'd never coloured your hair?”
“It is a lovely shade,” Xenia admitted, “A nice warm blonde. But I think this will suit her too.”
The short hair was soon rinsed, but Yulia would have to wait before seeing the result of the dyes. She sat up and was treated to an application of toner on her bleached buzz. “We need the colour to really sparkle,” Xenia said gleefully.
Now the time had arrived to rinse the chemicals from Andrea's curls. As Xenia eased the rods free Andrea could feel the unaccustomed sensation of her hair springing back. “Oh, curls,” Zoe announced, recording a video of the moment when Andrea was finally permed. “They look so tight!”
Andrea's stomach was knotting as she tried to prepare herself to see the new style. Xenia applied a conditioner then invited Andrea back to the salon chair where for the first time she would face a mirror.
She had difficulty integrating the curls into her vision of the cut. With her hair wet she appeared to have a crop with a heavy fringe, and the knot of tight curls that hung at the back seemed like a remnant of another cut, entirely alien to the style. Xenia worked an afro comb into the rolls of hair to ease them apart and gradually they loosened into ringlets, still retaining something of their tubular form.
“Such pretty curls!” Zoe enthused. “I love them.”
“I know. It's a real shame that so few girls go for a perm now. You should consider curls yourself Zoe. You'd look really cute.”
“One day I'll take you up on that,” Zoe smiled.
Now Xenia doused the curls with a perfumed spray, helping to mask the noxious, lingering odour of the chemicals, and dried the curls with a diffuser, teasing out the ringlets to help define the form. Satisfied that the back was now looking acceptable, Xenia started to smooth the fringe. Now the dryer operated at full power, smoothing the cuticles as Xenia tugged through a round brush. The red fringe gleamed as if burnished.
And now the spiky tufts on the top of Andrea's head were sculpted with brush and dryer so that the hair stood up vertically. The precision of the styling only served to make the style look more antiquated and ostentatious.
“Is it finished,” Zoe asked excitedly.
“Not at all,” Xenia said, seemingly offended that this could be judged as complete. “I've not finished the cutting yet.” Andrea felt her heart sink as the clippers were once more fetched. What possible indignities could now be served? The absence of any guard was particularly worrying.
A comb with widely spaced tines was pulled through the vertical tufts atop Andrea's head. Xenia touched the blades to the comb and let the blades skim over the comb, the vibration causing a resonant rattle. The uneven tips of the hair were sheared and a neatly cropped section was now left in their place. Xenia meticulously went across the top of Andrea's head, buzzing over the comb to sculpt a precisely controlled plateau. The cut, which had so recently appeared similar to a mohawk, now became a neatly rendered style which wasn't dissimilar to a long flattop.
Zoe and Yulia made exclamations of surprise and pleasure as the style ripened. Andrea shared their surprise but felt no pleasure. How was she supposed to live with this style? Each element seemed separate from the rest. There was no blending of the crisply flattened top with the buzzed sides: the longer hair swept up from a distinct dividing line. The fringe was soft and gleaming, in contrast to the bristly brush cut top, and the curls still seemed a relic of a longer previous style.
And then there was the undercut nape, which would mercifully remain hidden under the curls. Nevertheless, Xenia expressed her dissatisfaction with the untidiness as she loosely pinned up the ringlets. “It needs a fade at the bottom,” Xenia stated. “She's getting it, Yulia. If it's shorter than you wanted for the next cut, too bad. I want her hair to be perfect when she walks out of here.” Yulia could only voice her support for Xenia's dedication.
The bare blades zipped up Andrea's neck, crackling as they met the short hair that had regrown. Xenia pushed an inch or two from the hairline into the bristles, causing Andrea great anxiety. She imagined the hair being shaved and wondered what sort of wreck was being made of her regrowth on her nape. In fact Xenia was using the taper lever with skill to produce an evenly faded nape, which looked far better than the hard line that was being produced in Andrea's imagination.
Now Xenia brought a small set of trimmers into play. The narrower blades made a high whine and cut as close as a razor. They chafed as they were drawn down Andrea's neck, removing any trace of the fine hairs. Xenia pushed Andrea's pierced right ear forward and placed the blades at the side of her nape, shearing the outline to a hard line.
“Oh those trimmers are great,” Yulia said happily. “I need to get myself a set.”
“They are. They're very useful for hair tattoos as well. Not that you'd really be up for using them for that.”
“Maybe I'll be as good as you soon,” Yulia replied. “I'm sure Andrea won't mind me practising on her.”
Xenia gave a derisive laugh. “Well be sure to bring her to me for the tidy up. Poor little thing will end up bald.”
Zoe sighed. “I thought you two were friends! Stop sniping. Let's just enjoy how pretty Andrea is becoming.”
A truce was arrived at and Xenia's work proceeded in silence. The nape now cut to a neat trapezoid, the trimmers were now used to shape the sideburns to short points above bare cheeks, and the soft hairline along the front of the temple was shaved into an angular, geometric shape.
All that remained was for the style to be fixed with a generous amount of hairspray. “Just divine,” Zoe said dreamily. “A perfect eighties avant garde mullet. Do you like it, Andrea?”
Andrea wrinkled her nose. “It's ok, love, you can be honest,” Xenia said. “In fact, I'd like you to say you didn't like it. I wanted you to have a bad cut. That was my intention.”
“Well then, I suppose you succeeded admirably. I hate it. Shit, how am I going to ever go into work looking like this?”
“You should have thick, eighties style brows. Do you think you could draw them yourself, Andrea?” Zoe asked.
“No, I'm no good with drawing brows.”
“That's good. I don't want you doing your own make-up again. Maybe if we keep your brows shaved you won't be tempted to do that again. Xenia, would you be so kind?”
Despite her protestations, Andrea's brows were shaved with the clippers. In seconds they were gone, inducing a despairing wail as Andrea took in the unflattering absence of her dyed brows.
“At least you have a fringe now,” Xenia consoled her. “Look, you can't tell the difference when it's down.”
“This is your punishment for doing your make-up today. From now on you leave that to me. Agreed?”
“Yes, Zoe,” a chastened Andrea promised.
Yulia's hair was soon finished too. The toner had given her stubble a near white appearance, with just the slightest hint of lavender. It would, Andrea was sure, appear bald in anything but well lit places, though the brightly bleached buzz was made more apparent by the neatly shaved contour that the trimmers had produced.
