Telugu Headshave story

 

 

 Hi, na peru Seema. nenu mba chesthunnanu. ma intlo nenu ma chelli (Abhignya) btech 3rd year chaduvuthundhi, thammudu (Ravi 10th class) inka amma. memu vizag lo untam. nenu mba hyd lo hostel lo undi chaduvukutunna. nanna chanipoyi 4 years aythundhi. oche nela tho 4 years avthadhi, okaroju call amma call chesi next ,pmth holidays unte 10th ki ala intiki ra manam andharam uriki vellali ani anindhi ha sare ani 7th ki ticket book cheskoni intiki vellenu. intiki velli rest thiskoni evng samayamlo amma intiki ocheka kasepu matladukoni inka asalu endhuku rammani cheppev ani adigenu. andhukani amma adha cheppaledhu kadha niku manam 10th na tirupati ki velthunnam ani anindhi nenu normal ga ne anukunna chelli inka avna amma manam chala years ayyindhi kadha tirupati ki vellindhi ani anindhi, danitho amma ha avunu mi nanna garu unnappudu vellem adhi kuda Seema 10th lo unnappudu ani cheppindhi. naku baaga gurthu nenu last time tirupati ki vellinappudu nenu inka thammudu gundu cheyinchukunnam ani cheppi navvukunnam nenu ravi. amma inka ha avnu adhe mana last tirupati ki vellinapppudu ah tharvatha manam vellaledhu. e sari kuda adhe cheyabuthunnam kani e sari andharam gundu cheyinchukuntunnam ani anindhi. daniki chelli inka nenu enti amma ila gundu anutunnav asal endhuku amma ila antunnav ani chelli edsindhi btech inka avvaledhu ippudu gundu antav enti gundu lo clg ki ela vellali nenu gundu cheyinchukonu ani anindhi, dnaiki amma thappu abhi idhi nanna garidhi mokku undipoyindhi. monna athayya garu gurthuchesevaraku naku kuda gurthu raledhu ani amma cheppindhi. nenu inka nanna mokku enti amma ani adigenu daniki amma avnu ra nanna okasari natho kuda annaru ila tirupati ki velli manam andharam thalanilalu idham ani mokkukunnanu andharam bagunnam kadha ippudu ani nenu kuda sare aythe ani anukunna inka appudu athayya ki kuda chepperu mi nanna kani ah tharvatha nanna leru inka nenu kuda marchipoya monna athayya mokku dhi gurthuchesevaraku gurthu raledhu thalli ani amma cheppindhi. inka nenu emi analeka sare aythe chesedhi em undhi ani anukunna inka ravi baaga navvi saripoyindhi e sari nadhi Seema akka dhe aythe kaddhu andharidhi gunde ani abhi ni ekkiristha unnadu. ah roju sayantram andharam baytaki velli restaurant lo dinner chesi intiki osthunnappudu amma ni adigenu mari tickets inka akkada stay dhi ela amma ani daniki amma tickets already sathya babai book cheseru rooms dhi akkada okari phn number icheru akkadiki velleka call cheyali nuvvu ani annaru nenu sare ani intiki ochem. 10th na babai tickets book chesina prakaram ga memmu station ki velli tirupati ki start ayyem. tirupati ki podhunne 6 ki reach ayyemu. tirupati konda paiki bus lo ne vellipoyem 8:30 ki ala konda paiki reach ayyem. inka babai ichina contact person ki call chesi room gurinchi matladem inka athanu oka place cheppi akkada wait cheyandi osthunna ani chepperu memu akkada 9:30 varaku wait chesthe oka athanu ochi amma tho matladi keys inka konni papers ichedu. inka athanu vellipoye samayamlo athanu amma thalanilalu iche mokku undha evarikaina? room deggerake managali ni pampinchana ani adigeru? daniki amma ha mokku undhi kani room deggeriki odhu le memu kalyanakatta ki velli samarpinchukuntam ani anindhi. sare ani athanu vellipoyedu inka abhi amma tho endhukamma ala annav room deggerike aythe baguntadhi kadha ala andhari mundhu chepinchukodam kodhiga ibandhi ani oppinchindhi nenu kuda abhi ki support ga ravadam tho amma malli athaniki phn chesi mangali ni pampinchandi room deggeriki ani cheppi ohone cut chesindhi. inka memu room ki velli kastha relax avtha unnam. oka 1hour lo door bell ring ayyindhi nenu door open chesi chusthe oka athanu nunchoni unnadu, nenu inka athanitho evaru andi evar kavali ani annanu daniki athanu mangali ni room ki pampamani chepperu anta kadha ah mangali ni nene ani annadu nenu inka athanini lopaliki pilichi amma ki cheppenu. amma mangali tho atu kurchondi ani cheppi lopaliki vellindhi. mangali door ki konchem duram ga kurchoni thana bag lo nunchi kathera razor balde duvvena inka konni samanlu thisi pakkana pettukoni amma konchem water thiskoni osthara ani cheppedu. amma nannu thisellamani cheppi ravi ni velli kurchomani cheppindhi. ravi inka velli kurchunnadu thana shirt thiseyamani abhi ante sare ani shirt thisesi kurchunnadu. nenu velli water ichi pakkane nunchoni unnanu ravi na vaipu chusi navvedu nenu kuda chinna smile ichi chustha unna. mangali ravi thala ni mundhuku onchi razor tho gikadam modaletteru, oka 3 nimishallo ravi thala motham gundu aypoyindhi. inka ravi lesi na vaipu ochedu nenu vadi bujala paina thala paina antukunna juttu ni thisthu unna inka mangali ravi kurchunna place motham juttu tho undadam tho ah juttu ni side jaripi amma tho tharvatha evaramma ani adigedu, amma abhi vaipu chusi velli kurcho ani anindhi kani abhi na vaipu chusi nu vellava first ani cheppindhi, nenu sare ani mangali mundhu kurchunna mangali mudu katherla ani adige lope amma andhariki gunde ani cheppindhi inka appatike chethilo unna katherulu pakkana petti na juttu ni rondu bagalu chesi rubber bands tho mudi esedu. inka water tho massage cheyadam start chesedu oka 2 minutes ki water dropplets motham na thala pai nundi na mokalla pai padtha unnay nenu kallu thuduchukoni unna inka mangali thana razor thiskoni blade marchi na thala paina petti govindha anuko amma ani annadu nenu govindha ani anukunna inka oka sound sshhrrkkk sshhrrkkk sshhrrkkk ani ah razor strokes tho thala paina chala challaga anipinchindhi ala straight la oka line lo challaga anipinchindhi inka na thala ni left side ki thippi gekadam modalettedu kodhiga manta ga anipinchina kani chala challaga okesari anipinchindhi inka kodhisepatiki right side thala thippi razor tho strokes modalettedu oka 2 minutes lo ala na bujala paina motham juttu undi amma na juttu ni thisesi na thala paina cheyyi petti rudhuthu chavula deggera kodhiga hair migili poyindhi ani mangali tho cheppindhi mangali malli okasari gekadam moddalupetti gundu motham oka round razor tho strokes ichedu inka nenu lesi nunchunna ravi inka abhi na moham chusi navvi bagunnav gundu lo ani chepperu inthalo amma thana juttu ni thadupu koni mangali mundhu kurchundhi, inka mangali amma jada ni rondu bagaluga vibadhisi rubber bands petti thala ni konchem kindhaki bend chesedu. managali thana razor thiskoni gundu giyadam modalettedu. madhya nunchi kindhaki 3-4 strokes chesedu ala oka centre nunchi oka line lo juttu lekunda undhi. nidhanamga left side thala thippi razor tho atu itu goragadam tho juttu motham amma bujala paina left side padipoyindhi alane left side thippi strokes tho motham juttu clean ga gorigedu. inka amma gundu aypoyindhi ani mangali cheppi levandi ani annadu, amma nannu inka abhi ni okasari chudandi juttu motham thiseseda ani nenu inka ravi amma gundu rudhuthu chustha unnam inka abhi ni velli kurcho ani cheppem. abhi ma muggurini gundu lo chusi konchem dhairyam cheskoni santhosam ga mangali mundhu kurchundhi. amma abhi ni tension avvaku oka 5 nimishalle devudike isthunnav santhosham ga ivvu ani cheppindhi abhi inka kallu muskoni bayapadthu undhi inka mangali razor lo blade marchi juttu ni water tho thadipi baaga massage chesi inka razor thiskoni centre lo petti start chesthunna tension avvaku ani cheppedu sare ani anindhi kallu muskoni. inka mangali razor tho modati stroke gisedu inka ventane kodhiga shock la anipinchi thala ni side ki atu itu thippindhi mangali gundu cheyadam aapesedu, amma abhi ni kadhalaku malli gatlu padthay ani anindhi inka mangali slow ga gundu cheyadam start chesedu ala left side motham juttu motham kindha mokkala paina padi undhi inka mangali thalani right side ki thippedu right side juttu ni thiyadaniki, appude inka abhi thana eyes ni open chesi nannu chosindhi nenu thanani ala sagam gundu lo chusi navvenu abhi kuda navvi eyes close chesindhi inka mangali thana pani modalupetti oka 2 nimishallo right side kuda gisesedu. amma mangali ni motham inkosari goragandi ani cheppindhi sare amma ani abhi gundu ni motham malli razor tho strokes thisi aypoyindhi ani annadu inka abhi lesi juttu motham thana dress paina unnavi kindhaki esindhi. inka mangali motham naluguri juttu ni collect cheskoni oka pedha cover lo eskoni lesedu inka amma mangaliki 2000 ichi andhariki baga gundu giseru ani cheppi thanks ani cheppi pampinchindhi. inka andharam snanam chesi ready ayyi andhari gundu chuskuntu rudhukuntu aadukunnam. inka darsanam time ki start ayyem. darsanam ki 4 hrs pattindhi kani darsanam matram chala baaga jarigindhi. darsanam aypoyi room ki thirigi ochi next year kuda tirupati ki odham ani abhi cheppindhi. amma sare ani anindhi inka ravi next year kuda gundu cheskuntava ani annadu ha ani cheppindhi abhi. inka memu early morning lesi kindhaki start ayyi return aypoyem.

