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The Occupation, Chapter 4 by Andrew Smith

The Occupation
(This chapter is part of a series titled "The Occupation". Please read the earlier chapters for proper context and background.)


(This is a work of historical fiction. It is not meant to hurt anyone's feelings or support any agenda. Please view it as a haircut story with a different background.)

Marcel loved Robert's flattop. But cutting his own hair down to half an inch! And even tighter on the sides and back? The thought of sitting in Robert's chair and having him hack his beautiful long locks excited him and he got a bulge. His heart was throbbing loudly. His breathing became shallow.

Robert started stroking his own sides and back. The flattop was indeed a sexy haircut, Marcel thought. He wanted to get forced and humiliated by a handsome, muscular and forceful barber like Robert. He knew Robert would spare no long strands and would ensure Marcel got a very short haircut.

"Umm, you know, I've been..." Marcel spoke haltingly.

"Relax! I won't shear you down completely. You have nice beautiful hair. I know you don't want to chop it down," Robert interrupted him. 'Wrong!' wondered Marcel, but he didn't interrupt Robert. "I will give you your regular haircut tight on the sides and back, but leave the top floppy. And let me take a look at that mustache of yours too! It seems like it could use some nice mustache wax. I can see that you can gently curl the tips up slightly."

"That sounds wonderful."

Robert whispered, "But you must admit you have a thing or two for short haircuts." And then he gave Marcel a peck on his cheek.

"Ha... Haha," Marcel tried to laugh. Did he really have a haircut fetish, he wondered. And now, was his fetish exposed? What should he do?

Peering out of the barbershop window, Robert said, "Wait! You won't be next. I see a Nazi officer walking here. He's the fifth Nazi I have serviced this week, and it is just Tuesday! These assholes expect service but don't pay me anything! ...Or is he going to the tailor next door? Nah, here he comes. Stand up straight."

The door opened. A Nazi uniformed officer walked in. He was much taller than both of them. He wasn't as handsome as the officer Marcel had seen in Robert's barbershop the last time he visited, but was much taller than him as well. He has a very pointy nose and a sharp jaw. He looked sharp, except for a slightly scruffy beard. He had a beautiful handlebar mustache as well. Did all these German officers sport handlebars, Marcel wondered. And he had long sideburns that extended well past the bottom end of his ear. He took off his hat as he walked in to reveal a tight tapered haircut.

"I just got back from a service break. Was traveling for two whole days and haven't been able to shave my scruff. I need a good shave. I hope I don't have to wait," the Nazi barked.

Robert said very politely, "Of course sir! Please take a seat in my chair. This man here is my apprentice, not a customer. You are next!"

Marcel was stunned. An apprentice? What was going on?

Robert swiftly unfurled the barber cape and draped it around his new customer.

"Let me please tilt back the chair."

The officer took a last look at his reflection in the mirror before Robert reclined the chair making it almost horizontal.

"So, a fresh hot lathered shave for you, officer?"

"Ja!" came the officer's brisk reply.

"Perfect! And when I shave your face, what do I do with your mustache, officer? Do you want it to be trimmed like the Fuhrer's?" Robert asked.

Marcel's eyes widened at the mention of the mustache trim.

"I see you have been growing your handlebar mustache for quite a while now!"

"Two years," came the reply.

"Yes, even the Fuhrer had a handlebar mustache, which he traded for a toothbrush mustache. You don't want people to think that you are trying to disrespect the Fuhrer, right?"

The officer was in a fix. He loved the curls of his mustache. But the barber had a point. Also, if he wanted to get noticed and rise up the ranks, sporting a mustache similar to Hitler would be a good idea. He was silent. He didn't have enough confidence to say "yes". He let out a heavy breath.

"I will take that as a yes, sir," Robert quickly added before the Nazi could think much about it.

Robert acted innocent, "And when I shave your face, what about your sideburns? The Fuhrer has his cut to the top of his ear. Should I cut yours to the top and shave the sideburns off?"

"Pfff! Fine," the Nazi resigned.

"Excellent, sir! Just relax now."

Robert turned to Marcel and tried to control his laughter. Marcel winked at him.

"Marcel, while I prepare the lather for the hot shave, why don't you trim off the curls of the customer's mustache? Just use these shears." He handed Marcel a pair of shears from his barber vest pocket.

Marcel couldn't believe his luck. He loved handlebar mustaches. His was barely extending beyond his lip. And this officer's mustache had full body, was thick and curled so much that it almost completed a loop.

Robert instructed Marcel, "And after that, please use those manual clippers and trim his sideburns up to the top of his ear. They are already set to the shortest setting, so it will scrape the sideburns almost clean. I will take time to hone the razor as well. Meanwhile, you can proceed with the hair trimming process. The officer is busy and we cannot waste much of his time. Let me know if you need guidance in using the clippers."

Marcel could almost hardly control his bulge. He thought he was going to faint from the excitement. He was almost shaking.

He reached for the officer's mustache and curled the tips of the handlebars further. He twisted the mustache tightly. With one hand, he grabbed the curl of the mustache and with the other, he grabbed the shears and placed it at the corner of the officer's lips. With one sharp snip, the curl was dismembered from the rest of the mustache. The officer was restless in the barber chair. Marcel fondled the curl in his hand. Instead of dropping it on the floor, he placed it on the barber station. He then switched to the other side of the mustache and swiftly chopped off the other curl. Two years of mustache growth hacked off with two snips! Gone was the Nazi officer's sharpness. He now looked like an ordinary man. Marcel placed the dismembered curl next to the other one on the barber station.

