Men Haircut Fetish
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Move to Pixiv (Formerly Platform Move Poll)
Edit: After some decision-making, I've decided I'm going to move my work over to Pixiv, and not keep uploading new work here. If you want to see my new work, please follow me there. To entice you all, I'll even hold a story raffle for those who are following me on Pixiv, so keep an eye out! Previous: Hey guys. Since DA is now not allowing us to opt out of Eclipse, I'm thinking about jumping ship to another platform for uploading my writing. I'm not entirely happy about it, since I've built my following here, and it's what I've known for a long time, but Eclipse has so far been quite user-unfriendly for a writer, and I know some other people are pissed off enough to quit DA anyway, which loses me parts of my audience. With that in mind, we have a few options. I could try to adapt to this new DA, or I could move my operations to a site like Pixiv, Archive of Our Own, Tumblr, or the Hair Story Network. If I were to move, I'd leave my work up here, but I would also re-upload it to whatever became the main site, and any new work would be posted to the main site, but not here. This would be an archive more than an active account. I want to know what you guys think before I commit to anything, though. I'd prefer to keep a solid chunk of my audience intact and happy no matter what I do, and I'm hoping that's possible....
Prologue: Mitsuo Takeda was born in 1971 in Osaka, Japan, to Japanese parents. His mother died when Mitsuo was 11, and so his father married Fey, a Taiwanese businesswoman living in Osaka. From an early age, Mitsuo loved hair, and he spent many hours studying it in every way possible. This is his story…Osaka, 1989Mitsuo took a deep breath as he gazed at Nami’s amazing hair. The study room at the university library was empty apart from Mitsuo and Nami, as the rest of the study group had left for the day. Osaka University’s campus was large, and there were plenty of places for them to study, but Mitsuo liked it there. As Nami was engrossed in her biology textbook, Mitsuo drank in the beauty of her long, sleek hair. It’s sheen reflected the lights on the ceiling. It sprawled across her arm and across the table, over 5 feet in its entire length. When she stood, it reached to her knees. Mitsuo had developed some feelings for his friend of 15 years, but he wasn’t sure if it was about her, or just her hair. She was, admittedly, very pretty, with pale skin and deep brown eyes, but her hair was the real attraction. Mitsuo had never seen its equal before. After a moment of staring, Nami shifted in her chair, some of her hair falling off the table. Mitsuo’s eyes lit up as the tresses fell and he watched the movement of her silky hair. Without warning, she lifted her head. The hair moved like water in a river, smooth and with ease. “Is everyone gone already?” Nami asked. Mitsuo, caught off guard, jumped and said, “Yes, I suppose so.”“Good, I can go home,” Nami said, stretching from lack of movement. Most of her gorgeous hair fell behind her and smacked the back of the chair. This was music to Mitsuo’s ears. Evidently, Nami knew he was staring because she cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “What are you looking at, Mitsuo?” Mitsuo gulped. He had usually been discreet about his glances at her hair. Even though they had been friends for so long, since they were children, Mitsuo had always kept his feelings about her hair casual. Even when she had cut her hair from butt length to her shoulders with bangs when they were 14, he had contained his excitement. See, Mitsuo absolutely loved long hair, but the only thing he loved more was cutting it. Or, at this point, to watch it being cut. He had never, up to this point, cut anyone’s hair, although he had studied enough to be able to. His fascination with hair from an early age was always present, but Mitsuo believed that it began when he saw a young girl getting her hair cut short at a salon near his home in Osaka when he was about 7. From then on, he had always noticed long hair, especially when it was being cut. Nami’s hair was never shorter than her shoulders, the cut when she was 15 being the shortest she had ever gotten. She loved her long hair, and she cared for it dearly. Mitsuo had combed it on occasion, but only at her request. Indeed, he relished the opportunity, but he was also nervous whenever it happened. Now, after being caught staring at her hair, he realized that he should tell the truth. “I was, um, looking at your hair,” he admitted. Nami’s eyes widened. “My hair? What about it?”