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Paul Goes Male-Pattern Bald (extended) by Recruit & Pharaoh


Both Paul and I were in our second year of college, roommates since the beginning and pretty good friends. Even though we both did different courses, we still hung out a lot, spending the evenings together watching flicks on the TV or hitting the bars downtown. The problem with Paul was his fat mouth. He didn't know when to keep it shut. For example, one of the downtown bars called 'The Sidewinder' was owned by a middle-aged guy who had a total male-pattern bald fringe around the sides of his head. He obviously kept in decent shape, going down the gym to work out, and wore the kind of clothes that emphasised his impressive build. This guy, Mike as I later found out, clearly liked his MPB look. He could've easily shaved his head and got away with it. It was almost as though he was proud of how his smooth shiny top contrasted with the buzzed down hair at the sides. As the owner of the bar he was often to be seen pulling the drinks, chatting to the customers and throwing out the rowdies at the end of the evening. 'The Sidewinder' was a favorite evening haunt for Paul and me. It had a great laidback atmosphere and we got to know Mike pretty well over the first six months of our visiting. Then Paul started to take liberties. It began sooner after we first visited the place, when we left the bar and Paul would pass comment on Mike's bald head, calling him that 'baldie barman' or 'the muscle-bound slaphead'. Then as we became better acquainted with Mike, and after Paul was cruising on one too many drinks, he would say the same thing to Mike's face. Mike laughed it off. I guess he was used to getting razzed over his bald head and it clearly didn't bother him. Afterwards, walking home, I'd try to tell Paul to cut it out and keep his mouth shut or we'd end up getting barred. Paul scoffed at the idea, saying that Mike had even fewer brain cells than hair and that he'd never really get offended at the bald jokes. I wasn't so sure.

Looking back, it's obvious that Paul was destined to lose his hair last Friday. As usual we hit the bars and, as usual, ended up in 'The Sidewinder'. Mike was there looking as bald and fit as ever. We stayed on 'til closing, occupying one of the little booths in the corner, chilling out, listening to the music, taking in the people and atmosphere, eyeing the various females that walked in, and drinking. By closing time most of the customers had left, apart from a few stragglers scattered around the tables, and Mike came over to chat. Paul greeted him with the usual 'jokes', asking him if he'd 'found' his hair yet. Mike just grinned, running his hand over his smooth head, and said 'nope. And I don't intend on looking for it'. Paul smirked. 'Maybe you ought to, that dome of yours looks dumb'. I quickly glanced over at Mike but he was still grinning. Again he just rubbed his hand in a circular motion over his head. 'But Paul', he said 'I wouldn't WANT hair. I had a full head of hair and got rid of it. I like the bald fringe on me, always have done and always will do'. Paul leant back in his chair and gave Mike a skeptical look. 'Aww.come on! You're telling me you actually choose to look like that? No way, man', he snorted, 'I don't believe you'. Mike laughed. 'It's true, Paul. I got rid of all that fuzz on my head a long time ago. This look is my choice, just like that scruffy mess on your head must be your choice. Uh..Paul. You did choose that 'style' right?'. The alcohol in Paul's bloodstream now started to betray him. He shot Mike's head another condemnatory glance. 'At least I've got some hair left to style, and ain't some baldilocks trying to convince the world that having a smack head is my choice'. I could see the grin on Mike's face beginning to falter, just a little. His mouth became tense at the edges even as it maintained it's upturned appearance. 'Actually, Paul', he said, 'the ladies love to run their hands over my head, and there's nothing like the thrill of having someone gently kissing the top of your bald dome, flickering the smooth skin with their tongue'. He let out a loud laugh that resounded around the now empty bar. 'Ladies??', snickered Paul. 'And do these 'ladies' come with their own teeth?'. I kicked Paul under the table and got up to leave. Neither Mike or Paul moved but just sat facing each other, saying nothing. Mike slowly leant forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop. 'Have you never wondered what it would be like to totally transform yourself, to divest yourself off all your hair, to run your hands over your smooth head, to see what you'd look like as guy with male-pattern baldness, to feel the contrast of a shaved smooth scalp on top with the rough hair at the sides, to leave your youthful head of hair on the floor and live a life as a grown man?' He spoke slowly, softly, sending the words across the table to Paul in a low whisper. Paul said nothing. Then I saw Mike glance up at Paul's head, taking in his thick, tousled mop of dark brown hair, hair that dropped just to the top of his collar at the back, just to the middle of his ears at the sides and which fell into his eyes at the front. Paul looked back through his long fringe before leaning forward himself, bringing his face close to Mike's. 'Not on your life. I like my hair exactly as it is, and it'll be a cold day in Hell before I lower myself to look like YOU'. He almost spat out the last word and, staggering to his feet, edged around the table. We both made to leave and I gave Mike an apologetic shrug of the shoulders. Just before we reached the door Mike called out 'Paul?'. Paul stopped and turned around. 'See you tomorrow night?'. Paul grinned, 'yeah. I guess so.' And we left.

