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Mr. Sig and Ted, the T-Shirt Vendor by Manny
As I drove up the long driveway to the Beecher Ward Military Academy I couldn't help but think how the commission I'd earn, if I clinched a new contract, would be the exact amount I needed to make the down payment on the house I wanted to buy -- our first as newlyweds! I'd even gone the extra mile in printing up sample gym uniforms on high quality silken red shorts and canary yellow tee-shirts emblazoned with the academy crest in matching red. The samples looked perfect and the price was right. I certainly didn't want to count my chickens before they hatched, but I felt quite confident.
Another thing that gave me confidence, which I spied in my rear view mirror, was my handsome face framed by thick, lush brown curls that were soft and silken to the look and feel. My curly brown hair and large green eyes were my best features -- and the two-day stubble which hinted at a virile beard and thick, broad mustache made me feel extra confident and manly. On top of that, I had a very nice summer tan!
I carried my samples into the stately Administration building and asked to see George Henderson, the athletic director who had first contacted my company and requested a proposal.
"Mr. Henderson isn't in yet," the receptionist said. "He usually runs late, so why not have a seat over there in the lounge area? I'll let you know when he's here."
Well, that wasn't a very promising start to my day!
The campus seemed dead. It was the final week of summer break before the beginning of a new school year. If I were to get the contract, churning out scores of new uniforms would mean a lot of overtime to get them done in a rush.
As I was sitting there waiting, two men ambled in exchanging banter. It seemed like they were catching up on what each other had done over the summer. One was tall and had a muscular, athletic build. The other one had sparkling blue eyes and flashed a broad grin. He seemed like a fun sort of guy and had the muscular man in stitches with what he was saying.
As they came closer I heard the athletic fellow say, "So, you'll be going into boot camp mode soon with all the new scrubs rolling onto campus. Got your clippers oiled up and primed to mow off the pretty boys' thatch?"
"You bet, George. Registration Day is my favorite event of the school year! The fellows always look like deer caught in the headlights, standing in line outside the barbershop!"
Just then, the receptionist interrupted and told the athletic man that I was waiting for him with the new uniform samples.
They both turned to me. Instantly, the guy with the sparkling blue eyes locked his gaze on me. He smiled warmly as if he knew me.
George Henderson stepped over and introduced himself and his colleague, Robert Siggenthal. I explained that I had the samples and papers to sign if they were happy with the proposal. George suggested we go look at them in the gym, but Robert stepped in with a separate proposal.
"My office is right nearby. You and Ted can look over them there. Besides, I'm the one Ted will have to deliver the new gym uniforms to since the scrubs receive them from me right after they get their moptops scraped off at the barbershop," Robert noted.
As we walked to the office, I couldn't help but notice Robert eyeing my hair. My curls generally attracted a lot of attention (usually from women). Periodically, a complete stranger would tell me that my hair was "awesome" or that it "rocked". That's why I let it grow very full and trendy looking. It seemed like the longer it was, the more attention it would attract. Yummy silken curls framing my manly face. It was a bit of a contrast between a soft, feminine feature and a ruggedly manly feature. The only time I had my hair cut fairly short was for my wedding. My best man had encouraged me to get a traditional haircut so that my hair wouldn't detract too much from the radiant bride. I hardly looked like myself with my hair cut short and thinned down so much that it lay close to my head in a traditional man's business cut. My wife praised it, but I hated the standard look and regretted the haircut. Fortunately, in a few months, the curls had rebounded! I liked the sexy, carefree look so much better than a boring business cut!
Outside the office door we went to was the label 'Robert Siggenthal, Chaplain and Guidance Counselor'. I was a little confused about why I would deliver any completed uniforms to him, but just went along with the flow. George seemed delighted with the samples I had drawn up, but Robert expressed a little hesitation.
"The shorts seem a little blah to me," he noted. "The current model we're using have two yellow stripes down the sides."
"No they don't," George contradicted. "They're solid red, except for the crest on the right leg. Like these."
They argued a bit more and then Robert snapped, "I'll prove it. I have a few in my supply cabinet. I'll show you!"
