The Paradox of Perfection

Their play online had reached erotic peaks Lori didn't think possible. Often, horny and wet after a haircut session with Paul she jacked in to Sandy's favorite places, looking for relief. They made love with abandon, inventing places in virtual space, their artists' imaginations not constrained by the limits of the physical Earth. Lori had forgotten how many times she had writhed on the floor before the big screen, jacked in, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through her naked body.

Oddly, the haircuts were not the major focus of their play. Their relationship ran both deeper and shallower than that. Oh, they whipped out the clippers and the shears and Sandy loved to pull Lori's virtual blonde hair. But, frankly, Lori realized Paul was better at the barber game.

Oh Paul.

Lori finished with Sandy this night. They'd given each other matching buzz cuts this time. First Sandy cuffed Lori to a barber chair before a 50-foot wide mirror, stripped her, massaged her shoulders with lotion and then mercilessly clipped her. Fast. Efficient. Ear to ear. Nape to forehead. Relentless. Military.

Once buzzed, Lori sat sated, her hand resting between her legs. She didn't move, even though she knew Sandy was breathing hard, begging to jump into the chair. And when Sandy finally made that leap, she grabbed the porcelain handle and pulled it back, splaying the chair as if she wanted a shave. But she really wanted to be laid out for her Lori. She really wanted her head at that low level, her tongue flicking up in an upside down, vertigo world where the clippers came at her from above, Lori's sweetness just barely within reach.

Now it was time to meet Paul, a reversal of the usual evening's order. She would look him in the eye and tell him. Well, ok, she'd look his virtual projection in the eye.

But when the time came, she simply couldn't do it. All she could do it say she was meeting an online friend next week. When Paul said could they make it a threesome and take some of the nervous energy out of it, she simply agreed and gave him directions.

She didn't sleep the next several nights. And she didn't jack in. How could she have offered him the address? How could she robotically have told him the time Sandy was coming? But there was no stopping it now. She'd been living the perfect fantasy life. She'd found the perfect mate, the perfect barber online. She had everything she wanted, everything she desired. Intellectual conversations, great sex, stunning haircuts and a very comfortable and fulfilling life. All online.

Yes, it was just online. Over time, she increasingly had come to the 'Net for all her cognitive stimulation. Once, she read a book a week. Now, it was maybe one a month. Once, she arranged beach parties for her friends in the small town. But there hadn't been one since she met Paul last summer.

Paul. Sandy. Hair. Fantasy. Clippers. Real life. Virtual life. It had become a blur. Perfect, yet somehow hollow. Each encounter demanding yet another encounter. More variety, more creativity, more isolated connection.

Maybe subconsciously that was why she had said yes to Paul's visit. Maybe she wanted to bridge the gap between perfection and life, between virtual and real, between loving yourself and loving a mirage.

She realized she'd been drawn into the 'Net far more than she admitted to herself. She didn't really know Sandy or Paul. She just knew them online, a mistake made by so many of the cyber mates she had dismissed so easily in the past.

The knock. Who, Lori though sitting on the couch, would arrive first? Who would be the one sitting in the living room, jaw dropping when that second, unexpected knock arrived.

She opened the door. Nightmare. Maybe, she was finally sleeping. No, this was real. Painfully real.

There stood Sandy, the Sandy she knew from the 'Net, lithe and tall, her hands on her hips, a questioning scowl on her face. Next to her was Paul, handsome, muscular Paul, arms folded across his chest.

"A brunette?" Paul said.

"A bob?" Sandy accused. "A Tipper Gore bob?" The last question/accusation landed like spit on Lori's cheek.

"Come in," Lori said sheepishly. "I'd planned to introduce you, but I guess that's not necessary now." A nervous giggle didn't dampen the ugly tension. The next few minutes became a blur of unanswered questions and unfocused recriminations.