The next night we arrived at 'The Sidewinder' just before closing. I didn't want to return so soon after the confrontation of the night before, but Paul had insisted. He wanted to show Mike that HE hadn't been cowed by a guy with a bald head and that he had no intention of being intimidated by him. When we entered most the customers had left as there was little time before the doors were locked. Mike was still serving behind the bar and gave us both a cheerful wave when he saw us approach. 'Hey guys! I was hoping to see you tonight. I was wondering if you were going to show'. 'Why wouldn't we?' said Paul. 'Well, after last night, I was sort of worried I'd lost two of my most regular customers. Go take a seat', he said, 'I'll bring you over a couple of drinks, on the house, to show there's no hard feelings'.

Paul and I went and sat down and a few minutes later Mike brought over the drinks. He gave me mine and then, after a slight pause, handed over a glass to Paul. 'It's new', he said to Paul. 'I thought you might like it'. We thanked him and settled down to enjoy what little remained of the evening. As we talked, and Paul downed his drink, I noticed that he seemed more drunk than usual. He kept slurring his words, seemed to have great difficulty in maintaining a conversation and could barely keep his eyes open. Within a few minutes he'd passed out in his chair, collapsed over the table, his head resting on his arms, his long fringe falling into a puddle of stale lager. I reached over to shake him but with little effect. He was totally out of it. 'Great', I thought. 'Now I've got to get him back to our room on my own'. The idea didn't appeal to me. The last customers had gone and Mike had locked up when he came over to see why we hadn't gone too. He took one look at Paul and a grin broke out across his face. 'I guess the little boy can't handle his drink, right?'. 'Right', I said, shaking my head and laughing. 'But I've got to get him home, Mike'. Mike went round the table and started to hoist the inert Paul up out of his chair. 'No way, buddy', he said. 'Paul can stay here tonight, but I need a hand to get him upstairs. Grab his legs, ok?'. So together we carried the unconscious Paul up the short flight of stairs to Mike's living accommodation. Mike went first, carrying Paul's upper half, with me following along behind, down a corridor, through the living room, down another corridor until we entered a darkened room. 'Don't worry', said Mike, 'I'll flick the switch in a minute. Just get him over here.' Through the gloom and semi-darkness I could just make out a chair which we hauled Paul into. Mike then moved behind me, locking the door before switching on the lights.

I was astonished to see that the chair Paul was sat in was an old-fashioned barber's chair, complete with a chrome foot rest and red leather upholstery. The room had no apparent windows, the only entrance (and exit) being the now locked door behind me. Mike looked in my direction, his eyes alight with amusement. 'Relax!', he said. 'We're both just going to teach your buddy a little lesson in courtesy'. I felt my stomach tighten as I began to guess exactly what form this lesson was going to take. I rather nervously glanced around the room, my eyes fixing on a large tray attached to a tall stand next to the barber's chair. It was covered in various haircutting 'stuff: combs, clipper attachments, bottles of lotions and potions, little jars with no labels, ointments of various sorts, and in the center were the clippers themselves, the bright chrome casing reflecting the overhead light. A cable lead from the clippers, down over the side of the tray, across the floor to a wall socket a few metres away. The improvised barbershop's floor was covered in large white china tiles, as were the walls, making the whole place seemed more like a veterinary surgery than a place for cutting hair.