George quickly retorted, "You can show Ted. I have to get to the gym. Furthermore, you can sign the contract for the school, Mr. Sig." Then he turned to me and added, "By the way, that's how everyone calls him here at BW -- the famous Mr. Sig!" With that the athletic director was gone and I was left along with Robert...aka 'the famous Mr. Sig!'.
As soon as George left, Robert winked at me and murmured, "I can sign the contract for the school. Did you hear that Ted?" He stepped closer to me and the scent of his manly cologne made me feel a little overwhelmed and woozy.
I wasn't sure what I should say, so I just nodded.
"Ready for me to take you to the barbershop, Teddy Bear?" he said, studying my curls.
"Barbershop!" I sputtered in confusion.
"Yes, that's where the shorts are that I want to show you," he laughed. Then, he reached over and grasped my mane of curls and tugged on it playfully. "Did you think I wanted to give you a haircut?!"
I felt embarrassed and vulnerable. My heart was beating.
Then, Mr. Sig tightened the noose, "You certainly need one!"
I forced out a bit of a chuckle, like he was joking....but I could tell by his tone and manner that he was itching to take his clippers to my curls!
"I can put stripes down the sides of the shorts. I think I know what you want. Maybe you can just sign the contact here, Robert," he stammered.
"Mr. Sig! That's what people call me on campus. Mr. Sig!" he snapped in a rather stern tone.
"Yes, Mr. Sig," I replied obediently.
"I'm not signing anything until I take you to the barbershop. You will see just what I want from you!" he said, taking me by the arm and forcefully guiding me out of his office and into the hall.
I complied meekly, feeling a bit awkward that I was letting this guy muscle me around.
"A week from now, precisely at this time, this hall will be lined with young men, nervously waiting their turn to take a seat in my chair. I'm the campus barber. Most of them have never had a baldy induction haircut that will mark them as lowly 'scrubs' on campus. They'll shift on their feet nervously or paw away at their treasured tresses feeling them for the last time before I cape them up," Mr. Sig purred with undisguised glee.
Then I sensed his fingers begin to fondle my thick lush curls as we walked through the hall. I felt like objecting or breaking away, but I continued on, allowing him to caress my curls.
We turned the corner and I saw a red and white striped barber pole mounted in the hall. The campus barbershop! I instinctively halted, momentarily.
"When was the last time you were in the barber's chair, Ted?" Mr. Sig asked.
"Right before my wedding, a year ago," I replied.
"Oh, so you're a newlywed?" he said, unlocking the door to the shop.
He ushered me in. "Does your wife love your curls?" he asked, again taking the liberty to grasp and fondle them.
I was ashamed to stand there submissively and let him do that to me, but I did! "She prefers my hair short," I replied honestly.
Instantly, I regretted saying that. Mr. Sig's grin widened from ear-to-ear.
"Then, take a seat! She'll be thrilled to see you when you arrive home this evening....." He paused and ruffled my hair. "...when you arrive with all of this cut off! Clipped down to the scalp. Down to a baldy 'scrub' induction cut!" he exclaimed as he broke into a hearty laugh.
"No, Mr. Sig. Please, I don't want a haircut. I want a signature on this contract to supply Beecher Ward with uniforms!" I blurted out.
"Then hand me the papers and take a seat there, Curly Sue!" he laughed.
I stared at myself in the mirror. My beloved curls were in full display. I would either leave the barbershop with no contract, no down payment for a new house and no delighted spouse. Or....Mr. Sig would have his way with me.
I slowly reached into my bag and took out the papers. I couldn't believe what I was doing. Then I handed them to Mr. Sig.
He began to examine them. Then he looked at me and pointed to the chair. "Go ahead, take a seat while I read through these."
My legs felt like jelly. I didn't want to give Mr. Sig the pleasure of stripping off my curls....or did I?!
My hand reached out and touched the chair. I steadied myself on it for support.
Suddenly -- to my shock, horror....and unexpected pleasure!! -- Mr. Sig's strong hand smacked me on the rear end. The swat stung!
"When I say 'take a seat', you take a seat! Understood?" he snapped with a steely, stern face.
I complied quickly. "Yes, sir, Mr. Sig!" I replied.
