textfiles/sex/EROTICA/B/bad_boy.txt

Bad, Bad Boy !
by
S.MegansC1994


The cat cruised across the lawn, a lion's stroll as it surveyed it's
domain, but then froze as a shadowed form passed across the glitter of the
kitchen window.

Alisia turned the mail on the kitchen counter-top over and spread it under
her idle fingers.  She never actually read the mail - yet another of the
chores she usually left to her 'Significant Other', like replacing light
bulbs or the empty toilet rolls.  She stopped her casual disarray of the
mail and fingered a pink envelope that was actually addressed by hand ..
and carried real stamps.  With a tinge of guilt she slid the envelope out
from the untidy stack, and looked for a return address.  None, but she
saw, it was already opened.  So she took it out and began to read it, with
pure guilt now flushing her cheeks.  Hastily she pushed the folded sheet
back into the envelope, her face as pink as the paper.  What was she doing
--reading her lover's mail.  She paused, then slid the sheet out again,
and again began to read the strange letter.

Jealousy -- unfounded by the letter's contents, but real for all that--
now battled with her guilty curiosity.  It was obviously a woman's hand,
simply signed with formal regards.  The paper still held a perfume, alien
and yet tantalizing Alisia with a further surge of jealous anger.  But the
contents were innocuous, if very strange.

	"CREWCUT:  Flat at the front top, possible as far back as the
center of the
	ears, the rest (sides and back) clipped to follow the contours of
the head.
	FLATTOP:  The entire top cut flat, the sides and back cut close,
and maybe
	also flat to create a "boxy" look on at the top.
	BUZZCUT or BUTCH:  Hair is buzzed to the same length all over,
1/2" or less.
	BRUSHCUT: So short the hair stands on end, (clipped with the 1"
attachment),
	but still very fluffy, enough hair left to run your fingers
through although
	just barely.
	HIGH & TIGHT:  Short clippered hair (either flat or "butch" but
less than
	1/2" for sure), with the sides and back clipped to bare stubble up
to about
	2" above the tops of the ears, where the flat sides of the skull
begin to
	curve into the rounded top....... "	

There was more, along the same lines but then her heart thumped as she
read..

	".. several of my readers  have asked for the same guidance on
getting a loved one
	to crop off their hair.  All I can say is that love works best -
explain your needs 
	to 'your sweet Alisia' as you call her - you obviously have a
solid relationship as
	your tender feelings and caring for HER reaction show.  Ask her to
give you
	her hair - let her offer you the sacrifice in a 'giving' moment.
Most of these 'boyish' 
	styles look ..... "

Alisia heart thumped, the only motion in her stiffened body until she
gasped for air and sat down.  Her trembling fingers slid the paper back
into the pink envelope, and she sat stunned and reached out for an
understanding.  Her attempt was defeated, but she grew calmer.  She took
up the letter and read it through again.

What did it mean ?

A dawning realization nagged at her, as she thought about the many
comments of her lover -- always on the subject of shorter hair styles --
whenever Alisia returned from the Beauty Salon. The causal -- but now
suddenly and deeply significant -- compliments on the short cuts sported
by other women they sometimes saw.  These never failed to generate the
little sparks of jealousy and resentment in Alisia, who experienced them
anew as she sought to understand what she had read.  Alisia took up the
letter yet again, turned and crossed to the living room and, tucking her
legs under her in an enchanting poise that always pleased her mate, read
the words again.  And again.

She looked up from the pink page and stared at the wall, her fingers
tangling her dark, thick and shiny straight hair, in her typical pose of
deep thought.  She grew conscious of her hand twirling the side piece of
her hair into an untidy ringlet and pulled her hand to her lap suddenly,
as though her tresses were scalding.  She crossed her hands in her lap,
and wriggled in discomfort.  The letter, she had concluded, was a reply to
questions asked of the writer about HER ... and, puzzling, about short
haircuts for men.   And how to persuade her to crop her own locks off to
one of the described, brutally short styles.

But why; what did it mean ?

