The sting of a recent breakup had left Ron raw, the emotional tempest leaving him adrift and unable to navigate the choppy waters of his professional life. Eight months had passed, an agonizing crawl toward recovery, before he'd even considered dipping a toe back into the complexities of dating. He found himself on a peculiar online platform, a haven for those harboring “insane fantasies.” With a shrug and a healthy dose of desperation, Ron created a profile, the blank avatar of “Riya” appearing as a response within minutes. “Hi, Are you up for some fun?” Her message, devoid of any visual context, was a gamble, but Ron, adrift and seeking solace, agreed to a Saturday evening rendezvous at Kempfort Mall.
Seven minutes past the appointed hour, Ron found himself scanning the faces of passing women, a knot of nervous anticipation tightening in his stomach. Then, a voice, clear and confident, cut through his reverie. “Ron, correct?” He looked up to see a woman whose beauty stopped him in his tracks. “You must be Riya,” he managed, his voice a little hoarse. She confirmed, and as they settled into conversation, the awkwardness melted away. He found himself confessing the raw wounds of his heartbreak. Riya listened, her own story unfolding like a whispered secret: she was searching for someone who embraced her unique fetish. When he inquired, her smile held a knowing mystery. “I don’t want to spoil the mood just yet,” she’d said, her evasion only heightening his curiosity.
As the evening drew to a close, Riya asked for a ride home. The gentleman in Ron, still nascent after his emotional battering, agreed. Outside her door, the invitation for coffee hung in the air, a tempting extension of the burgeoning connection. Inside her spacious apartment, over steaming mugs, Riya finally unveiled her secret. Her fantasy, she confessed, was a primal urge to shave men’s heads. She spoke of past partners who’d found it “crazy,” their hasty departures leaving a trail of sadness. Riya looked at him, her eyes vulnerable. “It’s okay if you want to leave,” she offered, a palpable disappointment in her tone.
A peculiar calm settled over Ron. He’d lost so much already; perhaps this was a trade he was willing to make. To find connection, to bring this beautiful woman a flicker of happiness, what was the loss of a few inches of hair? “Your fantasy isn’t crazy,” he said, the words surprising even himself. A genuine smile lit up Riya’s face. “Thank you for understanding.” He pressed on, “If shaving my head makes you feel good, then you can shave it.”
Riya stared, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Seriously, you want me to shave your head?" Ron chuckled. "Why not? I was thinking about a haircut anyway. And... I'd get to see you in action." The words were barely out of his mouth when Riya, with a sudden burst of energy, launched herself from her chair and kissed him. Pulling back, her eyes locked onto his, she whispered, “Shall we do it now?” The thrill of the unexpected, the shared intimacy of the moment, propelled him forward. “Let’s do it,” he agreed.
Excitement surged through Riya. “Let me get the shaving kit.” As she disappeared, Ron savored his coffee, a pragmatic thought surfacing: this sacrifice of his hair should not be in vain. He saw a potential exchange – his hair for her affection. It felt like a surprisingly good deal. Riya returned, a gleaming silver box in her hands. “Come into the bathroom once you’ve finished your coffee.”
In the bathroom, Riya arranged a stool before the mirror. “Sit here,” she instructed. Ron complied, feeling a strange sense of surrender. “Take off your shirt,” she added. “There’ll be a lot of shaved hair, and I don’t want to spoil your T-shirt.” He shed his shirt, and Riya, with experienced hands, draped a towel around his neck, then began to spray his head with cool water, her fingers massaging his scalp. “You have thick, long hair,” she murmured, a pleased tone in her voice. “This will be fun.” Ron could only smile. “I know it will be fun for you.”
She opened the silver box, revealing a gleaming straight razor, and loaded it with a grim, yet eager, smile. “I hope you like a smooth head shave,” she warned. “If I’m losing all of it,” Ron replied, a shiver tracing his spine, “smooth is the only way to go.” With a wink, she gently guided his head over the sink. The razor met his scalp, the first glide a tentative whisper. Ron’s breath hitched. He lifted his head, a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. Riya paused, lifted a strand of his hair, smelled it with closed eyes, then dropped it into the sink. She ran her fingers over the newly shaved patch, a look of pure satisfaction on her face. Then, she pushed his head back down, continuing her work.
With each stroke, Riya’s body pressed closer to his. The sink filled with his dark hair, a growing testament to the transformation. A splash of cold water on his now-bare scalp made him shiver. “What happened, baby?” Riya’s voice was laced with a teasing edge. “Is the water too cold for your shaved scalp?” He confessed it was, and she resumed shaving, her movements becoming more urgent, more intense. The back of his head followed, then both sides. He lifted his head, catching his reflection in the mirror. His head was a stark, bald dome, still dusted with stray hairs. Riya, instead of wiping, continued shaving until the last vestiges of hair were gone. She meticulously cleaned his scalp, then went over it multiple times with the razor, leaving it flawlessly smooth. The cloth now slid effortlessly across his skin.
“It’s getting late,” Riya said, her voice softened. “You should stay.” Ron, weary from the prolonged sitting and the strangeness of the experience, agreed. He cleaned himself up and joined her in the living room. A call from the bedroom beckoned, “Come here. I’ve made your bed.” He found Riya in a silky nightdress, a vision of temptation, but exhaustion held him captive. He crawled into bed, murmuring his fatigue. Riya ran her hand over his newly shaven head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Sure, baby.” He fell asleep facing down, hoping for the comfort of her touch.
A few hours later, he was roused by Riya. “I can’t sleep,” she whispered. Ron, groggy, asked what he could do. “I want to shave more,” she declared. He turned his head, showing her his smooth scalp. “Baby, do you think I left a single hair?” She shook her head. “I know your head is shaved smooth, but I want to shave your shaved head again.” A wave of exhaustion washed over him. He moved to her lap, cradling his head against her. “I can’t sit on that stool anymore,” he murmured. “If you want to shave my head, do it while I’m sleeping on your lap.” She responded with a flurry of kisses on his scalp, her agreement sealed.
She retrieved the razor, positioning his head on her lap. Ron held onto her hips like a cherished teddy bear, closing his eyes. The gentle scraping of the razor against his smoothed scalp was surprisingly soothing. He drifted back to sleep.
Morning found him alone in the bed. A call to Riya confirmed she was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. He smiled, a strange contentment blooming within him, the decision to avoid serious relationships already a fading memory. As he walked towards the bathroom, he caught his reflection. He gasped. The person staring back was unrecognizable. Not only was his head perfectly bald, but his beard, mustache, and eyebrows were gone too, leaving his face as smooth and round as an egg.
He confronted Riya in the kitchen. Her explanation was chillingly detached. Last night, her desire had become overwhelming. His already shaved head hadn't offered enough. Her gaze had fallen on his facial hair, and she hadn't been able to resist. The look in her eyes, as she spoke, sent a fresh wave of fear through him. “Baby, you’re not going anywhere,” she stated, her voice disturbingly calm. “From now on, you’ll stay with me, and I will shave your head every day. You slept with me last night, so this body is yours, and in return, I will keep shaving your head.” The truth of her madness hit him with full force. He finally understood why her partners had fled. Escaping her clutches, he knew, would be a far greater battle than any he had faced before, and the haunting memory of those eyes would forever chase him in his sleep. He hadn't told her about his previous escape, a small, fleeting piece of knowledge that offered no comfort.
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