He then grabbed the manual hand clippers. Using them to remove all hair required very little skill. Marcel swiftly squeezed the prongs of the clippers in front of the officer's face to give him an idea of what was about to happen. Marcel placed the clippers at the base of the long sideburn on the officer's left side. The sideburn looked thick and dense, and flared at its base; but it was no match for the sharp clippers which Marcel ran up the left side of the officer's face. All that was left was very fine stubble. He repeated on the other sideburn removing all hair in the process.

"That looks wonderful. Thank you, Marcel!" came Robert's reply. "Let me take over now..."

Robert grabbed the shears and made cuts in the mustache directly below the edges of his customer's nose. More mustache strands slid off. He grabbed the hand clippers and ran them over the mustache, keeping just the toothbrush part intact.

Marcel found the whole mustache destruction exciting. He let out a short laugh and then tried to cover it with coughing. The Nazi officer seemed irritated. "Start with the shave already!" he ordered.

Robert brought over a mug of hot lather and applied it generously to the officer's face with a brush, applying a little extra to the exposed parts of the mustache and the sideburns. He then continued honing the straight razor. He asked Marcel to come closer to watch the action. Robert placed the razor in line with the top on the left ear and made a straight cut. It seemed ridiculosly high to be cut, but that was his whole intention. To take off everything that the officer was proud of. He had grown the mustache out for two years and maintained it with proper care and pride. And Robert had just taken that pride off. He had well-groomed sideburns, which added a nice personality to him, and Robert took that away from him as well. His minor "rebellion" against the Occupation, he thought. He continued shaving his face with the grain and then proceeded to do the same on the right side of the officer's face. Another very high cut and the razor slid straight down where a glorious sideburn lived just minutes ago.

Robert re-lathered his face and shaved it against the grain, ensuring his face was smooth like a baby's. He applied a cold towel over the officer's face. The officer flinched a little with the coldness of the towel. Robert took off the towel and cleaned his face. The officer tried to get up thinking his shave was done.

"Nuh-uh. Not done yet, sir! A few more minutes," Robert said pushing his shoulder back onto the reclined barber chair. He grabbed a comb and scissors and trimmed the toothbrush mustache down to a very short, but uniform length.

"Just give my assistant a couple of minutes to apply some aftershave, please," pleaded Robert.

"Hmm," came the sharp grunt.

Robert handed Marcel a bottle of aftershave, which Marcel generously poured onto his palms and fingers. He slapped his palms against the Nazi's face. Yes, a slap, which he wanted to give to the Wehrmacht. The stinging aftershave splashed over the officer's freshly shaved face, which made the officer almost jump from the barber chair. Marcel massaged it into the face having his fingers linger over the shaved sideburns and the shaved part of the mustache. He derived extra fun in knowing that he was the first person to touch the shaved sideburns and mustache. He ran his fingers over the tiny toothbrush bristles and fondled them.

Slapping the officer's face gently with both palms, he said triumphantly, "All done sir!" Robert stepped in to bring the barber chair up.

The Nazi looked at his face in the mirror. He kept on staring at his toothbrush mustache. Gone was the glorious handlebar. He turned his face to the sides and gasped as he saw how high the sideburns were shaved. He ran his fingers over the shaved part of the mustache. He was clearly unhappy with the loss of his handlebar and the sideburns.

"Looks good, sir?" Robert asked innocently.

The officer managed to mutter, "Jawohl!"

"And would you be interested in a haircut, sir? You are already in my barbershop. It won't take too long..."

The German realized that it was in his best interests to turn down the barber's haircut invitation. Who knew how much hair the barber ould take liberty in hacking off!

"Nein, this is good. I have to go. Heil Hitler!" he saluted. He stormed out of the barbershop, without paying anything to Robert.

Once they had confirmed the Nazi had disappeared, Robert and Marcel laughed uncontrollably. They clapped and hugged each other and continued laughing.

Trying to control his laughter, Robert paused and pulled his face back, still hugging Marcel. Marcel looked into Robert's deep eyes and then at his flattop haircut. As if on cue, both leaned in simultaneously and started kissing each other. Marcel ran his hands over Robert's shorn sides and back. He vigorously rubbed the back with one hand and gently tousled the flattop with the other hand, while still kissing Robert.

Robert pulled on to Marcel's hair and pushed Marcel's face away. "You're next!" he winked. "So, have you changed your mind about the flattop?"

Marcel had a confused face. He wanted to get the sexy flattop and tight sides and back. He wanted to be humiliated and watch his hair all shorn down. But he still loved his hair and fantasized it being long and beautiful.

"Just teasing you. I will just trim you a bit! Have a seat," Robert gestured.

Marcel obliged. Robert spotted the Nazi's dismembered curls on the barber station, which Marcel had placed there. Both the curls were still intact and held together with whatever strong product the officer had used. Robert grabbed them and placed the curls at the ends of Marcel's mustache. A smile appeared on Marcel's face.

"You look handsome with the curls. I wish to see your mustache curled up like this," Robert said. He dropped both the dismembered curls on the floor and put his foot on top of it as if he was putting off a cigarette. There, the mustache was at his feet!

He turned to Marcel, "Don't worry! I promise you. I won't ever cut off your mustache or cut your hair any shorter than your liking."

He let our a deep breath and hesitantly added, "I think I am falling in love with you! There, I said it!"

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