	".... So short the hair stands on end, (clipped with the 1"
attachment),
	but still very fluffy, enough hair left to run your fingers
through although
	just barely.
	HIGH & TIGHT:  Short clippered hair (either flat or "butch" but
less than
	1/2" for sure), with the sides and back clipped to bare stubble up
to ...."

Such strangely clear terms.  Such deep detail, almost ..  obsessive,
excited .. almost a sexual use of words she realized.  Alisia flushed.  
Her lover was kinky.

She rejected the thought as unworthy and cruel.  But it came back to
nibble at her consciousness, flooded up into her thoughts as a strong
answer.  She turned again to the letter, then out of her childhood came
her Mother's voice chastising her for eavesdropping, for peeping -- for
treading on another's privacy.  She untangled her long legs and stood up
in one fluid movement, to cross to the kitchen, to re-insert the envelope
among the stack of bills and circulars, hasty and guilty.  

	"Nosy-peepers never find good of themselves"

She actually 'heard' her mom's voice as she stood there, looking down in
her still stunned state at the pink corner peeping from under the junk.
She felt a protest bubble in her heart.  It was not her fault, not her
wrong - the 'bad' thing she had found was not her sin.  A perversion.  A
tear welled in each corner of her brown eyes. Then a hiccup of surprised
amusement... who was she to call Dan a pervert, her fantasies drove them
both.  Her mind confused, whirling and spinning exhausted her, she
returned to the sofa and cuddled her feet under her and sat.  Thinking.

What did it all mean?

The letter's pulling power was almost tactile, calling her, wanting to fly
again to her fingers.  She cast a guilty look at the clock, it was only
noon, hours yet before Dan would bounce, bubbling and cheerfully loving,
through the front door.  Slowly she let the pull draw her back to the
kitchen.  She read again.

	" Most of these 'boyish' styles look very good on a small featured
and neat
	head.  Even if her ears were a little prominent, they would be
balanced by
	the seemingly enlarged eyes and elongated neck - particularly if
"your sweet 
	Alisia" is as pretty as you say ! So, keep explaining your need in
a 
	loving way, and I am sure she will understand and offer you some
gesture 
	of love in return. Good luck! "

Boyish.  Strange choice of words.  Alisia gazed out the kitchen window,
her sight, if not her attention, caught by a red-throated blackbird at the
feeding bowl on the old oak stump.  Suddenly she saw her cat behind the
elephant ear plant, back arched, and she leant forward to the window glass
to rap out a warning to both bird and stalker.  The cat sat back and began
to wash his paws and behind his ears as though this was all that he had in
mind - the blue-black wings of the bird fluttered as it went back to water
melon seeds that Dan had laid out on the feeder that morning.  Boyish ?

The black slacks had set off her slimness nicely, she mused.  That white
shirt of Dan's had bulked a bit in them, the tails being so long, but she
had smoothed out the sight-lines, as best she could and with the heavy
'Doc-Martins' the overall effect was good.  She recalled both the surprise
and the delight Dan had shown when she had finished tucking up her
shoulder length dark hair into the baseball cap and had 'strode' into the
bedroom in her outfit.  Boyish.

Their love making was almost violent on that occasion she recalled, still
watching the cat in his 'Mr. Cool' display of unconcerned grooming in the
garden. Her fingers were in her hair again. Dan thought she was pretty and
had even told the writer so.  She smiled.  The silly.  What was that bit
about prominent ears ?  Alisia turned and crossed to the bathroom, pulling
her hair back from her ears with both hands to peer uncertain and with a
tremble of butterflies into the mirror.  

The cat stopped washing and slowly hunkered down in the long grass, and
began to creep forward towards the hungry bird.

