I have known my neighbor Helen for almost 15 years now. Why she is still single no one knows. She is intelligent, professional, extremely active, very fit, and drop-dead gorgeous. She stands about 5'3", with a wonderful figure, huge warm smile dwarfed only by her bigger brown eyes, and a head full of brown hair with auburn highlights just long enough for her to sit on. But somehow she just never met Mr. Right. There was even a period there where I was dating her, and while the dates were fun, and the sex was awesome, there came a time we both knew it wasn't to be and we reverted back to a warm friendship. She remains my closest friend.
I've always been a fan of a woman with long hair. Also of women who could do a wide variety of styles with their hair. Nothing was more exciting than a woman who changed her style (not cutting, just the style) as often as her clothes. Up, down, curly, straight, braids, buns.... It is just so completely....feminine. The ultimate to me, obviously, was a woman with long hair who also did a wide variety of styles. I have yet to meet that woman, which is one reason I'm probably still single. Helen definitely wasn't that woman. Helen wore her hair in basically two styles. She wore it in a wide variety of french braids, which she was very adept in and always slept in, or she wore it down (in waves from sleeping in a braid) with the front pinned back so nothing fell in front of her face. She now had bangs, which was a step that took her literally two years to ponder. Sometimes she would show her bangs, and at others she would pin them back with the rest. I myself liked her without bangs. She looked more regal that way.
Besides that Helen did nothing with her hair. On rare occasions she let it all hang down without pinning anything back, which looked awesome. Once she wore it in a french twist at the request of her boyfriend at the time. She needed a friend to do it since she didn't have the slightest idea how. I never saw it but heard it wasn't done very well and fell out shortly into the date. It was still captivating to me about the possibility of how she could look if she had a professional put her hair up. Until she had bangs she didn't even own a curling iron or hair spray, and still only used them for her bangs, and the spray VERY sparingly. She didn't own a set of curlers or a blow dryer.
Over all the years I had never seen or known her to wear her hair straight. (Long, straight hair to me is an incredible sight to behold or touch.) She also had never even tried to curl it. She also never tried any elaborate updos at the hands of a professional stylist, and the thought of teasing her hair, even for special occasions, was never an option. (When she was young her mom forced her to keep her hair cut short, like a boy, and so when she was old enough she let it grow as long as it would get. It never would reach further than just below her rear, though she wanted it to her knees. I think it was a symbol of her independence, and she just never bothered to learn how to do anything with it. I assumed it was because she didn't want to risk damaging it.)
We have the best friendship, and many wonder why we aren't still dating. I guess it was that we were more like friends than lovers. We enjoy hanging out together and do it often. Usually each weekend one of us is hanging out with the other, helping with yard chores, or just draped over one another watching television.
Somewhere in that span I got the nerve to ask her if I could brush her hair. She readily agreed, much to my surprise. I took the greatest of care not to blow this opportunity to fondle her magnificent mane and was ever so careful. It turns out I am gentler with her hair than she is, and she adored the way I brushed her hair. Now it seems I brush it whenever we are together, a totally joyful experience for both of us. She even turns to me when it needs a trim. I usually trim far less than she wants taken off, and she has to make me do it 2-3 times before she is satisfied. It seems I want her hair to reach her knees even more than she. So the two of us have developed a very trusting relationship with her hair.
Every time I brush her hair I start to fantasize what she would look like with it straight, or curled, or up in a bun, or even up in a fabulous bouffant (though I'm not sure that would be possible with so much hair), or teased out in some wild style like a lion's mane. I kept these feeling in of course, knowing she would have no interest in such potentially harmful endeavors.
One day I received a good-sized package in the mail from my dad who lived over 1,000 miles away. It was his camera equipment, including flash attachment and several lenses. It seems he bought himself a new, fully automatic camera and wondered if I'd like this one. All through college I took pictures with a tiny 110 camera and really enjoyed it. I accepted the gift gladly and was excited to learn how to use it. Even though it was older, it was a top quality Pentax used by many professional photographers. I bought several books and learned all about the art of 35 mm photography. Unfortunately I really enjoyed taking pictures of people the most, and had no willing subjects. But then Helen said she would be my model only if I wouldn't show the pictures to anyone else.
That weekend, while Helen worked in her garden, I shot two roles of film. It was totally unplanned and a great deal of fun. While most of the pictures turned out poorly, some showed promise. For the next 3 weekends I repeated the ritual and finally started getting some good results, with only a handful of poor shots per role.
Satisfied with my abilities outdoors, I started taking pictures of her inside as she did chores, watched television, or relaxed. My favorites up until then were pictures of her brushing her hair. It was very sexy, tender, and personal. Surprisingly she agreed and even asked for copies of them.
At that point I knew the direction I wanted to go. I wanted to take more glamourous, polished photos of Helen, with planned sets, particular outfits. I wanted to be the stud photographer and for her to be my fashion model. I was frightened to suggest it and kept it to myself, and for about a month stopped taking pictures of her on weekends.
Then one weekend she wondered if I had tired of the photography. I tried to lie to her, saying I was a little low on funds but she saw right through that. Somehow I summoned the courage to tell her what I wanted to do. To my amazement she happily agreed. "It sounds like fun!" she said. We set aside several hours that weekend for our first official photo shoot.
"What would you like me to
I had no idea what to say. I never dreamed she would agree to this so I hadn't made any detailed plans.
"I don't know. How about something fairly casual but sexy."
"OK. Anything else?"
I knew what I wanted to say
but didn't want to push my luck. I did a little bit anyway.
"Is it OK if you wear your hair down instead of in a braid or pulled back?"
I was ready for a frown or a disgusted look. Instead she just casually
bit into her lunchtime salad.
"Sure! Whatever you want?"
I couldn't believe my luck. I'm sure she didn't really mean whatever I want because she didn't know how extreme that could be. But I was looking forward greatly to being in control of her for the photo session, and for the next several days lost much sleep planning what to do. I didn't know if such an opportunity would ever arise again so I didn't want to blow it, yet didn't want to venture past her comfort zone so much as to scare her off.
