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The Education of Doc Anderson by Manny


"Holy crap!" the young teacher exclaimed when I swiveled the chair around and he saw his new spring crop. "This haircut ought to last me through the end of summer!"

He'd been my irregular patron for over two years, and I'd been steadily taking him down from the mop of thick thatch he'd sported the day he first stumbled into the West Maple Barber Shop. The dense, course blond hair grew quickly and sometime he would go for months between cuts. It was a financial issue, so even when I'd move my agenda forward significantly, the silver lining for the teacher was that he could go for longer between haircuts. More cash in his pocket, less hair on his head!

I surveyed the closely clipped scull which was a whisper away from a nice butch -- more like a tight crewcut. With a friendly rub of the bristles on top I chirped, "....or even through fall! Yes, you got your money's worth today, son."

Most of my patrons knew that when they were in my chair, I called the shots. They might chatter away and make suggestions, but when I had their head in vice-like grip hold and the balding clippers were racing up the sides of their head, they were submissive to my authority. I took particular delight in shearing those who were used to being in charge -- like police officers and corporate executives. They would swager in all high and mighty, get their chains yanked by yours truly, and slink out feeling quite vulnerable and insecure....

So that they could experience the periodic loss off control and shock of a thorough scalping, I would generally humor their requests for "just a trim" and tidy up their pretty pomps or plush flattops. But, they knew that from time to time, they'd get a "much shorter than requested" cut. And, periodically, they would experience the ultimate take down, like the young teacher had just experienced. The irony was that the "take control" types were the ones that seemed to enjoy their sudden humiliations the most.

The young teacher wasn't exactly in that category, but I had always intended to give him a good scalping one day -- just for kicks. I carefully removed the cape and the young man instinctively brought his hand up to feel the stubble. He smiled nervously. "Wow! My hair's never been this short!" Then he added, under his breath a bit, "I hope this is the cut you give Doc Anderson when he comes in to claim the raffle prize he won at the school fundraiser this weekend."

Doc Anderson! That was a name I had heard many times in my shop -- fathers, teachers and high school boys all talked about this young martinet. He was a legend....a tough, "you'll do things my way" school administrator. Everyone hated him, and that's probably why he ran the best high school in the county. Scores always on top, sports teams always in the championships and halls empty as soon as the bells rang. The conversations about young Doc Anderson usually involved a lot of chafing about his authoritarian approach, followed by a positive comment or two about the results of his "my way" rules. The exception was when he banned all cell phones from the school -- teachers and students and support staff....that is, for everyone -- except himself. I heard nothing but complaints. I discarded the whining and sided with Doc Anderson during those conversations; I imagined more learning would be going on in that place without a bunch of lump heads playing candy crush, shopping online or browsing racy photos all day.

The cell phone ban was one thing Doc and I had in common -- no one in my barber shop was allowed to talk on a cell phone or fiddle with one when I had him caped up. One time, I had a high-power banker who gave himself the liberty to take "an urgent call" just after I caped him up. Since I hadn't started his "trim" I let him proceed and jabber away. But, he paid dearly! No sooner did he say "bye" then I had his head cocked to the side with my vice-like grip and my clippers took him to zero up the side, virtually to the crown! He left my store looking more like a bootcamp recruit than a banker! And he always made a point of telling me he'd turned off his phone entirely for his haircut after that fateful day.

"So Doc Anderson won the raffle for the free haircut that I contributed to the community fundraiser?" I asked the teacher in order to get some more information. "He's a nice guy, I hear."

"Nice?!?" sputtered the teacher. "He's a pushy 'know it all' who doesn't like any lip or questions from his staff! But, he's a competent administrator, that's for sure."

"And he sports a military style, like your new haircut?" I asked, knowing full well he had a thick mane of salon-coiffed hair.

"Hardly! He's got a fussy, perfectly groomed style that always has every hair in place. Part of his 'I have it all together' image. That and his starched shirts, pressed suits and cuff links. He's running a high school -- not a Fortune 500 company! I doubt he'll claim the voucher he won, Barber Kent. He's not a barbershop type guy...."

