Bisexual Haircut Novels & Stories

“Besides, I can do that on my own. I will know the man behind this.” It will take some of Terah’s time, but she is positive she will succeed. Then again, Mariah was nowhere to be seen and her problems can wait. "We will charge an extra fee for that," the other man said. He had a buzz cut, the shortest men's haircut. It was a typical military cut and an excellent choice for active lifestyles or hard-to-manage hair types. "It will take us some time, but rest assured, we will know the man behind these. Or the woman behind these. "

I groaned as I woke up from my alarm groggily, and pushed my hair back with one hand. My long wavy silver hair was now chopped off till my shoulders. Not that I looked bad, though. It had been a week now with my new wolf cut hair that my mom did for me. And it turned out, I was actually born for this haircut. The best part is I don't even need to style it with blow dryer and curlers like others as strangely my hair stays in like that even when I wake up.

The boys had full heads of hair, it was a pain in the ass to cut it all the time because it fell in their eyes, but it grew like weed on their heads- Kaitlyn’s didn’t, but she had the most beautiful ash-blonde color with caramel highlights that sparkled under the sun.

Her scalp was burning terribly. "You! You b*tch!" Trishia struggled again against the two women's strength but she didn't succeed. Then just the next second, her hair fell to the ground in bulk. She was stupefied. Her eyes widened seeing her long smooth hair on the ground. Her fists clenched harder as she wanted to smack to death the person who cut her hair. She wiggled hard to escape but still, it was to no avail. The fat woman continued to cut her hair short. Her scissor had no directions. It goes wherever her hand led and she had so much fun doing criss-cross cutting to Trishia's hair.

“Kris loved how long it was. You love it. All men like long hair.” “That’s not true,” he said carefully, wanting to spit nails at the comparison to Muller. “I loved your hair in Johannesburg. Why do you want to shave your hair off? You say you don’t want it braided or tied up. Tell me why?” She pursed her lips. “Lizbug, I’m trying to understand.” “Don’t make me punch you in the dick!” He tried not to smile. “Fine! He braided my hair, then showed me where he’d cut my scalp, to get a clean…clean—”

“Now, let’s get on with this. If I’m going to endure this sham of a wedding, I’ll do it on my terms.” The hairstylist completed her work in under 40 minutes, transforming my usual straight black hair into a cascade of voluminous curls. Each curl was perfectly defined, framing my face beautifully before flowing effortlessly down my back, just above my waist. The result was stunning, even by my own high standards.

It was time to take control of my life and make a change. With a deep breath, I closed the mirror cabinet door and took a firm grip on the scissors. The cool metal felt reassuringly solid in my hand, like a lifeline to a new beginning. I raised the scissors high an inch above my shoulders, ready to take the plunge. My mind raced with doubts and uncertainty, but my body moved forward with conviction. With one swift motion, I brought the scissors down, cutting through the tangles of my long blonde hair. As the strands fell to the floor, I felt a sense of liberation wash over me. The weight of my hair, both physical and emotional, lifted from my shoulders. I stared at my reflection, watching as

“When you can reach out to us again.” “My turn!” Bernard came forward with a bag. Setting it on the table next to me, he took out a brush, clippers and a razor. Brushing through my hair first, he wrinkled his nose and pulled out a spray bottle. Once I was a drowned pup, he started to split my hair. Most of it was now falling heavily to my right side. He ran his finger along a part that wasn’t too far off my center part. “Alright, Sky. There is no going back if I cut it now.”

"If it were me, I'd be inconsolable in my grief." "If it were you, we'd run the risk of exposing the world to the massive holes in your skull." "They're called ears, Dahlia," Callia rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out as she polished her pinky toe. "You have them too." "And yet, I seem to be the only one using them," Dahlia looked at me, sighing. "Ignore them, just see what you can do about fixing…this." "I can do an asymmetrical bob and then sheer the rest real low for the hair at the back. Like a soldier's undercut from the Steppes."

While I was brushing my teeth, I looked at the bruise on my cheek. Last night I went to a rundown bar to get something to drink and start a fight. I’ve had that nightmare the last couple of nights, so I needed to let off some steam or I would’ve hurt the next idiotic person I came across. Hey, some people fuck, I fight. When I was done in the bathroom, I combed my hair. I really need to get a haircut. It’s been a while. My hair is almost to my knees, which means braided, it’s about mid-butt. I like to keep it about waist length to cover up the scars on my back. I didn’t realize how long it had been because I keep it braided all the time.