That Saturday took forever to arrive but finally happened. She greeted me at the door in T-shirt and sweat pants. She had the clothing options down to three, and said she'd leave the final clothing decision to me. Except for perfectly curled under bangs, her hair was still in her nightly french braid. She had just started taking it down. "After I get dressed would you brush out my hair for me?"
"Sure!" I said, trying not to show my enthusiasm. This was a ritual which I never grew tired of. I settled on a bright sundress. It wasn't too sexy but very pretty. With the right pose it could come across as sexy, wholesome, or practical.
While she changed I set up my camera equipment and was soon ready. I took a lot of time brushing out her hair. It was thick with waves from the braid, and I almost wished I could brush it out perfectly straight, wondering what she would look like. But the waves were there to stay for the afternoon.
I showed her a collage of poses I had cut out of magazines and newspapers. Nothing too weird, but a good beginner course of modeling 101. Much to my frustration we used up all the poses in only minutes, and when she asked "Now what?" I had nothing to say. So I summoned up some courage.
"Can we repeat all the poses,
but this time with your bangs combed back off your face?" My heart
was pounding as I waited for her to say no.
"Sure! Go ahead."
I wasn't ready for her to agree, much less ask me to do it for her. Of course I had mentioned before that while I liked her in bangs, I did like the look without bangs a little more. Maybe the request wasn't so unexpected. I nervously started brushing her bangs which stubbornly refused to go back. Instead they started falling to one side, which was a very different look on her and quite striking. My courage grew once more. "Can I photograph you with your bangs parted on the side and drawn over?"
Her eyes opened a bit. "I guess so. I've never done that before."
I started playing for a while again, standing in front of her fussing with her bangs. He big eyes were looking up at me, a hint of a smile on her lips. Was it there because she knew how much I was enjoying this, or because she was enjoying it a bit too? I figured the first guess had to be the right one as she always was a fan of my efforts.
Her bangs didn't want to stay on the side unless the rest of her hair was similarly parted. So I got to have more fun coaxing it into a new look for her. Her face showed a momentarily quizzical look as she felt a good section of hair being drawn over from one side to the other. There was no mirror in the room so she didn't know what she was looking like. When I finished she patted the unfamiliar style a bit with her hand trying to imagine what I had done, and then went on being a willing model. I took the series of photos loving the new look. It wasn't that she looked better, but that she looked different. That was exciting me. More correctly, it was totally arousing me.
After we finished up all the
poses I returned to her bangs, trying to get them to brush backward into
the rest of her hair. They weren't cooperating. I stopped and
told her I didn't know how to get them back. I expected her to tell
me to give up.
"There's a water mister bottle in my laundry room. Hit them with a little water and they should go back."
I almost ran back to retrieve the bottle, anxious to play hairdresser some more. I stopped just before I sprayed her bangs. Helen sat perfectly still, eyes closed, a hint of a smile. "It's OK if I do this isn't it? It's going to mess up how you curled them." She opened her eyes and gave me a quick reassuring smile, and casually stated "sure, it will only take me a minute to re-curl them." I couldn't believe how cooperative she was. I thought all this would be way past her comfort zone. I spritzed her bangs lightly and soon had them blended back off her forehead with the rest of her hair. She looked terrific and shortly the rest of the film was exhausted on this last run through the poses.
I took down the equipment
as she changed. She returned to the room playing with her still damp
"I was surprised you let me play with your hair. Thank you."
"I said I'd do whatever you wanted. Actually I rather enjoyed it. It's fun to be fussed over."
"Well thank you. That was a session I always wanted to do. You made my fantasy a reality."
She giggled. "It was
no big deal. We can do it again next week if you want."
My heart started beating loud at the notion. My nerves started in again, keeping my ultimate hair photo fantasies at bay. I summoned a little courage.
"If these pictures come out
I don't think I'd want to do the same poses and stuff."
"I know that. We'll do something different. How about something real dressy?"
"That sounds like a lot of fun...." I was holding back another request. She looked at me and smiled, knowing I wanted to say something but wouldn't.
She asked for it. "Would
you leave your hair down again for me?"
She sat back laughing inside at my timidity. "Sure. Whatever you want."
"Whatever I want?"
She paused a bit. "Why, what did you want to do?"
I couldn't believe how brave I was getting. "I thought it would be nice if you're dressed up for an elegant evening if you would wear your hair up."
This surprised her, but didn't
phase her. "I could try. I really don't know how to put it
I felt I was pushing to hard. "It's OK. It was just an idea."
She amazed me by keeping the
notion alive."I'll try to practice this week and see if I can manage something.
I'm not making any promises. It probably won't work. I just
have too much hair."
"I understand. Don't worry if you can't do it."
She grabbed my arm and looked hard into my eyes. "I really will try. I WANT to do this for you."
I left with a big smile on my face, anxious for the week to pass and the next session.
Several days later when I got the pictures back, most coming out amazingly good, I dropped by her house to show her the results. She thumbed through them quickly as usual, never one to be hung up on herself. She unexpectedly looked at the side-parted ones fairly slowly, sizing up the different look. "Interesting" is all she said.
I asked her if we were still on for the weekend. She said yes, but informed me of her numerous failed attempts at putting her hair up. She told me to plan on her wearing it down like the previous week. She would wear her bangs back if I wished. I said "thank you, that would be nice."
She could tell I was a bit disappointed at the news of no updo. "If you want to try putting my hair up this weekend you're welcome to try."
Why she would say something
like that is beyond me. I failed miserably on the several occasions
she let me try to braid her hair. How she could think I would have
any luck with something like a french twist is beyond me. "Are you serious?
I wouldn't have any idea how to start."
"Sure I'm serious. It was just a thought. I'd like these pictures to be what you want."