Headshave by lover

यह पिछली रात की बात है। मैं घर जा रहा था जब मुझे याद आया कि मुझे बाल कटवाने थे। तभी मैंने देखा सीमा की नाई की दुकान खुली थी। वह मेरी पड़ोसी भी थी। मैं उसकी दुकान में गया। वहाँ वह हमेशा की तरह खूबसूरत दीख थी। उसने मुस्कुरा कर मुझे अंदर बुलाया । मैंने भी उसी अंदाज में जवाब दिया और अंदर चला गया । फिर मैं जाकर कुर्सी पर बैठ गया। वह मेरे करीब आई और पूछा, और बताओ आज क्या करना है, शेव या बाल कटवाने है ? मैं आईने में देखते हुए बोला कि मैं कुछ नए लुक के बारे में सोच रहा था, क्या आप मेरी मदद कर सकते हैं? वह मेरे पीछे खड़ी हो गई और मेरे सिर को अपने हाथों के बीच पकड़ लिया, और बाएं और फिर दाएं मुड़ी। फिर उसने कहा कि एक लुक है, लेकिन हो सकता है मुझे वह पसंद न आए। मैंने उससे पूछा वह क्या है? उसने कहा टकले हो जाओ । मैं थोड़ा उलझन में पड गया , इसलिए मैंने उससे फिर पूछा, तुमने क्या कहा? उसने कहा तुम्हे एक बार टकला करवा लेना चाहिए । मैं थोड़ा घबराया हुआ था क्योंकि मैंने कभी अपना सिर नहीं मुंडवाया था , और मुझे नहीं पता था कि यह कैसा दिखूंगा। उसने फिर पूछा, तो तुम क्या कहते हो? मैंने कहा, अगर यह मैं टकला करवाके अच्छा नहीं देखा तो क्या होगा। उसने मुझे बताया कि उसे पता है कौनसा लुक किस पर अच्छा लगेगा । कुछ मिनट की हिचकिचाहट के बाद, मैं सहमत हो गया। उसने एक सफेद केप लिया और इसे मेरे चारों ओर लपेट दिया। फिर उसने मेरे सिर पर पानी छिड़कना शुरू कर दिया ताकि वे गीले हो जाएं। मैंने उससे पूछा कि क्या वह पहले मेरे बाल काटने वाली है। उसने जवाब दिया नहीं सीधे टकला करुँगी । फिर उसने एक उस्तरा लिया और मेरे सामने खडी होकर बोली टकला करवाने के बाद तुम्हारे बाल और भी अच्छे आयेंगे । फिर उसने उस्तरे पर पहले डेट्रोल से साफ किया और फिर इसमें नया आधा ब्लेड लोड करली । अब मेरा टकला होने का समय आगय था अब उसका उस्तरा मेरे सिर के ऊपर था। उसने धीरे से उस्तरे को मेरे सर उपपर से नीचे की ओर सरकाया। फिर दूसरा स्ट्रोक किया। जल्द ही मुझे टकले हुए जगह पर एक अजीब सी सनसनी महसूस होने लगी। मैं हवा को अपने टकले सिर को छूते और ठंडक महसूस कर सकता था। सीमा ने कहा, तो कैसा लग रहा है, क्या तुम्हें हवा और ठंडक महसूस हो रही है? मैंने फिर से अपना सिर हिलाया। वह हंसी और बाकी हिस्से को शेव करना जारी रखा। बाल जमीन पर गिर रहे थे और दुकान के चारों ओर रेजर की खरोंचने की आवाज आ रही थी। अब मैं पीछे से पूरी तरह टकला हो चुका था। अब सामने के हिस्से की बारी थी। वह अभी भी मेरे पीछे खड़ी थी। उसने मेरा सिर उठाया और उसी जगह पर उस्तरा रखा, जहां से उसने मेरे सिर के पिछले हिस्से को शेव किया था। रेजर को आगे की ओर धकेला। कुछ स्ट्रोक के बाद, बालों का एक बड़ा ढेर मेरे सिर पर से लुढ़क नीचे आ गिरा मैं अपने चिकने मुंडे सिर को देख रहा था । फिर उसने मेरे टकले सिर को रगड़कर मेरे सिर से मुंडे बालों को झाड़ दिया। फिर उसने हेयर ब्लोअर लिया और मेरे सिर पर गर्म हवा फूंकना शुरू कर दिया। मैंने उससे पूछा कि वह ऐसा क्यों कर रही है? मेरे सिर पर कोई बाल नहीं है। उसने कहा कि ये करने से तुम्हारे टकले के छेद खुल जाएंगे । फिर उसने थोड़ा तेल लिया और इसे मेरी टकले पर लगाना शुरू कर दिया। तेल मेरे टकले को औरभी चिकना कर रहा था और, उसके हाथ मेरे टकले पर बहुत तेज़ी से घूम रहे थे। वह एहसास लुभावनी था। फिर उसने शफद कपडा मुज पर से निकल दिया और कहा, मैंने तुमसे कहा था तुम टकले होकर बहुत सुंदर दिखोगे। मैंने जवाब दिया, हां यह अच्छा लग रहा है है। फिर उसने कहा कि अब जब मैं टकला हो गया हूं, तो वह मुझे टोपी पहने हुए नहीं देखना चाहती। मुझे अपने टकले को खुला ही रखना है घूमना है । मैंने हंसते हुए वह से चला गया । अगले दिन मौसम बहुत गर्म है , इसलिए मैंने टोपी पहनी और कुछ खरीदने चला गया। लेकिन, आज का दिन मेरे लिए इतना अच्छा नहीं था। मैंने देखा कि स्टोर में सीमा सैंडिंग मुझे गुस्से से घूर रही थी। मैं उसके पास गया और पूछा, क्या हुआ? उसने मुझे अनदेखा किया और आगे बढ़ गई। मैं उसके पीछे गया और उससे फिर पूछा, क्या हुआ? कम से कम मुझे तो बताओ। वह रुकी और मेरी तरफ देखा और बोली, मैंने तुमसे कहा था कि टोपी मत पहनो, फिर यह तुम्हारे सिर पर क्या कर रही है। मैंने उससे कहा कि आज बहुत गर्मी है, इसलिए मैंने अपने टकले को गर्मी से बचाने के लिए टोपी पहन ली। उसने कहा कि मैंने तुमसे कहा था कि अगर मैं तुम्हें टोपी में देखूंगी, तो मैं तुम्हे फिर से टकला करदूंगी । मुझे लग रहा था कि वह बहुत जिद्दी है, तो उसका मन रख ने के लिए मैंने उससे कहा कि ठीक है, यह मेरी गलती थी। जैसा तुमने कहा, मैं अपना टकला फिर से करवा लूंगा । वह मुस्कुराई और मुझे गले लगा लिया। फिर हमने खरीदारी की और अपने घर की ओर चल पड़े। घर जाते समय उसने कहा, क्या तुम तुम मेरे दुकान पर अभी चलोगे या शाम को आओगे । मैंने उससे कहा कि मैं थका हुआ हूँ और पहले थोड़ा आराम करना चाहता हूँ। उसने कहा कि वह मेरी मदद कर सकती है। मैंने उत्सुकता से उसकी ओर देखा। पहिए उसने मुझे अपने घर मे बुलाया । उसने कहा कि वह मुझे आज घर मैं ही टकला करेगी और मैं वहाँ आराम भी कर सकता हूँ। मैं मना करना चाहता था, लेकिन मैं मना नहीं कर सका। अगले ही मिनट मैं उसके लिविंग रूम में था और वह मेरे सामने खडी थी उस्तरा लिए ।

Head shaved by two girls - Headshave

 

The knock was soft, almost hesitant, but insistent enough to pull me away from the flickering blue light of the television. I was halfway through a mediocre Bollywood action flick, the kind you watch on a Friday night when ordering takeout is your only plan. Peering through the peephole, my eyes widened a fraction. It was them. The Sharma sisters, Priya and Neha.

Priya was the elder, with a smile that could melt Himalayan snow and eyes that held a spark of mischievousness. Neha, younger by a couple of years, was quieter, more observant, but possessed a sharp wit that could catch you off guard. They lived two floors above me, and while we’d exchanged pleasantries in the elevator and corridors, we weren't exactly friends. Intrigued and slightly apprehensive, I opened the door.

“Hey Rohan,” Priya greeted me, her smile dazzling, “Hope we aren’t disturbing you?”

“Not at all,” I replied, a tad too quickly perhaps. “Everything okay?”

Neha stepped forward, holding a small, intricately carved wooden box. “Actually, we were wondering if you could help us with something. It’s a bit… unusual.” Her voice was soft, almost melodic, but there was an undercurrent I couldn't quite place.

