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Jimmy Becomes Jim by Alex
I'll never forget my first haircut experience at Curt's Barbershop on the beach. I had just turned eighteen and my family and I had just recently moved to Beachtown, a resort community on the coast. On the first day of summer, I went for a walk down to the beach. I wasn't really dressed for swimming, in just my jeans and a wifebeater, but I thought I could at least scope out the beach.
I had just about reached the beach when I noticed a barber shop nearby. My mid-length blond hair was getting quite shaggy and I had been desperately wanting to get it trimmed. The wind from the beach kept blowing my hair into my face.
I walked into the shop, a little surprised that there was no other customers on a hot day like today. I noticed how tidy the shop was, and how it smelled like brylcreme. I also noticed the floor had a checkerboard pattern. A door at the back opened and a big, muscular man in his 40s walked out. He was well over six feet tall, short sandy blond hair in what looked like a military cut, with piercing blue eyes.
He was wearing black slacks, dress shoes and a white t-shirt. He was extremely muscular, with a thick neck, big chest, and corded arms. His huge shoulders and pecs filled out the t-shirt; his biceps stretched the material around his short sleeves. He smiled and I smiled back as he said, "Hello, I'm Curt. How can I help you, son?"
His presence was so masculine that I almost stammered but managed to say, "Hi, sir. I'm Jimmy. Just moved here a while ago and was looking for a hair stylist in town."
His smile widened as he shook my hand. His grip was firm and his aftershave smelled great. He was clean shaven and even his breath smelled good as he replied, "Well, I'm no stylist, but we can do a wash and trim. Do you just want a trim, or a full cut? Your hair is pretty long."
"Oh, just a trim, please."
"Nice to meet you, Jim."
I'd never been called 'Jim' before. Only 'Jimmy'. But it had a nice ring to it, so I didn't correct him.
"New, here, to Beachtown, eh? How are you liking it?" he asked.
"So far I'm loving it, sir."
"Sure. Plenty to do here. What have you been doing for fun, Jim?"
"Oh, mostly swimming, working out, and exploring the town, sir. I like to hit the gym a few times a week."
His smile got even wider as he said, "Good to hear you are not the lazy type. I work out, myself."
He flexed his bicep in front of me. It was huge.
"And it looks like you keep yourself in good shape, Jim."
"So Jim, a wash and then a trim?"
I nodded my head and he said, "Okay, take a seat in the wash-chair."
He took me by the arm and half-guided me into a chair by the sink. I sat down and he put an apron around me, then lowered the back of the chair and placed my head in the support over the sink. I heard him turn the water on and as he got it to the right temperature he asked, "Where did you live before here, Jim?"
I told him and answered a few more questions. He asked me about myself, what I was going to do over the summer, and which gym I worked out at. When I told him I worked out at Harrison's Gym, just down the road, he said he went there, too. Then I felt his hand on my arm as he felt my bicep through the barber's cape.
"Strong arms, boy," he said.
I was thankful for the apron, because this guy was so such a turn-on: he was so handsome. My cock was now throbbing and it felt like my entire body was tingling as his strong hand made contact with my arm. Sadly, he moved his hand back to the sink.
He started wetting my hair with the nozzle and as he did he said, "You have nice hair, Jim, and it's obvious you take care of it. Very healthy."
I said, "I tend to keep it long, so it takes a little more time to maintain."
He added shampoo and lathered it through my hair, running his strong hands across my scalp, over and over. His touch felt electric. Then he rinsed my hair and lathered again. He added some conditioner. I saw him pick up the water nozzle, getting ready to rinse out the conditioner, but just as he did, his hand shook a bit, sending water down the back of my t-shirt.
"I am so sorry about that, Jim. Are you okay?"
"No problem, sir. It's just a little water."
He finished rinsing the conditioner from my hair and then propped up the back of the chair.
Then he said, "Jim, you should take off your wet t-shirt and I'll hang it up to dry; otherwise you'll get hair stuck to it."
