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Chuck's Seasonal Surprises by Manny


One of the things that made my move after the divorce more easy was the warm community that greeted my son and me so graciously. I had chosen it mainly with Timmy in mind, as there were lots of kids his age playing on the streets and playgrounds, figuring it would be easier for him to make new friends.

As it turned out, two houses away, there was a boy exactly his age and in his same situation -- living with single Dad after a divorce. Timmy and Cody spent lots of time together, which meant his father and I did too. As it turned out, Cody's father and I clicked from day one. It was like we were longtime friends. Chuck was a decent guy that was very helpful in getting some maintenance issues under control, loads of tools to lend and eager to connect us to other neighbors.

One day my son came running into the garage where I was working, babbling away, "Can he, Dad?! Can Cody's father give me a haircut? He's going to cut Cody's hair and he said he'd cut mine too if you'd let," Timmy panted.

There was no doubt Timmy was in need of a trim, but I did have a big doubt about Chuck's barbering abilities. "Does he know how to cut hair?" I asked. "Most people need to spend a lot of time in school and get a license to do that."

"He must!" Timmy replied. "He has a kit with clippers and funny looking scissors, just like in a real barber shop. Come with me and you can see. Please let him. I like the way Cody's hair looks," he said, ending his appeal.

Cody had a typical schoolboy haircut, neatly tapered around the ears and sort of floppy on top. A bit like my longish businesscut, I realized, except shorter. Timmy, on the other hand, was still sporting the bowlcut his mother had her beautician give him. I could see why he wanted to update his look and be like his friends.

"OK, Sport, you can let Mr. Chuck give you a haircut. I need to borrow a wrench, so I'll go over there with you and let him know."

When we ducked into the garage, Cody was under the cape with Chuck expertly wielding the clippers. He had his son's ear folded down and was moving the bare teeth around, neatening up the taper. "Is he going to let you?" Cody asked Timmy.

"Yes, we'll have matching haircuts!" my son replied gleefully.

"Hi, Chuck. So you're an amateur barber....or did you do this for a living in a previous life?" I asked with mild curiousity.

"Strictly amateur. But I did cut hundreds of heads of hair in the dorm laundry room which helped finance my college education. Started with a few guinea pigs and some botched haircuts, but quickly caught on and made a steady income!" he replied.

"Ok, then my son should be in good hands. And it'll be good riddance with regard to that awful bowlcut!" I went quickly on to my pressing business, "Hey, I hate to interrupt you at this critical moment, but I was wondering if I could borrow a wrench?"

"Sure, help yourself. You know where my wrenches are -- in the tool box over there," he replied.

"Thanks! Oh, and thanks too for offering to give Timmy a haircut. Looks like you know what you're doing," I commented, as I selected the wrench I needed and then headed out the side door.

Half hour later I heard a huge commotion as Timmy and Cody barged into the house. "Look, Dad!" he exclaimed as he ran down the steps into the basement where I was working. Timmy was beaming and he turned around to let me see his new tidy schoolboy haircut. The bowlcut was gone and in its place was a very well cut taper.

"You look great!" I said, thinking to myself that my son looked more mature. "Your Dad's an excellent barber, Cody." The two beamed and ran up the steps to play.

I followed them up the steps in order to return the wrench. Inside the garage, Chuck was getting a broom to sweep up the shorn hair. "You did an excellent job on my son's hair!" I said, putting back the borrowed wrench.

"Well, should I hold off on sweeping this up? It looks like you're in need of a haircut yourself," he said unexpectedly.

Suddenly, I felt a very uneasy. I had never received an amateur haircut before. Always used an expensive salon for a very coiffed look. As I stood there awkwardly, I noticed that my long forelock was visible out of the corner of my eye. Without thinking, I pushed it back with my hand and then felt how full the sides and back were. "I guess you're right," I said reluctantly. "With everything else related to the move, I haven't had time to find a new place to get my haircut."

Chuck tapped on the bar stool that was in the midst of the remnants of Timmy's bowlcut. "You just have! I'll just give you a trim that will tide you over till you find a professional you trust."

His cautious reply, along with the handiwork evident on Timmy's cut, urged me to take a seat. "Why not? I could use a trim," I replied as I took a seat on the stool.

Chuck was quick to cast the cape and fasten it in place. Then he smoothed down my hair. His touch felt gentle and soothing. "You have great hair. Thick. No gray. Do you want it over your ears and collar or trimmed above them?"