My curiosity, always a weakness, was piqued. “Unusual? Sure, come in.”

They stepped inside, the scent of their jasmine perfume filling my small apartment. Priya placed the box on my coffee table. It looked old, almost antique, with brass hinges and a faint, musty smell emanating from it.

“We found this in the building’s storage room,” Neha explained, opening the box. Inside, nestled on faded velvet, lay a straight razor. It wasn’t just any razor; it looked like something out of a period film. Gleaming steel, an ebony handle inlaid with silver. It was beautiful and unsettling at the same time.

“Wow,” I breathed, reaching out to touch it. “That’s… antique, isn’t it?”

Priya’s smile faltered slightly. “Yes, we think so. And… we were hoping you could help us with it.” She paused, exchanging a look with Neha. “We… we want to try shaving someone with it.”

My brain stuttered. Shaving someone? With that? And why me? I laughed nervously. “You want to shave…who?”

Neha’s gaze met mine, holding an unnerving seriousness. “You, Rohan.”

The laughter died in my throat. “Me? Why me? And… why with a straight razor? Have you even used one of these before? They're dangerous!”

Priya’s smile returned, but this time it didn't reach her eyes. “Relax, Rohan. It will be fine. We just… we have this strange fascination with straight razors. And we thought, since we know you live alone…” her voice trailed off suggestively.

A cold knot formed in my stomach. This wasn’t a request; it was something else. Something… calculated. I looked from Priya’s unnervingly bright eyes to Neha’s quiet, intense stare. Something in their demeanor had shifted. The friendly neighbors were gone, replaced by… what? Something colder, more predatory.

“I… I don’t think so,” I stammered, backing away slightly. “I’m not really comfortable with that.”

Priya advanced, her voice hardening, losing all its earlier sweetness. “It’s not a request, Rohan. It’s… an opportunity for you to be helpful to your neighbors.” Her eyes glinted. “Or, perhaps you’d prefer we share a few… interesting details about your online dating profile with everyone in the building? Including your parents?”

My blood ran cold. My dating profile. It wasn’t scandalous, but it was… personal. And my parents? They were traditional, judgmental. The thought of them seeing any of it… the minor fibs about my career, the slightly more adventurous picture choices… it was mortifying. My reputation in the building, already fragile as a single, slightly awkward guy, would be shattered. And my parents… they would never understand.

I swallowed hard. “What… what details?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Neha stepped forward, holding the razor. The steel glinted under the apartment’s overhead light. It suddenly looked less like an antique and more like a weapon. “Don’t worry about the details, Rohan,” she said softly, but her voice was laced with steel. “Just sit. It will be over quickly.”

Priya pushed me gently but firmly towards the chair facing the television. My legs felt like lead. I wanted to shout, to fight, to run. But something in their eyes, in their coordinated movements, told me resistance was futile, possibly even dangerous. They were serious. They were going to do this.

I slumped into the chair, my heart hammering against my ribs. Priya produced a towel from somewhere and draped it around my shoulders. Neha, with unnerving calmness, started lathering shaving cream in a small bowl. The scent of sandalwood filled the air, a stark contrast to the fear gripping me.

As Neha started applying the cream to my hair, Priya stood behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, almost comforting, which made it all the more disturbing. “Just relax, Rohan,” she murmured in my ear, her voice deceptively soothing. “It’s just hair. It will grow back.”

But it wasn’t just about the hair. It was about the violation, the helplessness, the sheer bizarre nature of the situation. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision.

Neha approached, holding the straight razor. The blade was exposed, gleaming, impossibly sharp. My breath hitched. I closed my eyes, bracing myself.

The cold steel touched my scalp. A shiver ran down my spine. The first stroke was hesitant, then more confident. The sound of hair being sliced filled the small room. Snip… snip… snip… Each sound was a nail in the coffin of my dignity.

I felt the hair falling around me, tickling my ears, my neck. My meticulously styled hair, the one thing I actually took pride in, was being systematically removed by these two… strangers. Neighbors, yes, but now they felt utterly alien.

Tears streamed down my face, unchecked, silent sobs wracking my body. I kept my eyes squeezed shut, unable to bear witness to my own humiliation. I could feel the cold air on my scalp as more and more hair was shaved away.

I heard them whispering to each other occasionally, words I couldn’t quite make out. Were they enjoying this? Were they laughing at me? The thought was unbearable.

The shaving went on, and on. It felt like an eternity. Each scrape of the razor against my scalp was a fresh wave of shame and fear. I was completely vulnerable, stripped bare in more ways than one.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, the scraping stopped. Neha stepped back, and Priya removed the towel. I kept my eyes closed, afraid to see, afraid to face the reality of what they had done.

“Okay, all done,” Priya said, her voice sounding almost… normal. “See? Not so bad, right?”

I finally opened my eyes, blinking through the tears. I didn’t dare look in the mirror.

Neha placed a hand on my shoulder, her touch surprisingly gentle. “Remember what we said, Rohan,” she said softly, her voice laced with a clear warning. “Keep quiet. Don’t tell anyone about this. And we’ll keep your little secrets safe.”

They turned and walked towards the door, leaving the wooden box and the towel on the coffee table. Before Priya stepped out, she paused at the doorway, turned back, and gave me a chillingly sweet smile. “Goodnight, Rohan. Sleep well… or don’t.”

Then they were gone.

Silence descended on my apartment, heavy and suffocating. I finally dared to look in the mirror. My reflection stared back at me – a bald, tear-streaked face, eyes wide with shock and humiliation. Shaved hair lay scattered everywhere – on the floor, on the chair, on the coffee table. A stark, physical testament to what had just happened.

I sat there for a long time, numb, the tears continuing to flow. Why me? Why this? What had I done to deserve this? The questions swirled in my head, unanswered, adding to the growing sense of unease.

The mystery wasn’t just why they had done this, but who these women really were. The Sharma sisters, my neighbors, had just revealed a dark, unsettling side. And I was left alone, bald, humiliated, and trapped in their bizarre, terrifying game. My reputation, my peace of mind, my very sense of self… all shaved away, just like my hair. And the silence they demanded felt less like an agreement and more like a life sentence in their shadow. The Friday night movie on the television flickered on, a mocking reminder of the normal evening that had been so brutally, irrevocably stolen from me.

Priya and Neha shaved my head bald

 

The knock was light, almost hesitant, but insistent enough to pull me away from the muted chaos of the news channel. I was just settling into my Friday evening ritual – instant noodles and questionable political debates – when it came. Frowning, I padded to the door of my small apartment, glancing through the peephole first.

Two faces stared back, framed in the distorted fisheye lens. Priya and Neha. They lived two floors above me, and while we weren’t friends, we were apartment-building-acquaintances. Pleasant nods in the elevator, the occasional forced smile when taking out the trash at the same time. Beautiful, both of them. Priya with her sharp, intelligent eyes and Neha possessing a softer, more approachable smile that could melt glaciers. Or so I thought.

I unlatched the door, a polite, “Hey, everything alright?” forming on my lips. Before I could even finish the sentence, Priya was inside, her hand snaking out to grip my wrist with surprising strength. Neha followed, closing the door behind them with a soft click that echoed like a gunshot in the sudden tension that filled my small living room.

“We need to talk, Rohan,” Priya said, her voice low, almost a purr, but the intensity in her eyes was anything but gentle. Neha stood beside her, equally unsmiling, holding a small, innocuous-looking bag.

“Talk? About what?” My confusion was quickly morphing into unease. This wasn’t a casual Friday evening chat request. Something was off. Very off.

Priya released my wrist, but the grip had left a cold imprint. She moved further into the room, her gaze sweeping over my bachelor pad setup – the slightly stained couch, the stack of books precariously balanced on the coffee table, the half-eaten bag of chips on the side table.

“About you, Rohan,” Neha said, her voice softer than Priya’s, but no less firm. She placed the bag on the coffee table with a quiet thud. “And about something you need to do.”

My heart started to thump a little harder against my ribs. “I… I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

Priya smirked, a chilling, unfamiliar expression that didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, you’ll understand soon enough. Neha, show him.”

Neha unzipped the bag. Inside, nestled amongst tissue paper, was a straight razor. The cold steel glinted under the dim apartment light, sharp and menacing. My breath hitched. A straight razor? What in the world…?

“We know about your… little online escapades, Rohan,” Priya continued, her voice dripping with disdain. My online escapades? What was she talking about? I occasionally played online chess, and I liked to browse Reddit, but nothing… nothing untoward. Or so I thought. A cold dread began to crawl up my spine.

“We know about the forums, Rohan,” Neha elaborated, her gaze unwavering. “The ones where you… express your… appreciation for certain… hairstyles. And the comments you leave. We’ve seen them.”

My blood ran cold. Suddenly, fragmented memories, forgotten posts from late-night browsing, lurked in the shadows of my mind. Stupid, impulsive comments on obscure forums about… about women’s hairstyles? I’d been careless, thought it was anonymous, harmless. Clearly, I was wrong.

“And we don’t appreciate them, Rohan,” Priya stepped closer, her voice now a silken threat. “We find them… disturbing. And frankly, a little pathetic.”

Humiliation washed over me, hot and stinging. I opened my mouth to protest, to deny, to justify, but the words caught in my throat. I knew, instinctively, that whatever I said would only make things worse.

