Headshave in Metro

 

The transition to Delhi was supposed to be about a fresh start and a demanding career, but the late-night commutes on the Metro whispered a different story. I have always lived with a hidden obsession: the headshave. To me, there is nothing more liberating than a perfectly bald head, yet I lacked the courage to face the world with one. I was paralyzed by the "what-ifs"—the fear of looking foolish or the judgment of strangers.

That fear hit a peak one night on the last train. I was doom-scrolling through head shaving videos, mesmerized by the glint of steel against skin, when I felt eyes on me. A woman about my age, sitting right next to me, had seen everything. I felt exposed, my secret fetish laid bare. I fled the train early, heart hammering.

Fate, however, has a sense of humor. A few nights later, the same woman boarded. The train was packed, and the only empty seat was beside me. The silence was thick with my embarrassment until she pulled out her phone and began watching a headshave video herself. She wasn't mocking me; she was inviting me in.

The next night, the interaction turned electric. She sat beside me, her eyes locked onto mine. Without a word, she reached out and began running her fingers through my thick, dark hair.

"Nice hair," she whispered, her voice like silk. "But I know you don't like them."

The following night, the question finally came. "So, what do you say? Should we shave your head? I know you want it. Why hesitate?"

I couldn't find my voice, so I simply nodded. A flash of pure excitement lit up her face.

We went to her apartment, a space that felt like a sanctuary for my deepest desires. She produced a wooden box, a treasure chest of grooming. Inside were clippers, hand shears, and several gleaming straight razors. She explained that she had always been fascinated by the shaving process but had never found a willing subject.

"Let’s not waste time," I said, my pulse racing. "I want a straight razor finish."

She led me to the center of the room, where a plastic sheet was spread out. I sat on the stool, feeling the cool air on my neck. She began by pouring warm water over my scalp, the head shaving ritual beginning in earnest. As she prepared the blade, the sound of the metal snapping into place sent a shiver down my spine.

She stood before me, the scent of her perfume mixing with the shaving cream. She bent my head forward and pressed the cold steel of the straight razor against my crown. With one long, confident glide, she cleared a wide path. She picked up the clump of shaved hair, showed it to me with a triumphant smile, and let it flutter to the floor.

Stroke by stroke, the weight of my anxiety fell away with the hair. As she moved to the back of my head, she pulled me close, my face resting against her belly. The intimacy was overwhelming. As the shaving process continued, I began to kiss her through her clothes, a silent thank you for this liberation. She didn't pull away; she held me tighter, her soft palms buffing the newly exposed skin of my bald head.

By the time she finished, I was completely smooth, my scalp tingling and sensitive to every breath. We stayed like that for a long time—her admiring her handiwork, me reveling in my new identity.

The twist? We are getting married next month. Our relationship was forged in that first headshave, and it remains our most sacred ritual. We now have two or three sessions a week to keep me perfectly smooth. In fact, for our wedding, she hasn't requested a fancy tuxedo or a specific flower—she only has one requirement: I must walk down the aisle with a freshly buffed, mirror-shine bald head.

I think it’s going to be the best day of my life. What are your thoughts?

Time to shave my head again

 

It has been two months since I last shaved my head, and today, I felt the urge to go bald again. I woke up at my usual time and headed to the salon, but as luck would have it, it was closed.

Disappointed, I headed back home. As I reached my building, I saw Priya Auntie, who runs a local parlor, standing downstairs with some heavy bags. Being a good neighbor, I offered to help and carried her things up to her apartment. As I was about to leave, she insisted I stay for tea. I politely declined the tea but asked for a glass of water instead.

While I was drinking, she asked, "So, where were you off to so early in the morning?"

"I went to the salon, but it’s closed," I replied. "I’ll try again later."

She looked at me curiously. "The salon? Your hair isn't that long. Why do you need a haircut?"

I felt a bit awkward but told her the truth: "I wanted to shave my head."

She stared at me for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Bald! Don't you want to grow your hair out? Didn't you just shave it a few weeks ago?"

I was caught in a spot and didn't know what to say, but eventually, I admitted, "Yes, I did, but I just like the feeling of being bald. I wanted to get it done today, but since the salon was closed, you've been spared the sight of my shiny head!"

