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Lost the Bet - Lost My Razor by BaldSurfer


Typical Sunday afternoon. Me and 6 of my buddies sitting in my basement, watching football games all day. We always made stupid little side bets. A few dollars on a game. Or some silly humiliation bet, like having to wear a pink shirt for a week. It was all just fun. But on that particular Sunday, things got out of hand. The Patriots were playing Buffalo. And while everybody else in the room (and in the world, probably) was sure that New England would win, I'd studies the charts, the stats, and I was positive that there would be an upset and that Buffalo would win. Jimmy was the first to jump on me. "You're nuts! I'll take New England and give you 14 points. You name the stakes - I don't care how much you want to bet. I'm in!" All I had to do was decide how much I was willing to bet. I thought about making it $100, but then I had a better idea...

Maybe I should tell you a little about me first. Like my father and brothers, puberty hit me early and hard. By the time I was 15, I could grow a full beard and my chest and arms were as hairy as an ape. But, also like my father and brothers, I never broke 5' 9" and by my second year of college, I was practically bald. I knew it would happen, so I wasn't surprised or depressed, and I always promised myself that I would rather be bald instead of balding, so I shaved my head on my 20th birthday and nearly every day in the 10 years that followed. The one thing I did to compensate for my lack of height and hair was work out at the gym religiously. The same testosterone that made me furry and bald also helped me get muscular and ripped. And to show it off, I kept my arms and chest as clean shaven as my head. A tight black goatee offered nice contrast with the smooth head and body. Now, I was the only one of my buddies who went bald. Those 5 bastards looked like they never lost a single hair on their heads. And my baldness was a constant source of amusement for them. And that's why I made the bet.

"I don't want to take your money," I said. "If Buffalo wins, you have to shave your head like mine and keep it that way for a month." Jimmy laughed and said "Fine. Whatever. But when you lose, you can't shave for a month. I want the world to see you with that sad little ring of hair that you have left. And you can't shave your beard either. That ring of hair and a full beard! I can't wait!" I thought I was getting off easy, and quickly said yes. Then, all of a sudden, the other 5 knuckleheads all wanted in, too. They would each shave their head for a month, but if I lost, I would now have to grow my hair and beard for 6 months. I was still 100% sure I was going to win, so I agreed. I couldn't wait to watch those guys go bald!

Well, if you read the title of this story, you know that I lost the bet. By two lousy points! I couldn't believe it! I'd really wanted to see my buddies go bald! And now, I was going to have to grow my head and face out for 6 months. I hated the thought of the MPB fringe and the way it would make me look old. But then I thought about the beard. There was no way I could grow a big burly beard and still look professional when I met with clients. I told the guys that I was worried about the beard impacting my job, and nobody wanted me to get fired, so a compromise was offered. I could shave my face, but now, besides my head, I was forbidden from shaving my body for the same six months. I hated the idea, but it actually seemed like a fair trade.

Monday morning seemed normal. When I woke up, my head had the usual morning stubble. But unlike the last decade, I couldn't do anything about it. I shaved from my earlobes down to clean up my face and trimmed clean lines around the goatee, but my head was left with stubble. As I pulled on my undershirt, it seemed to catch as I tried to push my head through it. I felt odd. Almost dirty. I missed my silky smooth head already. The next day was worse. The stubble was becoming more noticeable. My shirt had even more resistance as I tried to slide it on. By the third day, as the stubble on the back and sides became more visible, the lack of stubble on top became more pronounced. There really wasn't much left. And by that day, my body hair was starting to return with a vengeance. Now my undershirt had resistance all the way down, and once it was on, the stubble underneath it visibly pushed tiny dots on the fabric. My chest itched like crazy! And when I laid down to go to sleep, instead of the comforting feel of my bare head against the cool of my pillow, I felt a constant scratchiness that made it hard to fall asleep.

By the time Sunday came around, and I met up with the guys for football, they laughed hysterically when they saw me. You look like an old man! Hey, we said no shaving, so why are you still shaving the top? I let them take their shots. I was the one who was arrogant enough to make the bet. I took it and tried to smile.

A few weeks in, it no longer felt strange, but I still hated the way I looked. As it grew, the ring of hair became more pronounced against the nearly smooth top of my head. And suddenly I noticed that there was a lot of gray in my hair. Not just on my head, either. As the hair on my chest grew out, I couldn't believe how much gray was mixed in with my black hair. My goatee still had only a few stray grey hairs, but my head and chest were grayer than I'd ever imagined. I looked in the mirror and felt like it was my father staring back at me. In an attempt to try and re-capture some youthfulness in my looks, I grabbed the clippers one day and took off the goatee and mustache. I hoped that I'd look more "boyish" if my face was clean shaven. I could not have been more wrong. With classic, almost cliche MPB, a completely shaven face made me look older, more like my father. I cursed myself for this stupid bet. Fortunately, within a few days a stubbly new goatee was back.

By the second month, with a pronounced inch of salt-and-pepper in a ring around my head, I hit the worst sexual dry spell of my adult life. With a shaved head and a body that I was proud of, I was confident, secure and never had trouble getting women. But suddenly, partly because of how I looked, and partly because I felt so insecure about it, I lost my "rap". With no swagger, I was just a short furry balding guy, looking 10 years older than I was. I found myself continually lowering my standards. The girls I approached were less and less desirable, but I had to survive my "sentence".

By month three, I had to actually buy a hairbrush and some gel to keep myself looking presentable. Shirts were always buttoned up to hide the "sweater" underneath. I no longer felt like the same person.

