Once upon a time a young couple were on a touring holiday when they came upon a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. They noticed a cafe, so they decided to stop and quench their thirst. It was a pleasant village with a picturesque plant nursery near the cafe, and a quaint little antique shop next door. Before they drank they decided to browse around the antique shop. They saw the usual stuff - the china teacups, the bric-a-brac, a big antique desk that was overpriced and some really interesting old gramophones. But, on one table, they spied an old, cardboard box. It was a bit battered and a bit faded, but was reasonably sound. On the front of the box was a small picture of a woman sporting a marcel-waved bob and in words, next to this, it said 'Ladies Hairclippers'. They opened up the box and together gazed down upon a beautiful set of small, shiny, silver, hand-operated hairclippers.

"They look as though they've been barely used," declared Sarah, as she picked them up and found her thumb and forefinger fell comfortably on the rests positioned for that purpose. "As shiny and new as they day they were made - what would you guess, Ben - 75 years ago?"

"Yeah, probably, " replied Ben, reviewing the instructions in three languages that lay in the box. "They were made in Germany. They've always engineered things with a quality to last."

"Built to clipper hair through into the next millennium. Except I don't think they have been. Used, that is. They really are in pristine condition," marveled Sarah.

Ben took them from her and, even with his large hand, the clippers fitted comfortably. "They feel sort of heavy, but light. Sort of cool, but warm. Does that make sense?"

Sarah nodded. "Sensuous?"

"Exactly! Sensuous," confirmed Ben. "No cables, no electricity, just a totally manual machine transferring the hand movement of one person to the falling hair of another. A very sensuous piece of machinery."

Ben handed them back to Sarah who gently returned the clippers to the box in which perhaps they had laid unused for 75 years. With a tinge almost of regret, the couple gazed down in admiration at the silver clippers before she replaced the lid.

Sitting in the cafe over lattes, discussing their future touring plans, Sarah suddenly said, "Do you know Ben, I think I'm going to buy those clippers. They're not really expensive and they just look so, well sort of, nice."

Sarah looked at her companion expecting him to ask why, but he simply said, "Yeah, why not." Then, after a pause, he added in the tone of the engineer that he was, "There's something about them that seems so - well perfect - perfect in form and, I guess, function."

Sarah nodded, drained her coffee and marched back into the shop and claimed her prize.

***

On holiday one often does strange things or things out of character. Things one wouldn't normally do. On this occasion the couple returned to their lovely blue-painted, holiday cottage by the sea with a set of reasonably priced antique hairclippers.

Sarah placed the clippers on the small coffee table on their return - not quite knowing what to do with them - and opened a bottle of Chardonnay. From the verandah of their cottage, they silently sipped their wine in their comfortable companionship. And they looked out at the amazing view towards the sea - a view of which they would never tire. But then it started raining - as inevitably happens sooner or later on summer seaside holidays. The perfect blue sea turned grey and the wonderful golden sunset they had enjoyed was swiftly overtaken by menacing black clouds. Raindrops fell into the excellent, crisp Chardonnay and on their bathing suits still drying from that morning's swim.

Disappointed, they went back inside and together their eyes rested on the small box on the coffee table. Ben removed the clippers from the box and flexed his fingers as he handled them.

"Ben, you know you said they were perfect in form and, you guessed, in function?"

"Hmmmm," said Ben, captivated by the mechanical action of the blades.

"Well would you, er, like to test out their function?" Sarah asked, a little breathlessly. "Well, just a bit that is ..."

"What? Use them? On you?" queried Ben, surprised.

"Well, I thought just on the nape ... just to see if they work ... and, er, to see how they feel ..." Sarah said, almost coyly.

"What? But you've always had long hair. I like your long hair!" Ben exclaimed.

"Just on the nape. My longer hair will cover it," she said.

"Well, yeah - OK - if you want me to," Ben agreed, himself quite keen to see if they would actually work.

So Sarah sat on one of the kitchen stools and combed her glossy, blonde mane which fell a few inches past her shoulders from a side-parting. She put down the brush, sat up straight on the stool and waited.