I left for home and immediately
went on the internet looking for help on how to put hair up into a french
twist or similar style. Much to my amazement I found numerous guides,
including some step-by-step photos. While none were with hair as
long as Helen, I didn't think the task impossible, even for an amateur
like me. I figured come Saturday if the option was still there I
would try my hand. I again found myself aroused just thinking of
the possibility. That week I went to the store and bought a large
assortment of hairpins. I knew this was another item that Helen certainly
wouldn't have. Then all week I studied the material from the net, so I
was as prepared as possible. I also once more printed out a whole
series of poses. It seemed there were more dressy poses available
than I expected. Finally I tried to will the week to speed up, anxious
for this second glamour session to commence.
When I arrived that Saturday I hadn't slept the night before. I was too excited. Helen greeted me at the door in a baggy T-shirt and shorts, just taking out her braids (she had triple braided it the night before, which meant triple the amount of waves. Obviously Helen liked her hair to be wavy.) She had her bangs pulled back into the waves as promised, blending into the rest of her full mane. She already finished her makeup and looked dazzling, with eyes that popped out wonderfully and red, wet, full lips.
To my surprise she seemed
fairly excited. I couldn't help but feel she was doing this only out of
friendship, but her attitude showed no indication that this wasn't fun
for her too. She showed me 3 dresses to chose from. Black,
red, or purple. I chose the red one for no particular reason as she
would look great in any of them. I started setting up as she changed.
She came out as I was nearly done, still unbraiding the last of the three
french braids, and looked as beautiful as I'd ever seen her.
"Wow! You look awesome!"
She giggled a bit and flashed
a smile. "Thanks. I figured since I couldn't put my hair up
the least I could do is make it extra wavy." She showed it to me
by pulling it forward of her shoulder. It was absolutely hypnotizing.
I couldn't wait to photograph it.
"Will you brush it out for me?"
"Can I leave it just like that right now? It looks really good." She grabbed a section and stared at it, mystified in what I saw in it. "Leave it like this? I guess so."
I showed her the photos of poses I had in mind. All the pictures had a model with her hair up, but she didn't comment about that. We went through them all much too quickly, but then time flies when you are having fun. The feel of her extra wavy hair was a delight. She always left it up to me whether I wanted it over her shoulder, etc... and had me position it for her. Each time I reluctantly pulled away from it, my fingers relishing the touch of each strand. I wondered what it would feel like curled, but kept that to myself.
When finished I brushed her hair for her, taking my time as usual. Then we did the same poses again. As I was changing lenses she noticed the plastic shopping bag next to my camera gear. "What's in the bag?"
"Huh? Oh, it's ....
a bunch of hairpins." I wasn't sure if I wanted to still broach the
updo subject or not. She looked at me, waiting for me to say it,
so I did. "I figured if the invitation for me to try putting your
hair up was still open I'd give it a shot." I looked away, not wanting
to see the look on her face, ready to hear a quick "no thanks" or "I'd
rather not" any second.
"You're welcome to try. Hopefully you'll have better luck than me." She couldn't see my smile but it was huge. I was also instantly aroused again. "Do you want to put it up now?"
"Let's finish off this series of poses, and do it then."
Minutes later Helen pulled one of her dining room table chairs out to the middle of the room and almost eagerly sat down, her back to me, her long waves tumbling down stopping about 6 inches shy of the floor. There was no mirror to keep tabs on me. She totally trusted me.
"Good luck. What are
you trying to do with it?"
I was so nervous even my voice was shaking. "A french twist."
"Keri did that once for me. It didn't work very good."
Keri was her best friend but I always wondered about Helens trust in her abilities. Keri was a very plain looking woman with hair as short as mine and little fashion sense. I doubted she had any more experience arranging long hair than I, and probably didn't even research the style on the internet as I did.
I brushed all her hair again,
a little bit longer than needed but it was also relaxing me a bit.
I both dreaded and treasured this moment and wanted to make the best of
it. I doubted this chance would ever come again. Then I went
over and dumped the box of various sized pins on the dining room table
within arms reach. She looked over with an expression impressed by
my thoroughness. I was actually glad her hair was extra wavy today,
because all the articles said wavy hair was easier to put up than straight
hair. I still had a strong desire to see Helen with stick straight
"Make sure you tell me if I hurt you or pull to hard."
"You know I will."
Picturing the styling photos I had reviewed countless times, I brushed all her hair over just forward of her left shoulder, making sure all the flyaways were in check. She held perfectly still and I wondered what was going through her mind at this instant. Was her face an expression of dread or of trust. I didn't want to look in case it was the wrong expression, knowing it would stop me in my tracks.
Then I started gently twisting the whole mass away from her face until it was ready to coil back on itself. I then took it by the end and lifted it straight up behind her head. It was about 1 1/2 feet longer than the model in the pictures I studied. I then folded it in half and placed it against the back of her head where the roll was supposed to go, but it was so long it wouldn't all fit there. I tried folding it over again but some hairs started wiggling out and soon I just dropped it all.
Helen reassured me.
"Not too easy huh? Take your time, I'm sure you'll manage."
I remembered some pictures where the roll went much higher up than others. Maybe that would work so I wouldn't have to fold the hair more than once. I repeated the procedure again, this time laying the section down seeing how high it would go. It fell almost all the way to the front hairline. This french twist would run the total length of her head. Actually I kind of liked the thought because I felt that look was even more exotic than the simple twist at the nape of the neck.
I slowly and carefully started
rolling the hair, and started inserting some pins to help hold things in
place. Much to my amazement it was actually working and the correct
look was starting to form. Helen must have noticed too.
"Where did you learn to do this?"
"I looked it up on the internet."
"So you've never done this before?!"
"No. You know all the experience I have with hair. It's all with yours."
Slowly I continued working on it. The toughest part was getting the pins to stay, but the texture of the waves really helped.
"Is it going to work?"
