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Jimmy Becomes Jim, part 2 by Alex
I walked around the beach for a while, barefoot, bare-chested, and in my jeans as I explored the sand and the surf, the wind blowing through my much-shorter blond hair. Beachtown had several good beaches, but this one was pretty empty today. I figured it must be the wrong season or wrong time of day or something. I spotted a crab scuttling around the sand, and some gulls flying overhead, but the beach was otherwise empty.
In my jeans I couldn't very well go swimming, so I walked along the surf line, my footprints making holes in the sand. Looking back towards the barber shop, I could see a dozen other businesses along the wooden boardwalk that fronted the beach. They all looked closed. I meandered my way back down the beach for a while, realizing I had walked a lot further than I had intended. When I got back to the area where I'd begun, I put on the shoes I'd left up against the wall of the beach restroom, and headed towards Curt's Barbershop.
But when I reached the door of the barbershop, I was surprised to find the door was locked and the shop was closed. I saw on the sign the shop was only open until three o'clock. Darn! I'd hung out on the beach too long!
I tried to peer through the window, but the blinds were down and I could see nothing. I headed home, still thinking about my hot barber. Curt the hunky barber.
Over the next few days, I couldn't stop thinking about Curt the Barber. His achingly handsome face, his big muscles, his short-cropped manly hair, his take-charge attitude, the way his hands had caressed my scalp as he had first washed and then cut my hair... and the way I felt electricity when he touched my arm, and when he brushed the stray hairs off my shoulders. That whole week, lots of people also complimented me on my haircut: my dad, my pastor, even my older brother, Jake.
Looking in the mirror that evening, I noticed my new haircut made me look a bit older. I was glad. I was so tired of being "little Jimmy Miller".
When I went to Harrison's Gym the next day to work out, I hoped to run into Curt, since he'd said he worked out there, too, but I didn't see him around. I was a little disappointed.
Between workouts, church, and family stuff that week, it wasn't until the following week that I had any time to myself. That Friday, almost on a whim, I put on a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals and headed down to the beach.
When I got to the beach, I went into Curt's Barbershop, but instead of Curt, there was a bald, hunky guy at the counter. He looked a little younger and somewhat less muscular than Curt, but he was still very hot. Uncannily hot. Breathtakingly hot. His name tag read Seb. He was wearing black shorts and an open white Hawaiian shirt that revealed his cut chest and really set off his dark beach tan. His white teeth contrasted starkly with his tan skin and his blond eyebrows. His thick arms were corded with muscle. And his --
"Can I help you?" he asked.
"Oh, uh... I was looking for Curt," I said, caught off guard.
"Did you have an appointment?"
"No, I, uh... I just... need to schedule an appointment," I said, thinking on the fly.
Seb consulted the calendar, as he set it on the counter. "Looks like he's available... after lunch, if you'd like?"
"Uh... sure. Sounds good," I decided.
"Just a haircut?" Seb asked, jotting down details.
"A wash and trim, same as last time," I replied. It had only been a week since my previous haircut, but I had to see Curt again. I couldn't wait to feel his hands in my hair and on my scalp once more. I couldn't wait to have him cut my hair once more.
"Sure," Seb said, writing down "Same as last time - 12:30." on the calendar.
I looked over at the coat rack, but I didn't see any sign of the wife-beater I'd left there last week.
"Did, uh... Did Curt happen to mention my t-shirt?" I asked awkwardly. "I accidentally left a t-shirt here last week."
"No... Lemme check our 'lost and found' drawer," Seb said. He went around behind the counter and I saw him bend down to look in the drawer. It gave me a chance to gaze at his hunky, half-revealed torso. His hairless chest was well developed, with meaty pecs and row after row of sculpted abs. His arms filled out that open Hawaiian shirt nicely, his tanned biceps straining the sleeves of the white material. A big vein snaked up his arm. His bald head accentuated his macho look. Seb looked to be in his early thirties, but it was hard to tell for sure. He was wearing this puka shell necklace that accentuated his thick neck. His --
"Nope. No lost shirts," Seb said, glancing back up at me. "Sorry."
"Oh, thanks," I said. "Well, guess I'll head back here after lunch."
"Sounds good," he replied with a smile. "Twelve-thirty."
I hung out on the beach for a half hour, not really doing much of anything except playing in the surf and making sure I wasn't late getting back this time. This time, there were many more people on the beach, and it was kinda nice to be out there, but my mind was on other things. At 12:25, I was back at the barbershop. As I entered, I saw Curt. Seb was nowhere to be seen.
"Jim! Good to see you!" Curt said, reaching out to shake my hand. "So you're my twelve-thirty appointment. C'mon in!"
"Thanks. Good to see you, too, sir," I said, feeling electricity as he shook my hand. He was so handsome, and I found myself staring at him as he asked me how my week had been, what I had been up to, and if I had explored the town any further. I think I gave semi-comprehensible answers, but to be honest, I was so focused on looking at his sculpted, chiseled body. He was wearing black shorts and a white t-shirt, the t-shirt collar stretched around his big neck. His hair was cropped tight to his head in a cut that looked so masculine.
