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College Crew Cut by Jack
I have been waiting for this day for five years now. I was so excited to go to college in a different state, be independent and begin a fresh new life for me. For the past three years, my hair has been long; 6-8 inches of thick dark brown curly, wavy, and all in between hair in the front and a number 3-2 taper on the back and sides. Ever since 8th grade, I knew I had a hair fetish after years of unwanted, forced haircuts. I began to get excited when my dad informed me that it was time for a haircut, yet terribly nervous and frightened. I would spend the night before thinking of what I would say, what I would get, but I was too afraid and it was always the same. Up until eight grade, my parents decided my hair. It ended up short but nothing radical, just scissors all around and maybe 1.5-3 inches on the top. When I was allowed to start making my own decisions about my hair, I desperately wanted to feel the clippers on my head, but was too afraid of asking. So I would end up asking if she, the barrette, could go shorter with her scissors until she would say "If you want it shorter, I can use clippers." I always wished she never asked. But alas. Then I began to grow my hair and I switched to another barrette at the shop that seemed more capable of cutting with style. With that change, I finally had the nerve to ask for clippers on the side, getting shorter and shorter until what it has been for almost the past three years. My parents and my family dislike my hair and smother me with their criticisms and jokes, but I got over it, and they never forced me to cut it, even though I wished they would. I began getting so used to longer hair that I could not dare for my friends to see me with anything but. I'm not the hottest guy, but I'm also not the ugliest, and the longer hair helped fix my facial proportions (I have a big forehead and long face). Recently, my desire to get an ivy league or crewcut has exploded. Every night I dream of different scenarios in which I end up with my desired short hair, or jerk off to the haircut stories. I was so desperate and going to college was the light at the end of the tunnel.
When I got my acceptance letter to Emory University, I was in tears. I was so ready to leave my community and do what I want, and mostly, get a haircut. The best part was that a friend from high school three grades above me, Tom, was already there as a Junior and I would get to spend two years with him. Tom was that all around amazing kid who you can't help but envy in every way. He was super smart (got a full scholarship), athletic, funny, musically talented (both in his voice and instruments), could speak four languages, super social, kind, and very very hot. He's the guy that no matter what haircut he gets, he somehow always looks hotter than last time. He was my role model growing up, mostly because his girlfriend convinced him to get short crewcuts. (Sadly, no, he wasn't gay...) Right after I opened the letter, I texted Tom.
He replied in seconds: "OMG!! I TOLD YOU! CONGRATS JACK!!! Can't wait to be college buddies with you. I'll becoming back home in May and we can catch up. OMG STILL SO EXCITED! WOOOO."
I didn't think that time could go by any slower, yet it did. Finally May came and Tom came home. The next day, I walked to his house to see him. Tom opens the door with a huge smile and great haircut. (Two good things at once.)
"Tom, I don't know how to say this, but you need to take care of yourself, dude. You hair is a mess. Way too long. Like have you not been to a barber since you left for college?"
"Funny," Tom says with a big eye roll.
"It's so great to see you, man. But seriously Jack, I didn't know it was you who knocked, all I could see is a walking mop with brown hair."
"Such a comedian," now it was my turn to eye roll.
"Come inside! There is so much to talk about!" Tom sings running to the kitchen.
We spent five minutes talking about school and life before Tom brought back up the hair.
"It's so surprising to see you with hair this long, Jack. Didn't I just see you two months ago with like a short part?" Tom asked with sincerity.
"More like 36 months ago...but nice try." I was so secretly happy that he could not stop talking on this subject: encouraging, convincing, and forcing me into a haircut. I wanted to shout desperately "YES TOM! I DO! I WANT TO GET RID OF IT!," but I had to play my part and just wait until August when my college life begins.
After 5 hours of talking, eating, and kicking around some balls, I went home and immediately ran to my room, locked it, read a hair cut story, and let myself go into a happy place.