With no real strategy concerning what he would do, Ben simply placed the clippers on Sarah's neck and, with the clippering action he had been practicing, slowly pushed them up her neck into the hairline.

Both were silent. Ben was praying that he wouldn't stuff this up. Sarah was thinking much the same, but the urge within her that had mysteriously arisen to feel the action of the clippers remained strong.

Sarah shuddered as she felt the coolness of the blade touch her skin, and again as she heard the dry hair crunching crisply as the blade advanced. But she regained her composure each time, fearful of any movement causing Ben to cut off more than planned.

Ben studiously watched the clippers moving slowly upwards, as his thumb and forefinger maintained their rhythm. Hair began to fall away and Ben suddenly saw a path of virgin white scalp that lay behind the path of the clippers. Each hair snipped closely to the skin. Its blondeness making it appear shaved.

Ben had no idea what he was doing. And fortunately Sarah had no idea what he was doing either.

"Mmmm, that feels really nice Ben. You're so very gentle," she murmured, her eyes almost closed.

Shocked, suddenly appreciating how high he had pushed the clippers, he pulled them sharply away. However, thumb and forefinger were still operating, and the blade bit into the hair under which it had travelled causing that too to fall to the floor.

"And how does it look Ben?" Sarah asked.

He picked up the comb and ran it through from Sarah's crown to the ends of her hair, noting the two inch wide swathe that was missing at the back, bluntly clippered to a level just below the tip of her ears. No creative combing was going to hide it. Shit, he thought!

"Ben?" she asked with a little more urgency in her voice.

"It's looks really nice - er, short - er, nice and short," he stuttered, trying to sound confident. "Just using the comb to make sure the next time I go to precisely the same level."

"Ah, I hear the engineer speaking. Ve have vays of making you precise!" she giggled, not having a clue where that precise level actually lay.

Holding the comb at that level, Ben once more advanced the clippers along Sarah's nape. Feeling more confident that Ben appeared to know what he was doing she visibly relaxed, sighing deeply as the clippers nuzzled her nape, nibbling away at her hair.

Another swathe of hair fell to the floor. Several more times Ben nuzzled the clippers along Sarah's nape and each time she seemed to be enjoying the sensation more. Each time more of her long hair fell to the floor and Ben realised he was starting to enjoy himself. Enjoy himself rather a lot actually.

Finally the only long hair that remained were wings over each ear. He quickly combed each back in turn and snipped them off with the clippers, just above the ear. He then combed the hair into shape. A shape he remembered from childhood. A small boy's haircut. Except never as a small boy had he had the back of his head shaved to the bone.

He clippered it a little more to even up the blunt line half way up the back of Sarah's head. Conscious that the major clippering had stopped, Sarah brought herself out of her self-induced reverie and opened her eyes fully for the first time in a fair while. Ben appreciated that the action of the clippers was a sensuous and enjoyable experience for his partner. He hoped, probably against hope, that the result of the clippers would be similarly acceptable as he almost tripped on the long shiny coils of hair on the floor behind the stool.

"Well, there we are, all done!" he said with more confidence than he felt.

She walked over to a mirror by the window, calling back to Ben who was clearing the cut hair from the floor and tipping it in the bin, "and bring me another mirror so I can see the back."

She stood in front of the mirror and was somewhat puzzled to see the little boy staring back at her, with the neat side-parted hair. She couldn't see any hair falling to her shoulders or pinned on top of her head. The rain had stopped and the weak evening sun was now streaming through the window; Sarah felt a prickly warmth on her nape.

Her fingers slowly began to explore the back of her neck ... where there used to be hair ... just as Ben returned with a mirror to allow her to view the back.

"Ben, it feels very short back here, very short indeed," she said dispassionately. And as the mirror was positioned, she added, "and you have cut it very high ... and with no long hair to hide the nape."

"Well it is the first time I've cut a woman's hair! Mind you, it did feel really odd watching all that hair fall and seeing your nape appear from under all that hair. And to know that I had done it. To be honest it turned me on like you wouldn't believe."

