It had been Marjorie's idea. Little Tess, her granddaughter, had developed alopecia. First a small spot on the back of her head, it had spread until Tess' mother had dreaded brushing her daughter's hair for the clumps that came out. By three little Tess had been completely hairless. Alopecia Totalis, as Marjorie insisted on telling them all. But apparently there was a cure. Or a possible one. No-one seemed entirely sure if it'd work or not. Except for Tess' parents' insurance company, who were convinced that it wouldn't and refused to fund it; and Marjorie, who was convinced that it would.
Personally Jan thought little Tess looked adorable. She was three now and starting nursery. Her little pink head didn't seem to have slowed her down at all. She'd made friends, and found a happy place in the life of the nursery. The only people who seemed concerned were the adults around her, and Jan found herself wishing they could accept the little girl for what she was.
Marjorie, however, was still convinced there was a cure. An expensive one, and that meant fundraising. It was her who suggested the headshave.
"If nothing else," she'd said, "It'll be nice for little Tess to see other women the same as her. I can't wait."
Jan had taken the idea back home to her husband. Brian had been on his computer, she remembered, on one of his games. He was killing something with something else, she was never entirely sure what went on in those things. He'd actually put the thing on pause when she told him.
"I'm not sure about that," he'd said, "I'm not sure the office is quite ready for a bald me."
"Not you, you fool, me."
His eyes had widened. "You? Well. Ok, can always get you a hat I suppose. And it grows back."
Was that it? She'd glanced at herself in the mirror. She was only forty-three. She'd had the children young, and the youngest had left for college just this year. Her hair had never been her crowning glory but it was long enough, still thick, just past her shoulder blades. She'd tried to imagine herself bald. Her eyes were a good feature she knew, so they'd stand out more, which was no bad thing. Her cheekbones weren't too bad. She'd thought she wouldn't look too bad at all. It was just a pity her husband hadn't been a little more concerned.
"So you're ok me doing it?" She'd half hoped he'd object. Roar, rage, even spank her. Anything other than look like he was just sitting there in front of his computer game waiting for her to go away.
"Whatever you want sweetpea." he'd said, "it's a good cause. It'll grow back. Give me a sponsorship form, I'll take it round the office."
"Righty ho," she'd said, feeling deflated.
Now she sat, in a barber's chair that Marjorie had managed to get from a hairdressing school. In the end there were about thirty people all waiting to be balded. Mostly women, one or two men. Marjorie had smashed her fundraising target and managed to get local press involved, so with the families and supporters of the "victims" the atmosphere was lively. As she sat watching her friends go up, one by one, Jan was aware of the tightening of her stomach and the dryness of her mouth. And a feeling she hadn't expected. She was getting turned on. The thought of being sat in that chair and being stripped of her hair was turning her on. Her breasts ached, she felt her nipples harden, and a wetness sprang between her legs. If she'd been alone she would reached down between her thighs and given herself what was becoming a much needed relief. As it was she found herself flexing her thighs, pushing her increasingly sensitive pussy down into the seat.
She was going as near last as possible, to give Brian the chance to turn up from work, to show support. The afternoon went faster than expected, she felt like she was surrounded by women rubbing their shorn scalps, families admiring them. When her name was called.
The adrenaline hit her. There was a good natured cheer from the crowd, and she discovered to her surprise that she was already standing. She could smell her own sex, was sure the room could too. She walked to the barber's chair in a daze.
The young girl who wrapped the cloth around her neck gave her a conspiratorial smile. Did she know? Could she tell?
"Guard or no guard?" The girl was standing behind her. Jan had no idea what she meant. She stammered something, then the girl spoke, her voice slightly husky.
"No guard."
The clippers burst into life. Jan almost jumped at how loud they were next to her ear. She felt the blades rest against her cheek then slide, with a calm deliberate slowness, up into her hair. It was coming off; she knew it was coming off, and the careful way her barberette pressed the metal of the clippers to her head told her she was taking as much off as possible.
Gentle fingers pressed her head down, so she was looking at her lap. The hair was already piled there. She must already be on her way to being bald. She didn't want it to end. She wanted those gentle fingers on her scalp, the hard buzz of the machine dominating her, for as long as possible.
"Close your eyes," her barbarette whispered. Jan felt her head tilted back, and the clippers move slowly, agonisingly slowly, back over the top of her head. The flash of a press camera lit up the inside of her eyelids and she realised that she'd see herself, possibly this very evening, being shorn in the local press. It was a conscious effort to calm her breathing and stop tensing her thighs. Her heart was still pounding when the clippers stopped.
She was going to ask what was wrong, but the cape was being whipped off her, and a soft brush was brushing bristles from skin that hadn't seen daylight since she was a baby. The crowd was cheering. And Brian had got there. And had found his way to the front. And was now standing, looking at her, wide eyed.
She risked reaching up. She was scalped, utterly. Whatever her barbarette had used it had taken pretty damned near everything off. Her head felt no more like it had hair than Brian's face did after a day at work. She ran her hands over it, it felt like a fine sandpaper, no more.
