The Shearing of Alicia

I was just a young girl when my father sent me off to Kansas to live with my aunt and uncle. Times were difficult for my father having only a small income to support my mother and two brothers. My aunt had always wanted a daughter and it was with great heart ache and trepidation that my parents parted with me, and allowed my aunt and uncle to legally adopt me as their own.

My uncle Chuck owned a large and successful cattle ranch in southern Kansas near a town called Cedar Vale. He was a large, rough hewn man, with a face of leather but a warm and mild mannered disposition. He had about a dozen men (hired hands as he called them) working for him and they came and went with fair regularity, as not all men were meant to work for my uncle. There were a core group that stayed on throughout though, and I got to know all of them quite well. My aunt Anne was very quiet and very rarely said a word in the presence of my uncle. She gabbed with the best of them when she was with her friends or at the beauty parlor in town. She imparted upon me at an early age the wisdom of keeping silent around the men.

"Men...," she hesitated "men are different than we are Alicia." She came and sat next to me on the sofa, where I would lay out my dolls to play. "Men don't want to be disturbed by the goings on in a woman's head." I looked up at her quizzically and asked a question she must have been well prepared for.

"I talk to Bud and the other guys and they seem to like talking to me." The kind expression melted into one of concern and perhaps a little anger.

"Alicia, you stay away from those dirty minded young men. I've seen you out in the yard, bothering them, and you need to stop. Is that understood young lady?!" It was the first time my aunt had raised her voice to me since I had moved there, but I listened to her nonetheless. I stopped talking with the men and very rarely talked to my uncle Chuck.

In fact I became a very withdrawn and quiet girl. By the time I was 12, I spoke in a soft voice that was barely heard over a gentle breeze. My aunt, whom I now referred to as mother, we could chat just fine, but the men never heard our voices as they were so soft. This became a problem in school as I was constantly being asked to speak up. My teachers would often question my mother about my quiet demeanor, but she simply told them that that's the way things are in her household and that she encouraged my shyness and soft spoken affect. The teachers finally gave up and in turn gave up asking me questions in class.

I was quickly becoming an outcast, and bullying from other girls was a frequent occurrence. I was fairly adept at ignoring them and kept to myself almost all the time, either reading or simply gazing into space and imagining scenarios between certain boys in the class and myself. I was at the age that all parents dread, puberty.

There was one boy in particular that always was the subject of many a fantasy. His name was Warren and he lived with his mother and father on a sheep ranch that actually was adjacent to our property. He was a tall boy with broad shoulders, but lanky and a little clumsy at times, which often brought jeering from his own peers.

One day while sitting under my favorite tree during recess, Warren dropped some papers and the wind caught them and blew them in my direction. I jumped up and caught as many as I could. There was the normal awkward moment when I handed the papers back to him, but then he thanked me and gave a little wink that practically melted my heart. "I...I tried to catch all of them but a few got away." I stammered. I was certain that my face turned three shades of red.

"Awww...don't worry about it too much, they were already graded stuff anyway, but thanks again for the ones you did catch." He held out his hand to shake mine which I took promptly into my own. From that point on we were friends. It started slowly at first with smiles and nods in the hall and then an occasional lunch together and then we were fairly inseparable.

We were both seniors and of course everyone in school thought we were dating but in actuality we really were just good friends. When I turned 18 my mother sat me down for "the talk" which was really a day late and a dollar short, I may have been a virgin but I wasn't completely ignorant. Then she asked me the obvious question which didn't really shock me. "Are you having sex with that Winters boy Alicia?" She asked as my mouth just hung open in disbelief "I know you have been seeing him a lot in school, and that's one reason why we had this talk."

"Warren and I are just good friends mother." I insisted. "We've never even kissed." She raised an eyebrow, something she had done with my uncle but never with me.

"Are you lying to me young lady?" she got up from her chair and walked over to me. "Because if you are there's a punishment involved." I shook my head no and then blurted out with some tears to go with it.