The top, which when wet Andrea had assumed was largely black, was now revealed, as it dried, to be a grey, almost a graphite-like sheen now visible under the spotlights of the salon, but shot through with wisps of a muted blue. The remaining hair was all brushed forward now from just below Yulia's crown. The thick cap of hair gave a modicum of femininity to what was essentially a very masculine cut. Yulia's features were strong enough to be flattered by the bold cut. Despite her initial shock at the makeover, Andrea was inclined to think that the cut was an improvement on Yulia's deliberately amateurish previous cut. She felt a tingling as she imagined running her fingers over Yulia's newly cut stubble.
And a couple of hours later Andrea's anticipation was fulfilled. She was unable to resist the feel of Yulia's scalp, and found herself bursting with amorous energy.
“I'm getting a bit jealous,” Zoe drawled, though she obviously wasn't. Andrea's excitement was clearly something she loved. “You need to settle down. You have work tomorrow so you have to be up early, and so do I if you want to have brows drawn on.”
“Your hair is going to be a shock for your boring little friends, isn't it, Andrea?” Yulia teased. “Whereas my friends just adore my new look.”
Andrea winced at the reminder. “It's just such a cringy look. I'm glad now you're going to give me a new cut in ten days, Yulia.”
“I'm not!” she laughed. “The schedule is revised. New cut lasts for at least four weeks. I might spruce up the colour, that's getting a bit faded, but after what your perm cost I want some value. We love your mullet. Xenia was inspired.”
Andrea was tipsy now, and helpless as Yulia pinioned her arms while Zoe sought her ticklish spots with kisses. “You should ask Xenia out, Yulia,” Zoe said. “She's kind of sexy. And you two seem to have some chemistry.”
Yulia shook her head. “No way! She did date a friend of mine who really liked her a lot, but she got hurt. Xenia is never going to settle down. She can't help herself. I couldn't go out with someone I couldn't trust.”
“You can trust this one,” Zoe said. “I mean, who would want to go out with someone with such a bad haircut? A permed mullet in the twenty-first century? I think anyone sensible would be ashamed to be seen with her.”
“Oh stop it,” Andrea moaned. “If it's so bad then why did you let me get it?”
Yulia spoke: “Just wait till your next cut. You'll wish you could have kept the mullet then. With these buzzed sides we'll have to go really short. You'll look like a boy.”
“I could have it cut like yours. Although that is quite bad...”
“It is not,” Yulia snapped, feigning hurt. “Believe me, yours will be nothing like as cute. You're going to get something that no one will think is cool. And you do think mine is cool, don't you?”
“Actually, I do. It looks too severe and masculine but I can't stop touching it and staring at you. You both have really crazy hair now, but I adore how pretty you both look.”
“I can't believe you of all people can say anyone else has crazy hair,” Zoe laughed.
The next morning was a terrible come down after the elation of the night. Andrea had drank too much and her excitement at the makeovers had meant she'd stayed away far too late. Now, barely after six, with three hours of fitful sleep she had to rise to prepare for her day in work. Zoe looked similarly exhausted and understandably resented having to get up so early.
“Let's not do that again on a school night,” Andrea sighed as she joined Zoe, having showered. “I can't cope with this little sleep. I'll struggle to get through today.”
“Yes, you're right,” Zoe admitted. “I know you get too excited when your hair's cut. You were very naughty last night though. You were supposed to get a tattoo and you managed to evade it. You'll have to get it tonight as soon as you're home. I'm not going to let you eat until I've tattooed you.
“Actually, I might spend the afternoon preparing for it. I'm going to help Yulia with a couple of clients, then we'll make some new needles. She can give me a lesson once they're done.”
“What can you practice on? I've heard oranges can be used.”
“She can practice on me. I'll have some new tattoos when you get home.”
It was a difficult day for Andrea. Zoe's make-up skills had effectively hidden the effects of the lack of sleep on her appearance, but she felt paranoid and anxious all day, and her concentration was impaired. Everywhere she went she saw looks of incomprehension at her new look. She was glad that few people asked her why, since she couldn't even have begun to frame an answer that didn't make her sound crazy. But then, maybe she was crazy. Why had she allowed her hair to be ruined in punishment for failing to style her hair to Yulia's requirements, which had only happened out of consideration for Zoe's need to sleep?
But then she remembered the previous night. She'd allowed herself to submit to the wishes of her friends because it allowed her to experience joys that were closed off to her without allowing this helplessness. The real punishment was not the creation of an absurd new hairstyle (which she had to admit secretly loving) but the ever widening gap between her public and private lives.
Her journey home was literally nightmarish. She managed to get a seat on the overcrowded train but flitted between wakefulness and anxious sleep, where she seemed beset by vivid, uneasy dreams. She woke suddenly from one where she'd seen Zoe covered head to toe in crude tattoos, even her face disfigured by black scrawls.
The atmosphere of the dream refused to evaporate. Clearly Zoe's promise of new tattoos was playing on her mind. She liked tattoos, she was sure. But now as she tried to imagine Zoe's lovely pale skin being indelibly marked, she felt a repulsion. And she'd promised to allow Zoe to tattoo her! She felt a despairing sense of sliding into something uncontrollable, as Yulia and Zoe encouraged this crazy urge for do-it-yourself tattoos, which would probably result in all three of them going too far. She should warn them that it was a bad idea.
Her resolve failed no sooner than her return home. “Look!” Zoe said. She was trying to suppress her smile, but Andrea could see how pleased she was. She held up her hand, drawing a gasp from Andrea: each finger was now marked with a black line from the second joint to the nail bed, and where each finger met the back of her hand was a large black dot.
“Both hands?” Andrea said, astonished that Zoe would allow her hands to be permanently marked. She merely held her hands up side by side in answer. Andrea could now see that even her thumbs were tattooed now.
“You're crazy. You can't hide these tattoos; everyone will see them. What do you think people will make of a girl with tattooed hands? You need to stop this right now. Don't get more tattoos, Zoe, nor you, Yulia.”
That was what Andrea's cautious, rational side wanted to say. Instead she complimented her girlfriend. “They look sexy,” she said with embarrassment. “And so neatly done. You're getting good, Yulia.”