Mike went back over to the sleeping Paul and called me over to help him lift Paul further up into the seat. 'Mike.', I began hesitantly, 'look, I know that what Pa.' but Mike cut me off. 'I can do this with your help or without it, but Paul is going to learn the price of that flapping mouth of his. It'll be easier with your help, and I'd appreciate it, but it's going to happen all the same. You don't want to get the same sort of treatment, do you?'. I unconsciously ran my hand through my own collar-length hair and swallowed: 'No, Sir'. 'Good'. 'And anyway', he added, 'I need someone to take photos. So let's get started, ok? And don't worry! Paul has a great sense of humour. He'll see the funny side of all this when he wakes up. Now help me get his shirt off'. I pulled Paul forward as Mike dragged the shirt up and over Paul's head, throwing it over into a corner of the room. 'Ok, now let's lift him higher up'. As we heaved Paul higher into the chair I still wasn't entirely sure what Mike intended to do with Paul's appearance but I doubted very much that Paul would be laughing when he woke up. Mike instructed me to hold Paul into a sitting position while he went round the back and tied Paul into the chair with a leather strap that was affixed to the rear of the chair. The effect of the strap was to hold Paul up, as if he'd been sitting in the chair of his own free will, which of course he wasn't.

Mike went over to a closet and started to remove some objects from it. I was beginning to accept the inevitability of what was going to happen here so I asked Mike where he'd got all this equipment from. 'I used to run a barbershop in the Midwest, before I moved to the city', he replied. 'I still use it to give haircuts to friends. I enjoy it so it's become something of a hobby of mine, and it has other uses too. You'll see what I mean'. He turned back towards me with a white barber's cape over his arm, a couple of towels and a case of paper tissues in his left hand and a camera in his right. He handed me the camera, a digital one. 'It's easy to use. Just point and click whenever I say 'shoot! You got it?'. I nodded. 'Good, now go and stand in front of the chair, not too far back, so you can get some good head shots of our slumbering baby while we 'work' on him. Take some photos now, just to get the hang of it'. I did as I was told and positioned myself in front of the buckled down Paul. Mike placed the tissues and towels on the tray and unfurled the cape with a dramatic flourish. He draped it over Paul's sleeping body, lifting the ends of Paul's hair out that were trapped, before tying it at the neck and tucking a tissue in around the nape.

My heart was beginning to pound as I realized that the moment Paul's lesson was about to begin was almost here. I looked through the viewfinder of the camera, noticing how Paul's head was kept almost upright by his position in the chair; how his chin was just touching his chest; how his dark hair was falling, as it always had done since I'd known him, down over his eyes; how his ears were almost hidden by his hair, how his long dark sideburns reached down almost to his jaw. I'd never really noticed how thick his hair was, or how much it was a part, not just of his overall appearance but of his personality as a whole. He wasn't really vain but he was conscientious about how he looked, as most guys of 19 are. He was a good-looking man, tall and athletic, something that his hair only accentuated. As I held the camera in my hands and took snaps of Paul I had a pang of guilt: I was going to be made an accomplice to the 'crime' that was about to befall my friend's hair. Here I was, helping a guy to dramatically alter how my friend looked, against his will and without his knowledge. Whatever was going to happen I knew that in the next few minutes Paul was going to undergo a major transformation. The guy who got up this morning, who showered and washed his hair before we went out that evening, was going to look startling different when he woke up tomorrow. I thought of Paul's styling products that sat on a shelf in our shared bathroom, half-used, and wondered how long it would be until Paul would ever use them again. And I was supposed to be his friend? But even then, even as I was feeling most guilty, part of me began to acknowledge that I was also excited and filled with anticipation over what was about to happen. 'How could I even think that?', I thought. But it was true. Deep inside, part of me was detached and dispassionate over Paul's fate and eager to see exactly what would transpire. It wanted to see Paul's looks changed, to see his current hairstyle totally wrecked, only to be replaced with something radically different for I doubted that what Mike had in mind was a 'trim'.

The sound of Mike's voice broke into my reverie. 'You ready with that camera?'. I nodded. Mike grinned again, and once more ran his hand over his bald head. 'This is going to be so cool. Remember to take photos when I say, ok?'. I nodded again but knew that I wouldn't need any instructions on when to use the camera. I was going to make sure that every step of Paul's transformation had a permanent record. I took some more shots of Paul's soon-to-be gone hairstyle as Mike combed through his hair one last time, dragging the comb from back to front, combing that long fringe down over Paul's eyes, and combing the sides down over his ears. When Mike seemed satisfied that any knots and tangles were gone he reached over to the tray and picked up the clippers, turning them on with a flick of his thumb. Suddenly the room was filled with a buzz as the clippers roared into life, the stainless steel blades chattering and whirling, blades that were destined to make contact with Paul's entire head of hair. I quickly took a couple more shots, fixing Paul's current look in my own mind before it was completely gone. "There's a No.2 guard on these', said Mike. 'It'll do for a start'.