"No mother...we're just friends." I was quick to hide my emotions and ran up to my bedroom, closing the door with some determination. Mother knew me well enough to leave me be until I came out on my own. After about an hour I came back downstairs. "I'm going for a walk, down by the creek, OK mother." It wasn't a question and she knew it.

"You be back by 5, I'm roasting a chicken." She stuck her head out the screen door. "Be careful with those bulls, Alicia!" She yelled.

My favorite spot on the ranch was by a large elm tree that sprawled over a small brook that supplied the place with water for the animals. My uncle had built a small dam below the tree for the cows to water themselves on those hot Kansas afternoons, and this was no exception. It must have been 90 degrees and it was only May. I found my usual spot on a large root that came up from the ground making a natural seat. The bulls shared this place with me and I had never had any problems with them in the past. Today would be different. As I sat quietly watching the reflections in the water there was a nudge at my back. I thought it might have been Bud trying to scare me or something, but when I turned around there was a large bull standing over me.

My mother had told me that animals had a very keen sense of smell I forgot that I had just started my period that morning and it was heavy. He seemed agitated and when I rose from my seat I saw that his penis was unsheathed and I knew that I was his target. I felt a shaking inside me that got worse, and he could sense my fear and started toward me. The house was a good quarter mile away and he'd sure have run me down by then, but there was a fence only about two hundred yards away. I circled around the tree and then thought about climbing it to escape and it was right about then that he charged. Without thinking I jumped and grabbed the lowest limb on the tree and slung myself over it but my legs were still dangling well within the bull's reach. I started scrambling up the tree until I knew I was safe. Then, much to my horror, he laid himself down right under me.

Well, I sat there on that branch for nearly an hour and the bull never budged. It was then that I started yelling out. The wind was blowing the wrong way for my diminutive voice to be carried to the house or the barns. I was getting scared now and horse from screaming. Just as I was started to lose my voice altogether, I saw someone climbing the fence on the other side of the creek. As they got closer I could see that it was a man and then I recognized him. It was Warren. He must have heard my screams as the wind was blowing in that direction. He grabbed a large stick from under the tree and approached the bull. "Whatever happens, Alicia, you stay there 'til I tell you it's safe, got it?" I nodded with a forced smile. He started yelling at the bull in the usual cowboy talk trying to get him to move. One quick snort and the bull was on his feet and Warren whacked him in the head with the stick, which promptly broke in two. Fortunately it was enough to send the bull on his way.

Warren helped me down from the tree and escorted me back to house, the gentleman that he was, asking about ten times if I was OK along the way. My mother was in the yard hanging clothes on the line when she saw Warren walking me home. She had both hands on her hips as we approached.

"Mother, this is Warren Winters." She idn't look very happy. "Remember you told me to watch out for the bulls, well, one ran me up the tree. Warren chased him off and walked me home." I wasn't sure she was believing me. "I was up that tree for nearly an hour, until he came around, didn't anybody hear me yelling?" She was shaking her head no, but not saying a word.

"You run along home Warren, say hay to your mother. You tell her I'll see her in church on Sunday." He tipped his hat to two of us and turned down the road and then across the field. "You, young lady, come with me." She grabbed me by the arm and escorted me to the house. "You go up to your room and stay there 'til I tell you to come out!" I'd never seen her this mad. She hadn't believed me. She must have thought I was up to "whatever" with Warren. Then I saw myself in my mirror. My hair was all disheveled and my clothes were dirty. My shirt was even torn on the sleeve. What must she be thinking. I stripped out of my clothes and changed and dragged a brush through my hair which was full of little branches from tree. The evidence was too overwhelming, she didn't believe me at all. As I was cleaning the hair out of my brush my mother came in and ordered me downstairs. "Go get in the truck, now, young lady!"

Not a word was said between us as we drove into town. I was expecting a spanking or grounding or something, but what was about to happen would be far worse. As we drove into town I was really getting scared. What was going to happen to me. I could almost see the steam rising up from my mother's head as she drove, peeling away from each stop sign. This was something that she never did, ever. We finally pulled up in front of Billy's barbershop. I started to panic and reached for the door handle to escape, but my mother had me by the arm in a death grip and dragged me into the shop. As we entered, I saw that there was nobody in there except for the barber, so my mother flipped the sign on the door over to closed.