"I think so." Indeed I did, but the finished look was just a bit rough. If I could put a layer of hairspray on it to smooth it all down it would be almost perfect. But Helen never put hairspray on anything but her bangs, and even then grimaced as she did. I put in another series of pins, probably overkill, to make sure it wouldn't fall. Then I walked around in front of her taking in how it looked. Her eyes were looking up and to the sides trying to see it. She had a hint of a smile.
"Well, how does it look? Are you done?"
She was smiling. That
gave me the courage to say it. "It needs a layer of hair spray to
hold it all in place. Is that OK?" I closed my eyes fearing
"Sure. I was going to wash it tonight anyway after you left."
"Really! I thought you hated the stuff."
"I don't like how it feels in my hair if that's what you mean. But I buy stuff that won't damage my hair so it really is all right."
"I'm going to have to use a fair amount."
"It will feel kind of gross.."
"I know. Just do it!"
Wow. She never ceased to surprise me. I walked to her bathroom and picked up the can. It was only a 'gentle hold' spray so I figured it would take quite a bit to have any effect. I walked behind her and positioned the bottle. She shielded her eyes and face with her hands. "OK, here we go."
The spray blasted out almost
denting the hair on impact. Its wetness turning the brown/auburn
hair a darker brown. I quickly made a lap of her entire head.
It was fun. I made a second run with it just for kicks, marveling
at how dark and moist it was all becoming. The mist and scent of
the spray was thick in the air, almost gagging us.
"Do you think you've used enough?!" It was clear I had pushed the limits almost too far.
"Yeah. Sorry if that seemed excessive. I didn't want it falling down."
"Can I look at it?"
"Let me just quickly run a brush over it." I gently smoothed it out, locking the surface strands against each other. No flyaways remained. I stood back and admired my work. It looked really good if I say so myself. It probably wouldn't hold up to a spin on the dance floor, but should work for the photos. The spray was nearly dry now and I was worried the stiff texture of her hair would alarm Helen.
"OK, I'm done."
She stood up and almost skipped
to the bedroom, anxious to see herself in her large full length mirror.
I couldn't see her and could only hear her reaction.
"Wow, you did a really good job! I may ask you to do this again sometime." The very thought that she'd want me to do it again quickly brought me to full arousal. I couldn't believe how exciting this was all becoming. She walked back towards me gently patting it with her hands. "Do you think you used enough hair spray?! It feels like plastic."
"I'm sorry. I probably used too much and..."
"Forget it. I'm just giving you a hard time." (She wouldn't believe how hard!) "So let's take these pictures."
The rest of the shoot was wonderful. I couldn't believe how great she looked with her hair up. Not that she didn't look great with it down, but seeing her look different was tremendously captivating to me. It made me want to see her in other looks.
After we finished I asked
her if she wanted me to take her hair down. She declined, saying
she'd keep it up until she showered later that evening. She remarked
that it was much more comfortable than she anticipated, and also much sturdier.
All I knew is she looked stunning with it up, even after she removed her
makeup and was back into baggy shirt and shorts. I wondered if I
would ever see her with her hair up again.
"We're not going to be able to do this again for a while. My weekends are pretty full for the next month." While this comment disappointed me a bit it also excited me. She actually wanted to do this again. I took a matter-of-fact attitude.
"What should we do next time my dear?"
"I don't know. Look around and get some ideas, then show them to me."
"Is it OK to put your hair up again?"
"Of course. Whatever you want."
I left feeling better than I had in months. I hadn't been this excited about anything in years.
Those two roles of film came out fantastic. Helen even asked for a duplicate set, which I consider a huge personal victory.
We actually didn't have another
photo session for several months. My weekend schedule got crazy but
hers even more so. Helen was running for political office and weekends
were speeches, fundraisers and campaigning. Those months did offer
a pleasant surprise. One night she called me asking if I could put
her hair up again in that french twist for a formal dinner they were having
that weekend. I said I'd try and we planned for the early afternoon
giving her time to make other plans if I couldn't do it. I asked
her to have it real wavy again to help with the style, and when I showed
up she again was sporting her triple french braid, with her bangs blended
back. She also shocked me by purchasing a new bottle of hair spray,
"Extra-Strong Hold", of her usual brand. I just looked at her.
"I can't afford it to fall down. That would be quite the scene."
I think I was more nervous
this time than last, knowing this time it would have to look good and hold
up to public scrutiny, including the media. I asked her why she didn't
pay to get it done, to which she replied "I only trust you." That
made me feel real good and I focused hard, duplicating if not bettering
my earlier effort. I picked up the hair spray cannister. "How much
of this stuff do you want me to use? As much as last time?"
"Oh, God no! Much more! I don't care what it feels like. It has to stay put for the evening."
I was stunned and thrilled by the response. It was fun wielding a can of hair spray. I did as she asked and plastered it. It was soon several shades darker from the product. I brushed it in and applied a final coat. It looked marvelous. It felt like a helmet, but it looked marvelous. I guess it's better to look good than feel good at these functions. Helen seemed slightly taken aback upon feeling her stiff head of hair, but then smiled at me. "I guess I did ask for this didn't I?" She checked her look in the mirror and was totally pleased.
That evening went very well and when I saw her on the news that night and the paper the next morning (I cut out the picture and saved it) I couldn't have been more proud. She called me the next day again thanking me, and over the next two months had me duplicate the style three more times for various functions. Each time I got more proficient, and each time she had me mercilessly smear it with hairspray. Either she didn't trust it to hold or she was liking the feel of stiff hair. I know I sure enjoyed giving it to her.
The good news was Helen won the election. Won is a polite thing to say. She slaughtered her opponent. The bad news was that meant she would be moving to Washington and would no longer be my neighbor. That was some months away but a day I was dreading.
She was the one who brought
up the photo sessions again, saying we only had so much time so we better
make the most of them.
"Am I crazy or are you liking these as much as I am?"
"Yes, you're crazy but I'm having a blast. I really like being the center of attention and seeing what you will come up with."
By now I had no inhibitions and saw no reason to hold things back.
