A Matter of Etiquette by Jay

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"So, do you really want to go to this thing, or not?” While peeling off his pajama bottoms and yesterday's tee shirt, Tim edged toward the bathroom still trying to talk himself out of it. It wasn't at all coincidental that he had organized his sock drawer, cleaned the utility room and managed to get his vacation pictures pasted into an album, but wasn't showered yet. The clock he'd been trying to ignore for the past several hours read three fifty-two. Tim figured he could probably still, sort of make this thing, if he really wanted to. With a sudden sense of urgency, he jumped into the shower, rationalizing that it was highly unlikely that everyone would show up exactly at four, and that it was perfectly acceptable to get there a little late. He shampooed and conditioned his hair, even more thoroughly than normal. Almost ninety-nine percent certain that he was really going to go, he slid into his "lucky” boxers, zipped up his favorite jeans, then pulled a brand new, wasabi green Izod over his perfectly gelled hair. He glanced at the unmade bed, but resolutely walked away and fished the car keys out of the wooden bowl he habitually tossed them in. Prior to pulling the door shut behind him, he took one, last, quick look in the mirror. Before he knew it, he was back in the bathroom wetting his hair down again and plugging in the blow dryer for the third time that afternoon. Four forty-four. The question still remained, "so, do you really want to go to this thing or not?”



He had found out about "this thing” on the Internet that past winter, after being stuck in bed for a few days with some flu bug he was pretty certain he'd picked up when he was at his sister's over the holidays. They all had it, and he pretty much knew he was a goner when the twins planted big, sloppy kisses on him as he struggled through the front door trying to balance his knapsack and an armload of perfectly wrapped gifts. Unable to sleep, but still uncomfortably stuffed up, Tim sat down at his computer clutching a mug of Sleepy Time laced with a little Maker's Mark in one hand and another dose of decongestants in the other, then pulled up some of his favorite porn sites. No magic. Frustrated and a little groggy, he went to Google and watched his right index finger as it punched in the letters, B-U-Z-Z-C-U-T-S, thinking that when all else failed, guys with super short haircuts typically made the juices flow. His eyes scrolled through pages and pages of sites related to the search. It turned up sites where guys posted pictures of themselves getting haircuts, and sites for submitting stories about interesting haircut experiences, sites that had contests for the best high & tight, and sites that sold videos of men being forced to get their heads shaved. Mounds of wadded up Kleenex later, he looked up from the screen into a room flooded with sunlight and flipped off the switch on the desk lamp, barely able to take his eyes off this picture of a herculean stud, stripped to the waist with a really sexy high and tight horseshoe flattop. It was well into the afternoon when he stumbled onto this Haircut Party Site.



Five thirty-seven. Not so awful, he thought, the thing did say four to six. After taking a quick, unsuccessful spin through the packed parking lot, Tim pulled into a spot directly across the street. The place was pretty unassuming, just some hole in the wall barbershop wedged between a laundromat and a shoddy Chinese carryout in a run-down little strip mall. Ostensibly, he puttered around in the car with the AC still running, alphabetizing the CD's and organizing the receipts in his wallet while occasionally letting his eyes roam across the street. After checking his hair for the umpteenth time, he got out of the car. Instead of continuing to obsess about how weird he thought this thing might be, he focused on the neon sign beckoning him to, "___eve's __arbershop”. Very apprehensively, he reached for the door, gave it a good, strong nudge, then lunged precariously through the jamb. As he straightened up, trying to act like that didn't just happen, his eyes darted around the smoky, dimly lit space. The room was totally exploding with bare-chested men slopping down beer. In he went, unintentionally letting the door slam shut behind him. It got uncomfortably quiet for a few, brief seconds as he self-consciously attempted to merge into the dense crowd. On close inspection, it became very obvious that his hair was pretty much the longest in the group, and definitely looked to be the most styled with its deliberate, just got out of bed kind of appeal. He felt oddly confident, knowing he had just had it done earlier that week by this stylist who had been cutting it for over five years, although he still wasn't totally convinced that the blonde highlights were really his thing. What he did know was that at $100 a pop, he probably wasn't going to jump to have them freshened up again anytime soon.