I felt awkward, enjoying Chuck's solicitous caress. "Right to the ear and collar. Not over, not above." Oh, did I ever sound like a fussy prima dona!

"And on top, just take the tips off?" Chuck asked as he grasped a lock of my hair and examined it closely.

"About half an inch would be fine," I replied.

Chuck proceeded very cautiously, and he slowly trimmed away the shag from my business cut. Little showers of snippets fell before my face. He would grasp a lock and fondle it gently as he stretched it up and snipped off the ends. Over and over and over. It seemed like the haircut was going on for hours, mainly in silence --, like Chuck didn't want it to end. The truth was, neither did I. I enjoyed being under Chuck's cape and the object of his sole, concentrated attention.

Finally, he spoke, as if to explain, "Sorry this is taking longer than normal. I just want to make sure you're happy with your haircut. Maybe you won't need to find a high-cost salon if my skills satisfy you! I work for beer!"

When it was finally over and Chuck held up a small hand mirror, I smiled approvingly. "This is worth at least a full keg! Actually, I have a few bottles of premium brew in my fridge. Why don't you come on over....." I was thrilled with both the haircut and the camaraderie that ensued afterwards.

Over the next few months, I made sure Chuck gave me regular trims -- every two weeks, just the tips evened out. It was actually a lot more often then I had been used to going. But it was free, and I enjoyed the experience....Chuck grasping my hair and crafting it like a precious work of art. And the beers afterwards too!

Several months later, as Chuck fastened the cape into place, things seemed routine until he asked, "You know what day it is today?"

It was late March and I had no idea. "Easter week?" I suggested.

"Today is the first day of spring! Beautiful warm weather and time for a good spring crop. How about it, Robby?" The question seemed more like a statement. I was a bit taken aback.

I stammered a bit before clarifying, "Like shorter than usual?"

"Yep, clear away the old winter growth," he said snagging my heavy forelock. "The boys too." He stretched up my four inch forelock and then clamped his fingers about half way. "Say, I take off two inches," Chuck chirped. "It's an annual ritual in my barbershop -- like a spring cleaning."

My head was spinning. Two inches! My mouth felt dry. But, Chuck's enthusiasm was contagious and the thought strangely excited me. "Who am I to forego my trusted barber's ritual? A good spring cropping it will be!" I said boldly, signaling my consent.

Instantly, the shears clamped shut on my forelock and a large chunk of my hair fell to the cape. I felt my cock stir unexpectedly. Chuck was much more forceful than his normal, gentle approach. He seized lock after lock on top of my stunned head, chopping away the thick growth of my shimmering light brown hair. I had never seen such a collection of shorn hair on my cape before. Instead of the slow, lulling snips that soothed me, the vigorous thrashing of my hair left me on edge and totally nervous.

Unexpectedly, Chuck clamped his hand atop my head and forced it forward so that my chin nearly touched my chest. I felt trapped and submissive. A click followed by hum was unmistakable. He was going to take the clippers to me!

"Chuck!" I called out helplessly.

Then he plowed the clippers up through my nape and continued tightly up the back of my head to the occipital bone before easing away. "You can save your thanks for the end, Buddy! You're going to leave here with a perfect short taper!"

Chuck was in total control as he wrenched my head from left to right, clipping my thick hair off extremely short. Unlike his normal relaxed approach with my trims, this extreme makeover went by like a blitzkrieg. Mounds of hair quickly piled up in my lap. I felt numb throughout the quick ordeal -- numb and excited all at once.

"Don't you look handsome?" Chuck exclaimed as he snapped off the clippers, playfully running his head across my shorn hair. "I just cut a good five years off your look!"

Chuck held up the hand mirror and I could not believe the site! I looked like a very young man -- almost boyish. And my hair was so short....almost military short!! The sides were clipped down virtually to the scalp and the thatch on top was barely long enough to lie down flat. My floppy for lock had been reduced to a jagged fringe very near the hairline. "So this is what a good spring cropping looks like," I mumbled into shocked disbelief.

The bold new look took a lot of getting used to. But what I had found totally stimulating was Chuck's "take charge approach" to my haircut. The way he had switched from fawning over my nice hair to administering a no-nonsense brutally short taper....

