There was a light knock at the door.
“Yes?” I sat up in the bath, instinctively covering my breasts as the young woman walked in. Apparently, she was to be my shadow, popping round whenever and wherever.
“Master says I am to cut your hair before dinner.”
She held a tray with shining stainless steel scissors and a silver comb.
“He says it’s part of the letting go.”
It made sense, I supposed, but I hadn’t been expecting it. I wasn’t sure how I felt about shearing my long tresses, but…
The young woman set the tray on the bathroom counter, and as I slipped out of the water, steam wafting just above my skin like an smoke-colored aura, she began to pat me dry with a large, fluffy white towel.
The cut of the scissors was sharp and crisp, and I felt the coolness of the steel against the nape of my neck…the clumps of wet hair sliding down my shoulders and back to the floor. For vanity’s sake, I hoped the young woman knew what she was doing.
“What is your name?” I figured this was a pretty intimate thing to be doing, sitting here naked on a stool having my hair snipped by a woman whom, to this point, had remained nameless.
“You can call me Tess.” Her voice was young, as was her face. I assumed maybe 20 at most.
“I think I’m all done,” she continued. Giving me an ornate hand-mirror, she let me look at the back. It was short, as I’d expected…shorter than I’d worn it since I was a child.
“It’s nearly time for dinner, Miss. Master will be waiting.”
She spent the next 30 minutes futzing with my hair, powdering and spritzing my skin, and removing the last vestiges of polish from my nails. I was to be clean upon presentation, as new and fresh as possible.
“I’ll help you with your pubic hair tomorrow; there isn’t time tonight, but He’ll understand.” Tess collected her supplies and tools and scurried out of the bathroom, leaving me alone to take stock of my countenance.
I lit a cigarette and looked at myself in the mirror. Naked, smooth, white as a ghost and almost as transparent, my hope and fear clearly shining through.
Tess reappeared, took the cigarette from my hand with a fleeting look of disapproval, and motioned for me to follow. Down the stairs, across the foyer tile, and onto the polished wood floor of the dining room. My bare feet took in the coolness of it, and the rest of me tingled to be naked in the slight breeze of movement. I was highly conscious of my erect nipples and the rising goose-flesh.
“Kneel here,” Tess whispered, directing me to a mat laid beside the chair at the head of the table.
“Master will arrive promptly at eight.”
I knelt, wondering where to place my hands and where to direct my gaze, my posture rising to the sound of coming footsteps.
I always use the prompt photo to get myself started with this story. Sometimes I veer far from it, and it isn’t always obvious that the prompt got me where I went. But this week, I think you can definitely see how the prompt was an integral part of things.
Thanks, F. Dot Leonora, for the inspiration to keep this little story going!