It was difficult to maneuver through the narrow storefront and even more of a challenge to get anywhere even close to the action. While perched high on his tiptoes trying to look over the crowd, Tim felt this hand grab a huge clump of his perfectly gelled hair. He spun his head around and forced a smile. The perpetrator was really hot, and looked vaguely familiar, but Tim couldn't quite place him. Steve quickly introduced himself. He had on super tight Levi's and black, lace up boots, and looked like he had already been in the chair, as his high & tight horseshoe flattop with its gleaming sidewalls, didn't really look like it could get much shorter.



"Nice haircut there, um, Steve, right? Guess you've already had your turn.” Steve grabbed Tim's hand and placed it on the back of his head. Hesitantly, Tim permitted his hand to glide up Steve's neck all the way to the crown and then let it move over the top and run back and forth over the landing strip. Meanwhile, Steve strategically placed his hand on Tim's crotch and let it linger there long enough to know that this guy was pretty much his for the taking.



"Haven't seen you at one a'these things b'fore, Dude? First one?”



Tim nodded his head, "is it that obvious?”



"Well, relax, they're lotsa fun. And you picked a good one, Bud, it's USMC Day.”



"Umm?”



"Ev'rybody gets'a regulation US Marine H&T, Man. No exceptions!” He grabbed Tim's hair again, "lemme getchu a beer, and lose the shirt while I'm gone, okay?” Before heading toward the keg in the back of the room, he edged his hand up the front of the shirt and pinched Tim's nipple. Just as he got back and shoved the big plastic cup into Tim's hand, some lug with a fresh recon slammed into them and a good third of the beer went gushing down the front of the snug fitting Izod. "Guess yer gonna hafta take it off now, Man.” Steve helped pull the beer-sopped shirt over Tim's head. "Not so bad,” he stroked Tim's chest, then let his thumb rest on the top of the belt buckle while his fingers gently stroked the front of the jeans. "So, first time, huh? A gen-u-ine recruit.” The recruit shrugged his shoulders, as Steve yanked on his hair again, "so, how long since you cut all this off, real, real short, Man? Yer prob'ly one a'them guys that lets it grow out, then gets inta buzzin' it all off, super short, right?”



Staring into Steve's rock hard chest, Tim confessed that it hadn't been cut really short since he was forced into getting it all shaved off when he was on the swim team in high school, and that he only ever did it that once, then let it all grow back in. Steve laughed and stroked Tim's buffed chest again, "betcha still fantasize about that skinhead, right? And, I betcha looked f***in' cute, too.”



Pretty coyly, Tim smiled back at him and blushed. Steve secured his new friend's hand and stuck it inside his jeans, nice and low. He was getting way hard, "so, lemme know when yer ready there, Recruit. A nice induction cut is gonna look sweet on you.”



Tim nervously withdrew his hand and looked away. "That's cool, Man, sure thing.”



Like he was playing with some funny little dog with a topknot, Steve continued stroking Tim's head, "cannot wait t'sweep all this pretty hair up off the floor.”



Politely, Tim excused himself, but couldn't help casually glancing back, and then it all came back to him, Steve was the stud from the Internet, the guy with the H&T whom he'd been lusting over for the past several months. Wow, and even hotter in person.



Once he'd filled up his cup again, Tim methodically forced his way through the crowd until he had a respectable view for taking in the action. This incredible looking guy wearing only a jock strap was shoved into the barber's chair. He swept an errant curl off his forehead and took a last look before being turned away from the mirror. Steve was waiting behind him, clippers poised and ready for action. As he heard the buzzing sound begin to fill the air, Tim's heart started racing. Attentively, he watched every move, beginning to end. The hair came off quickly, first the right side, nice and high, then the back all the way up to the crown, then finally the left side, just as smoothly. The guy's stark, white scalp circling the remaining clump of auburn curls hovering on the very top, made him look like some ridiculous clown immortalized on a very bad velvet painting. An attachment was secured and with a few swift passes, the bizarre mound was reduced to a quarter inch. Stroking the remnants, the guy stumbled out of the chair and was instantly absorbed into the undistinguishable mass of almost identical haircuts.



More would-be barbers took the clippers relieving more and more guys of their hair. As everyone got loaded the haircuts got even more extreme. Steve actually got back in the chair and had his flattop completely shaved off. Watching the clippers run over the top of his head gave Tim one big boner. In his spirited way, Steve jumped up, grabbed the clippers and stood there, waving them over his head. He spied Tim in the crowd and motioned for him to get in the chair. Tim pretended not to see him and headed to the back for another beer.