					__****__


Alisia's eyes grew huge as she opened them as large as she could, her
eyebrows curving darkly and the tight elastic skin on her forehead
wrinkled into three sharp lines.  Her ears were prominent, she thought. 
Then argued that no, perhaps not.  But she was decidedly, firm now,
'boyish'.  Her soft mouth was ever slightly open, the two slightly
prominent front teeth, large and white, and this square-ness was
complimented by her neat chin.  She did have a 'neat head' after all.  She
turned her head to one side and saw the dark tresses bunched at her neck
and gasped at a tiny secret thought that popped suddenly into her mirrored
musings.  Her dark hair spilled down from her slack fingers to swing in a
glistening cape over her white T-shirted shoulders again.  Alisia looked
at it, her hands now at her sides.  She swung her head sharply over her
left shoulder and back again to watch the shining hair swirl, spin, and
settle.  A soft perfume was creeping into her nostrils.  She spun her dark
locks again and inhaled this fragrance as the squeaky clean cape settled,
gently releasing the smell of her shampoo.  Boyish.  The word stirred the
tiny secret thought again and it wriggled and crawled, and she trembled.

She crossed to their bedroom and sat, strangely breathless as though
puffed with exertion, on the satin covered bed.  Her thoughts returned to
the letter and she fought anew the conclusion she had drawn from it's
puzzle. She blushed again at her nosy intrusion into the privacy of her
loved one. But the idea that caused this flush remained and she slowly
stood and went into the closet.  Standing on tiptoe her fingers could,
just, reach under a corner of the brown cardboard box on the top shelf. 
She pushed up and scrambled until the box slid off the wire shelf,
catching it with both hands as it began to tip.  She drew it down and
crossed again to the bed, her heart thumping with excited guilt.  She
heard and grinned at, her mother's re-heard voice in her head and
carefully picked at the sticky-tape that sealed Dan's "papers" in the box.
 Folding back the flaps she leant over to peer into the box, her hair
swinging down in two dark wings to cover her blushing cheeks.

Alisia 'hid' under the wings of her dark hair and closing her eyes, grew
very still.  Soon she grew calm and carefully took up the thick layer of
the magazines, tied with ribbon, and placed them on the bed.  She gave a
cursory glance at the rest of the contents - they were just 'papers'.  The
magazines however were different to anything she had ever seen.  The
titles were enough to cause her stomach to flip over.  Razors Edge, Close
Shave, and Yankee Clipper.  She untied the ribbon and took one up in her
trembling hands and opened it.

When Alisia had taken her second, or even third look at several particular
pictures, and had read at least some of the letters in the Reader's Mail
columns again, she quietly re-tied the magazines, re-stuck the box and
went to the kitchen for the stool.  She slid the box back in the closet's
darkness and, with a determined briskness, crossed to the bathroom,
undressing in her usual way, shedding and abandoning her items of clothing
one by one, like blazing a trail to her naked presence.

She spent a long time brushing her still wet hair after her shower,
brushing it straight back, tight and smooth in a shining cap across her
neat head.  So long in fact, that the mirror cleared of steam and
condensation and, when she finally truly looked and actually saw again,
rather than just dreaming, she gave a start of surprise.  She quickly
caught at the bunch of her hair at her nape, with that practiced yet
unconscious twist of the skillful, and knotted it into a dark, damp bun.
She crossed into the bedroom, kicking her discarded clothes along in front
until she bundled them up into the wicker basket.  Her long slim frame,
glowing with a youthful bloom, was sprinkled with jeweled droplets in the
high sun that slid under the blinds.  Alisia crossed to Dan's dresser
drawers and slid open the bottom one, slowly as though she was scared at
what her inquisitiveness this day would reveal now.  She found the black
silk 'jock' underwear and tossed them onto the bed.  She slid the top
drawer open, knowing it's contents well as she had washed, ironed, folded
and placed them there.  She picked dark blue socks, three handkerchiefs
and a crisp white shirt to join the silk thong on the bed.