Three months later, moving day came and my parents finally left me. Four years of bliss freedom. Through out all the introductions and activities and speeches of moving day, all I could think about was getting my haircut. But turns out, my first week of classes were busier than I had thought and had left me with no time to explore the campus and city and find a barbershop for me. After my first week, I got a text on Friday from Tom asking how my first week had been and invited me to go to a baseball game with him on Sunday. This was the perfect time to get a haircut and show it off to Tom, I thought. I immediately responded "YES" even though I hated baseball. And the next text he sent excited me even more: "I was going to have reminded you to bring a hat, but I don't think any hat can fit on that hair of yours." HOW PROUD AM I GOING TO MAKE YOU, TOM! I thought as I walked to my dorm.
The next day I was walking around campus when I bumped into Tom. "Hey. Thanks for inviting me to the game with you, Tom!"
"Well, a baseball game is boring with no one to go with, so think of it as a selfish request."
"When are you ever not funny?" I asked sarcastically. "By the way, I was wondering if you could tell me where a barbershop is. Yes, Tom, even for me this is too long. I kind of need a desperate trim."
"A little more than a trim, but that's a start. I'll text you the address, but I got a run. See ya Jack!"
"Bye Tom!" I said, probably staring too much as he ran off.
The game was later in the evening and we planned to leave at noon, so I figured I would wake up nice and early and get my haircut tomorrow morning so that it will be the still fresh when Tom puts his hand on it. That night I set an alarm bright and early for 7:30, hoping to get some rest for tomorrow, but I was up all night deciding what I would ask for and how much and how I would ask. It was so nerve racking and so thrilling, just the thought of it made me cum. Bright and early it was at 7:30. I woke up, took a long shower, blowed and straightened my hair for the last time, and sent my morning snapchats. I was sad thinking about losing my long hair. I did like it and it did make me look good, at least when I straightened it. I ran out of my dorm and headed to the barbershop. From the window, I could see four chairs and old hair posters and an older barber with a closely cropped part. No customers, but that was expected, after all it's only 9:00 I was so nervous and froze, scared for how I would look with the short hair. Somehow 12 months of waiting until it would barely return to its previous length did not sound so comforting. But then I remember how long I have been waiting for this moment and could picture Tom's face when he will see him me with my new haircut. I gained my confidence and walked into the barbershop. It smelled like the typical man's barber, appealing to me.
"Come have a seat, lad."
'What would you like today?" the barber asked, "A trim?"
"Well no. I was thinking anything short. Besides bald and a single length all around. Something really short, that's all."
"Okay young lad. Look at that poster on the wall, and tell me which haircut you were thinking of."
I looked at the wall pretending that I had never heard of any haircut names or what they looked like before, to add to my enjoyment. I pointed to number 9.
"Number nine? A crewcut. That's great"
"Yes please, sir."
"I'll give you one nice and tight on the sides and leave it just a tad longer on top considering this is your first short cut."
"As long as it's short!"
"That's the plan, lad."
"And if you don't mind shaving the high arches?"
"Perfect! You don't worry lad about a thing."
With that he sprayed my hair with water and within a few seconds chopped off most of my hair on the top, leaving two inches. I was feeling freed. Exuberated. Like a heavy weight had been lifted off my chest. Maybe it was just the hair, I imagined Tom snickering. And then he lifted my bangs, and I could hear all the hairs being sliced until they were above my eyebrows.
"There, you can finally see again. You probably could not have seen with your hair like that," the barber remarked.
"Yes I know. This is quite a relief."
Now that my top was cut three inches or shorter, he grabbed his clippers. My pants were growing with every centimeter that the clippers came closer. The sound is euphonic. I loved that sound. After years of imagining that sound, I could finally hear it. I stopped worrying what I would look like, and just completely began to fall under the spell of this haircut. He placed a number two guard on the clippers and began pushing it against my head.
"Head down, lad." The barber uttered the words I have been desperately waiting to hear.