Mike lifted the long bangs from Paul's eyes with the comb, lifting them higher until Mike's hand was a good five inches above the top of Paul's head. Every strand along the front of Paul's hairline was pulled taught, stretched tight. I could almost imagine the pull on Paul's follicles as the very roots of his hair were pulled upwards. Mike reached around the side of Paul's head with the clippers, resting them at the top of Paul's ear and his sideburns, just below his right temple. He looked up at me, ready to give an order to take a photo, but I didn't need telling. I took a couple of shots and looked over at Mike. He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. The clippers seemed to stay still forever but I knew it was just a matter of moments before Paul's hair, those long bangs that he used to shake out of his eyes and which he thought the women on campus found attractive, were reduced to nothing but 6mm stubble.

Suddenly the clippers edged upwards, just slightly, then further, further, further, up the side of Paul's head, and the buzzing sound changed tone as the steel blades ate into Paul's hair; my heart was almost beating itself out of my chest as I saw the white trail that was left in the clippers wake, the white skin of Paul's newly shorn head, and as I saw fragments of Paul's hair fall down his cape, into his lap and onto the floor; and still the clippers ascended towards where Mike held those long bangs up from Paul's head, beginning a movement that would take them from ear to ear, over the top of Paul's skull, eating away his hairline. At last the clippers started to bite into the hair held by Mike's comb and the comb containing in its teeth almost the entirety of Paul's long fringe began to lift higher and higher as the hair it was holding became detached from Paul's scalp. Then the clippers were beginning their descent down past Paul's left temple to end just touching his sideburn, hair falling in great clumps down the side of his face; and Mike held the comb up so I could take a shot, and I saw Paul's fringe, which moments before had been growing healthily from his head, hanging from its teeth.

Breathing hard, I stopped shooting to take in the change in Paul's appearance. Mike had skilfully manoeuvred the clippers so that they had stripped Paul's hair in a great curve from one ear to the other, taking off all of the front first inch or so of his hairline; fringe, bangs, everything had gone and his sideburns were now marooned on the side of his face, looking much thicker now there was nothing but stubble above them. 'What do you think so far?', asked Mike. I could only stare at Paul's wrecked hair in disbelief, the reality of what we were doing hitting home for the first time. 'Lots more to do though', said Mike, 'so get back to your job as cameraman'. Mike then placed the clippers back on Paul's head, but now in the centre of his forehead, and pushed them all the way to the back of his crown. Another white stripe appeared that mirrored the first, then another as Mike repeated the procedure again and again on Paul's head. Hair began to fall in masses. I had no idea that a full head of long hair actually contained so MUCH hair until I saw it cascading down onto the barber's cape, covering Paul and the surrounding floor with a carpet of dark brown. There was hair everywhere. It was much too late to turn back now, so I snapped away, capturing every movement of the clippers and the increasing swathe they were making across Paul's once prolific head of hair. I'd never seen anyone getting such a dramatic haircut as this, and strangely, the fact that it was happening to a good buddy of mine, without his consent and with my acquiescence only increased the thrill I was feeling. In no time the top of Paul's head had been totally sheared. Four or five inches of hair had been reduced to mere millimetres. He looked sort of weird, with the whiteness of his scalp showing on top and the long, darker, intact hair still happily growing around the sides and back. Mike gestured for me to go round to the rear and I took some more shots as he lifted the longer hairs at the nape of Paul's neck, placed the clippers underneath them, and buzzed upwards to join the already decimated hair on the crown. It took only seconds for the back of Paul's head to be made practically bald, and it occurred to me how odd it was that what took many months to grow could be got rid of so easily and so quickly. The only hair remaining of any length on Paul's head was at the sides, but this too was swiftly buzzed off until Paul's former mop was replaced by a uniform No.2 cut. He looked like someone who'd just got scalped at a military academy. Sure, his features were the same, but for some reason the presence of his hair had altered how they appeared. In a very real way he now looked like a completely different person. And I was enthralled.