"I have been visioning many possibilities, though I'm not sure you'd agree to any of them."
She just smiled at me. "Try me"
"I'd like to photograph you in jeans and a tight T-shirt, with your hair perfectly straight."
She showed no expression. For some reason she just didn't want to be seen with straight hair, despite it being in style. "Anything else?"
"I'd like to photograph you in a negligee, with your hair poofed out like a huge lions mane." I didn't figure she would ever go for that. Negligee shots were very personal, and poofing her hair wouldn't be easy. That would require teasing and lots of hairspray. She would probably go for the hairspray, but the teasing...?
"OK, I think I can envision that. It would be very erotic."
"You'd do that?"
"You realize your hair would have to be teased and stuff to look like a mane?" She paused for a brief instant. I figured with teasing, especially with such long hair, that I had definitely found a sensitive area.
"I know. It would be really different."
"I didn't think you'd ever teased your hair."
"I haven't. But doing it this once would be fine. It's not like I'm doing it every day. What else would you like to do?"
I'd like to see you dressed totally sexy with a head full of curls.
She started giggling. "I see you've thought about all this haven't you?"
"A little I guess."
"More than a little. Give me some time to think about the other ones, but we can do the negligee one next week. If you want my hair like a lions mane, then you'll have to figure out how to do it."
When I left that night I was almost running to the computer, anxious to search for styling tips on teasing hair without damaging it. I knew if I did damage it there was no way any of my other fantasies would be realized. But I also didn't want to ruin this chance by being too conservative. It was an opportunity which certainly would never come again.
My research did help but also raised questions. I did manage to find a lions mane type hairstyle on one model with hair nearly as long as Helen. I printed it out but worried about showing it to Helen in fear of scaring her out of the session. I decided to bring it with me to the shoot just in case she wanted a visual precursor of what I was trying to do. I wouldn't volunteer it though. I learned how to tease hair from numerous sources, but got mixed reviews on what to use. Even chat room experts couldn't agree. I got it narrowed down to a teasing comb, wide tooth comb, pick, and small brush. I went to the store and bought one of each. Unfortunately the one thing no one shared was how to un-tease hair with any more advice then 'gently and patiently.'
That Saturday as I went to her house Helen was out in the garden watering her plants. Her hair was all down, wavy as usual but allowed to fall freely. She was wearing jeans and a loose fitting T-shirt that still managed to show her great figure. She looked remarkable and I had to catch my breath. She was talking to another neighbor and just casually smiled as she greeted me and told me to go on in and get set up. If she was even remotely nervous it wasn't showing. I was both tremendously excited and shaking already.
She was still outside by the
time I was set up, and I began to fear something had come up that would
cancel the whole thing. But soon she came bounding in apologizing
for the delay.
"I lost track of time. Do you mind if I grab a quick bite to eat?"
"Go right ahead."
"Do you want anything?"
I couldn't imagine eating right now. My stomach was so nervous I'd never keep anything down. "No thanks, I'm full."
As she snacked on a sandwich
she noted the four teasing tools on the table, stopping to pick up the
teasing comb. I feared that at this moment of truth she would back
"Can you explain again what you want to do to my hair?" I couldn't tell if this was fear or just her being inquisitive. It was the first time she wanted to know what I was planning before doing it.
"I have a picture if you want to see it."
I showed her the picture from the internet. My hand was visibly shaking as I passed it to her. She stopped chewing when she saw it, and one hand instinctively touched her hair. It was obviously more extreme than she had planned.
"You really think you can do this to my hair?"
"I'm willing to try if you'll let me. If you don't want to do this just say so." Some of me was now hoping she'd back out, saving me the potential of failure.
"It's going to take a lot of ratting and hairspray isn't it?"
"Yes." The moments of silence were thick with the uncertainty of her response.
She handed the picture back to me very casually. "Well OK, but don't be disappointed if it doesn't end up like this. Her hair isn't quite as long as mine, and hers was done by a professional." She turned and took her finished dishes to the kitchen without even a hint of regret. She was going to let me live out this extreme fantasy. My heart was beating so hard now it almost hurt.
"Give me about 30 minutes to change and do my makeup. You can watch some T.V. if you want." She disappeared into the back of the house. I took her advice as I definitely needed something to calm my nerves. There was a good baseball game on featuring my favorite team, the Red Sox, so I settled in to her couch trying to relax.
When Helen came out in the
clingy, skimpy black negligee (it was my favorite one from the brief period
we dated) with perfect makeup and her hair flowing all around her I had
to catch my breath.
"Oh my God you look so good."
She smiled and sat at my feet,
handing me a hairbrush as she looked at the ballgame. "Who's winning?"
I instinctively started brushing her hair. We sat there for about
10 minutes, enjoying the moment. Then she stood up. "Come on,
time for you to poof my hair."
"I'd like to take some pictures just like you are now first, if that's OK with you?"
She looked at the display of poses I had in mind and stepped center stage in front of my camera. We took a complete roll of pictures that was filled with as much mutual love and respect as I could handle. I was sweating and blushing by the end. She stood, smiled at me, gently touched my shoulder and tenderly kissed me on the cheek, then headed to the kitchen to get a water-bottle (something she always carried with her in her home). She knew exactly the effect she had on me and was milking it for all it was worth. She sat down next to the dining room table with all the hair utensils, threw her hair over the back of the chair and confidently stated "OK, tease me."
I went back to her bathroom
and snagged the can of strong hair spray, then walked behind her.
I put the photo on the table in plain view of both of us. Then I
started brushing her hair once again, smoothing out the tangles.
It seemed sort of meaningless since I was about to induce numerous tangles
to her wonderful tresses.
"Remember to tell me if I hurt you."
"Don't worry about it. I trust you."