Chuck fingered my shorn nape, "Your very dense hair makes for a great taper, Robby. It's a little shorter than I intended -- almost a brushcut! -- but your thoroughly decent spring cropping suits you. Now, let's get this off," he said, unfastening the cape, "and there goes the overgrowth!" He shook the cape lightly and the floor ended up with a carpet-like covering.

I quickly felt the back of my head. Oh! it was sooooo short! I'd been scalped in back. I needed to get home to see the damage Chuck had inflicted on my floppy businesscut. "Hey, I need to give you a rain check on the beers, Buddy. I'm in a bit of a hurry today," I said apologetically. Then I looked down in disbelief at the garage floor. My hair was everywhere! "Do you need a hand sweeping all that up? It's quite a collection down there. Hard to believe I had that much hair on my head....."

"Nope, I got it. Anyways, the boys still need their spring croppings. You're all right with Timmy getting a tight taper like yours?" asked Chuck.

"Yep, if he wants. Although I'm sure his mother will scream plenty. You should have heard the grief I got from that woman when you first put an end to that gender-bending bowlcut she had him prancing around in," I said with a laugh.

I couldn't wait to get home and see the back of my head. I dashed up to my bathroom and got out a hand mirror. My stomach churned as I looked at just how short I'd been clipped. Like a military haircut in the back. Stubble a third of the way up, visible scalp the next third and then a very closely cropped taper to the crown. And so much of the visible scalp was lily white!! I set down the hand mirror and tugged on my very short bangs. Chuck had been so quick to chop them off, setting the whole makeover into fast motion. When stretched down, they barely covered the top half of my white forehead. What would people in the office say?!

I dreaded going into the office. My stomach was in knots the whole way to work. I imagined my colleagues laughing and pointing at me.

Surprisingly, however, the reaction was basically positive. The very first person to greet me was the guard at the perimeter. "Sir, you got a regulation cut! Looks nice!"

I bantered back easily, "So, maybe I can fill in for you some day...."

The next person to greet me was the sexy receptionist. "Is that you Robby?! Wow. I love your new look. Really sharp and makes you look so much younger!"

Most other people just said something like "nice haircut" without elaborating. There were a few morons who asked, "Did you get a haircut?"

The only one who made me feel bad about it was my closest colleague; we were friends and rivals. "Holy s**t! What happened? Did the fire alarm go off when the barber was cleaning you up around the ears?! Ha, ha. You look so boyish and inexperienced." Then he walked around to see the back and shrieked, "You got scalped! Ha, ha, ha!" But the way he carried on and on, I could tell that he secretly admired my bold makeover.

"Oh really?" I said with a laugh, "I had actually wanted it cut shorter. It's still a bit long on top here, I think." I loved being able to act like the shorn look was somthing I had instigated and approved of.

I was eager to get home and let Chuck know about all the positive feedback. He smiled broadly as I told him about all the comments.

Then Chuck said, "Turn around, let me see that cutting edge taper I gave you that everyone is so wild about."

I complied happily.

"So, then, this won't be a matter of a one-off spring crop. That floppy business cut is a thing of the past, Robby! From now on, it's just clipper cuts for you! Very very short crops!" Chuck said with an air of finality. I found myself nodding in agreement.

After that, I love submitting to Chuck's clippers regularly. He kept me clipped very, very tight. Especially up the back.

One sultry July day when I came for my haircut, Chuck motioned me into the kitchen. "It's too hot in the garage," he explained.

He had me caped up with clipper in hand, when the familiar question came, "You know what day it is today?"

"Not the 4th of July, that's past...." And then it occured to me, "First day of summer!"

Chuck smiled broadly and then clicked the clippers to life. "That's right! And you know what that means," he said mysteriously, with a huge grin as he brought the clippers toward my short bangs.

"Chuck!" I exclaimed as he plowed the screaming teeth right into the dense top that was my only significant remnant of hair.

"Time for your summer baldy cut!" he said with a determined chuckle. "Another ritual in my barbershop. First day of summer means it's time for a tight buzzcut to cope with the muggy heat! Oh, I think the stubble head will suit you!" he said with another hearty laugh.

My stomach churned as he clipped away the dense, silken locks from my hair. I squirmed in the chair.

"Sit still!" he snapped, as if I were a child.

Strangely, I felt happy Chuck had not given me an option about my summer surprise. Deep within, I knew this was another ritual I would submit to on the first day of summer.


Chuck looked approvingly at this handiwork....and suddenly I got the feeling I would end sporting the baldy look year round.....





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