'What are we going to do with those sideburns?', I asked Mike. Mike looked over at me surprised before stating that he was 'thinking about it'. 'Before we get onto those', he added, 'we've got some more work to do on top'. I had no idea what he meant. Surely Paul's new image was complete. How much shorter could Mike take it? He'd already taken the bulk of Paul's hair right off, and nearly down to the skin. Mike proceeded to dust the flecks of cut hair from Paul's head with a little brush, making sure that every strand of hair was removed. Then he swept the mass of hair that had fallen into Paul's lap onto the floor before using a dustpan set to gather all the hair together. One his instruction, I got a clear plastic bag from the closet into which Mike deposited all Paul's once-attached hair. 'A little souvenir for him when he comes to', Mike laughed. 'It'll give him something to remember his former appearance by'.

Mike told me to resume my job as cameraman but told me to come in closer for the next step, so I could get some good shots of the top of Paul's head. I positioned myself near to the chair and took a few sample photos of the thin covering of stubble that remained. But mostly all I could see was white skin, untouched by sunlight for a good few years. Mike picked up the clippers from the tray, replacing the No.2 guard with a No.1, and began to carefully go back over the top of our 'victim's' head. Fragments of dark hair flew up from Paul's scalp as clippers shaved out a perfect effect of advanced male-pattern baldness. Mike was meticulous in ensuring that the MPB effect looked like natural hair loss rather than just a shaved patch on the top of a full head of hair. Finally satisfied, Mike again brushed off the top of Paul's head and I began to see exactly what the finished haircut was going to look like on my friend. Even though the No.2 cut hair at the sides of Paul's head was short, the No.1 on top looked MUCH shorter in comparison. The resulting impression was of a young guy who had lost his hair and gone prematurely bald. I guessed our haircutting session was over. Mike had gotten what he wanted, Paul's humiliation, and it was time to leave.

I went to put down the camera. 'We ain't quite done yet buddy', he said. He went back over to the closet and retrieved a small stove, like the kind you go camping with. He set it going and went back to the closet, this time returning with a tiny saucepan-like object full of what I thought was a very hard yellow plastic. I had another pang of conscience. 'Uh.what's that?', I asked. 'This', said Mike 'is wax. Hard wax at the moment, but soon it'll be soft', and he put the little saucepan over the flame of the stove. 'Uh.and what are we going to do with it?', I asked. 'Nothing much', he grinned. 'We're just going to make sure your friend here doesn't forget his lesson in a hurry'. 'You mean you're going to wax his HEAD??', I shouted. Again Mike grinned, 'Yep. This stuff will pull out all those little hairs that are left by the root. It'll take a while before they even think of growing back, so Paul here will be left with a permanent MPB head, at least for a while. He certainly won't be in any hurry to grow out the sides and back of his hair when there's nothing happening on top. And there won't be, not until the hair follicle recovers the will to live. This', said Mike 'is the final act of our little drama', and told me to get clicking again with the camera.

It hadn't taken long for the wax to heat up so that it was once more a liquid. Mike removed it from the stove and then got a small spatula with which he pasted a little over the back of his hand, to ensure it wasn't going to burn our bald friend's head. Mike seemed happy with it as he moved around to face Paul. Starting once again at the front of Paul's hairline he began to smear the wax all over the stubble that remained after the No.1 buzz. After a small area of Paul's scalp had been covered he waited until the wax had hardened and developed a firm grip on the hair, testing it occasionally with his fingernail. When it was set solid Mike started to lift one corner of hardened area, getting a firm grip on it with the tip of his finger. With a sudden movement upwards and back, against the grain of Paul's former hair, he tore the wax from the scalp. He handed it to me. 'You see? A much better result than shaving'. Looking closely at the wax I could see embedded within it the very final remnants of Paul's hair, reduced from a long mop, through two clipperings and a wax to these rather pitiful little scraps of stubble. 'Look carefully', said Mike 'and you'll see the white ball of the hair root at the end of each hair. That's what we're after; that's what'll give Paul nightmares when he finally recovers tomorrow and that's why he won't be able to regrow his hair in a hurry. He's going to have a smooth head that even I would be proud of!' The rest of the waxing of Paul's new MPB area seemed to take forever as Mike went over each spot, checking for any missed hair. Those he found were removed with tweezers. I was amazed Paul hadn't awoke with the discomfort that the waxing and tweezing must've caused. I mentioned it to Mike who then informed me of the powerful nature of the sedative with which he had spiked Paul's drink. So it had all been planned. I guess I should've realised. When Mike was finally finished Paul's head glowed red from the hot wax but there was not a SINGLE living hair remaining on top of his now shining dome. Where once there had been thick hair there was now nothing but smooth skin, carefully edged to contrast with the longer hair at the back and sides. It was a classic look of a guy who had male-pattern baldness. It made Paul look somehow older, more mature, even wise, if such a thing is expressible through a haircut. Even as he slept, oblivious, he looked stronger and more masculine. Like a proper man. Mike carefully massaged a skin cooler over Paul's smoothed and waxed pate. 'Now he said, about those sideburns.'. Within a few minutes those were gone too, stripped right back to the skin with a right-edged razor and levelled off at the top of the ears. I knew that Paul would be as sorry to see those go as he would be about losing the rest of his hair, but there seemed little point now in pretending that I had Paul's best interests at heart. After all, I'd willingly stood by and allowed my young friend to have his hair stripped off him and a bald look created, a look that most guys wouldn't get until they were well into middle age. Even so, I had to admit Paul's new look, even though an unbelievable transformation, actually suited him. I asked Mike when he was going to wake up. 'Oh, in a few hours or so', he said. 'And then we can see what his reaction will be'.