“Yulia thought you wouldn't like them. I knew she'd be wrong. I want loads of little tattoos on me, and on you too. Yulia wants tattoos as well, but she wants bigger colourful ones. Professional ones.”
Andrea hated how easily swayed she was. It was obvious that the decorations had stirred something in Zoe and she now pulled Andrea onto the sofa and kissed her passionately. Tell me you want us all to have tattoos.”
Andrea softly moaned and returned her kisses, as much as anything as a means of procrastination. Yet she could feel that delicious feeling of helplessness return, her inability to deny Zoe. She would, to her eternal regret, see her lovely friends become heavily tattooed, and would allow her own body to be disfigured, just as she'd done nothing to prevent the wreck of her hair. And she would let her feelings of joy at her compliance with Zoe's will replace any sense of pride in her own appearance.
She felt drunk again, though she'd imbibed nothing: it was a product of her extreme tiredness and the amorous attentions of her lovers. She sat looking at the writing on her inner arm, the placement a mirror image of her first tattoo. Zoe had written in clear capitals:
I SAID
YES!
“Now when you're unsure of what to do you can just point to your tattoo,” Zoe said happily. “Shall I make it permanent?” She took hold of Andrea's left index finger and pushed it toward the inscription.
Andrea now saw for the first time the new needles that her friends had created. She was to be tattooed with a cluster of three needles which had been soldered together so that their tips formed a line, spaced perhaps a millimetre apart. This meant that each jab pricked three black dots into her skin and a solid line could be produced much more quickly. If she'd imagined her previous experience of being tattooed would provide a tolerance to the pain she was wrong. Perhaps it was her fatigue, but this time seemed to make her hurt more intensely than her first tattooing.
“You have such pretty little hands,” Yulia said, trying to provide a distraction for Andrea, aware that she was suffering. “Tiny, tapering fingers. They'd look so sexy with tattoos. Or would you not be able to get away with that? I know you're a professional.”
“Oh, I think the art world is a bit less conservative than most. Didn't you tell me one of the guest curators had lots of tattoos? Sleeves?”
“Oh, wow,” Yulia said. “And is that something you'd consider? Imagine seeing yourself with a really butch haircut and covered in tattoos, Andrea. Is that something you'd like?”
Zoe, giggling, pointed to the partially inked tattoo. “She said yes!”
“Stop it, you two! You're making me feel so nervous. I don't want anything like that.”
“I'm sorry, we're just trying to take your mind off the suffering.”
“By making me suffer more?”
“Seriously though,” Zoe spoke, pausing in her task, “you did seem to like that curator. You told me she was pretty.”
“Not pretty, exactly. But attractive. She was very nice, very smart, but good to work with.”
“And you liked her tattoos?” Yulia asked.
“I don't know. I was fascinated by them. I'd never really seen a woman tattooed like that, at least not so close up.”
“What were they like? I mean what style?”
“They were mostly black, but shaded, not solid. No colour. Flowers and more abstract patterns.”
“Full sleeves? Hands too?”
“One of her hands was tattooed. The right. I remember being really shocked when we went to shake hands. She had a jacket on so I hadn't noticed any of her tattoos.”
“I bet you were imagining what you'd look like with tattoos, weren't you?”
“No I wasn't. I'd never considered a tattoo before you made me get one.”
“So I made you? And you like being made to get tattoos?”
“Oh she does,” Zoe said proudly. “I see her looking at her arm in the mirror. And there's no sadness in her eyes. I think she'd probably dreaming about that curator she had a crush on. Meeting her again and saying: 'I have more tattoos than you now'.”
“Oh god, stop it! I don't want more tattoos, I never had a crush on her and I'd be happy if you two didn't get any more.”
“Oh, I don't doubt it for a second,” Zoe said, smiling enigmatically. “You're very happy, but that isn't enough. I want you to experience ecstasy, Andrea, and to achieve that we have to work a little harder. You're naturally timid and it's uncomfortable for you to have to change, or to see us change. But when you see what the result is then every sacrifice becomes worthwhile. So it's decided: tattoos will be part of our future.”
Over the next few weeks Zoe made good on her promise and her collection of tattoos started to flourish, seemingly happy to allow Yulia to tattoo her with any idea, as well as adding some more by her own hand. Initially the tattoos were mostly small but gradually the girls started to become more ambitious, and soon Zoe had an abstracted head drawn on her thigh, at least five inches across.
“I'm worried about these tattoos,” Andrea admitted one night. “I know you used to cut yourself,” (the evidence in scarring on Zoe's arm was there for all to see), “and I'm worried that you use tattooing yourself in the same way.”
She'd been afraid of Zoe's reaction but she looked only amused and kissed Andrea. “Of course, that is an element of their appeal. I like the feeling of the needle hurting me. And I'd be lying if I said part of me didn't want to disfigure my body. But then there's the opposite impulse, an aesthetic one. I think there's a beauty to the images, and how they add to how my body looks. And you're part of that: I see how you look when you get home and see I have a new tattoo. There's all the doubt, but there's a pleasure too, a lust. You want this for me, at least at some deep level, despite all those doubts. And you always get more excited than usual when I get a new tattoo. And I need to see you like that, Andrea, so I won't stop changing.”
She tugged at Andrea's curls, then stroked the soft hair at the sides. “This has grown so fast, baby! I loved how it looked when Xenia buzzed it close, but it's grown about half an inch in three weeks. I think it's time we got Yulia to fix you up with a new cut. I love your curls but it might be time to let go. Your first short cut since your nasty old girlfriend tried turning you butch. Should I ask her to give you a really masculine cut this time?”
Andrea felt a panic rising at the thought of a new makeover, but it the sick feeling was tempered with a delicious excitement. Still, a masculine cut was not something she would accept willingly. “I'd like some femininity. Please, Zoe.”
Zoe was obviously taking pleasure in the squirming reaction her threats were producing in Andrea. “I don't know, baby. You'll never look butch. Your features are too pretty and soft for that. I'm far more androgynous, so if I got a real cropping it would be much less flattering. When I had my buzz that was something that really intrigued me. Maybe we should both let Yulia decide. I'm getting a bit tired of the bowlcut, so maybe it's time you had a boyish girlfriend. I've been attracted to very utilitarian looks recently so maybe I should have a matching cut.”