"Now Anne, what's goin' on here?" By then there were tears streaming down my face. "You know I don't cut girls hair, never have." Billy was not unaware of my distraught appearance. "Now...you don't want me to..."

"Billy, now don't give me any guff. Either you're gonna do this here, or I'm gonna do it at home!" I was pretty much freaking out at this point.

"Awwww...comon' Anne she's ballin' her eyes out, I..."

"Billy, shut up and do this." My mother interrupted.

My mother pretty much tossed me into the barber chair and held me there while Billy ran his clippers down the middle of my head. He had managed three passes when my aunt eased her hold on my arms at which I promptly hopped out of the chair, running toward the door. "I was telling the truth mother!" I didn't even bother to open the door, flying through the glass and down the street. The remains of my uncut mane, flowing behind me. It wasn't until I got to edge of town that I realized I was hurt, and hurt badly. I slowly began to lose consciousness and as I turned to see if my aunt was chasing me, I saw the trail of blood I was leaving on the road. That's the last memory I have of that day.

The next few days were a blur of faces and lights and strange sounds. When I finally awoke, I was staring up at my aunt, whom I no longer considered my mother. She didn't look worried or concerned. There was an alarming disinterest in her countenance which really scared me. "She's awake." She said, detached and monotone. Then her face was replaced with one I remembered instantly. It was my birth mother. There was the concern, the worry and the love that was so markedly absent from my aunt's face.

"Thank God, thank God!!" My mother said over and over. After holding me for what seemed like an hour, she turned to my aunt "You can leave now, Anne." Being an adult now, my aunt had no authority over me and was charged with battery for the mistreatment she inflicted on me. My real mother offered to take me in which I graciously accepted. It was then that it was revealed to me how seriously I was injured. In my escape through the door I had severed my external jugular vein and damaged my windpipe as the glass ran across my throat. I had various other cuts over my upper body but those were the ones that nearly killed me. Speaking was very difficult for a few days but my voice slowly returned. I had been in the ICU in Wichita for 10 days in a coma.

After I was transferred to my own room I saw myself for the first time since the accident. As I stood naked in front of the mirror, my eyes didn't go to the staples in my throat, or the numerous other sutured cuts on my face, breasts or arms, but rather went right to my head. I looked hideous, not because of my wounds, but because I was half bald. All I could think of was a bald old man with long stringy hair. The hair had started to grow in a little bit, but it was so light that I still looked bald. I hit the call light and asked the nurse for some hair clippers. She brought them but begged me to wait until the next day as the ones she had would only shave to the skin as they were for surgical preparation. I thanked her for bringing them and asked her kindly to leave. She knew what I was about to do, and with tears in her eyes, she softly closed the door behind her.

As I stood in the bathroom getting ready to do the unimaginable, my mother knocked on the door, probably summoned by the nurse. "Mother...mom, please...let me do this by myself." I pleaded.

"Won't you let me help you Alicia." She was crying. "I only want to help you."

"Mom...please. I don't want you to be a part of this. I have to do this by myself."

"OK...I love you. I love you so much Alicia." I could hear her footsteps going down the hall. I took the clipper package into the bathroom and turned to face myself. This was not going to be a victory for my aunt, this was a severing of ties between us if anything. I even cracked a smile. These were very different from the clippers in the barber shop, which I had only a vague memory of. They were small and white and had a high pitched buzz when I turn them on, unlike the whine that I remembered from that day. I would try them on the hair that was already cut to see how they worked. I raised them to my forehead and with determination, ran them back over the crown of my head. The nurse was right. There was nothing left at all, just enough to feel like the finest sandpaper.