We unstrapped Paul from the chair and carried him through into Mike's bedroom, lying him carefully on the bed. Then we waited. A few coffees and a couple of hours later we saw Paul stirring. He looked confused as he tried to figure out where he was before spotting us sitting nearby. He smiled and lifted up a hand in recognition. 'Hi', he murmured. 'I guess I had one drink too many, right. I need a splash with cold water'. Sitting up on the bed, he slowly got to his feet and Mike directed him to his bathroom. Paul left the room, followed by Mike and myself. Above the wash basin was a large mirror and it was in this that Paul saw his new appearance for the first time. A look of complete and utter disbelief and amazement showed on his face as his brain tried to make sense of what it was seeing. All his hair was gone, except for that fringe, and his now waxed-bald head blazed like a beacon from the refreflection of the overhead light. His jaw hung down, and then slowly his hands reached up and touched his newly denuded head for the first time. Starting at the front, where before those bangs had hung down so low, he ran both hands over his chromed dome to his crown and then down the back until they got to the nape of his neck. Then he repeated the same actions, almost enjoying the sensory experience of his hands touching a part of him that had been covered with thick hair for so long.

I think he liked it.

extended from here ....

He didn't yell, but slowly turned to us.

"You'll pay for this," he almost whispered. "You've invaded my person". Paul is a law student. "I could sue you for everything you've got Mike. And the spiked drink. That must have been it. The licencing police would close you down in a minute. Just look at me. BALD! How could you do it. And you," he looked directly at me, "you're supposed to be my mate. How could you let this happen? BALD!"

"Well you sort of brought it on yourself Paul. I told you over and over not to badmouth Mike's head"

"Yes well. That still doesn't entitle you guys to shave my head while I'm unconscious with a Micky Finn - "

"You're not shaved Paul. The top of your head's been waxed - " I spluttered

"Waxed?!" He yelled this time. "Pulled out?" he rubbed his ultra smooth scalp. Then he saw the wax strips in the trash basket, picked one up and examined the extracted stubble, roots and all. "This is a bodily assault. I'll take a couple of months to grow. You'll be sorry for this Mike."

The barman/barber by now realized that his vengeance could indeed land him in very hot water.

"It's just a gag Paul. Just exactly like my head that you insulted all the time. You deserved it. Look man, don't make trouble. Sure I went too far. What can to make it up? Don't close down my business - please!"

"Don't you think you deserve it? Spiking a customer's drink? You could go to jail." Paul turned once again to the mirror, running his hands all over his head, without speaking for fully five minutes. By this time Mike was in a sweat, and I was very uncomfortable, though fascinated at my now semi-bald friend.

"Here's the deal - non-negotiable. Take it or leave it. Do it my way or end up in court. Right?"

"Tell us first - " muttered Mike.

"First - you wax the rest of the hair off my head so it's smooth bald all over. Second Mike, you do the same to yourself. Your top is already waxed uh? Third, Jordon (me) has his head shaved. And do it now. They're the rules to save prosecution."

There was no way that I wanted to be bald, though I was turned on by Paul's new look, and I supposed that it really was a kinda light sentence. I nodded 'OK'.

"You sure about wanting the rest of your hair waxed off Paul?" enquired Mike. "It could hurt like hell."


"Yes I'm sure. There's no way I going to be half bald. Mix me another one of your Mickey Finns - just enough to stay fully awake but to deaden the pain. Now!"