"Well, let's get started. Seb said you wanted the same treatment as last time," Curt said, as he led me over to the sink chair.
"Yeah. Same as last time," I said, already getting a semi-woody.
"Alright. Same as last time," Curt replied. Then he sort of paused.
I looked up at him, wondering what was wrong.
"Just pop off your shirt and we'll get going," he said.
I must have blushed pretty red. Did he really want me to take off my t-shirt again? Last time I took it off because it was wet.
"Same as last time," he said. "Wouldn't want to get your shirt wet again, like last time. Pop it off, Jim."
"That's okay," I stammered. "I can leave my shirt on this time."
"Okay, suit yourself," he said with a shrug, his big shoulder muscles bunching in his white t-shirt. That shirt looked so good on him... mmmm...
"...Actually, I guess I could pull it off," I decided, pulling my t-shirt up and over my head, and mussing my hair in the process. I was standing, now, in the barbershop in just my shorts. I was getting an erection, facing the other way, hoping my barber wouldn't notice.
"Let's set your shirt over here," Curt said, setting it on the counter. Then he wrapped me in the apron, and I grabbed a seat in the sink chair. After starting the water, he lowered the back of the chair and used his strong hands to position my head in the sink. His hands felt amazing on my scalp.
Curt began lathering my hair, using his fingers to massage my scalp. My head tingled as his fingers caressed the back of my head, the sides above my ears, my
temples, and the crown of my head. Then my barber rinsed my hair and then lathered my head once more. He was very thorough, massaging every square inch of my scalp with his strong barber hands. As I looked up at him, I could see his handsome face looking back down at me.
"How's that feel, Jim?" he asked.
"Feels good, sir," I said.
Under the apron, I was hard as a rock.
He ran his hands through my hair and I involuntarily moaned.
Slowly, carefully, he rinsed my hair, running his hands over my scalp one last time and then finally turning off the water. He raised the back of the chair and lightly toweled off my hair.
"Alright, Jim," Curt said, taking off the apron, "Let's get you over to the chair and get you trimmed up. That hair's way too long."
I tried not to face Curt as I walked across the shop to the nearest barber's chair, but he must have noticed my awkward stance. I went to sit down in the chair as quickly as possible, but he stopped me.
"Hold on one second, there, Jim," he said, as he brushed some stray hairs from the seat. "There we go."
From behind the chair, Curt took my by the bare shoulders and guided me into the barber's chair. Then, to my immense relief, he wrapped me in the barber's cape, allowing me to move my hands from in front of my crotch.
"What's it gonna be today, Jim?" Curt asked.
"I guess just a trim," I replied.
"Nah, a trim's not gonna do it," Curt said. "I think you need a crew cut."
"Oh, no," I said. "That'd be too short."
Curt began blow-drying my hair, running his comb back and forth through my hair. Back and forth, getting it dry. It probably only took a few minutes to dry it, but it seemed like a lot longer because he was pretty thorough. Then the barber ran his fingers along my temples, smoothing back my messy hair, which I could see in the mirror did look kinda long. Then he paused.
"What'll it be, Jim?"
"I, uh... I guess I could go for the crew cut," I said.
"Thataboy!" Curt said with a smile, as he grabbed the Oster clippers, putting a number three guard on it.
I gulped as Curt pushed my head down to my chest, running the clippers up the back of my head. The clippers felt so strange as they traveled up the back of my head. I saw quite a bit of hair already piling up in my lap. Then he buzzed off much of the hair on the sides, too, pushing my head first to the right and then to the left. Then he pushed my ears down to get the hair behind my ears as well.
He turned off the Osters and I thought he was done. But then I saw him switch guards to a number two.
"Just getting the back and sides, Jim," he said, as he pressed my chin back onto my chest and then ran the clippers up the back of my head again. Over and over, he ran the clippers over the back and sides of my scalp. Every once in a while, I felt his hands touch my hair as he gauged the length. The feeling of his hands on my head, in my hair, over my scalp, sent me trembling. I hoped he wouldn't notice.
Finally, with a last brush of his hand on my scalp, he was done. He turned the chair towards the mirror and said, "Alright, Jim. What do you think?"
It was shockingly short, but I had to admit it looked very good: a short crew cut. I really liked the look. It made me look tougher. Less like Jimmy and more like... Jim.
"It looks great, sir. Thank you."
"No problem, Jim. Alright, let's get you up."
He whisked the cape off me, sending hair flying to the floor. I felt very exposed in just my shorts, and halfway turned to the side as I rose from the chair, but Curt didn't even notice. He was already over at the counter, ringing me up on the register.
"That'll be fifteen dollars, Jim," he said, as I fished in my pocket for my wallet, grateful to be able to halfway hide the erection in my shorts. I paid for the cut and made another appointment for the following Friday. "Jim. 12:30. Same as last time," I saw him write on the calendar.
"See you next week, Jim," Curt said with a wave, as I headed out.
My head felt much lighter on the way out of the barber shop. It was such an odd sensation. Even stranger was the feeling of the wind from the beach on my half-shorn head.
I was halfway home before I realized I had once again left my t-shirt at the barbershop.