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Patrick Pays by Manny

Part 2 - following "Patrick Pounces"

My wonderful evening of celebration had been turned upside down by the little snake in the grass! I lay, strapped to my beloved barber chair, imagining what I looked like shorn bald. Patrick had been merciless with my pert business cut and had clipped me down to the wood. Then, he waltzed out in his cocky way with the hateful little smirk on his face. I imagined him feeling the breeze blow through his magnificient mane. Yes, he had played me to a tee! Acting all scared and submissive and then overpowering me effortlessly and forcing me into a humiliation that would explode in my face on Monday. I dreaded walking into the office with my unwanted, unsophisticated butch cut. My only comfort was knowing that I'd delivered some very good smacks to his virgin ass before the turned the tables on me!

As I lay strapped to the chair with duct tape, I struggled carefully to bring the shears from the center of my stomach towards my hands by tugging on the cape. Fortunately, Patrick had not taped my wrists too tightly to the arm rests. But I worried that even if I were to reach the scissors, I wouldn't be able to cut the duct tape. In a fit of frustration, I yanked the cape as hard as I could. The shears, to my horror, fell to the ground! Now what?! I'd been imprisoned by that rat, Patrick, and now I had no hope of getting out. I fell asleep in the midst of frustration and exhaustion.

The next thing I recall was the sound of music coming from the kitchen. "Who's there?!" I called out, noticing the sunlight coming through the windows. It was morning. I'd spent the whole night asleep, strapped to the chair in my study.

Then I heard singing, which grew louder as the person approached my study...and I recognized the voice. Patrick! He was still in my apartment and the song he was singing was by Peter Frampton, "I don't care if you cut my hair; all I wanna be is by your side....."

The aroma of bacon and eggs was a harbinger of his good deed. Or so, I thought.....

"You didn't abandon me," I said gratefully. "And you've made me breakfast!"

The familiar smirk was back. "I made myself breakfast, Baldy!" he said dismissively through his smirk. Patrick sat down and ate the whole meal in front of me. His hair had been freshly washed and dried; he looked more amazing than ever with the sunlight streaming through the soft waves of golden hair that hung to the base of his collar.

Patrick came over and fed me half a piece of bacon. Some pieces crumbled and stuck into my luxuriant mustache -- my crown jewel. Patrick ran his fingers across it, sending the bacon bits to the cape. Then he chuckled to himself, "It occurs to me that your mustache just gets in the way. I think some clipper action will solve this little problem!"

"No, Patrick," I gasped as he snapped on my Osters.

In a flash, he mowed off my last vestige of masculine pride. "Oh, look at you now! So boyish without your business cut and mustache! The other thing I realized was that I forgot to practice the new spanking technique you taught me on you. I mean, being on the receiving end was a good learning experience, but now I'd like to give it a try myself." Patrick stood up and removed his belt. "And, I'd like to teach you a thing or two -- I mean the hand hurts bad enough, but I think this belt might make the same point a lot more forcefully."

"Oh please, Patrick!" I begged. "Why are you doing this to me?!"

Patrick returned the barber chair to its upright position. Then he brought over a hand mirror and showed me my new look. "How did I do?!" he asked eagerly.

I was expecting worse. Far worse. The clipper shave was clean and the lack of a mustache took years off my apparent age. Patrick fondled my stubble tenderly. "Can we call a truce? I was really enjoying getting to know you Joey. I guess I panicked when I thought about having my hair shaved off and instinctively fought back." He ran his hand up the back of my shorn nape, adding, "And, I really do think you're quite cute with the haircut I gave you! Quite boyish looking for a man pushing 50!"

I blushed like a 15-year old in love. "Thanks, pal. You're quite a barber. OK, truce! No more forced haircuts or spankings!" I surprised myself as I considered how quickly my emotions had shifted from loathing hate to hopeful affection as the result of just one phrase from the handsome Patrick.

Patrick smiled broadly. "Look what I got!" he said, holding up two tickets! "I had them all along and was looking for someone to take tonight to the championship game. Will you be my date tonight?"

"Sure! I guess we won the raffle you announced last night!" I responded as Patrick quickly cut through the duct tape and released me.

Finally I had a chance to feel my first buzzed head -- the first one I'd ever sported. "I can't believe how this feels," I murmured. Then, I grabbed Patrick and ran my fingers through his long, beautiful hair. "And, I love this too!" I told him earnestly.

"I've always worn it long. The site of a barbershop makes me break out in a cold sweat. When I was introduced to your 'naughty chair' -- well, there couldn't be a better punishment for me as a forced, brutally short haircut! But, I don't want you to punish me, I want you to love me for who I am....long hair and all," Patrick said softly.

"I understand..." I murmured in reply.

