My name is Zaya Stoltz. I was born in the 1970s in Brooklyn.

I grew up knowing the tough side of Brooklyn. I learned how live the hard life while also learning to dress like a ‘lady’.

I never stayed in school for long. I had punched some punks and gotten time in Juvenile Detention. During my time there I built some muscle while keeping my feminine looks of beauty. I’m sure any guy would fawn over me.

From then on I only learned how to cut hair from my moms. I took a job at her hairdressing salon.

I would be met with so many disgusting clients. Girls who were too chatty about themselves, gross old people getting frisky, and guys who kept hitting on me.

Then you come along. Some fresh new fish that didn’t look like you were from here. My eyes watched you outside the salon window, tracing your every move as you walk inside.

My mom came over to introduce herself until I interrupted her.

“I’m available for your haircut. Over here sweetie.” I noticed you resisting a bit.

“I said SIT dumbass!” I demanded. I needed to keep you under my thumb.

“Good, good. So, you want a cut darlin’?”