He was telling me to take off my wifebeater. In the barbershop!
"Oh, uh... That's okay," I said.
"Okay, well... I'll try to be extra careful not to get hair on your shirt then."
I took a breath and said, "Actually, sir, I suppose you're right. Don't want to get hair all over my shirt. I'll just take it off."
He pulled the apron off of me. Knowing my cock was hard, my hands went to my the front of my jeans. I stood as quickly as I could, not sure if he had seen or not, and then slowly I pulled my soaked, wifebeater off. I stood there naked from the waist up and as my barber approached I handed him my wet t-shirt. He hung it up on the coat rack and when he turned and faced me I saw his eyes scan over my naked torso.
"You really do take care of yourself, Jim. Nice muscle tone."
I felt my face go even redder as my cock felt like it would pop a hole through my jeans.
"Go take a seat on the barber's chair, Jim."
I did as he said and as he wrapped the barber's cape around my neck tightly, one of his big hands made contact with my naked shoulder. I could not hold back. A moan escaped my lips.
He paused but he said nothing as he began combing my wet hair. I kept my hands under the apron, covering my aching cock.
"What'll it be, Jim?" the barber asked.
"It's a bit on the long side. Maybe just take off an inch or so."
"Just an inch?" he asked. "I don't think that's going to do it, Jim. Look how long it is. It's flopping into your eyes."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," I said. "You could... You could take a little more off, I suppose."
"Sounds good. Maybe a buzz?" he suggested.
"Oh, no!" I said. "That's way too short for me, sir. Just a trim, please."
"Suit yourself, Jim," he replied.
He took his scissors and began scissoring my hair off to about two inches in length on top. He was cutting it much shorter than I wanted.
He kept snipping away on my hair. Snip, snip, snip went the scissors, uncovering the left ear, then the right, and then across the back of
my head. I wanted to say something, but for some reason, I didn't. I couldn't.
After about fifteen or twenty minutes of the barber chopping away at my hair, my hair was now mostly dry, and felt much shorter than I'd had it in years. He picked up a pair of clippers and put on a #4 guard.
I said, "Uh, I... uh... I don't think I want it that short, sir."
"I'll leave it a little longer on top, Jim," Curt said. "Trust me. You'll look much better once this long hair is dealt with."
I slowly nodded, reluctantly. The barber steadied my head and pushed my chin down with one hand. Then he took the buzzing clippers up the back of my head. I felt the clippers bite into the hair on the back of my head and go up higher and higher, ultimately progressing up through the crown and straight forward towards the fringe. Piles of hair fell down around my shoulders and into my lap as the Osters chopped through my hair. Then the barber turned his attention to the sides, which he also plowed through with the #4 guard.
"It, uh, feels really short," I said, as he continued buzzing away.
"Almost done, Jim," he said. "You're gonna look clean-cut. A man's man."
A few minutes later he finished clipping. When he showed me in the mirror I was impressed. Even though it was much shorter than I had planned, it really looked good. I looked great.
"What do you think, Jim?" he asked.
"Looks better than ever before. Thanks so much, sir."
He snapped the cape off of me, sending hair cascading to the checkered floor. My hands went back to covering my erection, as he began brushing loose hairs off my naked shoulders. He told me to stand, so I awkwardly did, while keeping my hands in front of me. He kept brushing my shoulders, and then he brushed off my back, and some stray hairs on my chest and abs. I have never been so hard.
He walked to where my wifebeater was hanging on the coatrack.
"Still damp, Jim," he said. "Why don't you go down to the beach for a while, and come back up here when it's dry?"
"Oh... okay," I said. "Maybe... in a half hour?"
"That should be good," he said with a friendly smile.
I paid for the cut and left the shop, walking towards the beach, as he said, "I hope you will be a regular customer, Jim. Pleasure meeting you. Sorry again about the water on your shirt. See you in a little while."
I walked down to the beach and shortly thereafter jacked off to the memory of this hot experience in the beach restroom.