Finally, Lori guided them both to the couch, handed each their favorite drink. She knew from cyberspace, after all, everything about them. Well, almost everything. For Sandy it was a glass of red wine. For Paul, a few fingers of Scotch. Lori joined Sandy with a glass of wine. Appetizers awaited on the coffee table.

Before she sat, though, she walked to Paul, stroked his face kindly and said softly: "Please forgive me."

Then she moved to Sandy, brushing her bangs -- they were shaggy -- away from her face, kissing her softly on the lips. "Sorry, my love," Lori said.

Then she sat down and explained everything. Paul's face grew red when he realized the girl of his dreams had eyes only for women, at least in real life. Sandy mouthed the word betrayer when Lori outlined her barbering adventures with Paul.

Eventually, though, the drinks and good old human curiosity controlled. They realized they had plenty in common, not to mention haircuts. And their conversation eased into a give and take, with each plucking ideas as they floated through the group.

Hours passed and slowly the conversation turned to hair. Paul pulled at Sandy's shag, now creeping down her neck and well over her collar. Sandy reached over and grabbed a handful of Lori's brown, exclaiming "And all this time you had a damn bob!"

"Not for long, my dear!"

The crack, almost involuntary, caused a thudding silence. Looks were exchanged.

"I know a good barber," Paul cracked.

"Yes," Sandy said, "he comes with a five-star recommendation. And since it would seem that three feet of blonde won't be hitting the floor, a foot of brown will have to do."

Lori froze. The truth was she had become increasingly aroused as the threesome flirted. But she also didn't want to hurt Paul. She only had eyes for Sandy. It was time, she thought, for real life truth.

"Sounds wonderful," Lori said. "But Paul..."

"I know," he interrupted. "After you're done I'm to, uh, go smoke a cigarette out back and leave you two alone."

Lori smiled. He was more perceptive than she'd realized.

"No," she said, "a virtual cigarette. Nothing real. I think I'm going to want you around for a long time. As my barber."

The friendship that has been the basis of their relationship cushioned the harsh reality for Paul, but he still couldn't hide his disappointment. That vanished quickly, though, when Lori walked into the room and handed him a brand new set of professional barber's tools. Clippers, shears, combs, cape. Everything. All the toys he'd secretly been caressing at home. Alone.

Lori beckoned and the two followed. Through a door they entered a large room, perhaps 50 by 50 with 30-foot-ceilings. All in white. In the center sat a stainless steel chair, gleaming, lit by lights Paul could not see.

"Clothes outside," Lori commanded.

They walked in and Lori took a seat, the steel cold on her bare cheeks. She placed her feet firmly against the filigreed footrest. As she did, her image, shivering a little from fear and anticipation, projected onto all four walls. A virtual canvas.

"I think I know what you intend. And I think you know what I need," Lori said looking up at Paul. "I realize my cruelty to you may lend itself to a certain reckless revenge. I understand. "

"I think I'll be able to live with an imperfection or two. I may even come to love them. As I hope you will come to love me in whatever way we can share."

With that, Paul nodded to Sandy, picked up the gleaming silver clippers and dug into the hair at Lori's right ear. It fell, plopping over the chair arm and her breast. He worked slowly, his hand guiding her head with a gentle subtlety that she had never appreciated in cyberspace. In fact, those "perfect" haircuts, so enabled by the best technology minds and dollars could offer, paled to this one. She clenched the chair arms as he began working over her other ear, her nipples already taut, her moistness a foregone conclusion.

Eventually, he moved behind her, saying not a word, letting what whirring blender hum speak for him. Ah, how much better it sounded ricocheting off the walls rather than buzzing out of speakers. He pushed her head forward and the clippers glided up her nape and right over her crown, throwing a hunk of brown down before eyes she raised to level as he finished. When the hair cleared, she saw Sandy sitting cross-legged in front of her, mouthing a kiss up at her, then smiling and running a hand back through her own thick hair.

"I'm next," Sandy whispered.

Lori smiled. "But first," Paul said gently, "we give you a real haircut. All the way. Like by the brook. Or on the floor."