“Well, it’s just, so long.” It was a lame response, as it clearly pointed out the obvious. “Yes…” Nami trailed off expectantly. Mitsuo had difficulty responding to her, so he blurted out his thoughts. “Have you ever thought of cutting it?”There was a pause as Nami eyed her friend with suspicion. “Cut my hair? Like, short?” Her voice was incredulous. “Yes…?” Mitsuo said, almost in the form of a question. “But my hair is my favorite thing. I love it long.”“I guess I just can’t remember you without really long hair, that’s all.”Nami stroked her long locks with one hand, thinking. Mitsuo was unsure what she would say next. “Do you want me to cut my hair?”The question startled Mitsuo. He wasn’t expecting her to go along with it, although it was too early to tell if that was the way things were going. “Well, I guess I never…” Mitsuo struggled to find the right words. “I guess, I… if you wanted too, I…” Nami continued to stroke her gorgeous hair as she looked intently at Mitsuo. “If you like my hair, why would you want me to cut it?” Mitsuo had no truthful answer, as he both loved her long hair and wanted desperately to watch it get cut. “I don’t know, Nami,” he admitted. Nami smiled slightly, then closed her textbook. “Well, Mitsuo, I think we’re done for today.” Nami put the textbook in her bag and swung the strap over her shoulder. Her hair fell in ripples down past her butt, over her jeans. Her white top contrasted with the dark silk of her hair. Mitsuo watched as she left the study room and turned a corner out of sight. Mitsuo thought of little else but Nami’s hair for the next few days. At just 19, Mitsuo was still a kid at heart, as he loved to have his own time. His childhood interests of model airplanes and American films continued as an adult, especially the latter. His English had improved over the years, aided by his stepmother Fey, as she travelled often for her work. Mitsuo was fluent in Japanese, Mandarin, and English, and he knew some French from films he had watched. Fey was a wonderful mother for Mitsuo, and everything he needed to grow up. Mitsuo’s father wasn’t exactly distant, but he had a difficult time balancing work and family life. Fey was a Taiwanese national, but she felt right at home in Japan. Her travels necessitated her being gone for days on end, but when she was home, she would cook and clean for Mitsuo. As he got older and more responsible, they did these tasks together, and it became a sort of bonding experience for them. Mitsuo had always admired Fey’s long hair. It was thick and sleek, and fell to her mid-back. It had a few grey strands, but it looked healthy. She never cut it shorter than her shoulder-blades, but Mitsuo would often braid it for her. Contrary to the styles of the time, Fey did not like bangs or volume in her hair, and she kept it long in traditional East Asian style. Mitsuo found most of his fulfillment with his hair obsession in watching the local salon for interesting haircuts. His family lived in an apartment complex in the suburbs of Osaka, and he regularly visited a park a few blocks from the complex. The park faced a row of businesses, including a hair salon. A specific park bench afforded a wonderful view of the inner workings of the salon. On days with little homework from the university, Mitsuo would sit on the park bench for hours and watch the flow of clients in and out of the salon. Most days there was little going on, or at least not much that interested Mitsuo. A few long trims would happen, 4 inches off here, 5 inches off there, and he supposed that that was interesting. But he longed to watch full transformations, makeovers like the ones he read about in the magazines. He witnessed a few choice makeovers, where the clients would chop their hair off into a new style. His favorite instance happened just several months previous, when Mistuo had brought lunch with him. As he ate, he watched as a young woman a little older than him enter the salon. Luckily for him, the salon had a large open window that allowed easy view into the main cutting area. The woman wore a simple blouse and skirt, and her long hair hung over her shoulders all the way to her waist. She spoke with the receptionist for a moment, then was immediately sat down and caped by a stylist. The stylist negotiated different lengths with the woman, who nodded. Mitsuo’s stomach lurched as the stylist brought her hands to the woman’s neck, and the client smiled. Wasting no time, the stylist combed the woman’s hair and placed her scissors at the client’s shoulders. Mitsuo’s eyes widened as at least two feet of luscious black hair plummeted to the floor, out of sight. The stylist sheared the length off at the shoulders, and the client smiled as her long hair was chopped off all at once. The last section of long hair was severed, and the stylist immediately began to feather the ends. The result was a long bob, curled inward at the ends, with graduation and thick bangs. The client paid and thanked the stylist, then exited the salon, running