It was two days later when the girls paid their next visit to Yulia, and it was no surprise to Andrea that Zoe immediately expressed her enthusiasm for a new round of makeovers. No surprise, but that didn't make it any easier to hear. Despite her embarrassment at being made to wear a permed mullet, Andrea wasn't happy to imagine the curls being sheared off, her last long(-ish) hair. Her previous experience of short hair was unhappy and she'd endured the long process of growing out with impatience. Now she wondered if her hair would ever be this long again.
Yulia, however, seemed unaware of her insecurities and was evidently delighted that her two closest friends would let her decide a new look. “It's too much to do cut and colour for both of you on the same day so why don't I do yours now, Zoe?” she asked excitedly. “I've been thinking a lot about possible looks for you recently.”
“No more bowlcut?” she asked, although Andrea felt it was more likely an instruction.
“Nope.”
“I've been veering toward utilitarian looks so I'd like you to do something in keeping with that.” Zoe was now dressed in an olive green boiler suit which ended at mid calf, showing her black boots, which looked like vintage boxing boots. Decoration was limited to a belt, drawing the suit tight at her waist. Her make-up was suitably minimal too, a touch of eyeliner and red lips.
“Of course. Short and a little brutalist. That's what I imagined. Does that sound good to you, Andrea?”
“Honestly? Not really.”
Zoe laughed. “And yet, when she gets me in bed with a haircut she hates she'll be a little demon of uncontrollable passion.”
Andrea blushed, knowing that every word was true. The more uncomfortable she was with the makeover, the more she'd be aroused. Her reactions would surely drive Zoe and Yulia toward something radical and ugly.
Yulia began with a colour. A green paste was mixed, the brightness of the emerald paste being tempered with the addition of orange. Soon the dye had acquired a muddy dullness. Its unattractiveness didn't stop Yulia from pasting it through all of Zoe's hair. The yellow, which had remained surprisingly vivid, was soon engulfed by the sludgy mixture.
Now Yulia stared intently at her model's brows. “What should we do with these? I was thinking heavy and very black, but now I'm not so sure. If we're going for a stark look I could bleach them again. What do you think, Andrea? You've kept yours shaved so I guess you like that look.”
“I've never kept mine shaved!” she said indignantly. “I hate having no eyebrows, it's you and Zoe that keep shaving them.”
“So you prefer thick and black?”
“I suppose,” Andrea said without enthusiasm. She liked nicely shaped, flattering brows, and the description of heavy, black brows sounded rather ugly.
“That's decided then, we don't go with that,” Yulia laughed. “So now I suppose we have to decide on bleached or gone altogether. Andrea?”
“Stop asking me my opinion if you only do the opposite! You're so cruel to me.” Yulia only laughed and stared, awaiting her response. “I suppose bleached is better then,” she said grudgingly.
“Nope,” Yulia snapped. “So now you have to decide on plucked or shaved.”
“Well if you just contradict every decision, plucked.”
“Did you hear that?” Yulia gasped. “Zoe, your girl wants me to pluck your eyebrows. It'll sting and they won't grow in for weeks.”
“No, don't!” Andrea said. “I want you to leave them!”
“Too bad,” Zoe said with mock sadness. “I know what a tyrant you are and if you demand something, I know I have to do it.”
Andrea watched with disbelief as Yulia made good on her threat and began to pluck vigorously at Zoe's eyebrows. Her subject seemed less than pleased. “That stings,” she complained. “It's worse than getting a tattoo!”
“What a baby you are sometimes,” Yulia chided. “I thought you of all people would be OK with a little plucking. Just bite your lip. I need to concentrate.” Zoe did indeed manage to contain her discomfort but Andrea was left fidgeting as she saw her girlfriend's brows gradually dwindle to nothing. The effect was harsh and unflattering, particularly with her hair sleeked back with the muddy green dye.
Nor was Andrea taken with Zoe's new colour after her hair was rinsed: it was an olive, not so far removed from the colour of her outfit. The longer hair was noticeably brighter, where the dye had been applied over the yellow. The undercut was dark and muddy.
Soon far more of Zoe's head was covered with the darker hued hair, as Yulia clippered vigorously. And it was shockingly short! Andrea was appalled to see that she'd chosen a number one guard for the cut and was rapidly shearing into the bowl, making heavy chunks of hair spill down the cape. She couldn't prevent a gasp escaping as Yulia carefully placed the clippers on the left side of Zoe's forehead and pushed them back in a slow sweep to her crown. The top now had a path shorn to the same fine stubble as the sides and nape.
“Oh shit, are you buzzing it all to a number one?” Andrea said, her voice becoming absurdly squeaky due to her fear and excitement.
“Oh shit, is that what you want?” Yulia replied, her voice imitating the high pitch of Andrea's.
“No! It's so short. Zoe, talk some sense into her!”
Zoe rubbed a hand over her temple. “Oh god, Yulia, it feels amazing. You're so naughty, but I love it. Pay no attention to Andrea. Do as you please, that was what I said and we're not going to change our plan.”
Andrea felt her cheeks flush as more of Zoe's hair was buzzed away. She felt a sort of relief as she saw that a section on top was being spared, though her consolation was tempered at the realisation that the longer area was oddly asymmetrical, covering the right side of the top, an oblong extending from forehead to crown.
Yulia combed the longer hair from side to side, as she considered how best to arrange the hair. “You know, I think it'd look cool if we curled this. Soft curls to contrast with the super tight buzz. Shall we?”
Of course Zoe didn't demur. She was happy to let Yulia experiment and soon the section of longer hair was as tightly coiled as the back of Andrea's head, the hair fixed in the curls on narrow tongs. “I love how it looks,” Yulia purred, “although a couple more inches would look even better. It's a bit short after the bowl. You should go to see Xenia and get it permed.”
Zoe was unable to stop giggling as she stared at herself in the mirror. “It's sort of cute. But a bit ridiculous too. I don't mind that though. I'll live with it for a few days then maybe see how I feel about a perm. It's finished, then?”