Every single photo sequence or piece of information I received said start at the front center and work front to back. The most densely packed area needed to be the roots, and the hairspray would really help after the teasing was done. So I planned to aggressively go after the roots, but gently tease out the next several inches and leave the bottom half unteased if possible. It would be easier to go back over and add more than run the risk of too much. I looked straight down on the top of her head at the wonderfully smooth mane and gave myself a pep talk to gather the courage to really do this.
I reached over and picked up the pick. It has the widest set teeth and I figured would be the easiest to undo of the four tools. If I could do the job with this I wouldn't even try the others. My fingers fumbled as they sorted out a descent sized portion of hair. But when I started backcombing it little to nothing happened. So next I tried the wide tooth comb. A few hairs started back on themselves but not enough to really make any difference. I picked up the teasing comb next, and this made a huge difference. However the thin, flimsy teeth really didn't handle the amount of hair, so I turned to the brush. I didn't know what I would do if this didn't work, but I quickly found I didn't have to worry about that. The brush did the trick as soon the hair was packing back in on itself. I discovered that teasing hair is really quite easy and actually a lot of fun. It also was producing quite a mess and I wondered how this would ever get undone.
"So is it getting all poofy?"
"I think so. It's a little to early to tell."
I teased the 5 inches or so closest to the scalp fairly heavily (at least in my judgment) then lightly continued out down the strand. Comparing it to the photo was difficult since this was just the beginning. Satisfied, I threw the section forward of her face and it arched over in front of her. As I separated out another section, she touched the first, inspecting it curiously. She never touched the heavily teased part closest to the scalp so it didn't alarm her at all. I still held my breath fearing she would ask me to stop. I desperately wanted to see her in the finished look. When she put it down and just started drinking from her water bottle again, I felt an adrenalin surge knowing I was cleared to continue.
The next section worked even better than the first. Despite its length the roots still lifted several inches up before arching back towards the ground. This section was tossed over the next as I moved to the front left. I walked around in front of Helen and watched her eyes nervously trying to see everything I was doing.
"You've never teased you hair
"Not even a little?"
Her willingness to let me do this still puzzled me. As I started in on the side, packing it in towards the scalp, I could see a tenseness in her eyes that wasn't in her voice. I tried to focus on my task and not look at her concern. When I finished with the strand I was happy to see it was all starting to look like the photo. The section behind it was quickly done, and then the right side soon matched the left. I walked behind her again to finish the crown, and then started in on the back.
"I didn't realize you'd have
to do the back to."
"I probably don't have to. (To get it to match the picture I really believed I did) Do you want me to stop?"
"No. You've gone this far. You might as well do it all."
Clearly this was stressing her a bit. I knew if it was difficult to brush out or damaged her hair at all this would be the end of my hair fantasies with her. I slowed down a bit treasuring every moment. I didn't let up on the back any. If this were the furthest I would go, I wasn't going to short-change myself. Finally I put down the brush as the back was done. I reached forward under the hair (The new texture felt very exhilarating against my hands and arms) and flipped it all back. The amount of mass really turned me on, but it was clearly obvious it was only a fraction the size of the picture. I still had a long ways to go. I was sure Helen expected me to be done.
"So do I look like a lioness?"
she asked as I walked around in front of her checking the look. "It's
"You mean you have to tease it MORE?!" Now she was getting edgy.
"I don't think so. Remember I haven't used hair spray yet." I was trying to calm her, but guessed quite a bit more teasing would be needed. I hoped the hairspray would help more that expected.
"If you have a choice between more spray or more teasing, then use the spray."
Now it was clear. She'd
had enough teasing and politely was asking for me to stop.
I picked up the spray bottle, and used the pick to lift a section of the hair. "You may want to cover you face again. She place her hands over her tightly shut eyes. Holding it up high I nailed it with spray, then continued to hold it up as it dried rapidly. When I let it go I was pleased at how much added volume it produced. Optimistic, I repeated the process over and over. The spray more than surpassed my expectations, and soon the top and sides almost surpassed the photo. However the lower half of the hair, which I hadn't backcombed at all, looked kind of limp and stringy regardless of what I did with the spray. From the shoulders up the effect was startling though. Her hair was very sticky when I finally put the spray down, but looking real good. The lower half looked unfinished, but I didn't want to tease any more as that was clearly against her wishes.
Her big eyes peered up at me as I stood in front of her inspecting my work.
"I think I am done."
"Can I go look at it?"
"Be my guest."
She walked quickly to her
full length mirror. Her hands touched the stiff creation on the way.
"Ooh it really feels stiff." She finally saw it. "Wow, you
really did it! This is amazing!" She came out and smiled at
me as she looked at the picture on the table to compare. I couldn't
believe how totally different she looked. She went back to the mirror.
For some reason I followed her, watching her compare the bottom half of
her length to the photo.
"The top part looks perfect, but the bottom looks a little flat."
"I didn't tease that part at all. Only the top half."
She felt the sticky mass again. "Is it too late to do the bottom half so it matches the top?"
"I don't think so. (My heart was surging again. She never ceased to amaze me) I will have to tease it more though."
"I know. That's all right. We're too close to the picture to stop now. Go ahead and finish the job." With that she plopped back in the chair and took another sip of her water.
I picked up the pick again, seeing if that would do the job. It turned out, with the hair already sticky, to be more than efficient enough to fluff up the lower sections. Minutes later the bottom half was blending neatly with the top, and we basically matched the picture. I started to reach for the spray bottle again, then stopped.
"Should I spray it again?"
"It's up to you. It's so stiff now any more won't bother me."
I reached for the spray and did a thorough once over one more time. It was difficult in some places but did make a difference. Then I gently backcombed different spots aiming for perfection. When I finally stepped away the result almost left me breathless. She was actually a little bigger than the photo, and the bulge in my pants was extreme. I set the styling tools down.
She rushed back to look.
"It's....amazing. I love it!" Now that was a response I was
unprepared for. I felt myself coming in my pants and had to quickly
excuse myself to the restroom. Fortunately I was wearing black jeans.