The crowd started to thin around six-thirty and Tim was finally able to see what the barbershop really looked like. Pretty much a cheap Home Depot redo, fake wood paneling, a nasty rollout linoleum floor, and a bad marbleized formica backbar with the only mirror in the room hanging directly above it. There were easily a dozen clippers littering the counter and lots of empty plastic cups that had failed to make it to the garbage can. He edged over and picked up a pair of Oster clippers and flicked them off and on. This behemoth of a guy grabbed them out of his hand and motioned for him to get into the chair. Unashamedly, Steve looked over and grinned, "he's mine, Ralph, all mine, okay?



In listening to the others, Tim picked up that this was actually Steve's shop and pretty much his party. The guy really knew how to work a crowd, mostly flirting with the exceptionally young, especially good-looking, pumped up men. By now he had positioned himself by the door and was letting people out, taking one last opportunity to fondle his favorites, and make certain everyone knew about the next event. Remaining by the bar, Tim watched the last few guys get even more hair shaved off. Even though he was really turned on by this point, he figured that the action was pretty much over and that he should probably be heading out. It took a few minutes to get through the piles of discarded clothing before he finally unearthed his shirt. As it was still pretty wet, he just tucked it in the back of his jeans.



"So, yer not thinkin'a duckin' out yet, are ya', Recruit?” Tim skulked toward the door and went to grab the handle. "I was sorta thinkin' we'd get t'know each other a little better.” He tugged on Tim's damp Izod, "how's about you maybe climbin' up in that chair, Partner?” He took hold of Tim's hair and kicked the door shut.



"Um, yeah, right, um, maybe not today, Steve. You know, I'm not, really, quite ready for all this yet.” Steve yanked on the streaked hair a little harder. "Yeah, I was just sort of here today to, you know, check it out, and see what these things are all about.” He tried pulling away, "maybe next time though. And, for sure, you're the guy who I want to do it, okay? You know, when I'm ready.”



Steve snorted as he started to unbuckle Tim's belt, "ah, right, just checkin' it out.” He scratched the top of his own head, "yeah, well, but that's not really how these things work.”



"Umm?” Tim shook his head, "how what things work?”



"Well, y'see, there's kinda this unwritten rule,” slowly he pulled the belt out of the loops and wound it around his hand. "Yeah, um, y'know, sorta like party etiquette.”



"Etiquette?” Tim immediately relaxed and laughed. "Funny, you really had me going for a second there. Now, if I can just get my belt, I'll get out of your hair.” He flashed a smile, "um, sorry, no pun intended.”



Hanging around the door there were several framed headshots of guys with extreme military cuts that Tim had been eyeing. As he went to reach for his belt, Steve slid him toward the wall and the back of his head brushed against the glass of one of the pictures. Steve edged closer and rested his hand on the cheap, wood paneling pretty much pinning Tim in. "Yer real cute there, Recruit.” His humongous hand slowly moved down Tim's bare chest. With a flick of his thumb he unbuttoned the top button on the jeans then eased the zipper down. "But, as I was sayin',” he let go of the jeans and started pounding the belt buckle in his hand, "y'know, about this etiquette thing.”



Tim's head thudded against the wall, "r-r-right.”



"Well, the thing is, Man, you been hangin' around havin' a great time, drinkin' the beer all afternoon, okay?”



"Yeah, sure.”



"And, you been watchin' ev'rybody get clipped, right?”



"Okay, r-r-ight.”



"So,” his hand reached inside Tim's boxers, "the way these things go,” he cleared his throat and announced this in an incredibly firm, deep voice, "no one leaves one'a my parties without gettin' a haircut.” Tim's dick immediately leapt to attention. "It's all part'a the deal, get it?”



His eyes rolled up toward the dreary, water stained ceiling tiles lurking above. "Um, yeah, that's cool, but,” he gulped almost like some cartoon character who knows he's in big trouble, "you know, I didn't really understand this, um, secret rule, you know, this ‘etiquette' thing, okay?”