Those images flickered in Lori's mind. The real present, though, was more intriguing than the virtual past. She returned in time from her daydream to see Paul gently set the clippers at her forehead and guide them back towards her neck this time, the vibration causing her to squirm in a chair she found increasingly uncomfortable.

As he finished that pass, Paul ran his hand over the stubble, sending chills like Lori had never felt coursing down her spine. Lori reached up to feel the velvet softness.

Oddly, she wasn't the least bit shocked to be surrendering all her hair, hair that hadn't changed more than a couple of inches in length over a decade.

Then it was over, her hair lay at her feet, some tickling the ankles of Sandy, still sitting rapt on the white floor. LngdhrdLori was gone forever.

Unfolding a shining silver straight razor Paul assured her he was proficient. The hairline around her nape was lathered and shaved. And yes, nicked. Twice. Paul apologized, but she felt he intended the little pricks, reminders that all was not pleasant or perfect in the real world.

When he had finished, Paul retreated and headed for the door.

"Hey, just a minute," Sandy said. "The shop's not closing is it?"

"No," Paul said, unable to conceal a Cheshire cat grin.

"Well, get back here."

Sandy kissed Lori deeply, running her hand slowly down her breast, then cupping between her legs. Sandy knew. Lori had already been sated. She gently guided Lori out of the chair and to her spot on the floor, then swung around into the now wet, warm chair. Her image flashed on the walls, a melding of the real and the virtual that only Lori could truly appreciate.

Paul took his time with Sandy. No buzz for her. Just a very sharp crewcut, shaved smooth to the skin at the nape and the sideburns and graded to perhaps a half inch at the forehead. Very precise. Very military.

Once, when he stepped in front of Sandy, Lori thought she saw a flash of something.

Then when he stood, splay-legged before her, using the flat topper comb to get it just so straight, Lori was sure she saw it. Sandy had reached out and gently stroked him. Now, there wasn't anything subtle about Paul's excitement. It flew for all to see, but then that was expected. What wasn't expected was Sandy's reach, an obviously experienced reach.

What? Lori wondered, is going on?

When Sandy stepped from the chair, wrapped her arms around Paul and gave him a lung-lashing with her tongue, she admitted the reality.

"What you didn't know about me," Sandy said smiling and winking at Lori, "is that I like girls...and boys!"

Lori laughed. Actually laughed out loud. It broke whatever tension possible between the threesome. The tables had been turned on her.

Her perfect girlfriend was as paradoxical as the idea that you could connect, really connect, by jacking in over a computer.

"And he is such a fine man, isn't he Sandy?" Lori said.

"Yes, " Sandy replied, "he may do. But he is far too shaggy. Especially in this room."

With that, Sandy plucked the clippers from their perch. Paul, drunk with the pleasure of being barber to two strong-willed, creative women, hopped in the chair. Sandy wasn't particularly professional, but she was effective. His fate was a quarter inch buzzcut with a few chunks buzzed out here and there. Imperfect, but perfect enough for Paul, who grew ever more aroused.

When Sandy set down the clippers, three stages of buzz were represented on the wall screens. Buzzed close. Precision crewcut. Boyish velcro.

The permutations were endless. Sandy began the stroking, reaching over to rub Lori's smooth nape and beckoned Paul to join her. Then Lori tried Paul's velcro. And Sandy's stiff brushcut. And from there, things just moved as naturally as if they had known the truth about each other all along.

They learned that jacking in might yield a connection, but only in person could they explore the infinite depths of each other. Something they did well into the next morning.

Ah, the next morning. Talk about a new day dawning. Paul declared that he had jacked in for the last time. Real life, he said, had proved infinitely more interesting.

Lori decided her hands had created their last work for a corporate benefactor. She glowed with new inspiration. From the head down. She already had ideas for her first subjects off the corporate dole.

Sandy had rehearsals to attend. But she, too, began working in a new direction on a play about women...and men...and the paradox of perfection.