her hands through her trendy new style. Although the haircut had been from a distance, Mitsuo was extremely excited by it. His heart raced and his hands went cold while he watched. The rest of the day progressed slowly and no other haircuts compared to that one the rest of the day. When he wasn’t scouting out the salon, Mitsuo often scanned through fashion magazines borrowed at the library. At that time, in the late 80s, fashion trends favored shorter hair, with bangs and plenty of volume. Hair show excerpts from the magazines depicted. There were lots of magazines featuring makeovers in progress, and he looked forward to the sight. One of his favorites depicted a woman with long, traditional hair, down to her butt, and the stylist took the scissors and snipped the tresses at her neck! The result was a bouncy bob that was curled at the ends. It was a tremendous sight to watch the thick hair falling to the floor. Although he loved the magazines and the salon watching, Mitsuo’s thoughts drifted back to Nami’s luscious locks. Her hair was so beautiful, and he wanted dearly for her to let him play with it. Of course, now that the idea of her cutting her hair was on the table, simply playing with her hair could be off the table. Nevertheless, Mitsuo resolved to try anyway. A few days after the incident in the study room, Mitsuo and Nami were sitting on her bed in her room. Mitsuo had always been welcomed over by Nami’s family to study, as long as they kept the door open. Nami sat on one side of the bed, her long hair draped on the bed next to her. Mitsuo sat with his biology textbook open on his lap, but he stole glances at Nami’s luscious locks every so often. “So the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” Nami repeated from her notes. Mitsuo hated biology, as his focus was on economics and world diplomacy. The course was necessary for his program and so he endured it, although having Nami in his class was a benefit at least. Today, she wore a simple sweater and dress, although she had discarded her sweater earlier. “What about the cytoplasm?” Nami’s question confounded Mitsuo, who only mumbled, “I can’t remember.”Nami tutted softly, although Mitsuo knew it was only half serious. She studied environmental science, as it was her passion to work with fish and dolphins, which Mitsuo never truly understood. “Mitsuo, are you okay? Nami asked. “It seems like you’re really distant today.”This was true; Mitsuo usually was more involved in study sessions, but here, in the intimacy of a bedroom, Mitsuo’s mind was only on Nami’s hair. He stared at the ground, then looked directly into her lovely eyes. “Nami,” Mitsuo began slowly, “may I brush your hair?”Nami stared at her friend with a blank expression. Mitsuo kicked himself mentally, sure that he had blown his chance. Then, to his astonishment, Nami smiled and reached for her hairbrush. “Sure.”She turned her back to Mitsuo, swinging her magificent tresses behind her so that it spilled onto the bed at it Mitsuo’s knees. He gulped as Nami handed the brush to him. With a shaking hand, Mitsuo grasped a large lock of hair and began to run the brush through it. The feeling was incredible as he ran the brush through the cool, silken blanket of hair. Mitsuo had never been this close to someone’s hair that didn’t belong to Fey; with his stepmother, it was a different experience entirely.Mitsuo’s hands steadied as he continued to brush the thick hair. Nami breathed deeply with pleasure, which encouraged Mitsuo to continue. He started at the roots, then the brush glided with ease, almost on its own. Nami’s hair was incredibly thick and well taken care of indeed. The ends, which stretched out incredibly far, were trimmed and blunt. It was amazing hair, but a little old-fashioned.“Your hair is gorgeous, Nami,” Mitsuo said softly.“Thank you,” Nami replied in a tone of serenity.“When was your last haircut?” There was a pause.“A few weeks ago. My mother cut it for me.”“She did a fine job. Your hair grows very fast.”“Mmm.” Nami moaned slightly as Mitsuo continued his blissful motions. It was such an amazing sensation that Mitsuo wished it would never end. As much as he loved Nami’s long hair, however, his real dream was to cut her hair. That would take a little more work.“I’ve done a lot of research on hair cutting,” Mitsuo offered. Nami turned her head slightly.“Is this about you wanting me to cut my hair?” Mitsuo breathed heavily. He knew he would have to be careful about this.“Yes, in a way.”“Why? Why do you want me to cut my hair?” Nami turned to face Mitsuo on the bed.“Well, a shorter style would suit your face shape. I have read fashion magazines about it. It would make you more modern, hip, interesting.”“Am I not interesting now?” Nami demanded.