There were still maybe a dozen guys hanging around in varying degrees of undress, most quite drunk and getting pretty rowdy by this point. Steve's voice blared above the crowd's steady hum, "gentlemen, we have got one last haircut tonight and it is gonna be a good one.” With great gusto he pointed at Tim, whose jeans were now draped around his ankles and eyes were desperately darting around the barbershop trying to figure out how he was going to get out of this mess. "This ripe recruit here, with all this pretty hair, anxious t'be inducted.” He grabbed the victim's chin as the rambunctious crowd got even more out of hand. A couple of the brawnier, younger ones hoisted the uninitiated up on their shoulders; Tim prudently lowered his head so it wouldn't get rammed into the exceptionally low ceiling. They deposited their totally outnumbered captive into the seat of honor, the very one he had watched so many before him sit down in, and much more willingly surrender their hair. The anointed barber took his place behind the guy about to be initiated and squeezed his firm biceps, "y'know yer achin' for this, Recruit, and I'm gonna make sher you enjoy ev'ry f***in' minute of it.”



Tim was stone silent as he watched the guys who had dumped him in the chair yank off his flip-flops, then hurl his $180 jeans onto the beer sopped, hair littered floor. There he sat, Abercrombie boxers and nothing else, sporting a major erection.



"This is gonna be real, real sweet.” The one controlling Tim's fate turned around and reached for a pair of clippers. Petrified, Tim watched as Steve yanked the attachment off and flipped them on.



"Um, so, let's talk about this haircut then, Steve, okay?” Sweat was rolling down his face and he was talking faster than he'd ever talked before, "now, you know, this is the first time and, um, I have a very respectable job, and let's not get too carried away, okay?”



"Yeah, sure thing.” Tim's eyes rolled up to see the seemingly gigantic clippers hovering overhead like an enemy helicopter, chomping, ready to drop down any second for the kill. Totally relishing every moment of his inductee's distress, Steve planted the clippers just above Tim's furrowed brow and stared down into his clenched teeth with the calculated intent of an assassin about to pull the trigger. Unexpectedly, he paused and motioned for another beer, chugged it down, then lapped the last of the foam off his upper lip while his dubious victim squirmed around in the big chair, uneasily watching every move he made. Steve's chilly hand pressed into the back of Tim's neck, then moved up and slowly rounded his entire head. "Say g'bye t'yer pretty hair, Recruit. Not gonna be much up there fer a long, long, long time.” Tim only shuddered. Leisurely, the clippers inched across the top of his head, biting away at the precious, highlighted mane, opening a long, wide channel all the way to the crown. Insistently, Steve grabbed Tim's hand and slid it back and forth across the fresh cut, "nice, huh?” There was no response, except for some very heavy, erratic breathing. The bare blade meandered over the top again; another enormous clump of stiff hair bolted to the floor. Not even slightly satisfied, Steve continued to slice straight, even rows, front to back. Soon, the large patches of exposed scalp triumphantly outnumbered the sparse clusters of gelled hair still standing erect and undaunted. Steadily, Steve guided his clippers through the last thicket, then ran them over the entire head a second, then a third time, until not a single quivering tuft was left standing.



Motionless, Tim just sat there. His eyes wandered around the barbershop, but all he could make out was this sea of glistening high and tights happily grinning back at him like a string of bare, white bulbs all lit up for some backyard barbeque.



"Okay. What d'ya say, Men? Tighter?” All the bare bulbs simultaneously nodded their glowing heads, as if a gentle breeze was controlling them. The 00000 blade emerged and took its position, front and center, just like the one before it. "The crowd wants it all the way down, Recruit.” Steve shoved the blade straight back. Again Tim's hand was lifted to the top of his head. He timorously let his fingers rub the fresh path. More heavy breathing, this time, louder and even more irregular. As he slumped deep down into the chair, his head bounced up and down into his chest, then just stopped and hung there. Steve shoved it back in place before continuing to buzz the remaining stubble down to a uniform 1/125th of an inch all over. Still the crowd clamored for more. To placate them, the barber enthusiastically spread warm shave cream around the perimeter of Tim's head. The heavy breathing completely stopped as Tim's cheeks filled up with air. The strop was lifted from the side of the chair and Steve very proficiently ran the straight razor back and forth across it. Tim's eyes bugged out as he sat there, still motionless, listening to the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of cold metal running across smooth, worn leather. Slowly and deliberately, the blade cleared the white foam and took what little bristle remained along with it. Steve grabbed Tim's hand again, this time persuading it to touch the shave cream first and then the completely shaved side of his head. The room was quiet, totally still, almost like the aftermath of a severe storm. Very, very meticulously, the last of the shave cream was removed and then the slick sides of the inductee's head were wiped clean. The radiant string of bare bulbs seemed completely satisfied as they swayed approvingly in unison. "That'll do it then, Recruit. All done.”



