Time for a trim

Alexa sat through a long session at the salon. Her stylist trimmed, cut, and sheared through hair, creating growing haystacks of trimmings on the floor. A quick rinse and dry, and then to the hair technicians to coat her hair in a delicate nest of chemicals and rollers to affix her hair into curly tresses. Then, back again to the chair for more clipping to frame it all. By the time her hair appointment was over, the sun was starting to touch the skyline. She took a final look in the mirror. Despite the modest pile of trimmings, her hair looked much shorter, falling in dense waves to a few inches below her collarbone. The layering gave her hair a voluminous character and pronounced the new loose curls. Her face was framed by newly cut bangs that swept delicately across her forehead. She smiled; this was her best haircut in years.

As Alexa returned to her car, she let out a sigh of relief. For the whole session, she had been fighting with herself to stay in control and maintain focus on the haircut at hand. She kept her discipline throughout the long process, focusing on the snipping of the shears and occasional bits of conversation with her stylist. But the effort left her mental energy depleted, and as soon as she let her guard down, thoughts of the stranger invaded her mind. Like the snap of a rubber band, a jolt travelled up her spine. It felt as though her body was rewarding her with a tiny rush of pleasure. Her face flushed.