"6": Prettiness. ii. Beauty and resurrection
With many beautiful, long-haired women, you'll notice something they share. They have themselves and they have their hair. It's a separate entity, a being of its own. As is their beauty, but it's particularly noticeable with their hair. The woman enters the room and her hair does also. She flicks it around, she hides behind it, she lets it flirtatiously dangle over her face. It becomes caught between her mouth during lovemaking. She and her hair, this visage of feminine power, are inseparable.
I loved my hair too. It was a perfect, sexy, beyond the shoulder length. It fell to the same spot on my back since I was fourteen. I'd wash it, curl it, highlight it. Andre looked at it as a flimsy adversary. He'd often grab a fistful of it, pull it hard and say, "It's nearly time to cut your hair." He did this several times over the span of a few months. I'd smile nervously, not sure if he was serious. "Ahh," he'd say, letting go, "it's not time yet."
Then it was time.
I'd just had it colored and cut - a beautiful mass of highlights that took four hours to perfect. It shimmered and shone. I came to his place that evening, feeling particularly peacock-like. He looked over my hair appraisingly and grabbed it in his hand, close to my scalp. His grip was tight. Somehow, when he said it, I wasn't surprised and I knew he wasn't kidding. "It's time." I could feel sadness well up in me but I also knew I was ready. To shed.
He led me upstairs into the bathroom and had me take off my clothes. I did, laying everything on the counter. He left and came back with scissors. He gestured for me to get into the tub. I stepped in and kept my gaze down as he started cutting huge swathes of my hair. I watched it fall in clumps, the reds and browns and little bits of blonde, all catching the light in different ways.
He took me to bed and sucking his cock made me feel better. I sucked with everything I had, as I always did, but tonight there was something I was trying to rebirth and bring back to life. His cock became my lifeline since I felt I had little else to hold onto at that point. He came violently in my mouth, which was a minor catharsis. I fell asleep cradled in his arm with my head on his chest.
It took days of tears, disappointment. I'd put on make-up, trying to beautify myself, trying to paint away the deep, deep discomfort I felt. Slowly it faded. In a few days I began to feel at peace. I felt free. I remembered a friend of mine who cut off her glorious Rapunzel hair. "You can't hide from yourself anymore," she said. It was true. There's nothing left, no artifice or side-stepping.