Neha picked up the straight razor, running a delicate finger along its honed edge. “We think you need a… change, Rohan. A significant one.” She looked at me, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something in her eyes – not just coldness, but something almost… amused?

“We think,” Priya said, her voice leaving no room for argument, “that you need a headshave, Rohan. Right here. Right now.”

My mind reeled. A headshave? They were serious? “No,” I managed to croak, my voice barely a whisper. “No, you can’t… you can’t do that.”

Priya’s smirk widened. “Oh, we can, Rohan. And we will. Unless…” She paused, letting the threat hang in the air. “Unless you want everyone in this building, maybe even your workplace, to know about your… online habits. We have screenshots, Rohan. Lots of them. And they’re quite… revealing.”

The blood drained from my face. My reputation. My job. Everything I had worked for… threatened by a few stupid, ill-considered online comments. They had me cornered. Completely, utterly cornered.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. It wasn’t just the humiliation, it was the sheer helplessness of the situation. Two women, beautiful, confident, wielding a straight razor and the threat of social annihilation. Against me, a meek, introverted guy who just wanted to be left alone.

“Please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “Please don’t do this. I’ll delete everything. I’ll stop. Anything. Just… please.”

Priya’s expression remained unmoved. “It’s too late for that, Rohan. The lesson needs to be taught. And learned.” She gestured towards the couch. “Sit down, Rohan.”

My legs felt like lead, but I obeyed. I sank onto the worn cushions, my body trembling. Neha moved behind me, and I felt her hands gently but firmly turn my head, exposing the back of my neck. The cold steel of the razor touched my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Are you going to struggle, Rohan?” Priya asked, her voice soft, almost conversational, but the threat was implicit in every syllable.

I closed my eyes, hot tears now streaming down my face. Struggle? What was the point? They had won. They had broken me. “No,” I whispered, my voice choked with sobs. “No, I won’t struggle.”

The first stroke of the razor was surprisingly gentle, a cold, slick slide across my scalp. Then the pulling started, the whisper of steel slicing through hair, the faint scratching sound amplified in the oppressive silence of the room. Strands of my hair, strands of my identity, falling away onto the floor.

Neha worked with a methodical precision that was almost terrifying. Priya watched, her expression unreadable, her eyes fixed on me. Each stroke of the razor was a fresh wave of humiliation, a physical manifestation of my powerlessness. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sensation, the sound, the reality of what was happening.

The minutes stretched into an eternity. The cold air on my scalp grew more pronounced as more hair was removed. The sound of the razor, once sharp and distinct, became a dull, monotonous drone. My tears flowed freely, silent sobs racking my body.

I felt the gentle tugging on my ears as Neha worked around them. The back of my neck grew colder and colder. The weight of my hair, a weight I hadn’t even realized I carried, was being lifted, piece by piece. Replaced by nothing but the chilling air and the cold, hard reality of my utter defeat.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Neha stepped back. “Done,” she announced, her voice devoid of emotion.

I kept my eyes closed, unable to face the sight, unable to face them. I could feel the air on my completely bare scalp. It felt alien, exposed, vulnerable.

Priya stepped closer, her shadow falling over me. “Look at us, Rohan.”

Slowly, reluctantly, I opened my eyes. Priya and Neha stood before me, their expressions still unreadable. Neha was wiping the razor clean with a tissue. Priya simply stared at me, her gaze piercing.

“Remember this, Rohan,” she said, her voice low and serious now. “Remember this feeling. And remember to think before you act. Online and offline. Some things have consequences.”

She turned and walked towards the door, Neha following, the bag with the razor tucked under her arm. They paused at the threshold.

“Don’t worry,” Priya said, a ghost of her earlier smirk returning. “We won’t tell anyone. As long as you remember your lesson. And stay quiet.”

Then they were gone. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving me alone in the deafening silence of my apartment.

I sat there, on the couch, for a long time. The air around me was thick with the scent of shaved hair. I could feel the stubble on my scalp, rough and unfamiliar. I finally dared to look around. My living room was covered in a carpet of dark hair, a stark, tangible testament to what had just happened.

Looking down at my reflection in the dark screen of the turned-off television, I saw a stranger staring back. A bald, tear-streaked stranger. The humiliation, the fear, the powerlessness – it was all still raw, still fresh. And the tears started again, hot and heavy, as I finally understood the full extent of my vulnerability, and the chilling reality of the lesson I had just been forced to learn. I was alone, bald, and utterly broken, in a room filled with the remnants of my stolen hair and the echoes of their chilling laughter.

Accidental headshave of a young woman

 

The scent of sandalwood and jasmine hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the cold dread creeping into my bones. My reflection stared back, a fractured version of myself, pale and trembling, framed by the ornate mirror of the salon. Just moments ago, I'd been Priya, a young woman with waist-length, raven-black hair, the pride of my family, a source of endless compliments. Now… Now I was just a scalp, raw and exposed.

It had been a simple request: a trim. A slight layering, to add some movement to my usually straight hair. I’d been so excited for my cousin’s wedding, eager to look my best. I’d chosen this salon, “Rani’s Beauty Emporium,” based on its glowing reviews and the promise of experienced stylists. I trusted them implicitly. How could I not?

The stylist, a woman whose name I now struggle to remember, had seemed competent enough. Her hands were quick, deft, nimble with the shears. The conversation flowed easily – weddings, families, the relentless Mumbai heat. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the familiar comfort of a hair salon, the ritual of pampering.

Then, the horrifying screech. A sound so sharp and piercing it cut through the pleasantries, silencing the gentle hum of the salon. I flinched, opening my eyes to a scene of utter chaos. The stylist, her face ashen, stood frozen, a straight razor clutched limply in her hand. My hair, my beautiful, long hair, lay scattered on the floor like dark, shimmering confetti. My scalp felt raw, burning, exposed.

“I… I’m so sorry,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes wide with a terror that mirrored my own. The other stylists rushed forward, their faces a mask of shocked disbelief. I didn't hear their hushed words, didn't see their frantic gestures. All I saw was the stark reality of my reflection – a smooth, pale skull gleaming under the harsh salon lights. Completely bald.

The initial shock gave way to a wave of nausea. My breath hitched in my throat. Tears welled up, blurring my vision. It wasn't just the loss of my hair; it was the loss of a part of myself, a part of my identity. In India, a woman's hair is not just hair; it's a symbol of beauty, femininity, and family heritage. My hair was my heritage, a legacy passed down through generations. Now, it was gone. Vanished.

The salon owner, a formidable woman with a perpetually stern expression, arrived, her face almost as pale as mine. She offered profuse apologies, a torrent of reassurances, promises of compensation. But her words were lost in the roaring silence of my despair. The financial compensation meant nothing. No amount of money could restore my hair, could mend the gaping hole in my self-esteem.

The journey home was a blur. I huddled in the back of the auto-rickshaw, my head covered with a flimsy scarf, feeling the stares of strangers like burning brands on my skin. Reaching home, I retreated to my room, locking the door against the well-meaning but intrusive concern of my family. I spent the next few hours staring at my reflection, a stranger staring back from the mirror.

The days that followed were a torturous blend of grief and humiliation. My cousin's wedding, the event I'd been so eagerly anticipating, was overshadowed by my baldness. I couldn't bear to attend the festivities, the joyous celebration a stark reminder of my own loss. The whispered comments, the pitying glances, the averted eyes – they were all daggers piercing my already wounded soul.

My family, despite their initial concern, struggled to understand the depth of my distress. “Hair grows back,” they'd say, attempting to offer comfort. But it wasn't just about the hair. It was about the violation, the sudden, unexpected loss of control, the shattering of my self-image. The incident had stripped me bare, not just of hair, but of confidence and peace of mind.

I sought solace in therapy, pouring out my anguish to a compassionate listener, slowly piecing together the fragments of my shattered self-esteem. The therapist helped me understand that this was not just about my hair; it was about processing the trauma, the violation of my trust, and rebuilding my sense of self.

Slowly, painstakingly, I began to heal. I started wearing scarves and hats with a newfound confidence, refusing to let the incident define me. I discovered the strength within myself, the resilience that had been dormant beneath my long black hair. The scars remained, both physical and emotional, but they were reminders of my journey, the journey from despair to acceptance, from vulnerability to strength. My hair will grow back, eventually. But the woman I am today, the woman who emerged from the ashes of that horrific day, is a different, stronger, more resilient woman than I was before. And that, perhaps, is the most beautiful hair I've ever worn.

Headshave play

able but beloved instant noodles, chicken flavour, of course, filled my tiny apartment. It was a Tuesday, which meant ‘budget-friendly dinner’ night, also known as every night in my life since I moved to this ridiculously expensive city. I, Rohan Verma, slightly-above-average software engineer and connoisseur of questionable life choices, was enjoying my solitary meal, scrolling through memes, when a knock echoed through my door.

Now, unexpected knocks generally fall into two categories in my life: either delivery guys struggling to find my door (despite it being literally the third one on the right), or Jehovah's Witnesses, who, bless their persistent souls, seem to think I’m in dire need of spiritual guidance, especially on a Tuesday evening. I wasn't expecting either, but cautiously peeked through the peephole anyway.

My jaw nearly unhinged. Standing there were not delivery guys or evangelists, but rather, the celestial twins of my apartment building, Priya and Maya. Priya, with her sunshine smile and perpetually messy bun, and Maya, with her sharp wit and even sharper eyeliner. Both stunning, both intimidatingly cool, and both usually resided in the ‘too-good-for-me’ category of my social universe. What on earth could they possibly want?