She laughed again and said, "Okay, do me a favor. Meet me at my parlor in an hour. I have some work for you." Like a good kid, I agreed and went home.

An hour passed quickly, and I headed to the parlor. Priya Auntie was just arriving to open up. She smiled when she saw me. "Right on time. Come on in."

Once inside, she turned on the lights and gestured to the stylist's chair. Without asking any questions, I sat down. She came over, ran her hand through my hair, and asked, "So, we're clearing this head? A full shave?"

I was a bit confused. "Yes, completely smooth. I want a shiny bald head."

"If a shave is all you want, I’ll do it myself," she said. "Shaving a head is much simpler than a haircut."

I hesitated. "Thanks, Auntie, but I can just go to the salon."

She wasn't having it. "Come on, it’s just a shave! You helped me out earlier, so let me do this for you. No more arguments—I'm shaving your head and that's that."

I figured the salon might still be closed anyway, so I agreed. "Okay, if you’re sure. Please, go ahead."

She gave me a wide smile. "I was going to shave it even if you hadn't agreed!" She then went to lock the front door. When I asked why, she teased, "The ladies from the society will start arriving soon. Do you want them to see you getting buzzed?"

"Definitely not!" I laughed.

She put a cape around my neck and began searching through a drawer. She pulled out a pair of clippers and set them down, but continued looking for something else. I felt a bit disappointed because I was hoping for a traditional straight-razor shave.

"Auntie, I was hoping for a razor shave," I admitted.

"I know, dear," she replied, still searching. "I'm looking for the razor." Finally, she found it—a beautiful, gleaming silver straight razor. She held it up and asked, "Ready to go bald?"

I nodded with a grin. She sprayed my hair with water, saying, "I usually use clippers for styling, but for you, I’ll use the razor. Trust me, I’ll give you such a perfect shave you won't believe it."

She loaded a fresh blade, applied liquid soap to my head, and began. She placed the razor right in the center of my scalp and started gliding it downward. I watched the hair fall onto the cape. Her hands were incredibly soft, and she moved with such precision and care that I could barely feel the blade.

"Look in the mirror," she said. I looked up to see the top of my head was completely smooth, while the sides still had hair—I looked like I had extreme male-pattern baldness!

"Looking good," I joked, bowing my head again. She moved to the back, her movements so smooth that it felt relaxing.

"Auntie, your hands are so steady," I remarked. "It feels great when you run your hand over the shaved skin."

She laughed and rubbed the smooth top of my head. "You have a good head shape for this. If it were up to me, I’d keep you bald all the time."

"Just give the word," I joked. "I'll show up whenever you want for a touch-up."

She chuckled, "I'm just teasing! I don't intend to keep you bald forever. But if you want, I can do this for you once or twice a year."

"I'm joking too," I said. "My mom would kill me if I stayed bald permanently!"

She finished shaving the back and sides until every bit of hair was gone. She used a brush to clear away the loose strands and then applied a mysterious green gel.

"What's this?" I asked.

"It helps the skin and softens the remaining stubble," she explained. "This is how you get an expert finish." She went over my head one last time with the razor, catching every tiny hair I didn't even know was there. My scalp felt smoother than it ever had at a regular salon.

Finally, she wiped my head down, massaged it with oil, and removed the cape. "Don't wash the oil off for two hours," she instructed. "And go out into the sun and send me a selfie of that shining head!"

I laughed, "Sure thing. And let me know if you need help with your bags again."

"Why? So you can get another free shave?" she teased, rubbing my head one last time.

I walked home in the sun, took a "selfie" of my glowing scalp, and sent it to her. She replied instantly: "So shiny! My hard work paid off."

When I got home, my mom stared at me. "Again? Why are you bald again?"

"I told you, it's for the dandruff treatment," I lied smoothly. "Besides, it's summer. Lots of people shave their heads."

She came over and rubbed my head. "Who did it this time? It’s much cleaner than before. It’s so smooth it looks like you never had hair to begin with! Go get freshened up."

"I have to wait," I said. "I've got 'medicine' on it."

As she walked away, I couldn't help but wonder what the experience would be like when I go back to see Auntie next month.