"Oh, I believe it. Just feeling those clippers was enough to send me into orbit, and now seeing and feeling this beautifully sexy haircut you've given me is making me realise that we are going to have a long eventful night. Get in that bedroom, I'll be right with you."

She picked up the clippers with a smile of her face, returned them gently to the box and placed them in the nearest drawer - very appropriately, the big drawer at the bottom of the dresser which contained board-games for a rainy day. Hidden away, in case the owner of the cottage popped in andwondered what type of weirdos she had staying in her idyllic cottage.

Sarah then walked quickly to the bedroom and, with both of them as horny as anything, they began a night of the most passionate lovemaking which surpassed what either of them had ever experienced before.

The next morning they woke up late and, being their last day, had to pack quickly. In their haste both Sarah and Ben completely forgot about the clippers. So the Silver Clippers remained in their box once more. Since 1925, perhaps barely used once to cut hair ... or perhaps used just once to cut hair barely. In their box, inside the games drawer the silver clippers awaited the next guests of the blue cottage.

The blue cottage sat empty for a week. Rain had descended and the one booking that had been made had subsequently been cancelled. The owner of the cottage cleaned it, and changed the linen, but didn't think to look in the games drawer to check all was as it should be. Her guests were a trustworthy lot on the whole, people who appreciated the beautiful haven that the cottage was. The next booking was for the weekend, when a honeymoon couple would move in for a week to start their life together.

Samantha and John were cheered as they drove south and encountered blue skies and even bluer seas. Their wedding yesterday had been held under clouds that mercifully didn't drop their burden on the elegant bridesmaids or Sam's lovely ivory dress.

Samantha gasped when she saw the cottage for the first time. High on a headland, they rounded a bend in the twisting driveway and there it was, out on its own, secluded and magical. "Oh, John! How on earth did you find this?"

John grinned. He'd promised her the best honeymoon in the world on the money they had. No smart holidays overseas, but one by the coast in the most romantic spot he could find. "The net," he replied. "And it looks even nicer than the photos."

Samantha got out of the car and stretched like a cat, luxuriously. She leaned her head back and the bob which had once been pert and short hung down between her shoulder blades. She'd grown her hair for the wedding, as all her family and friends had advised her to do, and had had her stylist put it up in a rather elaborate and sophisticated swirl, one she knew she could never achieve herself. Personally she'd rather liked the idea of having a punky crop spiking up all around her headdress, but her mother and sisters had been horrified at the idea, and Samantha had been talked into having the glamorous updo instead.

While John carried the bags inside, Samantha hung over the balcony railing, looking over the hills to the sea, the wind whipping her hair around her face.

She wasn't sure whether she liked her longer hair or not. She supposed John did; not that he said. But men were supposed to like long hair on women. Sam felt much more herself with her shiny, nut brown hair bobbed. She dragged it back off her face and held it firmly as she looked at the sky. Ominous black clouds chugged across from the west; out to sea the blue had been replaced by grey as rain fell in great swathes. Well, at least they'd had two hours of sunshine!

Barely had they unpacked than the sound of rain pelted on the roof. The day had turned dark almost instantly.

"Ugh," said Samantha. "We're not going out to dinner in this weather, are we?"

John thought of the long, unsealed, slippery driveway that wound back down to the road. "No, let's stay in. We've got enough food."

Which was true. They'd gone overboard in the gourmet section at the supermarket in the nearest town, and had bags full of delightful foodstuffs. John opened a bottle of wine and Samantha made a salad.

The big balcony with the sea views was unsheltered; rain fell in as far as the French doors. But on the other side of the cottage there was a little porch with a table and chairs, dry and snug on the wet summer's eve. Samantha and John took their drinks out there and got seriously smashed watching the sky turn dark and night take over.

"Want to see if the telly's on?" Samantha articulated carefully, trying not to slur.

John obliged, lurching into the cottage. She could hear him swearing and could also hear lots of static. "TV's on the blink," he reported. "Maybe all the rain they've had down here has done something to the antenna."