The two of us went to the kitchen where Patrick resumed his cooking and made me a huge plate of bacon and eggs. As he cooked, he told me about his love affair with his beatiful hair. He was a golden boy for as long as he could remember and his mother was so proud of his thick, bouncy curls. Many people mistook him for a girl growing up, which drove his father insane. He'd been teased and threatened by friends, coaches and principals alike. Withstanding the pressure to cut it had drilled resolved and resillience in him -- as well as an air of confidence and defiance. And, because of this, he'd never submitted to a proper schoolboy haircut in a traditional barber shop. But, he was very curious about the barbershop as a result, and had spent a lot of time lurking nearby them....watching the clippers stripping away overgrown pelts on young and old men alike.

"I would love to give you that experience," I said, grasping his hand.

Patrick looked away and I saw him struggling to wipe a tear. He looked up and his eyes were still watery. "I'm afraid. Plain and simple," he confessed. "I think I want to experience the clippers, but I'm afraid...."

"I'll take you down very carefully and very slowly. If you say stop, I'll stop." Then with my hands, I simulated a set of electric hair clippers, and I brought them up through the nape into the dense mane. "Come into my study.....your beautiful hair will look even more beautiful on the cape."

"How short will you cut it?" he asked, stalling for time.

I was honest in my response, "As short as you cut mine...."

He stood up and muttered, "I don't know. I like my hair. I need to go now. Let me think about it. What time should I come back to pick you up for the game this evening?

I was truly sad that Patrick had not agreed to the haircut, but I had no thought of breaking the truce. I'd continue working on him....I felt he would eventually give in. Plus, I was grateful that he'd released me from the chair, and I was glad that we'd patched things up....and his hair was gorgeous.

"Stop by at 6 p.m. That should give us plenty of time." Then the two of us embraced briefly and Patrick fled the kitchen; I heard the front door close moments later.

I busied myself in the kitchen, washing up and trying to see how things looked in general after the party. He'd escaped again. I had been too eager, too forceful. I'd have to gently ease him into my chair and coax submission to my clippers. I would chip away at his defiance and undermine his resistence until the moment when the lovely locks would tumble to my feet.

The living room looked better than expected, and I smiled to myself as I spied the vase with all the business cards hoping for the ball game tickets. Well, for the record, if anyone from the party asked, Patrick's name was pulled from the vase and he'd invited me to go with him! I almost laughed to myself as I imagined him standing on the coffee table leading the guests in singing. What a character. And that hair! To think -- I had Patrick, stripped down and caped up, within seconds of taking him down to the wood. If only.....

I stumbled back down the hall towards my room and decided to sweep up my barbershop. My own hair, into the trash can, for the first time..... I got a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror and was taken aback slightly. It would take some time getting used to seeing myself sans the coiffed executive style or mustache. Patrick was right -- the butch cut made me look boyish.

As I pushed the door open gently, the most amazing sight was reveal. Was I hallucinating? Dreaming? There he sat, in the big barber chair looking quite small, with the cape fastened about his neck and his lovely golden hair resting passively on the snowy white cape.

"Patrick! You're still....."

"....still waiting for my haircut, Josey. Waiting for my loveable barber who will give me my first proper haircut!" he said serenely, flashing a slight, endearing smile.

"But I thought you left...." I stammered, still in disbelief.

"I like to surprise the people I love with nice gifts," he reached out from under the cape and fondled his hair, whirling the curls through his fingers. "All of this is for you. Do to me whatever you want -- as long as you care to leave it; as short as you dare to cut it!" Then he started singing the Frampton song softly again, "I don't care if you cut my hair, all I wanna...."

I lunged toward him, half expecting he'd disappear like a mirage. But, I found him to still be there, in the living flesh! My fingers eagerly plied their way through his mane. The smell of shampoo was intoxicating. "I can cut it as I please?" I asked in disbelief. I spied the clippers and wondered what he'd do if I picked them up. I didn't want to frighten him again. Perhaps I better lull him into the cut.... I began brushing his dense mane, admiring the body and length and color and sheen.

"What are you waiting for?" Patrick asked with a bit of tension in his voice.

"Are you sure you want a clipper haircut, Patrick? I'd be happy to give you just a trim. Take off the tips, or perhaps an inch or two. I have the full range of barbering skills, including those of a barber-stylist."

"Josey, I've already told you -- my hair is my gift to you. Cut it all off if you want. I'm ready to feel the clippers!" he urged earnestly.

Selfishly, I enjoyed him begging and me withholding what he seemed to want most. But, I didn't want to overplay my hand and lose him for a third time. After a few moments considering what to do with Patrick's gift to me, I clamped my hand firmly down on the top of his head. Then I shoved it forward so that poor Patrick was staring straight down at the virgin cape. He was completely immobilized, both by my forceful grip and by his fear. I took one last glance at the beautiful hair that had first attracted me to him. What a pity! The machine sprang to life. The virbration in my hand was like no feeling I'd ever sensed before as a barber. My first instinct was to be greedy with his generosity. To claim the whole gift and stand triumphant in the midst of a carpet of shorn wavy tresses. But, I decided to prolong his experience (and, as a consequence, my own enjoyment) with his first barbershop haircut.