Tim faced the mirror but was too afraid to look, he was even too afraid to imagine what he looked like. Gingerly, he let his hands reach for his head, ever so slowly permitting his fingertips to barely graze the top as his palms gently rubbed the totally barren sides. When he caught his reflection, he immediately looked away. His hands moved faster and faster over the entire surface of his scalp chasing after each other like racecars on a speedway. After a few dizzying minutes, now somewhat prepared for the shock, he forced himself to open only one eye and squint at his reflection. "Well, whadaya think? Short enough for ya' there, Recruit?” Steve was absolutely beaming, like the proud father looking at his newborn kid for the first time, "don't think I got too carried away, do ya'?”



The guys who had not so tenderly dumped Tim in the chair surrounded him. One shoved a fresh beer in his hand while the other poured one over the top of his head. Icy cold beer rushed down Tim's distraught face. Curiously, he started laughing, and the more he looked at his new haircut, the more he laughed, not his normal, controlled laugh, more of a frantic, almost hysterical one. His eyes didn't move. It was like they were glued to the mirror, as he just kept staring and laughing, laughing and staring, while he rubbed his wet scalp over and over again. Finally, he broke the silence. "Pretty much nothing left, that's for sure. A gen-u-ine, regulation US Marine H&T. And the absolute shortest of the day. Great!” That said, he hopped out of the chair, grabbed the front of Steve's jeans, and poured the second beer inside, "just want you to know how much I appreciate this, Man.” he made a fist and punched him as hard as he could on his upper arm. "F***er.”



Not one for taking the high road, Steve grabbed a beer from one of the guys standing next to him, and dumped it inside the crisp Abercrombie boxers. "Real nice manners there, Steve.” Tim dug a damp shirt out of the pile and dried his head off, "okay, truce.” His words were spoken just as the unruly mob returned with reinforcements from the keg, giant plastic cups overflowing and ready to do battle.



The place was a complete dump. Etiquette prevailing, Tim hung back and started to clean up. After waving good-by to the last of them, Steve bolted the door and joined his most recent inductee, "say, yer not really sore at me, are ya'?”



Tim sighed and shrugged his shoulders and continued tidying up the back bar. He caught his reflection again, "you really are such an asshole. I cannot believe this haircut. How the f*** am I going to explain this at the office on Monday, and how long is this going to take to grow back, anyway?”



"Y'll get use'ta it, Recruit, and, just fer the record, y'll be back in that chair beggin' me t'cut it again inside a week.” He stuck Tim's head under his arm and rubbed his hand across it like he was buffing a car, "bet-cha.”



"I'd bet you your hair, or even this crummy barbershop, but then, it wouldn't be much of a wager.” Steve let go of him as Tim automatically went to fluff up his hair. He stopped short, just as his hand was about to touch down.



"And, from where I stand,” Steve moved behind him and wrapped his arms around Tim's slender waist, "this haircut is so incredibly hot on you. And let's face it, Jarhead, you came here t'day hopin' somethin' like this would happen.” By the time he finished talking his hand was snug inside Tim's boxers. "Friends?”



Tim placed his hand on top of Steve's subtly encouraging him to continue, "um, so, anyway, friend, when did you start getting into this?”



"You mean cuttin' guys' hair?”



"Well, umm, more like terrorizing the uninitiated.”



Nonchalantly, Steve started rummaging through the abandoned cups on the counter and exhumed one that was still almost half full. He held it over Tim's head, "what were you sayin' there, Recruit?” He tipped the cup and watched the flat beer trickle down the shaved sides of Tim's head again.



"This is getting a little tired, don't you think?” Tim flashed one of his most winning, little seductive smirks, "what I wanted to know, was when you started getting turned on by really short haircuts. I guess it all started for me with that swim team thing. God, I used to go home after practice every afternoon and beat off just thinking about some of those guys and their bald heads, and the way the water just ran off them.”