Samantha giggled. "We ARE isolated, aren't we? Out in the middle of nowhere and no telly."

"Maybe there are some games or something," John suggested. "We could play Twister if they have it."

Samantha thought that sounded pretty good, getting all tangled up with her new husband in a pile of arms and legs.

They lurched inside and began to open cupboards and drawers in search of entertainment.

"Bingo!" said John triumphantly, tugging open the last drawer.

"Ugh," said Samantha. "Chess! Boring! And backgammon, I could never get the hang of that!"

"There's a pack of cards, we could play strip poker," said John hopefully.

Samantha giggled, but they both groaned when they saw that half the cards were missing.

"Maybe they're loose in the drawer," hiccuped Samantha, and began to push the board games aside. She drew out a box, a small box with an old fashioned drawing of a neatly marcel-waved woman on the front, and the words "Ladies' Hairclippers" in a flowing script underneath, together with a picture of the subject. "What on earth?"

She opened the box. "What would these be doing in the games drawer?"

John glanced at them, and felt a prickle of excitement. "Well, I'm sure you could play some games with them!" In his drunken state the thought of his bride cutting his hair - which she'd insisted he grow slightly longer for the wedding - was an exotic and erotic one.

Samantha was on the same wavelength. "I'll give you a haircut," she offered. "You need one." She ran her fingers into his hair, which was well over an inch long now.

Now Samantha wasn't a stylist. She was a secretary, and even using the paper guillotine at work produced disastrous results. As a child her paper dolls had been missing arms and legs. But John didn't know that. Gulping his fourth glass of excellent Shiraz, he sat on the sheltered porch with the porchlight dim above his head and let Samantha drape a towel around his shoulders.

John liked getting his haircut, especially if it were a pretty barberette cutting it. And there was none prettier than Samantha.

Samantha liked the feeling of the little clippers in her hand. They moulded to the shape of her thumb and fingers in a way scissors never did. Hesitantly she placed them at the back of John's neck, like she'd seen stylists do, and closed the blades. Soft short hair fell over her hands and she moved them up the back of his head an inch or two. Then saw to her horror the clippers were cutting the hair to the skin.

Samantha gulped. She didn't really want a bald husband. Not now! She was expecting that in thirty years' time! But, none the less, she had to even it up so the first inch of John's hair at the back was clipped to stubble.

John had no idea how short she was cutting, and frankly he didn't care. The feeling of the silent clippers travelling through his hair was sending him into orbit.

"How does that feel?" she asked nervously.

"Great," sighed John. "I usually get my hair cut with electric clippers but this is much nicer. Quieter. Slower. And you have a lovely gentle touch."

Samantha took a comb and began to create a creditable taper as she worked her way up his head. Sure, it was a bit ragged here and there, but John's hair grew quickly and she was sure it would look better in a week's time when the honeymoon was over. The comb she was using was a thick one, about a quarter of an inch thick, one of her own, and lucky for John it was or he'd have been scalped. Samantha used the comb as a guide and simply clipped off any hair sticking out. By the time she'd gone around the back and sides John's hair was shorter than it had ever been. Samantha gulped. Would he be cross with her? Probably not, he wasn't a vain man. She tried her best to blend in the longer top with the shorter sides, and finally used her manicure scissors to snip it neatly into a style that would probably look good loaded with gel and spiked up.

"Finished!" she said with a sigh of relief. Her hands were aching a bit from the clippers, but heavens, they were nice to use! She felt quite professional nuzzling up his neck with them.

"Your turn now," John decided, quite drunk, very horny and very honest.

"Eh? Oh, no, I don't think so." Grinning, Samantha backed away. She'd seen what the clippers could do to John's head - which he hadn't yet!

"No, seriously Sam darling, you looked great when I first met you. Not that you don't now," John added hastily, backpedalling for all he was worth. "But you had this cute little bob haircut and the back underneath was all short, remember?"

Samantha did. It was her favourite of all the haircuts she'd ever had. The nape had been undercut, clipped almost as short as John's, with a sweet little point showing right in the middle of the back. She'd loved running her hand up and down that hidden velvet under her bob.

