Skin-Deep - Shorn and Shown Pt. 01

I grew up and my need to be naked and to be seen naked stayed. That fascination to be hairless did not leave me either, but I never acted upon it. I went to university, was naked in my rooms when I could, entertaining friends or by myself. I shaved the usual places, but not my head. After university, I found myself a very ambitious woman, who loved her work, was briefly married to a man who could not handle my ambition, and I reached quite a senior position fairly soon along the way. I continued to be naked at home, but did not play with an audience, whether at home or elsewhere. Then, in my mid-30s, I felt I had arrived. The excitement I had felt after that promotion was followed by a very empty feeling. Now what? An early midlife crisis! From one day to the next, I despised the super-controlled person I had become.

Spare me the psychology, but I decided to take a 6-month sabbatical and waste myself. Waste everything I was and had stood for. That is what I did.

I found myself a secluded rental property in a remote countryside area and took it for the period of six months. It was basic, not quite spartan, comfortable enough, with a fair-sized modern kitchen and good bathing facilities. And a room where I could write. The yard was the big attraction. Sizeable and surrounded by an old ivy-covered brick wall. It included a pond, a small orchard and a large low maintenance garden. A slice of paradise.

The plan was simple. I said I was to waste myself. Not through drink and drugs. In fact, I would not drink alcohol or take drugs, nothing to challenge my health. To waste myself, I meant to break from anything I had been about up to now. Attractive, with so-called 'perfect' shoulder length hair, well-dressed, in the manner of a professional woman, expensive and tasteful, but subdued clothes, a woman with good manners, well-spoken, personable in a professional sense. And I had been a daughter that did her mother proud. For six months I would be done of the above.

I would be naked permanently. Not wear any of my expensive clothes or underwear, in fact I would take no clothes or underwear except what I was wearing on the trip and I would burn that upon arrival. If cold evenings would really push me, I would don a south-American cotton poncho, about the amplest fitting garb I possessed. I allowed for a warm blanket to sit on, outside or on the couch. I would not leave the premises and simply 'exist', in touch with nature and my nature. For activities, I would exercise, do yoga and run, and read books. And think. And write, whatever would come up, on paper. I would not bring a laptop. Would not speak to anyone by phone or laptop.

I did not bring a laptop or smartphone. I did bring a stone-age mobile phone, with a pre-paid number, capable of simple text and calls only. However, I had no intention to use it. Work and my friends knew I could not be contacted. Only a trusted friend, Sophie, and my mum had the number. I had told my mum that I wanted to be left alone, but that she could text me in cases of emergency. She strongly objected about not being allowed her weekly chat, but I stood firm. The phone was mainly for any emergencies that might occur, if I had a heart attack, would be assaulted or the house would catch fire.

I had arranged for Sophie to drive me there and help me set up. Also, she would bring set supplies every fortnight and stay with me for the night each time, to give myself the modicum of social interaction.

And, I would be bald. Totally hairless. Totally.

On another level, the sabbatical was intended to force me to take my distance from my life. Work, yes, but more to the point, from myself. You want to call that a negative motive? Maybe. Not sure myself. I was not suicidal. I trusted I would reinvent myself. But the six-month period had also been chosen to act out my dream of being hairless. I had to do it once!

My friend Sophie would help me commit the act of shearing. I had asked her to be stern, not her usual kind and warm self, as I wanted to be humiliated and objectified.

A note on the hairlessness. I had decided not to clip the eyelashes, as they are needed to keep dust and insects out or so I am told. I am taken to taking things to extremes but had to exercise a degree of reason. Anyway, the lashes cannot be shaved in any definition I understand. I am open to be enlightened!

We arrived half an hour ago and have surveyed the place. It fully answers to my expectations. The house is simple but comfortable, as it said on the tin, and the garden is private, spacious and varied, offering sun and shade, and it allows a fair circuit for running. We drink tea, seated at the garden table that is set out on the lawn somewhere, and relax, both fully clothed. We chat until the hour of four, when my phone alarm announces the moment when I will properly begin my stay. We both rise without either of us having to prompt the other.

'OK, Vita, dear, it is time to strip. Now, you need take it slow, so that I have the opportunity to watch you well. Turn around full circle after every article of clothing you remove.'