Well, that was a disappointment. I already had started developing a plan for Doc Anderson.

"You're next!" I snapped after dispatching the shorn teacher. The announcement was very unnecessary as there was only one remaining client in the shop. I stared at the young reporter, noting he'd allowed himself to get quite shaggy. His mane of glistening, coal black hair shimmered under the neon lights of the barbershop. He had a full mop of lovely, silken locks. "What's news in the world of journalism?" I asked as the young man approached my chair.

"Trying to drum up headlines, as usual," he said as he took a seat. He flicked his hair so that his droopy bangs cleared the line of sight to the mirror. Then he said, apologetically, "Sorry, I'm way overdue."

I yanked a comb through his shag. He cringed a bit, as I'm sure there was a bit of pain from the comb that could not work its way through the density of his strong Italian pelt of dark black hair. I suggested, "Why not write a report on the results of the high school's fundraiser? I hear the principal won the raffle for a free haircut at the shop. You could get a photo of him caped up in my chair here."

"That's a great idea!" The reporter's face light up in a eureka-type moment. "I already have started a draft about the event for the front page....and the photo idea is perfect. The photo is a great way to tie the community support.....good merchants like yourself donating....to the success of the event."

"Why don't you give him a call right now and set it up? I can even keep the shop open late if it suits his busy schedule," I suggested.

The reporter fondled his cell phone nervously, knowing about my strict ban.

"Here, use my shop phone," I offered. "I have the high school number written down here somewhere....ah, here it is."

The reporter was eager in his conversation with Doc Anderson to finalize his cover spread, "It'll be a large photo, right on the cover page under our banner headlines -- Community Support Key to Fundraiser." After a bit of silence he pressed the point, "No, not in your office! Here at the West Maple Barber Shop. It's to tie the story to the community. This isn't just about the high school or you." Obviously Doc Andrews was not giving in without a struggle. The reporter said flatly, "Half the men of this community get their hair cut here -- including your students and teachers and support staff. It's a picture of you in the chair at the barber shop or I will use my other option, the Chairman of the School Board picking up his free tomato plants at Wagner's nursery." The conversation ended with, "Okay, in two hours here at West Maple Barber. I'll have our photographer to take a variety of shots, and I can assure you that one of them will be on the front page tomorrow."

As I caped up the reporter, he had a broad smile, "That was a tremendous idea! Although the principal wasn't really happy about it. Said he uses an exclusive salon for haircuts. But, when I mentioned his rival, the Chairman of the School Board, he signed right onto it."

I shoved the reporter's head forward. "Time for your spring shearing!" I announced as the clippers chewed their way quickly through the bulky mane. He would be minutes away from a nice, tight butch! The thought of shearing him, warmed my heart. I gave him a great idea for his article, and now it was pay-back time for me!

Chunks of long black hair quickly began soiling the snowy white cape. The reporter sat submissively and silently. It was to be his first butch -- clipped down to stubble. A clean #1 all over. His soft locks fell methodically as I clipped away at his unruly mane -- like soldiers in their prime falling on the front line. The reporter watched the gathering pile of shorn hair on the cape with a stunned gaze. He knew better than to complain or murmur.

As I wrenched his head to the other side, I caught a glimmer of excitement in his expression -- like a hint of a smile and a bit of a twinkle. He'd been waiting for this day! In fact, he had probably grown out the mop on purpose to provoke a brutal mow-dow!! As I ran the clippers over the top of his head he seemed to drink in the wonderful feel of being shorn to stubble for the very first time.

"That's an awful lot of hair you had just hanging about," I quipped with a laugh. "I bet you got summer butch cuts as a kid, growing up."

"Hardly!" he exclaimed. "My mom was wild about my lovely, silken hair, and it was always down to my shoulders. Only got a first 'professional type' haircut when I graduated from college and started applying for jobs."

I spun him around and enjoyed the site of him trying to contain the shock of the makeover. "There!" I announced. "Nothing like a tight butch as the weather gets hot. And you saved yourself two dollars. You know butch cuts are only $11 instead of the normal $13 haircut."