"So you think you could cut my hair like that?"

"I'm sure of it." John's fingers were drunkenly crossed behind his back. "Take a seat, madam, and I'll get some more wine." Lurching into the kitchen he grabbed the bottle and also the big kitchen scissors the cottage had been equipped with.

Sam sat giggling, waiting for him. She'd put the towel around her and was unclipping the big butterfly clips that held her hair off her face and neck in a casual updo. Her hair, freed, flopped lusciously over her shoulders.

John filled her glass to the brim, and then peered at her hair owlishly. "Now what do I cut firsht? I mean first?"

"The nape," suggested Samantha. She remembered very well indeed how the stylist had cut it, firstly sectioning up the back hair except for the nape and then nuzzling the clippers into her hairline. What a shock it had been the first time it had happened! Samantha wasn't prepared for the click and buzz followed by the grating of the electric blades, sawing through her hair.

She used the butterfly clips and comb to section her own hair up, and waited in drunken anticipation.

There was no click and buzz this time. Just a hiccupy giggle from her personal barber and the little silver clippers, cold on her neck, silently moving through her hair with the occasional tug and pull. She gasped at the feeling - God, they were close to her skin! Did her neck look like John's now, all shaven and shorn, just little prickles of hair sticking out? She didn't care if it did! Her neck felt a lot cooler in the muggy summer evening so she guessed her husband was cutting her hair to the skin. She bent her neck forward almost without thinking about it, to enhance the sensation of the blades against her nape.

She felt the clippers move from one side of her nape to the other, marching upwards as they did. John lifted them from the tangle of her hair below the occipital bone. Although he was tempted to keep going, all the way to the top of her head!

John stroked the clippered hair at his bride's neck, looking at the contrast between her prickly stubble and the long hair he'd clipped which lay uselessly on the porch. What a great start to married life, he thought blissfully, being able to cut off all Samantha's long hair and turn her into the short haired girl he'd first met.

Regretfully he straightened her head; he'd done the neck to perfection, white skin showing through the hair. "That looks great," he sighed, and undid the butterfly clips so Sam's long shiny hair covered the naked nape.

Sam felt her neck heat up again; with the buzzed nape showing it had been cool in the steamy summer air. She couldn't wait for John to cut the rest of her annoying hair off. She took another gulp of red.

Carefully John combed through her hair. He felt rather awkward now, kind of like a ladies' hairdresser. He also felt just a teensy bit scared. He knew he was drunk and he was about to cut his new wife's hair. If he stuffed it up the honeymoon would fall to pieces.

He slid the big kitchen scissors into her hair at the neckline and opened the blades.

"Up a bit," suggested a giggly Samantha, and John dutifully slid the scissors up her nape until they were just under her occipital bone.

Then....crunch! Shiny inches of hair slid down the towel to the ground and John gulped. Nearly all Samantha's shaved nape was showing, and her bob at the moment looked like the beginning of a medieval roundhead haircut. He decided not to tell her, and kept working.

The kitchen scissors were superbly sharp, and cut off a lot of hair with one evil snip. John carefully angled the bob down from the middle of the back, estimating it would end up just under Samantha's ears at the front. The engineer in him was tapping on the window of drunkenness, and John, despite the wine and sexual tension, listened for a moment and thought about angles.

Samantha, meanwhile, saw the first long locks fall onto her knees and her eyes widened. There was a LOT of hair coming off. She didn't dare touch her head yet to find out how much. John was breathing heavily into her ear and cutting off what was left; she could feel the scissors touch her skin and liberate her neck. What the heck, she thought. It's our honeymoon. And it's rather fun.

Patiently she sat watching her long hair drop away and feeling the bob take shape around her skull. It was rather erotic, having her hair cut by her husband on the porch with a 40 watt bulb giving dim, shadowy illumination.

"Done!" said John triumphantly, combing through the thick, short bob that was, he had to admit, a lot shorter than it had been when he met her. Particularly at the back.