I watched him cape me up and felt the suffocating, tight cloth about my neck. I looked small and insignificant under the immense white cape.
He began to stroke my hair tenderly, "There, there. That's how I like things. Obedient, compliant. You've been needing a good barber, Ted. And, frankly, you've been needing good, firm discipline. I have a paddle in the back, and I will use it, if need be. Do you understand?"
I nodded, wondering how the paddle would employed, but imagining him turning me over his knees and spanking me. The idea was exciting me visibly.
Mr. Sig reached for the clippers. A huge, black set that looked frightfully menacing. "You didn't get a baldy for you wedding, did you?" Mr. Sig asked.
"No, sir. But my best man instructed the barber to 'get rid of the curls'. The barber cut my hair very short, into a standard 'short back and sides' with a close taper around the ears, parted on the side and slicked over," I explained.
"There's a better way to get rid of curls," Mr. Sig said with a smirk as he clicked on the machine.
Then I felt him yank my head back by my hair, as if I were in a marine boot camp. In a flash, the screaming teeth plowed into my treasured, pampered curls and he drove the clippers straight across the top of my head.
My stomach lurched when I saw the white swath of scalp down the middle of my head. The 'scrub' haircut meant no discernible hair whatsoever!"
Mr. Sig reached into my lap and held up a handful of the cut curls. The poor, orphaned curls! "Curls are for girls, Ted! Your best buddy and wife know that -- so what's been wrong with you?"
"I like the attention. Strangers come up to me and tell me my curls rock. They make me unique!" I pouted.
That send Mr. Sig into overdrive, stripping them off. My head was thrust from side to side as the powerful, fast-feed clippers mowed down my curls to a hint of stubble. The cape was quickly covered. And my scalp looked like a women's bathing cap from the 1950's contrasting awkwardly with my tanned face. I felt ridiculous.
Then, with a flourish, he yanked off the cape. Curls flew everywhere. My curls! All over the floor of the barbershop.
"You're a self-absorbed prima dona! Get into the back, right now!" he barked.
I stumbled back, knowing exactly what he had in mind for me. I saw the paddle with "Mr. Sig" engraved on the handle.
Behind me, the curtain was snatched open and Mr. Sig's powerful arm dragged me to a table. He forced me to lean over it and wrenched off my slacks. Then he pulled down my briefs.
Three quick SMACKS rang out in the room. The piercing pain made me wince. My head spun.
The spanking stopped. Mr. Sig toyed with my shaved head. "Ummm! Nice and tight!" His hand continued stroking my bald head tenderly. "Have you learned a good lesson today, Ted?" he asked sweetly, still keeping me prostrate over the table with my pants and briefs down.
"I think one more swat will drive your point home, sir. Sometimes I'm not the fastest learner," I pleaded.
He complied. The final SMACK!!!! hurt more that the first three combined.
"Now, pull up your pants!" Mr. Sig ordered.
While I got dressed, Mr. Sig fished out a set of the gym shorts from his supply cabinet.
"Well, I'll be. The shorts don't have stripes down the side after all," he said with an innocent smile, holding them up for me to see.
The trip to the barbershop had been a set-up! He knew all along..... "That's all right, Mr. Sig. Coming down here was, well....what I needed." I felt my shorn head. The lack of hair was chilling -- frightful and exciting.
I watched Mr. Sig sign the contract. "When you come back to deliver the uniforms, Ted...."
"....perhaps you can tidy me up again? My hair grows very quickly!" I said, eyeing the paddle.
"Yes, and we can hang out back here a bit too!" he said, practicing his swing on an imaginary charge who needed disciplining. "Since you're a slow learner, I'll have to be persistent about making my point. Isn't that so?" I smiled, imagining him wrenching down my pants again and bringing the paddle down on my rear.
As I got into the car, I texted my wife, "Got the contract! And I got a haircut too! It's short!"
A message came back, "How short?"
I snapped a selfie and texted it to her.....waiting for a reply with a pit feeling in my stomach.
"I LOVE it!! You look smooth and sexy. Those curls were so....sissy!" she wrote.
I started the car, imagining a weekly visit to Mr. Sig's barbershop from here on.