I hesitantly opened the door, attempting my most charming ‘just-finished-eating-noodles-but-still-kinda-presentable’ smile. “Hey, Priya, Maya! Everything alright?” My voice cracked slightly, betraying my inner panic.

Priya beamed, her smile almost blinding. “Hey Rohan! We need a favour.”

“A favour?” My eyebrows shot up. Favours from celestial beings were usually complicated, probably involved saving kittens from trees or solving world hunger. I braced myself.

Maya stepped forward, her eyeliner practically radiating power. “Yeah, a slightly… unconventional favour. We were wondering if we could… come in for a minute?”

“Uh, sure, come in, come in,” I stammered, stepping back and nearly tripping over my own feet. They glided into my humble abode, their presence making my noodle-scented apartment feel even smaller and more… noodle-scented.

Priya gestured vaguely around. “Cute place, Rohan!” She said, which I translated in my head to, “quaintly cramped and smells faintly of desperation.”

Maya cut to the chase. “So, Rohan, we have a bit of a… project we’re working on. And we need a volunteer.”

“A project?” I repeated, my mind racing. Was this some kind of weird performance art piece? Were they going to ask me to model for something? My fashion sense peaked at ‘clean t-shirt’, so modelling seemed unlikely.

“Yes,” Priya said, her eyes sparkling with an unsettling mix of amusement and determination. “A… hair-related project.”

My hair? I ran a hand through my moderately messy, but generally acceptable, mop of hair. “My hair? Is this about… donating hair to charity? Because I’m happy to, if you think it’s long enough…”

Maya’s perfect eyebrow arched. “Not exactly donating, Rohan. Think of it more as… targeted redistribution. And we’re thinking… very targeted.”

I frowned, utterly confused. “Targeted redistribution…? I’m not following.”

Then Priya pulled something from behind her back. It glinted menacingly in the dim light of my apartment. It was a straight razor. A proper, old-school, barber-shop-worthy straight razor. My brain short-circuited.

“We need to shave your head, Rohan,” Maya stated, as casually as someone might ask for a cup of sugar.

My brain finally rebooted, flashing red error messages. “Shave… my head? With… that?” I pointed a trembling finger at the gleaming blade.

Priya nodded, her smile unwavering. “Yep! Think of it as a… spontaneous makeover! We’ve been wanting to try out straight razor shaving, and you have such… obliging hair.”

Obliging hair? My hair was obliging? It mostly just sat there, occasionally requiring shampoo. “But… why me? And why… now?”

Maya leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let’s just say, Rohan, we have our reasons. And let’s also say, that if you… ‘decline’ our generous offer, some rather… embarrassing details about your… online dating profile might mysteriously surface. Details that the entire building, including your very traditional Auntie-ji who lives on the floor above, might find… illuminating.”

My online dating profile? Oh god, the one where I’d jokingly (sort of) listed ‘professional cuddler’ as my desired occupation? The one with the photo of me wearing that ridiculous novelty sombrero at my cousin’s wedding? My reputation, precarious as it already was, would be instantly incinerated. Auntie-ji would never look at me the same way. The building group chat would explode with gossip. My professional cuddler dreams would be dashed before they even began.

I gulped, the instant noodles suddenly tasting like ash. “And if… if I agree to this… ‘spontaneous makeover’?”

Priya grinned, flashing teeth that could probably cut steel. “Then we all have a fun evening! We get to practice our shaving skills, you get a fresh new look, and your Auntie-ji remains blissfully unaware of your… cuddly aspirations.”

I looked from Priya’s razor to Maya’s steely gaze. Resistance, I realised, was futile. And potentially reputation-ruining. “Fine,” I croaked. “Fine. Shave my head.”

“Excellent!” Priya clapped her hands, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “Maya, you get the towel. Rohan, you sit right there.” She gestured to my rickety kitchen chair.

And so began the most surreal, humiliating, and frankly terrifying haircut of my life. They draped an old towel around my shoulders, which did little to protect me from the impending doom of baldness. Maya expertly lathered some shaving cream onto my scalp, while Priya sharpened the straight razor with an unnerving level of glee.

“Ready, Rohan?” Priya asked, her eyes shining with mischievous delight.

“As I’ll ever be,” I mumbled, bracing myself for the cold steel.

The razor touched my scalp, and I swear, I could hear angels weeping. Or maybe that was just me, starting to tear up already. The scraping sound filled the small apartment, a sound that was both oddly intimate and deeply violating. Priya and Maya chatted cheerfully as they worked, discussing things like nail polish colours and their yoga class, completely oblivious to the silent sobbing happening beneath their hands.

“You have a surprisingly round head, Rohan!” Priya commented, mid-shave, as if this was some fascinating anthropological discovery.

“Thanks,” I choked out, tears silently streaming down my face, mingling with the shaving cream.

Maya hummed in agreement. “Very symmetrical. Good for aerodynamics, probably.”

Aerodynamics? What did aerodynamics have to do with my rapidly disappearing hair? Was this some kind of bizarre experiment to test the wind resistance of bald heads?

The shaving continued, slow and deliberate, punctuated by their lighthearted banter. I just sat there, a silent, tearful statue in a kitchen chair, slowly being denuded of my follicular dignity. The floor around me became a snowdrift of dark hair, a visual representation of my crumbling manhood.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Priya stepped back, admiring her handiwork. “Ta-da! All done!”

Maya handed me a small mirror. I hesitantly looked at my reflection. Gone was the slightly messy, slightly stylish hair I had painstakingly cultivated. Instead, staring back at me was a chrome-domed stranger. A shiny, bald, slightly red stranger with tear-streaked cheeks. I looked like a badly boiled egg.

“Well?” Priya beamed, clearly expecting effusive praise. “What do you think?”

“I… I look like I lost a fight with a lawnmower,” I managed to croak out, my voice thick with unshed tears.

Maya chuckled, patting me awkwardly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’ll grow back! And think of the money you’ll save on shampoo!”

They gathered up their things, leaving a swirling vortex of hair clippings and the lingering scent of shaving cream in their wake. “Thanks for being such a good sport, Rohan!” Priya called out as they headed for the door. “And remember, loose lips sink ships! Or in this case, ruin reputations!” Maya added with a wink.

And then, they were gone. I was left alone in my apartment, surrounded by a mountain of my own hair, staring at my reflection in the small mirror, feeling utterly and completely ridiculous. The tears flowed freely now, no longer silent, but full-blown, hiccuping sobs. I was bald, humiliated, and my apartment looked like a barbershop exploded. My Tuesday night noodles, now cold and congealed, lay forgotten on the table. This was, without a doubt, the most bizarre and traumatic Tuesday of my life. And knowing Priya and Maya, it probably wouldn’t even be the weirdest thing to happen this week. I just hoped Auntie-ji wouldn't notice my new aerodynamic hairstyle. That was a conversation I was definitely not ready for.

Bald girlfriends

A few weeks ago, I found myself on a wild adventure with two of my closest friends, Priya and Meera. We are all young Indian women in our mid-twenties, trying to navigate our way through life and all its challenges. We decided to take a break from our hectic schedules and have a much-needed girls' night out. As we sat in our favorite cozy corner of the bar, sipping on our drinks and chatting away, the conversation took an unexpected turn. Both Priya and Meera confessed that they had always fantasized about shaving their heads smooth with a straight razor. I was taken aback, as this was not something we had ever discussed before. But as they shared their reasons and the sense of liberation they felt at the thought of shedding their locks, I found myself feeling intrigued and excited by the idea. Before we knew it, we were on the streets, on a quest to find a place where we could make this fantasy a reality. After a bit of searching, we stumbled upon a small, quirky barbershop that looked promising. The barber, an elderly man with a kind smile, welcomed us with open arms and assured us that he had plenty of experience in head shaving. As Priya and Meera took turns in the barber's chair, I watched in awe as their long, beautiful hair fell to the floor, leaving behind smooth, bald heads. The transformation was incredible, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. I had always been the more conservative one of the group, but something about this experience was calling out to me. Before I knew it, I had taken a seat in the barber's chair, and he was carefully draping the barber cape around me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as the cold blade of the straight razor touched my scalp. The sensation was strange but exhilarating, and I couldn't help but smile as I felt the weight of my hair being lifted off my shoulders. As we walked out of the barbershop, rubbing our shaved heads and checking who had the smoothest shave, I couldn't help but feel a sense of liberation and empowerment. We had stepped out of our comfort zones and done something completely spontaneous and daring, and it felt amazing. But the adventure didn't end there. We spent the rest of the night exploring the city, our bald heads catching the attention of passersby and sparking conversations with strangers. We felt like we were part of a secret club, a sisterhood of bold and fearless women. As I reflect on that night, I realize that shaving our heads was more than just a fun and daring experience. It was a symbol of letting go of societal expectations and embracing our true selves. It was a reminder that we are in control of our bodies and our identities, and that we have the power to defy conventions and break free from the norm. I encourage all young women, especially those in the 21-35 age group, to take a leap of faith and do something that scares you. It could be something as drastic as shaving your head, or something smaller, like speaking up in a meeting or taking a solo trip. Whatever it is, the important thing is to step out of your comfort zone and embrace new experiences. Not only will it help you grow as a person, but it will also bring you closer to your friends and loved ones, as you share in the adventure and create unforgettable memories together. So go ahead, take the plunge, and discover the power and freedom that comes with embracing your true self.