He dragged Samantha into the bathroom and, angling her makeup mirror carefully, showed her the back of her head.

Samantha gasped. It didn't look like HER head! Last time she'd seen the back she'd been sober and it had been long. "Wow!" she breathed, liking the way her nape was shaved to stubble. She ran her hands up it, shuddering in delight. "It's brilliant!" She shook her head and the short bob swung out like a little bell, all glossy and thick. The contrast at the back between her lush hair and her bald nape intrigued her; she couldn't keep her fingers off it.

John winced a bit when he saw his own head and figured Samantha had got the better deal, but he was sure she'd improve with practice. After all, there was no way those clippers were staying in the cottage when they left!

It was time for Samantha and John to hit the road. The honeymoon had been beyond their expectations. Sobered up, Samantha had trimmed John's already clipped hair a bit more carefully, which had resulted in spending a perfectly good sunny afternoon tucked in bed. By the second day of their honeymoon the sun was shining, the sea was sparkling, and they felt like they were living on another planet.

But all good things must come to an end and both of them had their jobs to go back to. Armed with delicious memories of swims and haircuts, they packed the car and headed back north.

For lunch they decided to stop at an enchanting little café they'd noticed on the way down. It had a huge willow tree in the courtyard, and tables with market umbrellas over the top. On a hot day, the thought of a long cold drink under one of those umbrellas was irresistible.

"Waitresses could do with a trim," John muttered to Samantha.

One of the nice things that had evolved during their honeymoon was an interest in hair and haircuts, a hidden side to each of them that neither knew the other had. It made their marriage even more special, if that were possible.

Samantha nodded. The woman who had handed them the menus had an overgrown crop, all wispy at the ends, hanging down over her collar. Sam's fingers itched to dig her little clippers into it.

Another waitress in her thirties had decided to go back to her schooldays, and wore her red hair in two thick plaits. Her nape and hairline was very attractive. Samantha wished she'd cut the plaits off and show the world her lovely neck.

This was the waitress who took their orders and served them drinks. John looked at her back view departing the table and made scissoring motions with his fingers - snip, snip! Samantha got the giggles.

Lunch was superb but it appeared the wonderful weather had deserted them. The heavy clouds that had heralded their arrival in the district had returned, bigger and blacker than ever. An ominous roll of thunder growled and huge raindrops began to pound against the ground.

"Bugger!" John threw some money on the table. "Let's make a run for it!"

"Ooh yes, I don't want my hair to get wet," giggled Samantha, fingering her shorn nape with still-delighted fingers.

"Shall we give her a tip?"

"I've got a great tip for her...get a bloody haircut!" Samantha howled with laughter.

She picked up her bag so roughly and quickly that the silver clippers, still in their box, fell from their place of honour at the top of the bag and lay under the table, dry and safe.

The pigtailed waitress cleared the table with a sigh, thinking that rain was always the worst part about working in a courtyard café. A stray lock had escaped from the plaits and clung to her cheek, and she pushed it back impatiently. She hoisted the umbrella away and then lifted the table to take it to shelter.

"What on earth?" She scooped up the old cardboard box and rattled it. What was inside was identical to the picture on the front, a small, beautifully made pair of hair clippers.

"I wonder if they work?" she said to herself, forgetting the rain for an instant. Not for nothing had she been refused entry to university. Experimentally she dug the clippers into the top of one of her plaits and squeezed the handles. Not noticing anything amiss and believing the clippers were useless, she did it again and again....until the plait fell with a plop into a puddle. Her mouth dropped open in shock and she picked up the useless plait as if she could stick it back onto her head.

As if under a spell, she hacked through the other plait, the clippers doing their job silently and violently.

Her hair, freed and shortened, spun out in joyous abandon when she shook her head. She knew the ends looked ragged and uneven and couldn't wait until her shift finished to take these little clippers home and have a really good go at her hair to try and tidy it. She grinned and looked at the silver clippers.

This was the best tip anyone had ever left.

© Copyright Sabrina S and Sean O'Hare, 2001