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My turn... by BaldBearded

It started happening the summer I turned sixteen, it was 1980, and medium-length hair was in. It was hot, and I was just back from working from my outdoor summer job, 6 thousand miles from home. I stepped into the shower, and started to wash off the dust, from the long day. As I showered, I noticed that the water was not draining, the reason, a big clot of hair. My hair!

I never really LOVED my hair, it was too straight, boring brown, I wanted curly hair, like Peter Brady. I also hated getting my hair cut, it never looked right, but at least it was thick!

I slightly freaked at the sight of all of that hair in the drain, and quickly went back to my room, dried myself off, and checked out my hair in the mirror. It looked the same, I thought. I parted my hair down the middle, which was the style at the time, and noticed… ever so slightly, that the front of the parting was a bit "sparse", I had never noticed that before.

I made a side parting, that looked better, and didn’t experience any more clumps in the shower, for the rest of the summer. When I got home, no one said anything… except my hairstylist, who noticed the change in parting. He said, young man, "you are losing your hair", I was crushed.

Every morning, from that day on, I would check the shower drain, for excess hair. Things were stable for about a year or two, then it started happening again. Every time I ran a comb through my hair, strands of it would come out. I was panicking, but had no one to talk to. My parents were divorced, I was living with my abusive father, who always made fun of bald people. If I said anything, I would be the butt of his jokes, also.

As many men in the 1980s, the side-parting became a comb-over. No more going to the beach or the pool with friends. Each morning, I would get up, shower, pull the hair out of the drain, and arrange my hair. Comb over, push up, and spray spray spray.

After a semester abroad, I volunteered on a kibbutz, in Israel. It was HOT, and I was still wearing my hair, long… now no cut since the fall. Instead of messing with my hair, I would pull it back in a ponytail, and wear a cap. My hairline, at this point, was really thin, almost gone.

My roommate, was older than I, had a mass of curls, and a thick mustache. He was always teasing me about my "hat", and that I never took it off!

We went our as a group, and saw the movie "An Officer and a Gentlemen". Ken, could NOT stop talking about the haircut scene, the entire bus ride back.

We got back to our room, it was so hot, and awfully late. Ken suddenly said "I want you to shave me". I was surprised, I thought he was kidding. But he was serious. He took out his mustache scissors, and handed them to me. "Get to work, kiddo".

So I started… it took forever. The small, sharp scissors crunching long curl after long curl. He looked, terrible. I wish I had a pair of clippers, but there were none to be found, especially this late. Now came the shave. I took out my razor, found a bucket, and some hot water, lathered him up, and started to shave him bald. As I stroked, I got hard, he noticed. I was not OUT, even to myself, and he, had a girlfriend. I also noticed he was getting hard also. "You enjoying this?", he said. I could not answer. "Ya, I think so, I am too". We were finally done. He was…. in a word, gorgeous. The perfect, smooth head, the thick mustache. I was shocked, he leaned over, and gave a me a deep, passionate kiss, on the mouth.

"Thanks, now your turn". I was stunned. I could not move. Ken took off my cap. He undid the hair-tie, holding my pony-tail, and started to brush my hair. Long strands of sweaty hair were coming out with each stroke. "Wow, I had no idea of how thin you were under that hat". Then he started to cut. He would take a long lock of hair, and cut it off close. It took forever. Each snip caused a shiver up my spine.

Then he started to shave my head…. each stroke felt magical. Finally, he was done. He rubbed my stubbly face and said "you need to look more like a man, grow that beard", and then with that, snapped my razor in two, and then kissed me again.

The next morning, when we both woke for work, the room was a mess. Hair… literally everywhere. I was in a haze, only having about 3 hours sleep. I went to the shower room, showered, and realized what had happened. A peek in the mirror made me jump. My hair was gone! My head was gleaming. Wow.

I went back to the room… and Ken was smiling. I grabbed my cap, and we both walked to work, both of us had quite the reception. Shaved heads, especially in Israel, in 1983 were NOT common. By the end of the summer I had quite the beard, and a buzzcut, so did Ken. We never kissed again, after that night, nor would I see him again, ever, after that summer.

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