Summer headshave

The Arizona sun beat down on my neck, a familiar weight even more pronounced today. It wasn't just the heat; it was the weight of expectations, the invisible chains woven from generations of tradition, all tangled in the long, thick braid that hung down my back. My hair. My “crowning glory,” as my mother called it, her voice thick with pride. My prison, I often thought, staring at my reflection. I was Priya, twenty-four years old, caught between the dusty reality of our small town and the shimmering mirage of a life I desperately craved. A life where I didn't have to apologize for wanting more, for being different. Today, the weight was crushing me. Raj, the boy my parents were subtly (and not so subtly) nudging me towards, had left for Phoenix this morning. Another engineer, another safe choice. Another life mapped out before I’d even had a say. I stood in front of the cracked mirror in our tiny bathroom, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead like an angry wasp. My reflection stared back – a young woman with tired eyes and a braid that seemed to stretch on forever. Each strand a thread binding me to a past I couldn't reconcile with my present. For years, I'd felt a strange pull, a quiet rebellion simmering beneath the surface. A fascination with baldness, with the raw vulnerability and undeniable power it seemed to exude. It wasn't a fetish, not in the way I’d seen it twisted and misrepresented online. It was more a recognition of strength, the stripping away of artifice to reveal the core. I'd seen men’s eyes linger on my hair, their gazes possessive, reducing me to a trophy, an exotic object to be admired. I wanted to defy that gaze, to reclaim my image on my own terms. I wanted to be seen, truly seen, for who I was, not for the thick curtain that hid my face. The thought, once a fleeting whisper, surged within me. Today. Today was the day. My heart hammered against my ribs. This was madness, I knew. Utter, irrevocable madness. But the suffocating feeling of being someone else's ideal was a stronger force than reason. The preparation was a blur. I found a pair of old kitchen scissors, the kind we used to cut twine on the ranch. My hands trembled as I gathered a worn towel and a can of my father's shaving cream – the smell of sandalwood and masculinity filling the small space. I hesitated, staring at my reflection, searching for a sign, a reason to turn back. But there was only the desperate yearning in my own eyes. The first snip was the hardest. A thick chunk of my braid landed with a dull thud in the sink. The sound echoed in the sudden silence, a declaration of war against the expectations that had defined me. It was a point of no return. I continued, hacking at my hair with a ferocity I didn't know I possessed. The braid, once a symbol of pride, now lay in a tangled mess around my feet. The weight on my neck lessened with each cut, a tangible relief that fueled my resolve. With the scissors as far as they could go, the real work began. The cold, frothy shaving cream felt alien against my scalp. My fingers trembled as I picked up the razor. Each stroke was a revelation. The rasp of the blade against my skin, the subtle sting, the feeling of hair being shaved away, inch by inch, exposing a part of myself I had never dared to reveal. The bathroom filled with the scent of sandalwood and the silent hum of the razor. My reflection shifted as the hair fell away, revealing the shape of my skull, the planes of my face. It was a stark, unfamiliar image, and yet… it felt profoundly me. When it was done, I stared into the mirror, my breath caught in my throat. My scalp gleamed, pale and vulnerable. My eyes, framed by the absence of hair, seemed larger, more intense. I looked… different. Raw. Real. The air felt different on my skin, a cool caress I had never noticed before. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the smooth curve of my head. I ran my hand over the surface, marveling at the unfamiliar texture. It was liberating, terrifying, exhilarating. The first few days were a whirlwind of emotions. My mother cried. My father, predictably, disapproved, muttering about tradition and appearances. My friends were a mix of shock and cautious support. Some whispered behind my back, their eyes filled with pity and judgment. Others, the ones who truly mattered, saw the strength in my decision. Strangers stared. Some with curiosity, some with disdain, some with a strange, unsettling intensity that made my skin crawl. Those were the ones I learned to ignore. The ones who saw only a fetish, an object to be consumed by their gaze. Their perception was a reminder of the twisted ways in which female bodies are viewed and objectified, a world where even my rebellion was being sexualized. But I wouldn’t let them take this from me. It wasn't easy. There were moments of doubt, moments when I longed for the familiar comfort of my hair. Moments when I felt exposed and vulnerable. There was a period of readjustment, where I grappled with my altered appearance and the reactions of others. I felt seen, but also hyper-visible. But then, I would catch my reflection in the window, and I would see the strength in my eyes, the quiet defiance that had taken root in my soul. And I knew I had made the right choice. This was me. Stripped bare, vulnerable, and undeniably free. My bald head became a canvas. I experimented with henna designs, bold colors that reflected my mood. I wore earrings that sparkled in the sunlight. I found a style that was uniquely mine. I learned to own my gaze, to meet the stares with a confidence that silenced the whispers. I learned that true beauty wasn't about conforming to societal expectations, but about embracing your authentic self. I still live in the same small town, but I am no longer chained to its expectations. I am Priya, a woman who dared to defy the norms, to reclaim her identity, one shaved strand at a time. The sun still beats down on my neck, but now, it feels like a blessing, a warm embrace on my bare skin. And I finally feel like I can breathe.

Women's day special headshave - 3 Bald girls

It was one of those balmy Saturday evenings when the world seemed to sparkle with possibilities. The city hummed with life, its streets alive with laughter and music. My friends and I—Anika, Riya, and I—decided to indulge in a night out, a much-needed break from the drudgery of our day-to-day lives. As we settled into a cozy corner of our favorite café, we ordered our usual—chocolate milkshakes and spicy nachos—and let the evening unfold. "Imagine if we just did something completely wild tonight," Anika said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She had a knack for ideas that teetered on the edge of outrageous. "Like what? Streaking through the park?" I replied, half-joking. Riya laughed, but then a contemplative look crossed her face. "What if we shaved our heads? You know, just to feel liberated or something?" I nearly choked on my milkshake. "Shaved heads? Seriously?" "Why not?" Anika chimed in. "It’s just hair! It grows back. And think of how empowering it would be to break free from societal norms." I had always admired the boldness of my friends, but this? It was a leap into the unknown. Yet, something about their enthusiasm ignited a flicker of curiosity within me. Perhaps it was the prospect of shedding more than just hair, but also the weight of expectations, the pressure to conform. “Okay, let’s do it!” I blurted out, surprising even myself. The thrill of spontaneity was infectious, and Riya’s eyes sparkled with delight. With a plan forming in our minds, we stepped out into the vibrant chaos of the city. The streets were alive, the air thick with excitement and uncertainty. Anika led the way, her steps purposeful, while Riya and I exchanged nervous glances, our hearts racing with anticipation. “Let’s find a barbershop!” Anika declared, her confidence radiating like the neon lights around us. We wandered through the bustling lanes, passing shops and food stalls, laughter spilling from our lips as we dared each other to take the plunge. After what felt like an eternity, we stumbled upon a small barbershop nestled between two larger establishments. The warm glow of the sign read “Traditional Shaves and Cuts,” and it seemed like fate had guided us there. “Here goes nothing,” I murmured as we stepped inside, the scent of sandalwood and aftershave filling the air. The barber, a middle-aged man with a kind smile, looked at us quizzically as we approached. “Three heads to shave?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Yes! We want to shave our heads smooth,” Anika proclaimed, her voice steady. He chuckled, perhaps amused by our audacity, but nodded and gestured for us to take a seat. As he prepared the straight razor, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of exhilaration and fear. The thought of losing my hair was daunting, yet oddly liberating. Anika was the first to go. As the barber glided the razor across her scalp, I watched in awe. Her laughter echoed around the room, a sound of pure joy and freedom. The moment the last lock of hair fell away, a radiant glow emerged on her face, as if she had shed more than just her hair. Next was Riya. She sat confidently in the chair, and as the razor met her scalp, she closed her eyes, surrendering to the moment. The barber worked meticulously, and soon, Riya joined Anika in the realm of the bald, both of them grinning ear to ear. Finally, it was my turn. I took a deep breath and settled into the chair, feeling the coolness of the leather against my skin. As the razor touched my scalp, I braced myself. The sensation was foreign yet exhilarating. Each stroke felt like a release—a shedding of not just hair, but layers of insecurity and societal pressure. When it was over, I felt a rush of adrenaline. I was bald—smooth as a baby’s bottom, and oddly, I loved it. The three of us stood together, a trio of smooth, shining heads. We laughed, rubbing each other's scalps, comparing who had the smoothest finish. It was a silly competition, but it was more than that; it was a celebration of our newfound freedom. The world felt different as we stepped back onto the street. We were three women unshackled from the norms that dictated how we should look. Striding down the lane, we drew curious glances, but we didn’t care. We felt powerful, united in our boldness. As we made our way to a nearby park, I realized this night was about so much more than hair. It was about embracing change, stepping out of our comfort zones, and, most importantly, celebrating the strength that comes