The clippers went past my crown and I could see my hair falling down. Finally. He went up and down on my left sides and moved back and then finally to my right side. I wanted him to repeat this forever. The feeling of the clipper running against my head, removing my hair. It stopped momentarily, and I was upset it was over. But he returned and took his clippers and placed the cold metal on my sideburns and pushed them up my sides without a blade. I could see in the corner of my eye my reflection in the mirror, and saw the missing sideburns and the stubble there. I began sweating a bit from excitement and my pants kept on tenting up bigger which my legs could not stop. After shaving atl least 3/4 of my sides down to almost stubble, he picked up clippers with a seven guard and pushed it into my hairline. I had forgotten about the top of my hair. At that moment I was ready to burst. I had been waiting more than five years for clippers to run over the top of my head like that. I grabbed myself under the cape and tried to control myself. The barber continued clippering my hair down to half an inch in the back to a little less than an inch in the front. He turned around and began lathering my back of the neck and took out his straight razor bringing up my neckline and eradicating all little hairs. Once he was done shaving my neck, I began to get up thinking we were finished.
"Don't get up just yet, Son. I didn't forget about your request for high arches."
And he made sure nobody could deny that he did. He carved out almost two inches around my ear, the highest arches I have ever seen. They probably emphasized my ears and a childish appearance, but it reminded me how good it felt.
"Is this what you had in mind?"
"Yes, thank you so much, Sir. This is great." I stared in the mirrors looking at my strange reflection before I paid.
"See you in two weeks," he said.
"I wish. I'm on a student budget, but I will definitely be back. Have a great day!'
I walked out the door into a sunny morning. "9:25 AM? That felt like hours. If only it was," I thought. I kept staring at my phone, looking at my reflection. I felt like a kid again with no bangs and high arches. But it felt so relieving to get it all chopped off. I ran my hand through my hair a million times, expecting it to cascade down the side with my wavy locks. Instead, no waves moved. Barely no hairs moved for that matter. But that feeling is so much better. I kept rubbing me head-my back and top. The stubble and short hair feeling could make me smile for years. The sun was beating down. Good thing I got a haircut like Tom said. The sun felt nice on my scalp. My appearance wasn't terrible. I could live with it. I did look better with longer hair, or at least that's what I think, but this felt great. No more hours spent over it, or worrying about knotting it and breaking it when I sleep. I was free. Five years of waiting finally came. By the time I got back to campus after a long detour around the town, Tom texted me to meet him at the parking lot by his dorm. I didn't have time to take a shower so I was still covered in tiny hairs all over. I see Tom waiting by his car and I go up to it, opening the door. Tom shoots me a look as if he was going to ask "Who are you and why are you going into my car?" And then his mouth dropped.
"OH MY GOD JACK!!! YOU FINALLY GOT A HAIRCUT! THANK GOD!"
"Why are you surprised? Like I said I was going to get a trim," I said with a smirk on my face.
"JACK YOU LOOK SO GOOD WITH THE SHORT HAIR! IM SO PROUD OF YOU. FINALLY."
"What made you decide to cut your hair, Jack?" He said as he rubbed his hand in my hair.
"When I went to your house when you came home and I saw you with your buzzcut, I realized how unkempt you looked so I thought maybe I was just a bit worse than you," I said with a big laugh. I couldn't keep my cool face and rubbed my hand in Tom's hair to mock how long it was.
"Oh then what's all this hair still doing there? Huh?" Tom asked before he jumped on me and began rubbing my head vigoursouly. Up and down the sides pushing the bristles this way and that way, and then on the top roughing the little inch, well less, of hair on top. I didn't want that to end.
"Well we better get going or we are going to miss the game, Tom!"
"I guess I'll just have to rub your head as I drive."
"Be My guest, my friend."
I couldn't stop rubbing it. The game was obviously boring but Tom was playing my hair the whole time, and I got to stare. What a baseball game it was. Who knew I had to wait five years for a crew cut?