“No, it’s not that. A new style would change your outlook, your paradigm. It would freshen things up, give you more confidence.”Mitsuo could tell he had made an impact. Nami stared into the middle distance, absentmindedly stroking a lock of her hair. She was clearly thinking about the idea.“But,” she started hesitantly, “I’ve had long hair my whole life.”“All the more reason to cut it now, Nami. You’re 19 years old, you’re at university. It’s time for a change, if you ask me.”Nami looked into Mitsuo’s eyes, and he smiled.“Do you really think shorter hair would look good on me?” she asked earnestly.“Of course! That’s why I suggested it in the first place.”Nami seemed mollified, and she turned back around and let Mitsuo resume the brushing.“How short?” she inquired.“Maybe shoulder length,” Mitsuo responded, indicating the level with his hand.“That is a lot of hair to cut off.”“Yes, but it would flatter your face shape. And it would be easier to manage!”Mitsuo saw Nami half smile as he continued brushing. He knew that he had finally convinced her, but it was important to him that she wanted to do it as well, and that she liked it. They sat in the bedroom for another hour or so, studying and brushing on and off, until Mitsuo finally left for home.The next few days passed very slowly as Mitsuo dreamed of how he would suggest to Nami to cut her hair. He had chosen the hair salon by the park, the one he always visited, as the ideal place for it to happen. He was more than willing to pay for it, as it was the least he could do for convincing her to cut it in the first place.They were both seated on Nami’s bed again, with him brushing her long hair out as it was draped over the sheets. As he brushed, Nami spoke:“I want you to cut my hair.” Mitsuo nearly dropped his brush in astonishment. “Me?” His heart was racing as she turned to speak with him. “Yes, it was your suggestion after all. And I think that you would like to do it. Or am I wrong?”Mitsuo was at a loss. He, in theory, could do a fine job in cutting her hair, but would he? “I suppose, but, I am not a stylist.” “I’m not looking for some stylist to cut my hair. I want you to do it. Then, without warning, Nami planted a kiss on his cheek. Mitsuo’s face began to burn, and Nami smiled sweetly. “It would mean so much to me, Mitsuo.”Mitsuo swallowed, still trying to take in what had just happened. Finally, after sever seconds of silence, Mitsuo spoke in a tone far more clam than he actually felt. “Alright, I will.” Nami beamed at him. Her delight was apparent, but Mitsuo realized a problem. “I don’t have any professional equipment,” Mitsuo began. Without a word, Nami jumped off the bed and ran over to her dresser. She opened one of the drawers and retrieved a canvas bag. She took the bag and grabbed a stool from her desk. With Mitsuo still watching, Nami set the stool in the center of her bedroom, set the canvas bag down on the bed, and took a clean white sheet from her desk. Then, she stopped and looked at Mitsuo. “I have scissors and a comb in the bag. You can put the sheet around me as a cape. I want you to cut it right now, before I change my mind.”Mitsuo looked at the bag, then at the stool, then at Nami. She looked sincere, and it seemed that there was no way of getting out of this. Mitsuo deperately wanted to cut her hair short, to a new modern style. But now...when it actually came down to it, he was hesitant. He really cared for Nami, and he didn’t want her to feel pressured into it. Of course, it didn’t feel that way, but Mitsuo stilled had a pit in his stomach. “Okay, I’ll do it.” Mitsuo stood up and rummaged through the bag. Sure enough, he found the scissors and comb. They were both professional grade, which impressed Mitsuo, who had expected something simple. Nami dutifully sat on the stool, and Mitsuo came to himself as he realized what was about to happen. He was going to chop off Nami’s knee length hair. It was a staggering proposition, but it needed to be done. Mitsuo took the sheet and threw it around Nami shoulders, eveloping her completely. Her black hair contrasted starkly with the whiteness of the makeshift cape. He moved her hair so that it fell over one shoulder as he secured the sheet in the back with a large safety pin. The hair was so long and thick, it fell down past her legs and hung toward the floor. Mitsuo took a comb and began to comb through the lovely hair. He had done this several times before, but now, he was ready to follow through and cut off all this long hair. Of course, it wouldn’t be too short; the style he had picked would suit her well. “How will you cut it?” Nami asked meekly. Mitsuo bit his lip and set down the comb, admiring Nami’s length. “Something modern, with bangs. Maybe at the shoulders.”Nami cocked her head, then she nodded. “That will be satisfactory.” Mitsuo smiled. It was
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