It wasn't. Yulia had a new item that she was eager to put to use: a set of trimmers, identical to those Xenia had used to tidy Andrea's nape. The softness of Zoe's hairline was soon gone as Yulia made a hard, shaved contour. Suddenly the sludgy green stubble was contained in an area of hard angles. Shaving the left side of her forehead to a straight line particularly changed the look of Zoe's cut. Andrea was left thinking it was far too boyish, but for all her unease she knew that she could barely contain her delight in the transformation. Zoe looked so odd but so sexy.
Yulia redid Zoe's make-up, but any hopes of Andrea's that she would soften the look were scuppered. She made the look more stark, hardly any eye make-up (just a little glister of white along the lids), focussing on the matte red lips. Andrea blushed at the stranger that Yulia had made of Zoe.
“Wow, that's short.” Zoe ran her hand up her nape and smiled. “It looks a bit crazy but I love it. It's shorter than your undercut is now, Yulia. It's getting a bit shaggy. Are you growing it out?”
“I don't know. I suppose. It was a bit short after the cut.”
“It was not. It looked delicious. Andrea loved it too. Why don't you let her trim it for you?”
“Me?” Andrea gasped. “I don't cut hair.”
“Oh there's nothing to it. Tell her, Yulia. Clippers are so easy to use. Just zzz... zzz... zzz...” She mimed a clippering action.
“I said I was growing it,” Yulia laughed.
Zoe hugged her tightly, but pinned her arms to her sides as she did. “Yulia, dear, you shouldn't dish out what you can't take. And since you gave me such a short cut I feel really powerful and domme. Now, Andrea, get the trimmers and clean up her undercut.”
“Not the trimmers!” Yulia said, her humour at the situation diminishing now. “They shave clean.”
“Exactly,” Zoe agreed. “Maybe that's just what you need. A nice smooth undercut. So sexy. I miss Andrea's clean nape.”
Andrea shook her head. “I'm not shaving her, Zoe. That's too much.”
“I decide what's too much,” Zoe giggled. “And I might decide what's right for your hair to teach you a lesson if you're going to be naughty.”
“I love you, Zoe, but you seem to have forgotten that Yulia is the one who's going to cut my hair. If I piss her off I expect that I'll soon regret it.”
“Well said,” Yulia agreed.
“But Andrea, Yulia wants this. She really doesn't want to have a messy, grown out undercut. And even though she says no to the shave I can see in her eyes that it intrigues her. Now both of you stop being silly. Yulia, you need to try this. I mean in a week or less it would be back to the length Xenia cut so I can't see what a big deal it is. Say yes and Andrea will do as I tell her.” Yulia moaned softly as Zoe tried seduction as a way to her goal, kissing Yulia's cheek and neck. She interrupted her caresses with another thought. “Besides, if we shave you you could get a scalp tattoo. That would look so sexy.”
Andrea was astonished to see that this suggestion, the most crazy so far, seemed to be received with enthusiasm by Yulia. She was eager to introduce some caution. “Yulia, you can't rush into this! I mean people will see you differently with a big tattoo on your head. It's not like hair, it's permanent.” Yulia looked at her with amusement. “I mean, if you were going for a job or something..?”
Zoe grunted. “Yeah, like she ever needs a job. Rich daddy...”
“Hey, I do work. I do lots of hair these days. I'm self employed.”
“Of course! I mean, your work pays all your bills, doesn't it? Half of your clients don't pay you anything.”
“You're so cruel! You're the one who just had the free cut and colour, Zoe. Do you want to pay the going rate for what that would have cost in a salon?”
“No, Yulia. I'm sorry, I can't help being a tease. Of course I'm happy that you're so rich.”
“Yes, Yulia, you should ignore her,” Andrea added. “It's not as if her work as a stylist exactly pays for everything she spends. I'm the only one here who actually needs to work.”
“Oh, you poor people, always criticising those who are your moral superiors. You know you don't have to work. What do you say, Yulia? Should we subsidise the little pixie? Make her our little doll, and cover her in sexy tattoos? We could shave her and tattoo her scalp to start.”
“Nooo,” Andrea wailed. “I love my job! And I don't want you to use me like that.”
“Little liar,” Zoe said, winking at Yulia. “She loves being used. She's so excited about you giving her a really bad makeover. It gets her so wet to imagine walking into work next week and seeing everyone staring and thinking 'Oh my god, what was she thinking?'”
“And I'll make sure your fantasy is a reality,” Yulia whispered, her humour tinged by real arousal.
“Oh stop, you're scaring me!” Andrea said, panic affecting her now.
“Yes, it should be you getting scared Yulia. Please, darling, let Andrea clean up your back and sides!”
Yulia's resolve was obviously softening. She now looked deep into Andrea's eyes. “I'll let you do it as long as you get your new hair cut on Saturday and then agree to a new piercing. I want you to get a pretty septum ring for me.”
“Wait, this wasn't my idea! I'm happy for you to grow your hair. It's Zoe who wants the shave so she should get a piercing.”
“Now come on, my little Pyewacket,” Zoe intervened. “If Yulia is going to be brave you should make a little sacrifice too.”
“None of this makes any sense! You've both already made up your minds. You know I can never resist you. I'm too weak and I hate myself for it.”
“But we love you for it,” Zoe said, kissing her on the cheek. Andrea felt herself getting dizzy as Yulia came closer and pressed her lips to her neck. The attention of her two friends was almost more than she could bear, inducing a feeling of ecstasy. “Be a good girl and promise to let Yulia get you pierced. Then she'll let you shave her.”
“You have the prettiest little nose,” Yulia whispered. “You should be proud to add a little decoration so draw attention to it. You don't want to disappoint us, do you, Andrea?”
“No, you can do it,” Andrea moaned. She'd have agreed to pretty much anything in this state. But their affections were instantly withdrawn now as the objective was achieved.
Moments later, however, Andrea was standing behind Yulia, who was now caped, trimmers in hand. She turned them on and felt her hand turn to jelly; the vibration seemed to paralyse every muscle. She could barely follow Zoe's instructions, yet responded unconsciously. As she pressed the blades up the centre of Yulia's nape she saw a rectangle of scalp bared, the short hair falling into dust. Now her nervousness was countered by a feeling of passionate excitement at the power she wielded. She made another tentative sweep up from the hairline and saw more hair being effortlessly removed. The faint, uneven stubble was removed entirely as she passed the blades once more over the area with a little more pressure. “Oh, these things are amazing,” she said.
