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Behind the Chair: Kyle Gets Clipped by Kaleb McKinley

Part 2 (for those unfamiliar, this is a continuing story that I began a few years ago about Kyle, a construction worker, who walked into my shop for a simple haircut. If you haven't already, read "Behind the Chair: Life of a Barber". It will set the scene for Part 2.)

I knew Kyle had his doubts when I promised that he would look good, but instead of having mercy on the guy, I plowed my clippers up the side of his head removing the left sideburn. I always loved watching these good looking studs squirm, their asses tightening on the seat of the old barber chair, boots shuffling back and forth on the foot rest. Each of them wanting to ask you for mercy, but resisting, since doing so wouldn't be exactly manly. Instead, this hunk, this new customer who happened to come into my shop at the recommendation of his co-worker, sat, in silence, knowing I was in charge and watching as best he could in the mirror as I clipped and sheared his head.

The clippers happily hummed as I turned the chair so I could have access to right side of Kyle's head. Placing my hand on the top of his head and getting a firm grip, palming it, much like you would a basketball, I shoved it to the left and held him in place as the Osters began their third assault. I was clipping him so furiously that bits of hair were not only landing on the cape, but also on my neat, white barber's jacket. Seven minutes into this first haircut of the morning, I was covered in this stud's hair. As I think back on it, that is not a bad way to start the day.

Kyle made a weak attempt at conversation as he strained to see my every move. "It looks like it's gonna be another hot one", he said. "We sure could use a little rain." I thought it was kind of cute that he was thinking this would somehow lessen the shearing. "It's not gonna cool off anytime soon", I said. "No relief in sight, I'm afraid." While on the surface I was talking about the weather, I was also referring to his time in the barber chair. I made several additional rounds to get the sides and back as close and smooth as I could. This caused him additional concern and, as a result, he shifted and squirmed, but quickly stopped when he heard my voice instruct firmly, "sit still. Now. I'm not done." His eyes shifted downward and he quietly and almost inaudibly said "yes, sir." He had a clear idea now of who was in charge of this haircut and he knew with certainty that it wasn't him. I brushed some of the loose hair away from his face and the sides and back of his head, taking a moment rub my fingers across the bristles. "Perfect", I whispered. "Feels different, doesn't it?, I asked. "Feels better, right?" He nodded, but didn't lift his head.

The 000 attachment had done its work and I switched off for the clipper-over-comb treatment that I needed to give to the top of his head. I left about a half inch and you could clearly see scalp. At this point I noticed that Kyle appeared to be in a near trance. He was silent, looking straight ahead. His breathing had become increasingly faster throughout the haircut, but now it had slowed to a more normal rate. He seemed to understand that my choice for him was made and cut was done. Although unspoken, I knew that he realized it was best not to disagree with a barber who was making the decisions. He was right. That was best. If he didn't behave and comply, he was just a few quick passes away from a clipper shave.

I spun the chair around and unsnapped the red and whipped striped cape. Unfolding the towel that was wrapped tightly around his neck and placing another folded, blue-striped towel on his right shoulder, I prepped him for a neck shave. Kyle heard the sound of the hot lather machine and came out of his "trance". The smell of shaving cream filled the air and, becoming aware of the next step in our haircut journey, Kyle's neck developed goose bumps. As a barber, I love that sight. It happens very often when a man realizes that he's about to be shaved. Turning back to him, I began to quietly hum a few notes of Rossini's "Barber of Seville" Overture. You probably know the one. "Dunt, dunt, duh dunt...dunt, dunt, duh dunt...dunt, dunt, duh dunt...duh duh dunt, duh duuuuh dunt". As I hummed, Kyle's little short neck hairs stood up as the goose bumps increased. I quickly covered his neck in hot lather and spread it around his ears and down where his sideburns had been when he entered my shop. I picked up one of my favorite barbering tools, my straight razor. I pushed his head forward with his chin against his chest. "Hold still", I recommended. "Now's not the time not the time to start squirming again." He took my suggestion and sat very still as I opened my razor. "Good boy", I said, playfully tussling the remaining hair on the top of his head. The shave began at the faded hairline on the back of his head and proceeded down his neck with the familiar and extremely arousing sound of the razor scraping off the remaining stubble left behind by the clippers. I continued to hum the familiar tune from the "Barber of Seville" while I turned the chair, first to the right and then to left to position Kyle perfectly for remainder of the shave.

My handsome customer seemed to be adjusting himself a bit under the cape. I suppose that happens to even the manliest of men. It's difficult not to succumb to the pleasures of the barber shop. I wiped his neck, head and ears with a warm, damp towel to remove all of the remaining shaving lather. He quietly moaned. Knowing that he thought he was about to get out of the chair, I smiled and looked forward to the next part of Kyle's barber shop experience: The Face Shave. Oh, boy. This should be interesting! I hope he and I can make it to the end of the shave. He will be fully reclined in the barber chair, you know. (Stay tuned...don't get ahead and "finish" without me.)

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