Closing the drawer she turned and took up two of the handkerchiefs,
knotting the corner of one to the other.  She bent at the waist, puffing a
little, and knotted them around her slim frame.  She stood in front of the
full mirror and struggled the tight band of cloth up over the butting buds
of her breasts, squashing their soft plumpness, spreading the
handkerchiefs across them, flattening her usually taut and up-thrusting
profile.   She giggled at the slim white reflection, who returned an
impish glitter from dark eyes.  She stepped into the cool sack of the
briefs, wriggling them up to comfort.  Bending over the bed she rolled the
remaining handkerchief into a firm sausage of cloth.  She bent her head
down onto her chest, doubling her chins.  Peering, sucking in her already
flat tummy, arching - she lodged the roll into the briefs, tucked up into
her groin.  A further giggle at the reflection, and a further answering of
devilish glee from the reflected eyes. The shirt was cool and crisp, the
collar biting her soft nape as she buttoned it all the way to the top. 
The socks felt, somehow, 'unfinished' ending so much shorter than her
usual hose. The tight black slacks were next, and finally, with the aid a
further pair of socks stuffed into the toes, a pair of black lace-up
brogues.  Boyish.

As she left the house, the cat slid around the edge of the feeder's base
and froze as the blackbird, startled but unknowing of what, leapt up in a
flutter of shining darkness.

					__****__

Alisia found the shop, its location recovered from some dark corner of her
memory and was able to park almost outside.  She sat in thought, steeling
and caressing her decision.  She recalled the letter's advice effortlessly
"..  I am sure she will understand and offer you some gesture of love in
return.." A warmth flooded her tummy and crept into her loins as she felt,
in her mind, the love she had for her partner, and the little,
un-important seeming gestures they shared that made the love strong. 
Overwhelmingly strong, stronger than fear, than timid reactions to the
expected scorn of others.  She felt suddenly secure and content and more
than a little excited in anticipation of the response the gift she was
about to procure for Dan would create.  She got out of her car quickly, an
idea, an added perfection of detail, coursing in her excited mind.

The answering machine picked up at the third ring, as she knew it would,
and she listened with a soft sweet smile to Dan's message.  She said who
was calling, restated their love with the usual silly words that real
couples invent as their own secret code and then suggested she had not
been loving enough in return lately and asked that Dan "cut short" the
working day and be at home by noon.  She, she explained with an
uncontrollable bubble of laughter, would be there as soon as she in turn,
could "cut something short".

Taking the letter from her purse, and wondering fleetingly if it's absence
would be noted on Dan's arrival home, she tore across the page, stuffing
the rest back into her purse, which she locked in the glove compartment. 
Locking her car, taking in a deep breath - more from deep anticipation
now, rather than nervous fear - she started towards the shop. The stiff
roll in her briefs reminded her lengthen her stride, to hunch her
shoulders a little, to act with even more confidence that she actually
felt.

The shop was nearly empty, only one client  and he paying at the register.
 The owner peered at her curiously but just nodded and waited for her to
speak.  Alisia waited until the previous customer had left, then passed
over the torn letter.  She then told him she wanted her hair cut all off -
just like the note.  The barber puffed up his cheeks, expelling the air in
a wheezy groan, but turned and went back to his chair, snapped the cloth
free of the sharp dark bristles his clipper had stripped from other
clients and nodded her into the old black chair.  The note fluttered to
the floor as tucked the still itching cutting sheet at her nape, and she
peered down to read it's torn, truncated message again as he reached for
the still damp bun at her neck....
	"       ....             eate a "boxy" look on at the top.
	BUZZCUT or BUTCH:  Hair is buzzed to the same length all over,
1/2" or less."

					__****__

Still fighting the little lump of disappointment that Alisia was not yet
home, but aware of the swelling excitement at the mysterious summons,
Dan's long stride led to the kitchen.  The cat sat on the window sill,
meowing for attention.  Dan's roving glance took in the old mail, the cat
- then locked on the patio, seen through the kitchen window.  Dashing
outside, careful to push the cat away with a distasteful foot, Dan stood
and looked sadly at the ground around the bird feeder.  The blackbird's
dark feathers were spilled and scattered, clumping like tufts of cropped
dark hair.

	Bad, bad boy !  Aren't you?  Mamma's Bad Bad boy !

The cat was un-impressed as Daniella took a broom and began to sweep up
the dark feathers, she was musing that their glossy softness was just like
Alisia's own dark wings of hair when she heard the front door slam.  She
turned and muttered a further imprecation as she hurried to greet her
love.

	Bad boy !