She seemed to pass into a dream state. As she stepped back and saw almost the entirety of the back of Yulia's now bald it was like she was waking and seeing it for the first time. “Shit, Yulia, that looks pretty severe,” she said, though her regret was superficial, as the site of the bare scalp was hugely erotic. She felt an urge to plough the trimmers into the longer hair on top, shaving a strip back from her forehead. She felt a shudder as she fought against such craziness. She could now empathise with her friends' urges to control; the feeling of power was seductive.
The only sound in the room was the motor of the trimmers and the crackle of the blades as they sheared away the fuzz from Yulia's lower scalp. All three women were silent: Andrea tried to find a balance to her ever shifting impulses and emotions, Zoe watched in blissful contentment, Yulia looked unsettled and was evidently trying to reconcile herself to her most radical ever haircut. She stared in the mirror as Andrea cleared the sides.
“There's a bit of unevenness,” Zoe observed, her voice fracturing the silence which the noise of the blades only seemed to intensify.
“I'm sorry, I'm doing my best,” Andrea said defensively.
“No, they're not really designed to shave large areas,” Yulia said. “Some of the marks are where my scalp is irritated. It'll settle soon.”
“I'm really sorry,” Andrea said gloomily. “I messed it up.”
“Not at all,” Yulia smiled. “You did fine. It just looks a bit... too much.”
“You know what will make that redness better?” Zoe asked. “Kissing it better. Go on, Andrea.”
Andrea pressed her lips to her friend's scalp and was prepared to put up with the clippings sticking to her mouth to enjoy the lovely sensation. Evidently Yulia was unprepared for the sensitivity of her newly bared scalp and vocalised in a manner that left no doubt about her pleasure. “Keep going, Andrea,” Zoe insisted as she knelt before Yulia, and reached under the cape to strip her jeans down to her ankles.
Andrea watched in joy as she saw Zoe's head disappear under the cape, though the increase in Yulia's moaning made apparent what Zoe was doing. She continued her kisses and Yulia seemed to be heading toward bliss.
“Don't you dare cum till I say so, Yulia,” Zoe said forcefully. “You're powerless while you're in the chair and you'll do as I say or you'll be bald when you stand up.” Andrea could feel Yulia stiffen at this threat, but knew she liked it. And was she really feeling hope that Yulia would fail to contain her climax and that she would be allowed to shave the remainder of her hair?
“Now Andrea's going to get shaving gel and a razor and get your scalp smooth and even. You're going to be a good girl and sit still for her, aren't you, Yulia?”
“Mmmm, yes I am,” she gasped. Andrea was overjoyed. Her hands were trembling almost beyond her control as she dabbed the gooey gel over Yulia's nape and sides. The top section, though it was held clear from the shaved area with a series of clips, was accidentally covered with touches of foam around the edge.
“Now, Andrea, she might move suddenly while you're shaving her and we don't want her getting cut. You should take hold of her septum ring to move her head while you shave her. Don't be gentle either. You want her to be firm, don't you, Yulia?”
“Oh shit, Zoe, what are you doing to me?” Yulia wailed. “I hate you! I'm so turned on.”
Andrea took hold of the ring and made Yulia lower her head. “Pull harder,” Yulia whispered. “Do it, Andrea!”
Andrea increased the pressure until there was a moan of discomfort. Then she pressed the razor to Yulia's neck and drew it up over the already smooth skin. The faint unevenness was now gone, and only some redness spoilt the pure, unblemished skin that was revealed.
Zoe was now watching, complimenting Yulia on how pretty she looked, though her arm was still concealed by the cape and she gave Yulia no respite from her torturous stimulation.
As Andrea shakily removed the lather from the side of Yulia's scalp, still gripping the piercing, Zoe made a new order. “Shave her eyebrows too.”
“No, no,” Yulia said. “Don't you dare.”
“I thought we agreed that you were to be obedient. If you're naughty Andrea shaves you bald. Do you want that?”
“No I don't!”
“So tell Andrea you're her slave shave and you wish her to remove your brows. After all, you're the only one with eyebrows left and we don't want you to feel left out.”
Yulia was clearly reluctant to agree and now Yulia's head once more went under the cape. “Nooo, don't do that!” Yulia wailed. “OK, I agree. Do it Andrea.”
It was a strange moment for Andrea, still reluctant to accept that she would temporarily be able to dominate Yulia, who had until now seemed like the bolder of her friends. As the razor scraped away at her brows she seemed transformed: weaker, less pretty, less confident. She muttered a soft curse as she glanced in the mirror and saw a girl with one eyebrow.
There was something cruel and ruinous about the effect of depriving Yulia of her brows. Somehow the look suited Zoe, but Yulia's quirky features had been flattered by her well shaped brows and without them she appeared odd. Andrea felt a momentary regret, sympathy for her friend's plight, yet before she could allow guilt to take hold she'd dropped the razor and had started to kiss Yulia, delighted at the transformation. Was there an element of schadenfreude, a delight that she was punishing Yulia for her frequent cruelties? Perhaps. Yet this wasn't the time for analysis. What she felt was lust, joy, bliss. And her enthusiasm was affecting Yulia too.
“Oh god, Zoe, this is too much,” she grunted through clenched teeth. “Let me cum, I can't hold it any more.”
Zoe allowed her blessing, and as Yulia's voice rose in pitch and intensity another voice provided an echo. Andrea was almost surprised to find it was her own. She was fingering herself frantically to allow herself to reach a climax at the same time as her friend. And if she finally achieved her peak of bliss momentarily later, then there was still a profound satisfaction that the moment was shared. She didn't ever want to stop kissing her beautiful friend.
The pleasure didn't stop there. The three girls drank as they applied make-up to each other (though Andrea's skills were such that her role was minor and under close supervision). Yulia was provided with angular spikes of black framing her big eyes, and combined with crimson lips she now looked anything but submissive. She looked androgynous and a little scary, and despite her pleas to Zoe to be provided with drawn on brows it was evident to Andrea that she was delighted with her new look.
And as the girls took to the bed the natural order was restored. Andrea was now the submissive one, eager to please, shuddering with fear and delight as she was threatened with ever more extreme and weird hairstyles. She seemed to live constantly on the verge of orgasm, or else to fall into the abyss of delight that her wonderful lovers had concocted for her. She felt blessed to have met them.
