Under His Hand

The journal of a slave

Give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair, Shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen…

It surprised me, the ease with which the beautician dismissed me and listened to Master.

She initially asked me what I wanted done with my hair as I was taking my seat in her chair. I opened my mouth to deliver the rehearsed directive he’d given me, but before I could finish, Master spoke from where he’d been standing behind us, she turned to him – and she never spoke to me again.

They made small talk while she cut, with her occasionally asking him questions about my hair cut.

I fully expected at some point that she’d ask me if I was okay with it. Or at the very least if I agreed with what he was saying. But nothing.

She was a younger girl, too. I could almost understand an older woman allowing the husband’s opinion to weigh in on his wife’s haircut. But I was pretty well flabbergasted that she didn’t even ask me what I wanted, she just did what he said.

I thought we lived in a feminist society? lol

I could tell from how it felt that she was cutting it short, far FAR shorter than what he’d told me to ask for, and I started to get nervous.

No. That’s not accurate. I started to get terrified. I know how beauticians sometimes take liberties. An inch becomes three, “shoulder length” ends up at your chin. I know because I’ve been there. Me having long hair has been a must for the last 12 years, he barely lets me get a trim, so feeling those scissors snipping so HIGH up my back made me sweat. Was he watching? Was he paying attention? Should I say something? Should I scream “RED!”??

And then I heard him say “No, take off a little more.”

So I let go and let Master.

When I went in, I had hair swishing the small of my back. Now, it’s barely past my shoulders- and some of the layers don’t even touch my neck. It feels AMAZING. I don’t even care what it looks like. My hair was thick and heavy and hot, this feels light and flouncy and lovely.

At the end, as I getting out of the chair she said, almost as an after thought, like she’d forgotten I was there: “Oh! Do you want to see the back of it?” and picked up the little hand mirror to hand me.

I laughed. Nah… what for? Master’s got this.