My heartbeat quickens, although I have wanted this for weeks - what? years! -- and have played this film in my mind a thousand times. You should know that Sophie has not seen me naked. We are great friends, but not that kind. I have no other girlfriend that has, mind, not since college. It is a warm spring afternoon, so the clothing I wear is light. I knew I was going to burn it, but I have chosen favourite pieces. On purpose. Mixed feelings are part of the deal.

We stand opposite each other, a few yards apart, not too far, not too close, so that she can see me well. As I am about to remove my own clothes, I register what she on her part is wearing. A tailored white linen blouse with long sleeves. I can just make out that she wears a white chemise underneath. A short blue pleated skirt. White tights and knee-high blue leather boots. Their heels just about allow her to walk on the grass without piercing it. She has quite long blond hair, long enough to cover her breasts, like a fairy-tale princess. Her face is strong though, cheekbones, ample mouth. Attractive and characteristic. Sweet blue eyes.

'Cardigan!' she commands. I start, then unbutton my lime-green mohair cardigan and look at my friend. 'Drop it right here in front of me.' I follow her order and am amazed to see her trample it underneath her boots. She looks at me when I do the first 360 degrees.

'Skirt!' My beige fine-leather mid-thigh skirt, I unzip it and let it fall to the ground, step out of it. She roughly kicks it far away. Her gaze is intense, whether I still face her or face away from her in my revolution.

'Shoes!' My shoes are lovely nubuck slip-on shoes. I take the left one off first, followed by the right. My bestockinged feet are in contact with the cool grass as I do my turn. I cannot bring myself to hurl the shoes away, knowing full well she will kick them away anyway. Which she does.

'Blouse!' Absolutely my favourite silk blouse, lime-green. I begin to unbutton it, but she says, 'Rip it off!' I look at her and see her determination. A monster of my own making. I slowly tear off the remaining four buttons and remove my blouse. I have ripped the material in one place. God! And I drop it. She drills it into the ground, with the nose of her right boot. I am now standing before her in underwear and pantyhose. The bra and panties are pale-pink with blue embroidery and the pantyhose is 'nude' tan. I turn and turn, feeling her gaze on my ass.

'Bra!' I undo the clip at the back, let the garment drop forward and take it off. I cast it aside, gently. She leaves it. In front of my friend, arms to the sides - I have to be deliberate about not crossing them below my breasts. I feel vulnerable with naked breasts, no matter how used I am to being nude. As I said, I have not been naked in front of anyone for a long, long time, including Sophie. Who never saw me nude. I feel the jiggle of my breasts during the turn. She will see them jiggle.

'Pantyhose!' I step out of the first leg, and the second, and cast it aside. She picks it up and smells at the crotch. 'Good thing you took this off. I can smell your heat, Vita.' Her gaze is earnest, not sarcastic, thank god. Turn.

'And finally, panties! Smell them.' I take them off and hold them to my nose. I smell my warmth. I am moved by my own smell. This occasion is momentous. 'Taste them,' she orders firmly, but in soft voice. When I don't appear to understand and do not act quickly enough, she pushes them in my mouth. 'Keep them there. And display yourself. Arms to your sides, legs slightly apart. Show me all of you. Go, turn!'

I realise that I am naked in front of her. And look ridiculous with my slightly musty panties in my mouth.

My pubic hair is trimmed, but not recently. I have last shaved my legs, with quite sparse hair, and armpits a week before. The hair on my head I had coiffured just last week, in time for my temporary farewell reception at work. There I stand, naked and vulnerable to Sophie's inspection, my hair perfect still. 'You know you want this,' she mutters, as she instructs me to lift an arm and smells underneath. She smells the other armpit as well, deeply inhaling each time. And my crotch. No one has done this to me ever before. She opens my labia and smells and looks at close range. 'I need my glasses,' she mutters, fetching them from the garden table, and resumes her inspection. She has me bend over and parts my buttocks. Am I pristinely clean? I would hope so... Lifts and weighs my breasts. Has me jump up and down in jumping-jacks to see my bits bounce.

She tears the panties from between my teeth and casually throws them to the side.

'So, Vita, you upwardly mobile executive... How did you like your inspection?'

'I requested it...'

'That was not the question. So, you are enjoying yourself? Are you really?'