The weekend soon arrived and Andrea was barely able to breathe as Yulia fitted her with the heavy cape. It seemed oppressive and restricting, and as she looked in the mirror she saw her head atop a shapeless pyramid of black. She allowed herself a fantasy where her head had been taken temporarily and would only be returned to her body once transformed, and sat perfectly still to allow this flight of fancy to take hold of her.
“I love your curls so much,” Zoe sighed, running her fingers through the back. “So soft and pretty. I'll be sad to see them go. One day you'll grow your hair long again and get all of it permed for me, won't you, Pyewacket? You'll look like a little poodle.”
Andrea smiled and agreed to the plan, but suddenly she felt her stomach lurch as Yulia pushed her head forward and pressed the clippers to her nape. They made a loud crack as the switch was engaged and she felt a growing nausea as they rushed up her still short nape.
They seemed to barely touch the short hair that had grown on her nape (about a half inch had grown since the last shave) but the pitch of the motor now changed as the blades met her curls. A whine escaped Andrea's lips as Yulia let a fuzzy clump of curls fall in front of her. Andrea was tempted to console herself with a pleasurable touch, but resolved to go with her fantasy; she remained static and felt her limbs grow heavy. Her entire body seemed leaden and lifeless, unable to resist her humiliating shearing.
And she did feel humiliated as she saw herself in the mirror only a few minutes later. She had short hair now, nothing on the back and sides reaching much more than an inch. It felt painful, rekindling memories of her last disastrous cropping, many years earlier. She felt less feminine, felt less herself.
And now Yulia combed down her overgrown fringe so that it fell irritatingly into her eyes. She would have to endure this annoyance as Yulia made the shaggy sides tidy once more. “Your hair grows so fast,” the stylist commented. “You've got about an inch on the sides, must have grown three quarters of an inch since Xenia cut it. I want some softness today so I think we should scissor cut.”
The scissors clicked rapidly as the comb moved up the right side of Andrea's head, though her fringe meant that she was barely able to see anything of the result of Yulia's actions. She soon closed her eyes and reconciled herself to having to wait to see just how boyish she was becoming. In contrast to the clippering her sides had received during her last makeover, the scissor over comb technique was slow, a process of gradual shaping of the cut. Now the comb only moved over the lower section, but it pressed tight to her scalp, whereas earlier Yulia had held it slightly apart from Andrea's head.
Despite the slow rhythm of cutting, Andrea was unable to still her fear. Every moment was tense and uncomfortable, perhaps even more so once the sides were tidied and she was forced to bow her head to allow Yulia free access to her nape. At least this meant that her fringe was now clear of her eyes, though all she could see was the cape covering her lap and now dusted with a dusting of tiny cropped hairs.
“You should clipper the bottom of her nape,” Zoe suggested. “Nice and clean around the edges.”
“Don't worry, that's exactly what I had in mind.” Yulia sounded a little exasperated, as if it were obvious what was needed. And soon Andrea had the indignity of feeling the clippers once more over her nape. The long guard that had been in place when the curls had been sheared away was now evidently replaced by something much smaller and every touch nibbled away more of the short hair.
“Beautiful,” Zoe sighed. “So neat and short.” Yulia continued to shear more from Andrea's nape, taking her time to blend the buzz into the softer texture that the scissors had rendered. Only after countless passes of the blades up her neck did Andrea hear the overbearing hum finally cease. Yulia ran her hand slowly up from neck to crown, perhaps to remove some clippings, perhaps to ensure the cut was even. To Andrea the sensation mixed the shock of feeling the back of her head cut to mere bristles and an even more intense shock of eroticism. She found herself daydreaming of all of her colleagues telling her she didn't suit short hair, telling her angrily that she looked like a boy, but then being told by Zoe that she would have her hair cut short every week, nothing to exceed a half inch. At this moment she wanted this, wanted to be humiliated, wanted to feel the thrill of hardly any hair on her scalp. Her intention to hold her body still and leaden only seemed to increase the tingling excitement that was coming in waves from her loins.
Now Yulia was treating her to a tidy up with the beloved trimmers. She felt the blades slowly drag over her neck, dragging a little, making the skin feel raw as they passed. Now that her nape was clean Yulia pressed the edge to her nape, and Andrea could imagine how her soft, natural hairline was being shaved into a hard edge. She was prompted to raise her head and tilt it to the side. Yulia folded her left ear down and used the trimmers to shave the hair that fringed it into a precisely contoured arch. When her ear resumed its usual form she could see that there was a thin rim of skin visible between ear and hair.
Now that her sideburns had been shaped into tiny, hard points, Andrea saw Yulia turn her attention to the top. It was wet with a spray bottle and as Yulia combed it back Andrea saw her hair all too closely resembling the holiday cut she'd so grown to despise. Was it Yulia's intention to humiliate her by giving her a recreation of that cut?
Nobody but Andrea seemed aware of the passing similarity. Yulia began combing up sections of the wet hair, fixing it in the fingers of her left hand and cropping away the protruding hairs. Andrea thought the top looked horribly unbalanced now, too long for the back and sides, yet was appalled (though undeniably excited) to think that it would be cut short.
It was with a mixture of relief and unease that Andrea saw that Yulia's scissors were nibbling away only short lengths of her hair. Each section was combed up, trimmed, then combed up again to allow a deeper section to be point cut, softening the texture and giving a feathery edge. The length increased toward the front, and Andrea's fringe was hardly cut any shorter.
Still unable to judge how the finished style would look, Andrea's curiosity would have to await fulfilment since she was now to be coloured. A narrow triangular section of her fringe, set off centre, was bleached and wrapped in a rectangle of foil as the rest was plastered with a darker mixture.
“We should really try for a total new look,” Zoe said. “Make you unrecognisable for your colleagues when you go back in.”
“Yeah,” Yulia said, obviously thinking about how to intensify the changes. “A more professional wardrobe. Smarter looking, more grown up.”
“Androgynous. A bit butch maybe,” Zoe agreed.
“Definitely. No more girlish stuff. You need people to take you seriously, Andrea.” She felt a growing discomfort at this discussion but Andrea remained rigid in the chair. “What about a pair of glasses? That would make her look a lot different.”