"That's quite a bargain," he said softly, still staring at his shorn head. "You wouldn't be planning a similar haircut for Doc Anderson, would you?" he grinned mischievously as if to plant the idea in me. "My cousin goes to the school there....and I've heard my share of stories."

"You just might want to have a videographer on hand, as well as a photographer," I said with a laugh. "You could post the principal's make-over online and really stimulate hits on your website, I'm sure!"

In a flash, the reporter was on the phone making a frantic number of calls. I watched him on the sidewalk, pacing about and laughing while rubbing his fresh butch. He seemed to really enjoy the feel of stubble all over his head. My, how handsome he looked shorn!

Mobs of people started pouring in, making their way towards the shop -- kids from the high school, their parents, folks from the neighboring shops. I heard the reporter shout out to the teacher who had come back for the event, "The flash mob worked, buddy!"

Precisely on schedule, I watched Doc Anderson stride through the crowd, which opened as miraculously as the Red Sea, to let him through. Oh did he look pompous and self important in his suit and tie. And his coiffed mane absolutely shimmered in the sunlight! The long beautiful pomp swirled up and the bulky wings trimmed to perfection on the sides gleamed. It was a mane of lovely chestnut colored hair with natural honey colored highlights. The videocamera recorded the grand approach.

Doc Anderson pushed the door open and announced, "I'm here to claim my raffle prize," handing me the paper. "We will just stage a few photo ops -- shouldn't be more than a minute or two."

I didn't say a word.

He strode over to the chair by the window and took a seat. "Turn the chair a bit. I photograph best from the left," he commanded.

I encircled his neck with a tissue strip.

"Is this all necessary?" he said with a tone of undisguised irritation.

I went about my business and fastened the cape. Then, I fired my first shot. "This is my shop and things will be done my way." He was taken aback by such a sudden and forceful declaration. Then I swiveled the chair as he requested, so that it faced out the window. He seemed to appreciate my compliance.

Then, the arrogant administrator opened his mouth to order that the photo shoot get under way, but I cut him short, "Clients remain quiet in the chair unless spoken to," I snapped.

His pompous look, which had already begun to fade, quickly melted away. He started to open his mouth again, but stopped himself. He seemed uncomfortable and subdued.

My hand clamped down heavily, smashing the exquisite pomp down flat. The softness of his well manicured hair felt like silk. I wrenched his head to the side and snapped on the machine.

"This is only supposed to be a photo op," he stammered.

"Silence!" I barked. Then, with a 0000 blade I drove my fast-feed, power clippers up through his trendy side burn and peeled away the first chunk of his power helmet hairstyle. A cheer went up from the street. "BALD, BALD, BALD!!!" the high school boys began to chant.

There was fear in the trapped principal's eyes as he watched the huge set of clippers pass by his face.

I grabbed him by the abundant mane that hung over his collar in back and yanked his head bootcamp barber style. Simultaneously, the clippers plowed straight through the copious forelock that composed the pomp. I cleared away a strip of naked scalp through the central part of the top of his head, like a skunk's stripe. The crowd went wild. Fathers and teachers joined the boys, demanding, "BALD, BALD, BALD!"

Doc Anderson's face looked mortified. Trying to keep composure, but knowing his humiliation would be total and complete, he remained cooperative, yet silent. I peeled off another huge section of hair, obliterating the vestiges of his once-impeccable pomp. Then I smashed his head forward, abruptly, so that he could have a full view of the cauldron of shorn hair on his lap.

I kept him staring down there, in a forced head bow, while I panned before the camera, "You can't believe how many stories I've heard about Doc Anderson in this very shop since he became principal six years ago. But, he's not at all the bossy, arrogant, mini-dictator that he's described as....no, I find him quite meek and compliant in my chair. And he's certainly getting his money's worth from his free prize!" Then the clipping re-commenced. The photographer could not keep a straight face and let out a hearty laugh. The video cameraman stepped outside to pan the crowd.

Then the reporter singled out one of the school fathers, "What do you think of Doc Anderson's makeover?"

"Ought to cut him down a few notches, take the wind out of his sails! Barber Kent is the town hero! I'm going to start coming here, with my sons!" he beamed.