Headshave market

The afternoon market was a cacophony of colors and sounds, a dizzying swirl of humanity caught in the daily rhythm of life. I navigated through the throng, the scent of spices and blooming jasmine battling for dominance in the warm air. My basket, usually a source of comfort filled with fresh produce, felt heavy today, not just in weight but in spirit. Life has felt… muted lately. Like the colors had been dialed down, leaving everything in shades of beige and grey. Then, amidst the vegetable vendors and the chatter of bargaining women, I saw it. Tucked away in a narrow lane, almost hidden behind a mountain of watermelons, was a small, unassuming barbershop. And in the chair, a young boy, no older than seven, was getting his head shaved. He was fidgeting, as kids do, but his eyes were wide with a kind of fascinated nervousness as the barber, a man with hands that moved with practiced grace, worked on him. The barber was using clippers initially, buzzing away the boy's hair quickly. But then, I saw him pick up something that made me stop completely. A straight razor. The glint of steel in the afternoon sun caught my eye. I watched, mesmerized, as the barber lathered the boy’s scalp again, the white foam a stark contrast against his dark skin. And then, the razor. The barber held it with such confidence, such mastery. Each stroke was smooth, precise, shaving away the remaining short stubble to reveal the pale scalp beneath. Thin strands of dark hair, finer now, floated down like dark confetti, landing on the checkered floor around the chair. It was a simple thing, a routine haircut. But watching it, something shifted within me. A strange, unexpected pull. A whisper of rebellion against the beige and grey of my days. My fingers instinctively went to my own hair, thick and long, a cascade that reached my mid-back, hair I’d meticulously cared for, hair that had always defined ‘me.’ And yet, in that moment, looking at the clean, smooth scalp of that little boy, a different kind of ‘me’ began to emerge. A ‘me’ that was lighter, freer, unburdened. It was a ridiculous thought, impulsive, utterly out of character. But the seed of an idea had been planted, and it was taking root with alarming speed. My feet, seemingly of their own volition, started moving towards the barbershop. Each step was a small defiance, a quiet rebellion against the inertia that had been holding me captive. My heart started to beat a little faster, a nervous flutter mixing with a strange sense of excitement. The barbershop was even smaller inside than it looked from the outside. Two chairs, old and worn, faced a large, slightly tarnished mirror that reflected the simple, functional space. The air smelled of shaving cream and hair tonic, a distinctly masculine scent. The barber who had been cutting the boy’s hair looked up as I entered, his eyebrows raised in mild surprise. I took a deep breath. This was it. No turning back now. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice a little shaky, surprising even myself. “Could… could I get a haircut?” He looked at me for a moment, taking in my appearance. My long hair, my clothes – I was clearly not his usual clientele. “Of course, Madam,” he said politely, gesturing towards the empty chair. He finished up with the boy, dusting him off with a soft brush, and then turned to me, a question in his eyes. “What style were you thinking?” I hesitated for a split second. The word was right there, on the tip of my tongue, terrifying and exhilarating all at once. “Shave,” I blurted out, the word hanging in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. “Shave it all off.” The barber blinked, his professional composure momentarily faltering. “All of it, Madam?” he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice. I nodded, my gaze unwavering. “Yes. With the razor. Like you did for the boy.” A slow smile spread across his face, a glimmer of understanding, perhaps even approval, in his eyes. “Alright then,” he said, his voice now filled with a different kind of energy, a craftsman ready to take on a unique challenge. “Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair, and I sat down, my legs feeling suddenly weak. He draped a fresh, white cloth around my shoulders, tucking it in securely. The cool, crisp cotton against my skin felt strangely comforting. He began to untangle my hair with his fingers, running them gently through the long strands. “Beautiful hair, Madam,” he commented, his tone respectful. “Are you sure about this?” I closed my eyes for a moment, picturing the boy’s smooth scalp, feeling the quiet rebellion surge within me again. “Yes,” I said firmly, opening my eyes and meeting his gaze in the mirror. “I am absolutely sure.” He nodded, accepting my decision. “Very well,” he said, his voice now brisk and professional again. He began to prepare. He pumped shaving cream into a small bowl and whipped it into a rich, white lather with a brush. The rhythmic swishing of the brush filled the small space, a strangely soothing sound. He applied the warm lather to my scalp, the cool cream a pleasant sensation against my skin, a strange prelude to the radical change that was about to occur. He worked quickly and efficiently, covering my entire scalp with the white foam, disappearing the partings and strands of my hair under the thick layer. Then, he picked up the straight razor. He stopped it expertly a few times, the leather strap making a soft, rhythmic sound. The blade gleamed under the fluorescent light, sharp and decisive. He tested the sharpness lightly with his thumb, then turned to me, his gaze serious but reassuring. “Ready, Madam?” he asked softly. I took a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest now, a mixture of fear and exhilaration swirling within me. “Ready,” I whispered back. The first touch was surprisingly gentle. The cold steel of the razor against my scalp sent a shiver down my spine. It was a sensation I had never experienced before, the stark contrast of the hard, unyielding metal against the soft, yielding skin of my head. And then, the first stroke. Smooth, precise, effortless. I felt a slight tug, a whisper of resistance, and then… nothing. A clean path cleared through the lather, revealing the pale skin beneath. And beside it, on the floor, a small clump of dark brown hair, glistening wet with shaving cream, lay like fallen leaves. It was happening. My hair was falling. Strand by strand, clump by clump, it was being shaved away. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensations. The cool air kissing my newly exposed scalp. The rhythmic scrape of the razor against my skin. The lightness that was already beginning to spread through me, a physical shedding of weight that mirrored an emotional liberation. The barber worked in silence, his movements fluid and practiced. Each stroke of the razor was a release, a letting go. I could hear the soft whisper of the blade, the gentle rustle of my hair falling to the floor, a steady rhythm of transformation. My scalp tingle, a thousand nerve endings suddenly exposed to the air, feeling everything with a heightened sensitivity. He worked section by section, methodically clearing my scalp. The floor around the chair became a carpet of fallen hair, a tangible representation of the change that was taking place. I kept my eyes closed, lost in the sensory experience, the feeling of the razor, the coolness of the air, the strange lightness that was blooming within me. Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and a fleeting moment, the barber stopped. The scraping sound ceased. The cool air rushed over my entire scalp, unobstructed, unhindered. He wiped away the remaining lather with a warm, damp towel, the gentle pressure soothing against my newly exposed skin. “Done, Madam,” he announced softly. I opened my eyes slowly, cautiously, and looked in the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, unfamiliar yet… strangely familiar. My scalp was smooth, pale, gleaming under the light, dotted here and there with tiny droplets of water. My face looked different, more defined, sharper, somehow… younger. I reached up a hand, hesitant at first, and touched my head. The sensation was incredible. Smooth, cool, almost like velvet. The air kissed my scalp, sending shivers of delight through me. It felt… amazing. Liberating. Like a weight had been lifted, not just physically, but emotionally as well. I tilted my head, turning it from side to side, marveling at the unfamiliar landscape of my own head. The curve of my skull, the delicate shape of my ears, features that had been hidden beneath a curtain of hair for so long, were now exposed, beautiful and vulnerable in their nakedness. I smiled. A genuine, unburdened smile that reached my eyes. It felt like I was seeing myself for the first time, truly seeing myself, beyond the layers of hair, beyond the expectations, beyond the beige and grey. “How do you like it, Madam?” the barber asked, his voice gentle. “I love it,” I said, my voice filled with genuine joy and surprise. “I absolutely love it.” I laughed, a light, carefree sound that echoed in the small barbershop. It felt like I had shed not just my hair, but a whole layer of old skin, revealing a fresher, bolder ‘me’ underneath. The air on my shaved head felt like a kiss, a whisper of freedom and possibility. Walking out of the barbershop, the market suddenly felt brighter, more vibrant. The colors were sharper, the sounds clearer. The weight in my basket felt lighter, almost buoyant. The beige and grey had vanished, replaced by a spectrum of vibrant hues. My shaved head felt cool and light beneath the afternoon sun, a constant reminder of the spontaneous act of rebellion, the glorious, liberating shave that had unexpectedly, yet perfectly, reset my world. It was just a haircut, yes. But it was also so much more. It was a shedding, a rebirth, a quiet scream of "yes" to change, to freedom, to myself. And it felt utterly, wonderfully, right.