“Oh yes, that's a great idea,” Zoe enthused. “There's that new designer opticians that opened. Do you think they do a same day service? We should get you an appointment straight away, baby.”
Andrea watched with grim fascination as her style came to completion. Her hair was now a dark shade, though it had a strong red tint that was entirely artificial. Her fringe now bore a flash of yellowish blonde. “She looks like she did in that photo,” Yulia said, triggering a pang of horror from Andrea at this recognition.
“No,” Zoe said happily. “She's much cuter now. I like her chubbier. Don't you ever go losing weight again, Andrea.”
Andrea gasped. “If I said that to you you'd be so hurt! And I'm not chubby!”
Zoe laughed. “Stop being so sensitive! I was paying you a compliment. You need to learn to accept praise gracefully.” The irony wasn't lost on Andrea.
Yulia worked in a liberal spraying of some sweetly perfumed product and set to styling Andrea's new cut. The top was worked into a stiffly sculpted vertical arrangement, every strand set to stand straight up. Andrea's fear that her cut was somewhat unbalanced, with too much length on top, was now heightened as she saw that length become exaggerated. The fringe was now set to stand straight up too, forming a hard, sleek quiff of absurd proportions. The short cut had made her uncomfortable, but the sight of the quiff added a new dimension. She was reminded of an over-styled cut that she might of seen on some pop star from the eighties or nineties. And most certainly a male pop star. She felt her cheeks blush as she imagined having to wear this style in public, being seen by people she knows.
“Aww, she's blushing,” Zoe observed. “Don't you like your new look, baby?”
“I sort of like the cut, but the quiff...”
“That is the cut,” Yulia said sternly.
“Yes, I adore it,” Zoe said dreamily. “And you wear it styled like this at all times. You'll let Yulia or me style it for you, or learn to do it yourself. But if you try going out with flat hair...”
“Yes, just remember what happened when you forgot to crimp your bob,” Yulia said with a hint of menace.
“What, you'll send me for a perm? It might actually look better with curls on top,” Andrea said gloomily.
Yulia seemed satisfied with the styling, which even Andrea had to agree was expertly done. Yulia now ran a finger over the soft, short hairs that were present at the top of Andrea's forehead, particularly at the sides. Andrea gasped as Yulia took a razor blade and carefully scraped away the hairs. “Not a perm with this cut. But if you're a naughty girl I'll shave back your hairline at the forehead half an inch.”
“Mmmmm, that might look good,” Zoe giggled. “She'd suit a higher forehead.”
“Yes, and it would be half an inch every time she was naughty. Imagine if she ended up with an inch and a half shaved back!”
“Oh, that would look odd. I suppose she'd better be a good girl for me.”
“I will,” Andrea said, feeling utterly powerless as the blade now shaved the slight trace of stubble that was all that remained of her eyebrows.
Now that Andrea's fringe would no longer be allowed to fall over her shaved brows, her make-up had been changed, Zoe granting her drawn on brows. But the relief was tempered by the form of the brows. Zoe had drawn fine black lines, almost straight, only slightly curving down at the outside. Coupled with her pale, powdered face, rouged cheeks and Cupid's bow blood-red lips the look was obviously influenced by the fashions of the twenties. And now as Andrea looked in the mirror she was wearing round lensed spectacles with thick tortoiseshell frames.
“Oh, I don't know,” she said despairingly. In fact she knew very well that she hated these glasses but knew that she could do nothing to quell Zoe's enthusiasm.
“But they look so sweet! They're perfect for you. And you need glasses, the optician said you're short-sighted.”
“Slightly! She said I didn't need glasses.”
“She said you're at the cusp. You might benefit were her exact words. I want you to benefit. And like Yulia said, you need to look more professional in work. These make you look very serious.”
“They make me look like a boy,” Andrea sighed.
“They make you look very sexy,” Zoe whispered. “If you say 'Yes Zoe, I want these frames and I'll wear them all the time for you,' I'll be so pleased with you that I won't let you get any sleep tonight.”
Andrea understood her intentions perfectly and gave up the fight.
By the time Andrea went to collect her new glasses she'd been subjected to a session at the piercing studio. She'd entertained an idea that Yulia would have forgotten about her proposal to have Andrea undergo a new piercing, but should have known better. In fact she'd been persuaded to add a new pair of earrings adjacent to her existing lobe piercings and now each of her lobes was decorated with a pair of flat discs about a half centimetre wide which Zoe had chosen, but Andrea liked too.
The piercing had been easily endured, almost painless, but now her ears had developed a dull ache. However, Yulia had also insisted that she should have a septum piercing and that had made her yelp as the needle penetrated her. She'd felt sick and faint at the sensation, and was still shaky an hour later. Her nose now bore a tiny titanium ring, which nestled closely around the strip of flesh dividing her nostrils. She was pleased that it wasn't too showy, and, though she hadn't admitted it to her friends, loved how it looked.
Putting on her new glasses made Andrea feel dizzy. The lenses distorted everything subtly, curving space about her, though her vision now had a pin-sharp clarity that was slightly overwhelming. Andrea felt a sense of loss, that she was now reliant on an artificial aid to see and that she would now come to depend on them. But abandonment felt like part of her now. She'd lost her last long hair today as well, and that felt to have some permanence too.
And at home Andrea was made to try the new outfits that had been purchased on her behalf. She felt like she was transgressing into something dangerous as she saw herself in the mirror, dressed in a tweed jacket and black trousers; the white shirt was worn with an open collar decorated with a blue silk cravat. She was dressed in entirely masculine clothes, her hair cropped and quiffed. She was trembling at the thought of being seen like this, and yet she was feeling overheated, a sensation that she knew was driven by desire. She thought back to how Brea had convinced her to cut her hair and induced a similar despairing feeling, but then she hadn't known how to deal with the pleasure of her submission. Her repression had fed resentment. Now she felt only delight that Zoe and Yulia were making her change. As Zoe looked at her admiringly and ran a hand up her barbered nape Andrea softly cooed and whispered “I love it, Zoe. I fucking love it.”
Zoe couldn't hide her surprise at the extent of Andrea's enthusiasm, and was evidently moved. Her eyes were moist as she kissed her tenderly. “Weekly trims, Andrea. And always styled properly. Understood?” Yulia said firmly. Andrea's excitement only increased as she agreed.
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