'I love it and hate it, but love to hate it. I can't be clearer. And don't understand why...'

'It is hard for me too, not my usual thing. But I am bearing up. For you, since you asked me. And am in awe.'

'Thank you, Sophie.'

'Now before we get too soppy, let's get on with things. We have a lot to do in the few hours before it gets dark.

'Now go and gather the firewood for burning your clothes.'

She watches me while I gather twigs and branches fallen from the trees in the ample yard and make the fire. I feel naked and exposed being watched by her, at my request, moving, twisting and bending as I do the job. Within a quarter of an hour, I have a nice little fire burning. She instructs me. 'First, the pantyhose.' Which burns in a flash with a burst of foul smell. 'The underwear, please.' My lovely bra and panties disappear quickly too, save for the metal parts of the bra, which remain glowing in the fire, soot covered. 'The blouse!' Which is gone quickly too, my best blouse, so new too! Have I lost my mind? 'The cardigan.' Soon nothing but a few smouldering buttons remains of blouse and cardigan. 'Skirt!' The leather doesn't burn well at all and smells very oppressive. 'Shoes!' More of the same. The heels and soles melt and sizzle and smoke and emit a foul odour.

I am now stripped of my means of dignity and there is nothing for me to wear, mind you. I have already said I took no clothes other than the set I was wearing. To be without clothes. Pretty extreme, it dawns upon me. There is just that poncho and blanket and whatever such stuff that may be found in the house. We stand there for a while at this sort of funeral pile, watching the flames and the sparse remnants of my wardrobe. Yes, the funeral pile that I wanted, and still want. But it is strange. And a little sad.

Then Sophie picks up a burning stick from the fire. She stands before me and let the burning die down to glowing. Looking serious and has to swallow. What is she up to? To my horror, she lifts up a strand of my hair and singes it with the glowing stick.

'In case you thought of changing your mind about your hair.'

She repeats the singing a couple of times. Endlessly. I am truly horrified, make noises to that effect, but do nothing to stop her. She is right, but there is no worse way to get rid of my hair. Thank god it does not ignite. She goes to the garden table and takes a mirror from her purse. She shows me a ravaged head of hair. I have great trouble recalling the perfect hair I had until a couple of minutes ago. It is cruel to have to see this. I always take such great care of my hair. Did. But again, I wanted and want it to go.

She stands before me and embraces me, ruffles my now distinctly non-perfect hair. Bits fall off.

'It is hard, Vita. Hard for you and hard for me. Yes, the difference is that I walk away from this unscathed, but then all this is what you want, not I. Doing this to you is not a doddle for me, though, but I am also excited. I am not a touchy-feely sort of woman that sees her girlfriends nude all the time. You know this. Nor have I had lesbian encounters. Nothing against them, per se, I think, but none have come my way. And I have certainly never inspected another woman. You pushed me to do all this and I am glad you did. It is a life-changing, broadening experience to me. For which I am sure I will long be grateful to you.'

Then she changes tone again, goes back to commanding.

'Now, Vita, we must complete your transformation. Get a pair of scissors. They better be sharp.'

I get the pair I bought especially for the purpose. Brand-new razor-sharp barbers' scissors. I hand them to Sophie.

'Thank you. Sit yourself down on the edge of the table. Open your legs.' So, there I sit, with open legs and open sex, so exposed. She looks at my sex, bends in and smells it again, and comments, 'Your sex is so different to mine. The labia minora are more modest, but then I guess mine are pronounced. I like the puffy outer lips, but then I guess you are aroused. Are you?'

'Yes, Sophie. You can test it, if you like,' I respond softly. And she strokes and strokes my labia, starting with a feather's touch, ever increasing the pressure... My slit opens gradually and she starts inserting her finger and sliding it in and out... Licks her finger...

'Yes, you are getting wetter, Vita. Time to stop now. Perhaps when we are done... If you will have been a good girl...'

Then she takes the first tuft of my pubic hair, moves these sharp scissors in, I hold my breath and 'snap', she cuts. And cuts and cuts and cuts. She pinches me just once -- ouch -, calling forth a bright red speck of my blood, which we watch slowly grow into a drop, that falls... Then she takes action and stems the breach by a tissue and the bleeding is over within a minute. More carefully now, she continues her cutting and cutting, the mound, the vulva, the groin, the perineum... until all long hairs are gone.