After I finished the top where it had already been cut I stopped and turned off the clippers for a moment. I ran my hand over my scalp, and felt the nothingness, the cool tight scalp left behind. An unconscious smile ran across my face as I flipped the clippers back on. I started on the sides, running them up in front of my ear. Then to the other side, bending my ear down to get the clippers to the bottom of the hairline. Slowly, deliberately, I shaved my head, until all my once beautiful hair lay in piles around my bare feet. I turned off the clippers and slowly set them down on the toilet. I brushed the hair that clung to my shoulders off and watched it slowly float down.

I was bald, but I had done it, not my aunt. I went back to my bed and felt the coolness of the pillow against my scalp. I kept running my hands over it, almost enjoying the sensation. Then I realized that I wasn't almost enjoying it, I was enjoying it. It wasn't enough, I thought. I got up and went back to the bathroom and searched through the supplies that each room had placed in it. Soap, toothbrush and then finally a razor. It was a cheap one, a Bic I think, but it would have to do. I took the soap and lathered up my scalp and removed the last vestiges of hair that my aunt had left me. Strip after strip I shaved until I could feel nothing at all.

I may have shaved the same spot three or four times, but it was completely smooth. After I dried off and went back to bed, my scalp was a magnet for my hands. I couldn't keep them away from it. My skin felt tight like a drum, and almost hurt. I went to bathroom again and rubbed some baby oil into it which helped with the tightness, but when I glimpsed myself before I left the bath, I was shocked at how I looked with a shiny bald head. My mother came back in before too long, and of course told me how good I looked bald, to which we both giggled. She did ask why I shaved it completely and I told her I wanted any reminder of what aunt Anne had done to me to be gone, forever.

I was in the hospital for another week, and after my sutures were removed and the staples in my neck removed, I was discharged. We made the long flight back to Boston the following day, but I couldn't help noticing the stares I was getting from people, and they weren't looking at my scars. My parents had moved to the north side of the city as my father had finally been promoted. I was thankful in some ways, as I didn't have to see my old "friends" who probably wouldn't have recognized me anyway.

My hair slowly grew in but it was darker and not as pretty as before, maybe because I was out of the Kansas sun. I finished my senior year there as my hair slowly grew in and I had all but forgotten about my aunt's cruelty, save for the scar on my throat. I was in no hurry to go to college, which pleased my parents as they could never afford to send me, in spite of my father doing better financially. Instead I decided to take a trip. My mother and father were both nervous about me traveling on my own, but they knew that I was growing up and needed some independence. On my nineteenth birthday they gave me their old car, which was basic transportation, or what most people might call a POS. They also gave me what money they could spare, which totaled about a thousand dollars. I was very grateful and after a tearful goodbye I was on the road.

Now, all this time, although I put on a good show as far as being over my traumatic event, I wasn't over all of it. Not completely over it. I still had vivid dreams about, of all things, my hair. Not about the injuries, or the hospital. Just vivid, crazy dreams. Sexual dreams, with me being shaved bald over and over again. I would always wake up in a start with my hand between my legs, and then finish myself thinking about whatever dream I had. A lot of the dreams involved Warren, who was almost always involved in the shaving in one way or another. The most vivid dream of all, one which always left me lying in a pool of my own sweat most definitely involved Warren.

In the dream, I am always one of his sheep. I even bleat like one. It always starts the same way, with me and all the other sheep being in between two fences, like a tunnel. A couple of times I'd woken up at this point and I always tried to get back to sleep immediately, but never could. Most of the time the dream plays out the same way though. As I looked over the top of the other sheep I can see Warren and a few other men, shearing us one by one. When its my turn, its always Warren that comes and grabs me and flips me on my back. Slowly and methodically, he shears me of my coat, only as I watch myself being sheared, as the wool comes off, its me underneath. As I am sheared I am more and more aware that I am completely naked and being completely shorn. When Warren finishes with me I am no longer a sheep and I stand up in front of them all, and try to cover my bald head and pussy with my hands. That is where I always wake up, panting and completely soaked.

Leaving Boston far behind me I travel south, the warm summers of Kansas had made me intolerant of the cold. I went to a lot of interesting places along the way, but I knew where I was going. I had to face it, the town, the shop, everything that had happened had to be dealt with in my head.