"Joseph, what's happening?" Patrick asked impatiently. "Are you going to cut my hair, or just keep me trapped looking down like this all day!"

I unleashed the clippers and drove them up through the nape and scooped off a huge chunk of hair, leaving behind an incredibly dense chisel of hair from the nape to the occipital bone. The short bristles were of a darker hue and contrasted with the long soft waves that now ended just above the wedge. In quick succession and scooped off another chunk of the massive curls that hung from the nape and watched the clump fall to my feet.

"How are you doing?" I asked.

"Those clippers feel......frightful....frightful and fantastic!" Patrick said with a bit of a quiver in his voice.

Over and over I applied the clippers to his nape, sharpening the wedge of the taper. Then I proceeded to the side, clipping off a huge clump of his billowy hair as I started to given him a very short taper around the ear. At this point, the shorn locks began falling to the cape. Patrick gulped nervously. Yes, it was his first experience with a barber and the power of the clippers! The ear looked quite white, being uncovered for the first time and contrasted rather dramatically with his tanned face. Then I noticed how his ear stuck out awkwardly! Oh, the handsome boy had a flaw after all -- Dumbo-like ears that protruded from the side of his head. They would be showcased with nice, exaggerated arches!

After carving out a very short taper around the other ear, I let Patrick sit upright a bit and brought the brush back through his mighty mane. The longest locks on top still could be stretched out to about 8-9 inches. I took out a pair of thinning shears and began blending the very short tapered part near the nape into the long, untamed waves that still crowned his golden mane. I was turning his shaggy retro-70s look into a trendy short sides with a contrasting very long top. It was the best of both worlds -- the glorious hair showcased on top and the tight taper around his protruding ears. He looked quite handsome, and the body in his hair kept it in place without the aid of any sort of gel or mouse.

I took out a hand mirror and showed him my work of art.

"Oh, Joseph! I love it!" he exclaimed. "I've seen hairstyles just like this in the men's fashion magazines. You're a pro!"

"But the ears, they stick out quite a bit, don't you think?" I said, trying to dash his enthusiasm.

"Not too much....and you have left some bulk above them which helps divert attention to the hair on top instead of the ears," he explained. "I do have such lovely hair," Patrick murmured to himself. Then he reached out from under the cape and felt the tapered nape for the first time. "Oh, this stimulates me! Such a wonderful feeling to rub my fingers on the bristles."

But, I wasn't finished with dear Patrick yet. Not by a long shot!!

I brushed through the long top one more time, I took a deep breath of the rich shampoo smell. "Perhaps I left it a little too long on top, don't you think?" I asked innocently.

"No, not at all. It's perfect like it is," stated Patrick, impatient for his haircut to come to an end.

"I think I'll take off just a bit more, just to make it manageable," I explained. I seized the heavy forelock and combed it straight up. Then, with a set of barber shears, I whacked off four inches! Lift and chop, lift and chop. I was quick in reducing the bulk on top considerably. Hair showered everywhere.

"You're not cutting it too short?" Patrick whined.

"Not at all. In fact, now that it's shorter, I think these waves need to be thinned out quite a bit. They are just too bulky!" I announced.

"But I think the waves are perfect on top," Patrick pouted.

As if I did not hear a word he said, I employed the thinning shears and made a brutal assault of the wavy, thick top. Crunch, crunch, crunch.... The special shears would do their work, and then I'd comb through and remove a bulky clump before repeating the process again and again. I thinned the top so thoroughly that it laid down, nice and short -- definitely like a 40's pompadour, combed straight back and relatively flat to the head.

"There, that's better, don't you think?" I said, holding up the mirror again.

Patrick was a bit mopey in his reply, "Oh, I thought it looked better before. But, I do look a bit like a movie star from the 1940's -- like Rock Hudson, don't you think?" he asked with a twinkle in his huge blue eyes.

"What I think is that you are very full of yourself, Patrick," I replied as I set down the shears and discreetly picked up the clippers again, sliding off the guard. Then I yanked his head by the locks from behind and wrenched it back, marine bootcamp like. In a flash, the clippers mowed off the remnants of his mighty mane right at the scalp! "The barber knows best, wouldn't you say so?" I snapped.

Little Patsy knew better than to press the issue any further. The taste of his own medicine was very bitter to Patrick, but I had I was energized by the severe clipping I administered on him. His clipped head made the protruding ears look ridiculous. I carved out exaggerated whitewalls to call even more attention to the Dumbo-like ears. "Now we have matching haircuts for our date tonight, Patty," I chirped as I handed him the mirror. He looked at his clipped head forelornly. "These ears are quite the item now," I said flicking them with my finger so that it snapped loudly. Patrick jumped in his chair and winced.

I took off the cape and watched the massive collection of shorn hair fall to the floor. Patrick, looking more like a newly enlisted convicted prisoner, had been put in his place! Better yet, he pay the price of treachery! I winced thinking how long it would take me to grow back my pert, fussy business cut....

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