'Now, Vita, what shall we do? Cut the hair on your head using the scissors first and then shave your entire body from your feet to your crown? Or shave the rest of your body first and only then cut and shave the head? I guess the latter is the more dramatic option, as opposed to the most efficient option. It has to be that. Who cares about business-like efficiency? A thing of the past.'

Am I relieved that I get to keep the hair on my head for a little while more? Rationally, why should I? It has already been ravaged by Sophie. And I want it gone! But a gush of relief passes through me all the same.

'OK, Vita, get us some hot water, the shaving cream and a handful of razors.'

She soaps up my left leg and foot and meticulously shaves it, even the sole! Then rinses and dries the lot. The point is to shave every inch of my body, no exception. Whether there are any hairs to remove is almost secondary. Every inch, no exception. The right leg and foot follow the same process. Then my back, hips, buttocks, carefully separating them too. The front of my torso, belly, chest and breasts, carefully covering all of their surface, including the nipples and areolas. (Careful, careful.) Finally (finally in this sequence), she has me sit me on the edge of the table and shaves my pubic area, again carefully pulling labia apart and stretching the skin to allow a safe shave. She has me sit forward on my knees and hands in order to properly shave my perineum. My anus and cunt in her face! This gives me the mixture of conflicting feelings I love to love and love to hate! You now know the drill well enough, dear reader.

I have almost forgotten about my head, until she rinses and dries the area of my sex, marking the end of the first part of the job. I am now completely hairless below the neck. She has me stand before her, turn around slowly as she considers her handiwork. She hugs me and says, 'You are a beautiful and very bare woman, Vita. Thank you for involving me. It was a great and moving experience, so far, and we are not done yet. Before we do anything else, lets relax for a little while and have some tea. If you don't, I at least need a breather.'

We sit opposite each other in the sun and drink tea. I naked and in full view, but I manage to relax and forget my ravished head. She is properly dressed. We chat about the house and garden, as if my stay concerns a simple holiday.

Then she leans towards me, holds me by the shoulders and looks me in the eyes. 'Do you still want to continue?' I nod wordlessly.

She resumes her old role and her voice resumes its commanding quality. 'Then stand up again.' I shiver. She takes the pair of scissors from the table and stands in front of me, scissors at the ready.

'Yes?'

'Yes, Sophie. Do what you need to do.'

I watch her concentrated face at close range and feel her breath, as she takes strand after strand of my hair and snips it close to my skull. It only takes her ten, fifteen minutes to complete the job and snip all of my hair away, close to the skin. I can't see myself. Can only imagine what I look like. Someone I'd hardly recognise, I think. Like a Nazi-whore, is what I think, the way women, just women that formed liaisons with the occupying Germans around Europe were shorn. Nothing like the self-confident business executive I once was. Once? Until mere hours ago.

'Stay put. I will get fresh hot water now. In case you're tempted to look in the mirror, don't yet. That will happen in another 20 minutes or so.'

I stay put, but stroke my stubbled head with my hand. That sensation is shocking already. I have been used to the soft, silky and ample feeling of my fine hair. Now the feeling is cutting, the way stubble cuts. I feel tears develop in the corner of my eyes, I do, but she is back before I have the chance to cry.

'There we go.'

She places a damp hot towel across my skull for a minute and then lathers me up, face and neck included. She proceeds to shave me, face and neck first, quickly and easily. To do the scalp is hard work and she changes disposable razors twice to ease the work. Again, I see her concentrated face at close range, not meeting my gaze, accompanied by the scraping sound on my skull that sounds like a racket to me.

The moment comes when she is finally done. All but done... Dusk, the light is slowly disappearing.

'You said, eyebrows too?' I nod. A mere handful of stokes for each eyebrow and I am bald. Bald!

No hair to be found - other than the eyelashes. She concludes the shaving by placing the warm wet towel across my skull again and easing the slight razor-burn sensation. Then drying me. Finally, she oils my entire body, all of it. This is so soothing. I am clean, rosy and hairless like a baby. Momentarily at peace with the world.

She holds me at armlength again and whispers, 'Vita, I don't recognise you.' I see tears developing in her eyes and I reciprocate, before I even see myself.