One thing that didn't change was my dedication in the gym. Although my progress was increasingly hard to see under my growing pelt, I used the gym to work out my frustrations, getting stronger and bigger as the months went by.

By four months in, I'd gotten used to it. I hated the way I looked, so I spent less time looking in the mirror. My sales had fallen off at first, because I had no confidence, but as I changed into someone who looked less "threatening", I adopted a more passive sales pitch, and started to win clients over with humility instead. My buddies continued to laugh. They pointed out how much I looked like Larry from the Three Stooges. They laughed at my "gorilla arms". I let it go. I was a man of my word and I was keeping it. But silently, I counted down the days as my freedom grew closer.

In the last month, I started to picture different ways I could celebrate my freedom. I thought about picking up my clippers. Would I start with my head? Chest? Arms? I imagined that moment I'd step into a steaming hot shower, lather it all up and started to decide where I would take the first razor stroke. The very thought of the transformation started to arouse me. I began to masturbate while picturing the process of shaving myself back down and becoming the guy I missed being. And then, with barely a week to go, I saw fliers posted all around the gym for a place called The Man Cave. It was one of those new upscale barber shops that also offered body grooming among its other services. Judging by the pictures on the ads, the staff was all hot girls. That seemed like the perfect way to bring back the old me!

As the day drew closer, my buddies all were suddenly curious about whether I was going to shave my head and body again. Did I have a plan? Could they watch? I told them that they'd had their fun. This one was just for me.

I had an appointment for 2 pm Saturday. I'd said I wanted a haircut and some grooming. I drove up to The Man Cave and walked in. I felt like I was at some old time bar in a fancy hotel. Dark wood walls. A long bar with a beautiful girl making drinks. Guys playing pool. Sports on every TV. Not a barber chair in sight. I checked in and was told to have a drink and that they'd be ready for me in a few moments.

As I finished a beer, a tall brunette introduced herself as Brielle, took me by the hand and walked me into the back. She led me to a room with a barber chair and something resembling the table in a doctor's office. As we walked in, Brielle asked me what I had in mind. I told her the story and said that today was the day I went back to smooth and sleek. "Let's see what we have to work with," she said as she pulled my T-shirt over my head. She ran her hands through my chest hair and gently laughed. "You want this all gone?," she asked. I said that I did. Other than the last 6 months, I hadn't let a hair grow on my chest or head in ten years. She said it was a sham, because she loved hairy men, but she said I was the boss and asked me where I wanted to start. I told her to shave my head first so she put me in the barber chair and put a cape around my bare chest.

She grabbed a set of bare clippers and plunged them into the fringe on my right side and pushed them up to the crown of my head. As the 3 inches of black and gray fell on the cape, I could see my old self returning. With the bulk of the fringe gone, she ran the clippers over the top, shearing off the few dozen surviving hairs from the top of my head. Next she wrapped a steaming hot towel around my head. I felt all the tension in my body disappear as the warmth overtook me. She took off the towel and covered my head with a thick layer of warm lather. In small, slow, deliberate strokes, she began to scrape away the remains of my hair. With each scratching sound, I found myself getting more excited. Never had a shave felt so erotic. When at last she'd shaved away all the lather, she gently ran her fingers over every inch of my head, and shaved away even the tiniest rough spots she found. She wiped my head with a soft cloth and then wrapped it in an ice cold towel and I could feel every pore snap closed. When she removed the towel, I ran my hand over my head, as smooth as it had ever been.

She removed the cape, spread a clean white sheet on the table and had me lie down. She said we'd start with the arms, and she grabbed the same clippers, took my hand and stretched my arm out straight. Starting with the hair just below my thumb, she ran the clippers straight up to the top of my arm, clearing a bald path. She continued working in those long strokes as she shaved to top side of my arm. Then she turned my hand over, to remove the hair that crept around the underside. With the second stroke, the clippers approached my armpit. Without hesitating, she plowed through my armpit hair. A few strokes later, nothing remained. I'd never shaved my pits before. I don't know why. It just never occurred to me. But it seemed so strange that she didn't even ask, but I was too turned on to care. She repeated the process on the other arm until that arm and pit had also been reduced to mere stubble. Then she brought the clippers to my chest, placed them at the center of my sternum and shaved a bald line through the center of my pecs, She clipped the hair from my right pec next, carefully avoiding my nipple, then the same on the left. Then running the clippers side to side, she worked her way down my abdomen until the side edge of the clippers ran across the waist of my pants. "We're going to need to blend this a but," she said as she opend my pants and tugged down my underwear, exposing my bush, but keeping my penis covered. She put a # 2 blade on the clippers and buzzed away most of my pubic har, and then, back to bare clippers, she trimmed the edges into a neat wide triangle.

Soon my arms, chest and pits were covered in the hot lather. Again, she worked my arms in long upward strokes as he shaved them clean. She was gentle and thorough as she shaved my once bushy pits smooth. Shaving my chest seemed to take forever as she slowly worked across my torso, I started to think she was enjoying this as much as I was. When she was satisfied that the job was done, she ran a soft moist towel over my entire body and then another towel with a light, sweet smelling oil that made me almost glow.

I stood up and looked in the mirror. My head seemed pale where the hair had been, but it gleamed more than I remembered. And my body, a bit more ripped since last I'd seen it bare, shone under the oil she'd applied. I was so happy to be back to my hairless, confident self. I'd resume shaving regularly - never wanting to look like that bald fuzzy old man again.

But of course that meant that I'd never again have the experience of Brielle shaving me so gently and sensuously. Maybe I might have to lose another bet...



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