He led Tim to the back room and pointed to a very small, makeshift shower stall and turned the water on. "I can't say when it all started, but I do know that I was pretty much always inta wantin' t'give other guys haircuts.” After relieving Tim of his already wet boxers he yanked off his boots then stood under the water letting it spray over his high & tight and down his Levi's. Tim cozied up in front of him. He was a little shorter than Steve, and much longer and leaner and although they both hovered around thirty, Tim looked a lot younger. Steve brushed his hand across the top of Tim's head, "I was in junior high and, just for the fun of it, I talked the neighbor kid, Kenny Miller, inta lettin' me giv'im a haircut. We had been best buds forever, and he really idolized me, and would pretty much do anything I told him to.” He grabbed Tim's dick and drew him under the water with him. "So, I just started choppin' at it and pretty soon there wasn't much left. Well, there was a lot left on the floor.”



Tim loosened the zipper and edged the soaked jeans down Steve's thick thighs. "So was this Kenny Miller cool with the haircut?”



"Ah, he seemed okay with it til my dad saw it and started laughin' at him. When he figured out what happened, he made both of us head out t'see his barber, me, for bein' a jerk and ruinin' Kenny's hair, and him for bein' stupid enough t'let me. I can still remember his instructions, ‘and tell Andy t'fix Kenny's hair so he don't look like some dumb f***, then tell him t'do whatever he wants t'you, sorta like you did t'Kenny. And, Son, take enough a'yer own money t'pay fer both.' When we got there it was pretty obvious that my dad had called Andy as he was smilin' and seemed real happy t'see me. Kenny went first and ended up with a pretty short Ivy League. Andy brushed him off and waved me inta the chair, then turned the clippers on and shoved them straight across the toppa my head.”



"Gee, kind of like some real asshole did to me today, funny, huh?”



He sneered and started soaping up Tim's dick, "I could run you back inta that chair and finish this off, Dude.”



Tim ran his hand across the barely discernable patch of hair remaining on the very top of his head, "yeah, Dude, like that would make a huge difference now.”



"And,” he cleared his throat, "as I was sayin', Andy suddenly stopped cuttin', stood right in front a' me and whipped the attachment off the clippers. Then he set the bare blade on the side a'my head and just let it rip. It was 1975, and my hair was pretty long, and it just went flyin' all over the f***in' barbershop. God, the whole thing coun'da taken more than a couple a'minutes. I kept watchin' Kenny's face and he looked pretty freaked out. Andy finished up and flicked the clippers off. I went t'get up but he shoved me back down, and started coverin' my head with shave cream. Whoa, I was way scared, but at the same time, way turned on, and my dick was real hard. Then old Andy, he just started scrapin' away. He did all around my head, and then he spun me around.”



"Hmm, I bet I know exactly how you felt.”



"Yeah, I guess the first time is kinda a shocker, huh? But, doesn't it feel great?” He zipped his hand up the back of Tim's head.



"Um, yeah. I may have to get back to you on that one.”



Steve knelt down in the very cramped base of the shower and stuck Tim's cock in his mouth. Standing under the spray with the cool water rushing over his fresh haircut, really enjoying the sensation, Tim grabbed Steve's head and started massaging it, forcing his fingertips deep into the scalp, then he came, like he'd never come before, squirting all over Steve's slick head. A little bleary eyed, Steve stood up and plunged his head under the water.

"So, that's the end of the story?”



"Well, um, even though ev'rybody at school made funna me come Monday, and god, did they pick on me, I was back in Andy's chair the next week gettin' it cleaned up.”



"Yeah, right!”



"Well, it was sorta my dad encouragin' me.”



"Encouraging you?”



"He encouraged me t'keep it like that fer at least three months, just t'help me remember that if yer gonna cut somebody's hair y'better make sure y'know what yer doin', and y'better do pretty much exackly what they want.”



As Tim was pulling up his jeans and looking around for his belt, he glanced over at Steve and shook his head, "and, I guess you never really learned that lesson, huh?”



"Well, maybe not completely, but then, I never did let my hair grow back in either.” He stroked the top of Tim's head, "and, anyways, this is exackly what you wanted, you just didn't have the balls t'do it. And so,” Tim got a very tender kiss on the top of his head, "let's just say, I sorta helped you along.”



As Tim went to put on his damp shirt he saw a wadded up tee shirt come sailing through the air, "you can wash it, and bring it back next weekend when you head back fer yer haircut, Recruit.”



Just as Tim was about to open the door, Steve reeled him back in and grabbed his crotch. Tim put his hands on the back of Steve's head and pulled him nice and close to him, "yeah, right, in your dreams.”

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