A huge cheer went up for me, the fearless town barber.

I finished the principal's induction cut and savored the moment as I turned the chair to face the mirror. The cameraman zoomed in close -- making this the favorite part of the video that was eventually posted online -- when the principal's face convulse from nervousness to shock.

To heighten the humiliation, I stroked the bald head, "Amazing how smooth these clippers can make it feel....not even a hint of stubble."

The snowy white scalp contrasted with the tanned face and made the principal look like he was wearing a woman's bathing cap. I removed the cape and shook off the collection of clipped locks. The shorn man looked absolutely miserable.

"Is this haircut finished?" he asked after shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Not quite!" I said, re-fastening the cape and swiveling the chair back away from the mirror 180 degrees. Then I laid the chair back and guided Doc Anderson's neck into the special sink. A trickle of warm water was followed by a dollop of shaving cream. I was going to make the most of Doc Anderson's one and only visit to the barbershop.....

.....or so I thought!

As I scraped the lather away with my straight edge I saw the cape begin to stir in the area above Doc Anderson's groin. Our eyes met and I winked at him. He seemed vulnerable in the chair, with me holding the razor in a dominant position. Helpless, yet excited. I knew the look well. Cops had given it to me, medical doctors and lawyers too! I leaned over to continue the lather shave and whispered very softly in his ear, "So you're enjoying this experience far more than you thought....."

His cock sprang to a full erection, held back only by the contour of his hand tailored suit. I mercilessly stepped sideways to conceal the view from the cameras and crowd. I hovered over him and whispered again. "Just wait till I turn you over my knee in the back room and apply the leather strap to your tight ass."

He groan with anticipation.

After I rinsed him off and towel dried his head, I sat him up, swiveled the chair toward the mirror and let him see my new creation. "Did you enjoy your quick photo shoot at the West Maple Barber Shop? Congratulations on winning the raffle!"

The cameraman came up close to capture his response, "Yes, for sure," he said quickly, adding, "This was the best haircut I ever got."

I cleared my voice and then led him outside so that my fan club on the sidewalk and street could hear my announcement, "Now you will go back to your school and write on each and every chalkboard one hundred times, 'I will not be a pompous pain in the ass!' Do you understand, Billy boy?"

His face turned a crimson red. "Yes, sir," he replied meekly.

The men chanted, "Bald Billy Boy! Bald Billy Boy!" and the high school boys echoed back, "Pompous Pain in the Ass!"

As the humiliated principal began to amble away, I wrenched him by the arm. "I just remembered, you left your cell phone on the counter inside." I hustled the smarting school administrator back into the shop and turned the sign on the door to "closed".

"No, my cell phone is right here in my jacket pocket," he stammered.

Oh, there was that impeccable, expensive suit to deal with..... I directed him to the back room, grabbing the leather strap that I used to sharpen my straight razor off the side of the chair en route. "Strip down to your briefs!" I ordered

His cock sprang to full alert as he peeled off his jacket and shirt and fumbled with the zipper of his trousers. His eyes begged for mercy as he stood there stripped of everything except his white Fruit of the Loom underpants and black socks.

I shoved the freshly shaved head down. "Touch your toes!"

Then I wrenched down the cotton briefs. The belt blistering his virgin white skin sounded like the crescendo of the timpani at the grand finale of an orchestral concert.

"You're going to be a regular here, aren't you, Billy boy?" I stated firmly between smacks.

"Yes, sir," he said looking up from his still-hunched and prostrate position. "This is probably the best education I've ever gotten, sir."

I threw his fancy suit into the trash and handed him some dirty sweats that I kept around the place for cleaning. "Here, Baldy. Put these on and get to work. The broom is there and there's a floor full of shorn, pretty-boy hair out there.... When you've swept and neatened the shop, you can serve me an ice cold beer from the fridge over there."

"Yes, sir. I'd be happy to do that, sir."

My thoughts turned to the next phase of Bald Billy Boy's education and I smiled broadly as I thought back on my day....a surprise crewcut, a man's first butch and a new recruit pulled down from his proud pedestal. The last was truly the best. "Baldy! Get in here," I bellowed.....





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