Mike scurried back to the bar. As he cleared the room, Paul burst into stifled laughter, hanging onto my shoulders and ruffling my hair.

"Baldy! You and me baldies! You got to admit it's pretty funny. Mike was entitled to get his own back. But he was stupid. This could cause him to lose his business. But you know Jordy? I know this is mad, but I like it. I wouldn't want to be shaved every day, but I can live with the bald look. Waxing is the way to go. What do you think?"

"You're right about you being bald. Look's super kewel on you. But are you sure you want the rest waxed? Shaved would make you smooth all over just as well. Man, have I got to have my head shaved as well?" I pleaded.

"You're bald too or there's no deal. I didn't say you had to be waxed, just shaved, though if you were half a man of honour, you'd have your hair ripped out as a gesture of solidarity and apology to me"

The last statement was a real clanger. I have always prided myself as being honourable. Just then Mike came back into the room with three large blue drinks.

"This'll stop the pain. No other effects. Guaranteed. I brought one for you too Jordon, just in case." Was he psychic? "You first Paul. Down this while I heat up the wax."

Paul settled himself back in the chair taking long swigs of his drink. He visibly relaxed. Within a few minutes Mike was applying the tacky wax to Paul's remaining hair, which he let set.

"Does that hurt?" he asked Paul as he yanked a strip.

"No. That feels interesting. But it doesn't hurt - much."

Mike steadily pulled out the remaining hair from Paul's head. If Paul looked good with the feaux MPB, he looked excellent completely bald. It was hard to imagine him with hair, especially the color-length and eye-covering bangs. While Mike was at work he sipped at his own drink.

I could see from the expression on Paul's face that the really, really liked his super-bald new look. It was amazing to me, even though I knew him so well, that he had accepted the severe lesson that Mike had inflicted on him.

"Well that's me for a couple of months. Bald Paul." He gingerly rubbed his hands over his tender hair-stripped head - now gleaming in the overhead light. His dome was a good shape - the baldie looked right on him.

Without a word, Mike waxed the remainder of his own hair and peeled it off. He was right. He looked better with the MPB fringe. Then it was my turn. Hell. What was I to do? I had downed my drink just in case. I had heard of traction alopecia where the hair didn't grow back after it had been stripped out. Sure it usually took to several treatments before the hair started to give up. But it could also happen after just one pull-out. Besides, Paul had only insisted that I have shaved, not waxed, but he had also made it clear that I should do then honourable thing and go for the waxing.

I climbed into the chair still deciding what to do. What the hell. If I was going to be bald, I might as well be BALD!

"Waxed," I mumbled, and that was the last thing I remembered. Mike's deadening mixer drink had more effect on me - probably because of the adrenaline rust I was experiencing - tha it did on the others.

The next thing I remembered was waking up in the chair as mike was massaging astringent onto me head.

My head. I woke up suddenly, remembered where I was and looked straight in the mirror. I was bald, of course. Wow. Pow. Wham. I was BALD! Sensational. Mike handed me the mirror for an all-round view. Extraordinary. Boy, I really liked it. The feel of the waxed scalp - I could see the discarded wax strips with my colour (blond) stuck to them - was tender, but like nothing I had experienced before. Almost ecstasy.

Prologue: We still occasionally went to Mike's bar, but now we drank far less, and studied more.

All the comments on our bald heads were positive.

Eventually Mike was able to re-grow his self-inflicted MPB.

Paul was undecided what to do as his hair started to sprout again after two months. For awhile he looked like a half plucked chicken. Eventually he opted for being bald, but not waxed - though he admitted it was an experience he wouldn't have missed. So he shaved his head until a few months before graduation - the law firm he was going to had asked him - but not insisted - that he had well-styled hair until he had established himself. He then wore a short business cut with a small bumper, very trendiod. Still does, but insists that he will have it waxed again at the very first opportunity.

Me? Even though I was just a bit player in the drama, I am the one who has remained hairless. From the moment I first saw my waxed scalp I was a bladie convert. Still am. I needn't have worried. My hair did grow back again. No traction alopecia. Sometimes I wish it did set in. I shave my head every day - which is a little strange - though not that much so for a doctor. Today I was accepted by Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders) to work in Third World Asia. I'm off to see Mike after he closed the bar for another waxing - and a head waxing kit, to take with me.

Bald Without Borders



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