My heart was pounding as I cleaned myself up. When I returned there
she was, in the black negligee ready for my camera looking every bit the
object of my fantasies. I could feel myself growing again rapidly.
It was almost painful. I had to sit down a moment.
She just looked at me with a Mona Lisa smile. "What?"
"You can't believe how incredible you look right now to me. Thank you for letting me do this."
"I almost called you the other day to cancel. But now that we did it I'm actually really enjoying this. I feel like a totally different person. I'll probably never do anything like this again, but I'm glad I got to experience it once. Now take my picture."
At that we had tremendous fun playing with all the possibilities of this seductive look. She was very much the temptress, and much to my delight I was able to capture it vividly on film. I wish I had a video of the whole transformation process but carry the memory vividly in my mind, remembering well looking down on that first section as I started backcombing. What a great session that was.
By the time the last pictures clicked I was totally enamored with her look and had no desire to leave, knowing I'd never again see her looking this way.
I hugged her tight, my hands
slipping under the huge, stiff mass of hair relishing the distinct feel
of it. She hugged me tight in return, neither of us showing any inclination
of letting go. After what seemed an eternity holding one another
I pulled away a bit and saw her crying.
"Are you OK?"
She smiled and wiped her face. "I'm sorry. I'm kind of thinking ahead at how I'll be moving soon. It's going to be what I want but I'm going to miss times like this, and I'm going to miss you."
I held her tight. "I'm going to miss you too." Somehow the two of use just kept holding on to each other. I started touching her hair again, taking in the totally foreign texture. Suddenly I felt her hands running through my short hair. Then they started running over the front of my shirt, then under my shirt. I backed away from her a bit and looked down at her unbuttoning my shirt, totally surprised at what was happening. The last time we had been in bed together was over 5 years ago.
After my shirt was unbuttoned and on the floor she busily undid my pants, and soon they joined my shirt. My underwear was still damp from my previous uncontrolled moments, and bulging from the current pressure. She smiled knowingly as she stroked me through the material.
Without a word she led me to her bedroom and pushed me down onto the bed. I lie on my back looking up at this magnificent vision as she slowly slid the straps over her shoulder and let the garment fall to the floor, revealing her well-toned, ample body surrounded by the wild mass I had created. We had, with her being the aggressor, the most intense sexual experience I'd ever had. It wasn't just sex. There was genuine love and respect and caring. Afterwards we just lie and gave each other endless little kisses all over our bodies.
Finally she got up and put on her slip again. She checked her look again in the mirror, spending ample time touching the stiff, huge mass of tangles I had produced. She was tossing it side to side, drawing it over one shoulder, and tossing it all around. I was about to apologize for any damage I might have caused, and for putting her through the long untangling process that lie ahead of her.
She smiled at me holding her
hair. "I can't believe how much I like this. It's so much....fun."
She started throwing it up like she was trying to make it bigger.
Then she unexpectedly jumped back on the bed, her face inches from mine,
her hair enveloping me like a web. She giggled and sat up.
"So what are we going to do next week? Can we do something wild like this again?" She started running her hands down it's length.
"You may want to hold off on that thought until you see if you can untangle it first."
"Don't worry, if there is one thing you learn about having long hair it's how to deal with tangles. Even ones this bad. I'll just use lots of conditioner and patience."
"Well, I was hoping to take pictures of you with straight hair and with curls."
She sat up pondering things. "I really don't want a picture with straight hair. I just don't think I look good like that. You're welcome to try and curl it though. It's just that I don't even own curlers, so you'll have to do it with a curling iron. Would that work?"
I figured I'd test my luck
on the internet again gathering advice. "I guess it would."
"If I recall you wanted me dressed very sexy." I nodded my head. "I can arrange that" she said with a knowing look. I couldn't wait
Soon I found myself dressed and heading out the door. I gave her one last hug, committing the look and feel of her tremendous mane to memory. I went home spent but incredibly happy.
We played phone tag the next day, me leaving a thank you message hoping her hair had come through the ordeal all right, and her also thanking me and reassuring me that her hair not only survived but untangled much easier than she anticipated with no signs of damage.
When I showed her the pictures
that Tuesday night she was fresh from the shower and was combing out her
hair. It looked so much longer since it was wet with no waves. I
finished the detangling process for her as she very slowly and ambitiously
reviewed the photos.
"I really looked good didn't I?" It was rare of her to compliment herself.
"You looked awesome."
"Can you get me a set of these too?"
"They're yours. I've got a duplicate set at home." She gave me a quick peck on the lips. Then she asked me to give her a quick trim. I did, taking off a little less than an inch. The energy between the two of us was so great and wonderful as I combed the hair down just past her bottom. What a wonderful bottom that was!
When I was done she went to her full length mirror, as usual, to make sure I trimmed enough for her. I had. I noted that this was the closest I'd ever get to seeing her with straight hair. As she came out I asked "How come you don't think you look good with straight hair?"
"I don't know. I just
don't think I do." I said nothing. The moment of silence lasted
a while. "You really want to see what I look like with straight hair
"I tell you what. I won't let you take pictures of it, but if you want you can go get your blowdryer and come back and straighten it to your hearts delight."
I didn't need another invitation
and ran home. Soon I was panting on her doorstep armed with the dryer.
Soon she was once again in that dining room chair, sucking at her water
bottle as the dryer worked at her substantial tresses. It took far
longer than I expected but I enjoyed every second. With a low, cool
setting I put the finishing touches on, including curling under the ends
ever so subtly. It was full and sleek and shiny and marvelous.
I thought she looked like a goddess. I couldn't believe she didn't
like how she looked. The tight bulge in my pants agreed.
"You are finished my dear."
She touched her hair, a little stunned at the feel, then went to her mirror. She said nothing but strolled back to me with it all draped over one shoulder.
"You really don't like how
it looks straight?!" My heart was racing.
"I thought I didn't. But now I'm not so sure. It feels so soft and moves real nicely. It also looks a lot longer."
I reached out cautiously and touched it, treasuring the feel. "Thank you for letting me see you like this."