Three women shaved their heads

The city glittered around us, a million scattered diamonds on black velvet. The hum of Friday night energy vibrated through the air, bouncing off the glass buildings and echoing down the bustling streets of Bandra. Me, Riya, and Anjali were in the heart of it, a trio navigating the exhilarating chaos, fueled by spicy street food, cheap cocktails, and the heady freedom of a night without deadlines or responsibilities. We had started our evening with pani puri from a roadside stall, the tangy burst exploding in our mouths as we gossiped about work, relationships, and the sheer absurdity of some of our relatives. Then, it was onto a rooftop bar, where the panoramic view of Mumbai unfurled beneath us, a breathtaking tapestry of lights. Laughter flowed as freely as the Long Island Iced Teas, and as the night deepened, so did our conversations, peeling back layers of everyday chit-chat to reveal the hidden corners of our thoughts and desires. It started innocently enough, with Riya confessing a strange fascination with bald heads. "You know," she said, swirling the ice in her glass, her eyes gazing dreamily out at the city lights, "sometimes I just see a woman with a completely shaved head, and I think… wow. There’s something so powerful, so…unapologetic about it." Anjali and I exchanged amused glances. Riya, with her long, luscious, and meticulously maintained waves, dreaming of being bald? It seemed almost comical. "Riya, you spend half your salary on hair products!" Anjali teased, playfully tugging at a strand of Riya’s perfectly styled hair. Riya laughed, a melodious sound that cut through the bar’s background music. “I know, I know! It sounds crazy, right? But it’s not about rejecting hair. It’s more about… the freedom of it. Imagine, no bad hair days, no hours spent blow-drying, no worrying about split ends. Just…smooth. Like a clean slate." I nodded, starting to understand her point. While I wouldn’t say I’d ever actively considered shaving my head, I could see the allure she was describing. It was a radical act, a rejection of conventional beauty standards, a bold declaration of self-acceptance. Then Anjali chimed in, her voice taking on a slightly hushed tone. "Actually… I’ve thought about it too." Riya and I both turned to her, surprised. Anjali, the quietest and perhaps most traditionally ‘feminine’ of our trio, harbored this unconventional fantasy? "Seriously?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Anjali flushed slightly, but her eyes held a surprising intensity. "Yeah. For years, actually. Ever since I saw this documentary about Buddhist monks... the serenity on their faces, the simplicity of their lives… and the shaved heads, somehow, just seemed to symbolize that complete letting go. Plus,” she added with a mischievous grin, “I’ve always wondered what my head shape is really like." Riya’s eyes widened, a spark of excitement igniting within them. "No way! Anjali, you too? I thought I was the only crazy one!" And in that moment, fueled by the late-night energy, the shared confessions, and maybe just a little bit by the alcohol, something shifted. What had started as a fanciful thought suddenly felt…possible. Dare I say, even desirable? "Wait," I said slowly, the idea taking root in my own mind. "Are you guys… serious? Like, seriously thinking about… shaving our heads?" Riya and Anjali looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between them. Then, Riya turned back to me, a determined glint in her eyes. "Why not? It’s just hair. It grows back. And think about it… what a story we’d have! We could do it together. A symbol of…of…rebellion! Of shedding old skins! Of embracing change!" Anjali nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Like, a total reset button for our lives! Plus, think of the photo opportunities!" she added with a laugh, the initial hesitation gone, replaced by an infectious enthusiasm. My heart started to pound. This was insane. Completely impulsive. And yet… a thrill coursed through me. A feeling of liberation, of breaking free from invisible chains. In my own way, I had been feeling a bit stifled, a bit stuck in a routine, a bit… too ‘safe’. Maybe this was exactly the jolt I needed. "Okay," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. "Okay, let’s do it." The next hour was a blur of laughter and adrenaline. We paid our bill, practically skipping out of the bar and onto the street. The initial excitement morphed into the practical challenge: where do you get your head shaved at midnight in Mumbai? We wandered down Linking Road, our initial boisterous energy replaced by a slightly more focused determination. We passed closed shops, brightly lit restaurants, and late-night street vendors. "Maybe a salon?" I suggested, peering into the darkened windows of a fancy-looking hair studio. But it was clearly closed for the night. Just as we were starting to lose hope, Anjali spotted a small, brightly lit barber shop tucked away in a side street, its red and white striped pole still spinning invitingly. "Guys, look!" she exclaimed, pointing towards the shop. Heartbeats quickened. This was it. We hesitantly approached the shop, the sound of our heels clicking on the pavement echoing in the relative quiet of the side street. Inside, a lone barber, a middle-aged man with a kind face and a neatly trimmed mustache, was sweeping up hair from the floor. He looked up as we entered, a surprised expression on his face. "Namaste," Riya greeted him, her voice a little shaky. "Are you… still open?" He smiled warmly. "Yes, yes, come in. What can I do for you ladies?" We exchanged nervous glances. This was really happening. Riya took a deep breath and stepped forward, her voice surprisingly clear. "We… we want to shave our heads." The barber’s eyes widened, but he didn’t laugh or dismiss us. He just looked at us with a curious and slightly amused expression. "All of you?" he asked, gesturing towards the three of us. "Yes," Riya affirmed, her voice now filled with a newfound conviction. "All three of us." He chuckled softly. "Okay then. Have a seat." Riya went first, settling into the barber’s chair with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. The barber draped a cape around her shoulders, his movements practiced and efficient. He then produced a straight razor, stropping it expertly, the rhythmic sound filling the small shop. The sight of the razor, so sharp and gleaming, sent a fresh wave of nervousness through me. This was real. There was no turning back now. The first swipe of the razor was almost silent, just a soft scraping sound, but the visual impact was immediate. A thick chunk of Riya’s long, dark hair fell to the floor, followed by another, and another. Within minutes, her scalp was visible, pale and vulnerable beneath the rapidly disappearing hair. Riya closed her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. I watched her, mesmerized, as the barber worked his way around her head, transforming her with each stroke. The air filled with the scent of shaving cream and the quiet snip of scissors trimming the longer strands. When he was finished, the barber swiveled the chair to face the mirror. Riya opened her eyes and gasped. Her hand flew up to her newly shorn head, her fingers tentatively tracing the smooth contours. A wide, genuine smile spread across her face. "Wow," she breathed, "I… I love it!" Anjali was next. Her transformation was equally dramatic, revealing a surprisingly elegant head shape that had been hidden beneath her long hair for years. As she watched Riya, and then felt the cool air on her own scalp as her hair fell away, a sense of liberation washed over her. She laughed, a joyous, uninhibited sound that echoed through the shop. Watching them, witnessing their bravery and their exhilaration, any remaining hesitation I had completely vanished. It was my turn. I climbed into the chair, my heart pounding with anticipation. The cold metal of the razor against my skin sent a shiver down my spine, but it was a good shiver, a thrilling shiver. As my own hair fell to the floor, I felt a lightness, both physical and emotional. It was as if I was shedding not just hair, but also layers of self-doubt, of external expectations, of everything that was holding me back. When it was done, I looked at myself in the mirror. A completely different person stared back at me. My features seemed sharper, more defined. My eyes, suddenly framed by bare skin, seemed brighter, more intense. And yes, my head was smooth. Incredibly, unbelievably smooth. We all stood together, three bald women, blinking at our reflections in the mirror. We laughed, a little hysterically, a little in disbelief, but mostly with pure, unadulterated joy. We reached out and touched each other’s heads, fingers tracing the smooth curves, marveling at the texture, comparing the closeness of the shave. "Yours is definitely the smoothest!" Riya declared, rubbing my scalp with a delighted giggle. "No, yours is!" Anjali countered, running her hand over Riya’s head. We were three women, bald as eggs, standing in a small barber shop in Mumbai at 2 AM, and we had never felt more alive, more connected, more… ourselves. It wasn't just about the hair, or lack thereof. It was about the impulsive decision, the shared experience, the courage to step outside our comfort zones and embrace the unknown. It was about shedding the superficial and discovering the strength and beauty that had been there all along, hidden beneath layers of expectation and self-imposed limitations. It was about realizing that true freedom wasn't about conforming, but about daring to be different, together. And in that moment, rubbing our newly shaved heads, we knew, without a doubt, that we had never looked, or felt, so good.

Headsahved by female cops

i was in my car on nh5 highway the road was empty as a graveyard there was no sign of any hume until the end of the site my car was over the speed limit i thought this would save me some time but my luck was not so good i saw a patrolling car behind me playing siren i pulled over and waited for the cop there she was blonde sexy and in uniform she came close to the window and asked for the license i pulled my driving license from the drawer below and handed it to her she looked at the driver's license and then at me she said is that you i replied yes then she said but in this picture you are bald i said i know it was back when i used to keep my head shaved she said you crossed the speed limit too you have to pay the charge for that i don't want any tickets on me so i asked her if there's something we could do she stared at me and said yes there is something come close to the window i put my head out of the window she grabbed my head and asked me to stay still i got a little scared and said what are you doing she replied matching your face to your driver's license picture i am shaving your head i pulled my head back in and said are you crazy what are you saying she said i can arrest you for outstanding tickets and not cooperating with me i started thinking hair against arrest the answer was clear i put my head back on the window she then pulled a straight razor from her back pocket held it in her right hand and started running her left hand on my head then she placed the straight razor on the center of my head and started running toward down i was facing down soon hair started falling off my head to the ground she was enjoying shaving my head i could hear her moaning the razor was clearing my scalp it started feeling odd on the shaved portion after shaving my head from the front she started shaving my head from the back now after every razor glides the hair falls on my shoulder and then on the ground she was pushing the razor from the top to back the sound of hair getting shaved was clear after a few minutes i was completely bald she was running her hand on my shaved head and called someone on her wireless she said i got one come here soon i had no idea who she called after some time another cop arrived she was as hot as the first one she looked at me and said it was my turn and you shaved him completely then the first cop replied i know but i could not help myself next time you will be the first to shave i promise then the second cop came close to me and rubbed her hand on my shaved head and said still smoothness is missing then the first cop intervened yes that's why i called you to make it smooth she smiled and said i love you baby then she took the razor from her and placed her hand on my head and started shaving it from back to top she was doing the reverse head shave after every stroke she was wiping the shaved hair stuck on the razor on my t-shirt afterwards she looked up i could only see her uniform but she was busy shaving my head this time she placed the razor in front of my shaved head and pushed it towards the back she was still wiping the hair on my t-shirt the first cop was standing and watching her shave my head in a few minutes my head was shaved smooth then she folded the razor and gave it back to the first cop now both the cops came close to me and rubbed my shaved head after rubbing my shaved head for a few minutes they returned my driver's license and said don't drive too fast then they got into their cars and left i was still sitting in the car cleaning the hair from my shoulders and t-shirt after dusting off my shaved hair i ran my hand on my shaved head it was seriously smooth then i also left on the whole trip i kept rubbing my shaved head which i liked. #women's head shaving #female head shave #female head shaving #head shaving women #head shave woman #head shave of woman #head shave of women #hair saloon #male hair salon #men salon #men's hair stylists #men's hair stylist #hairdressing salon #head 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