"You're welcome." She placed my hand once more on her hair, which also was just over her breast. "Make love to me again."
I didn't leave her house until the next morning. We didn't sleep much but slept well from absolute physical exhaustion. I considered it a personal victory as she left to work with her hair stick straight, rather than disguising it in a braid.
The internet gave me a little advice on curling. It was suggested to use a spray on the hair prior to using the curling iron to encourage hold, and I found a bottle at the local beauty supply. I was becoming quite familiar with the inside of that store. The clerk assured me it would do the job regardless of how long the hair was. I just had to make sure I used enough, and not to try to curl too much at once. I wondered if the curls were going to come out all stiff as a result.
When I arrived that Saturday she was already dressed in a killer deep green dress that was tight in all the right places, very low cut showing ample bosom, and slit very, very high on one side. My eyes were fixated on her breasts. She grabbed them and wiggled them a bit. "Push up bra. Uncomfortable as hell but does the trick don't you think?" I nodded enthusiastically. She laughed as she opened the door. "Come on in."
She unbraided her hair and started brushing it out. Her makeup was done to, and looked fabulous and exotic. She held her hair out to me. "Do you really think you can curl all this?" I took the curling spray out of the bag and showed it to her. "I've been told this stuff really helps." She studied it for a while, reading the list of ingredients confirming that it would do no harm. Then she went and brought out her curling iron, already warmed up in the bathroom, and plugged it in next to the dining room chair. She eagerly sat down and looked at me. "I've been looking forward to this all week." She took the words right out of my mouth, which made me even happier knowing this was a mutually anticipated event.
I separated out a very small section of hair. I wasn't going to make the mistake of rolling too much up at a time. Then I hit it with an ample amount of the spray, leaving the tresses quite damp. I thought I had been far too skimpy with the amount of hair, but by the time the entire length was rolled in the iron I discovered I had guessed correctly. Any more probably would have been too much. At this rate though it would take a good amount of time to curl it all. The damp product meeting the hot iron resulted in a sizzling noise as the hair was rolled up. In less than a minute the hair was dry and feeling very warm. I gently unwound it but didn't let it fall. Instead I pinned it up still in a roll so it could cool (another piece of advice from a chat room). I couldn't tell how curly it would end up, and figured best case scenario would be a nice curl on the last foot or so of her nearly 3 feet of mane. It took over an hour to curl it all, and by the time the last curls were pinned up the first were more than cooled off. I wondered if I should hit the whole thing with a layer of hairspray for reassurance, but decided not to risk doing anything that would potentially counter the effect of the curling spray. When I finished pinning up the last section Helen got up to see what she looked like in her mirror. She had never even had her hair up in curlers before. How a woman could have so much hair for so long and never succumb to the urge to try different looks was beyond me. If the roles were reversed I probably would have destroyed it by trying too many looks. To me the ability to substantially change your look is one of the wonderful things about women with long hair. Then again, that's probably why she still HAD long hair.
She came back to me and sat
back down. "I can't believe you had the patience to do this.
I never could do this myself."
I couldn't believe I was still aroused so intensely for so long. I checked the curls making sure all were cool. I looked at the hair spray bottle again but decided to pass on it. I started at the lower back and gently slid the pin out and watched the curl unravel. Much to my pleasant surprise the product worked beautifully. The curl was only a bit stiff, but held from root to end. The first foot or so was a loose curl, but the last 50% was a tightly packed spiral almost fitting a Southern Belle.
"So am I curly."
"Yeah, so far."
She giggled with enthusiasm.
I slowly and cautiously took
down curl after curl, all with similar results. They reached only
down to the middle of her back. Helen never saw one until the front
section were undone and fell forward of her face. Her eyes and smile
showed brightly as she looked at the tight loops of hair. When the
last pin was out the finished bulk was more than I could have asked.
She got up to look at it and came bounding back to me, hugging me tight.
"Ooh you did great! Are you going to brush it out now?"
"I figured I'd take some pictures like this first before I brush it out." And we did. The shots were lots of fun, including some where we pinned the curls up so her hair barely passed her shoulders, or was gathered in a huge pile bigger than any bouffant on the back of her head. We were having way too much fun. Finally I gently brushed out the curls which resulted in a look of giant waves, especially towards the ends. Once the brushing was finished she again ran to see herself. She came back looking a little disappointed.
"I was hoping it was going to be a little fuller on top and at the sides."
"You have a lot of length. It's going to weigh it down."
"I suppose." She went back to the full length mirror again. "It looks like you're just going to have to tease it some more. I want it poofy all over."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. She WANTED me to tease it again. "Well, OK if you want."
She came out with the hair
spray and teasing tools I left since the last shoot, setting them on the
table. "Well, I want." She sat down and flipped her hair back.
I teased her hair again, though not as extreme as the first time. The finished look was pure Hollywood glamour and very sexy. A thin layer of hair spray locked it all in place. The picture taking time went much too fast, as did the evening filled with passionate lovemaking. In the morning she broke the bad news to me.
"This is probably going to be the last time we do this. Next weekend I've got to go up looking for apartments until I can find a house, and then the next weekend I start the moving process. Thank you for making these past months so great."
I was heartbroken but knew this time was coming anyway. "Thank you" was all I could say, then I held her tight stroking the still slightly stiff curls with my hand.
That was the last photo shoot, and two weeks later she was gone. She was so busy we never made love again, though I did get to brush her hair out one last time before she left.
That was three years ago.
We've lost touch over the years, with only brief letters in our Christmas
cards filling us in about our lives. I haven't seen her photo anywhere,
which in politics can also be a good thing. It means she's not involved
in anything bad. But I wonder how she is, what she looks like, and
if she still has that long hair or if she now has a more 'politically correct'
look which I hope she hasn't given in to. But thanks to the gift
of that camera we shared some wonderful fun times, and I often relive them
as I thumb through my photo albums. I wonder if she does the same with
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