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Mr. Sig and Peter, the Professor by Manny
I knew I had the upper hand in bargaining for a contract to teach science at the prestigious Beecher Ward Military Academy when the academic dean Philip Price signaled he was willing to bend some of the "red lines" by amending some of the standard, pre-printed contract language. I argued for a higher starting salary and doubled the rate of the annual raise from 5% to 10%. Those concessions were easy, but when I told him to draw a red line through the "grooming policy" he balked and gave me some line about faculty and staff reflecting "military values" and cohesion on campus.
Being a free-spirit, there was no way I was going to put my hair on the chopping block for a job! It wasn't that I was so fond of long hair....it was just that I did not want to look like some right winger with a crewcut or other tidy crop. I tended to be on the sloppy side, and that usually meant an overgrown thatch of blond hair flopping over my eyes, ears and collar.
While the contract was amended to exempt me from the grooming policy, pressure on campus to conform was incredibly strong. So many people saddled up to me to tell me that for my own sake, I should visit "Mr. Sig" and let him cut my hair. By the end of the first week, it was apparent that Mr. Sig was this sort of controlling force on campus -- everyone kow towed to him.
Everyone, except me! Not only would I not submit to a short haircut, but I would grow out my hair. Let it flow past my shoulders! As a free-spirit, I enjoyed bucking conformity. And pressure goaded me into obstinate resistance.
At first, Robert Siggenthal let his proxies put pressure on me. He seemed friendly and warm -- a very magnetic, charismatic personality -- to my face, helping me get to know the campus, etc. It was clear he was popular with the students too. They actually liked going to chapel and listening to his sermonettes!
But, after a month without me buckling under, Mr. Sig approached me directly. It was one day after we were leaving the chapel. I was telling him that I enjoyed one of the stories he'd used in his homily on setting a good example as a leader. He put his arm around me in a friendly way, as we walked toward the Administrative Building, and asked, "What sort of leadership do you think this mop of hair you sport conveys to the students? This defiance that sets you apart from every other staff member or student?"
I jokingly said, "They need to learn early on that rules don't apply to everyone."
Mr. Sig's warm, chummy approach to me evaporated. "They should! And they will!" he snorted furiously as he marched away.
From that point on, Mr. Sig worked to make my life as miserable on campus as possible.
And I determined to not let it affect me. As the year progressed, my hair got defiantly longer. It became very irritating and I hated the way it look, hanging down to my shoulders, but I refused to cut it. I also started going out of my way to pass the campus barbershop and flaunt my hair, as if goading Mr. Sig's inability to determine my haircut. That's what he wanted -- control. But in not letting him near my hair, I had reversed the tables and controlled him.
But, a strange thing began developing the more I passed his shop and saw him applying the clippers to students and faculty alike.....the more I began actually wanting a short haircut. I began feeling an urge to turn into the shop and instruct Mr. Sig to shear me to a nice, conservative length. But my pride would not allow it.
I had to come up with a plan.....
On the first day of spring, I sent an anonymous note to Mr. Sig via the campus mail. "Peter is worried BW will not renew his contract at year's end with the exceptions. I think you can pressure Mr. Price into ensuring he doesn't continue prancing around campus with the awful mop of hair. I know you have influence with the academic dean."
A week later, I got a summons to the dean's office. When I walked in, I was fairly startled to see him seeing there looking quite different. Instead of his immaculately tapered salt-and-pepper hair, parted on the right and neatly combed to the side, he had been shorn down to stubble. Zippo hair. Like the scrub recruits got on registration day. I was taken aback.
"I almost didn't recognize you, Mr. Price!" I gasped.
His face turned red and he looked down to the papers on his desk. "I get a baldy haircut from time to time," he muttered. "The students like to see me like this."
"And so does Mr. Sig?" I asked curiously.
Mr. Price's face reddened to a deeper hue. His lack of a reply told me everything. Mr. Price had been disciplined by Mr. Sig!
After a few moments, he looked up at me. "At the end of this week, I will decide whether or not to offer you a new contract, Peter. While we have been pleased with your teaching abilities, you have not fit in well with our faculty. At BW we value cohesion and team spirit. We don't encourage loners or free spirits -- either on our faculty or among our students. I've discussed this with Mr. Sig...."
"Mr. Sig!" I exclaimed. "Why him?!"
"He is our chaplain and guidance counselor, after all. It's entirely appropriate. And I value his opinion," he replied, looking up and staring me straight in the eyes.
"You're not going to end my exemption from the grooming code, I hope!" I sputtered.
"There will be a special provision for you, Peter," he replied, with a bit of a smirk.
"I have purchased a house here and can't afford to move! I need this job, Mr. Price! Many times this year you told me what a great job I was doing as a science teacher," I stammered.
"There are more things to consider then just your skills as a teach before we end your probation and tenure you. BW is a community. It's a family, and he have to get along. We have to submit to our elders, even if it causes a bit of pain or embarrassment," he said, rubbing his clipped head. "Please review this draft contract, and let me know by Friday whether you intend to sign it," Mr. Price snapped. "Good day!" he said, indicating our meeting was over and I was to leave his office.
My eyes grew wide as I ambled down the hall. The pre-printed grooming policy was lined out, but in red ink above it was the following provision in Mr. Sig's unmistakable hand-writing: "Grooming standards will be determined by Robert Siggenthal. Subject will report to the campus barbershop once a week to be groomed at BW expense."
I couldn't believe it! I had been looking forward to a nice taper like Mr. Price's normal haircut -- not to be subjected to Mr. Sig's whims!
Why had I ever initiated this little stunt and opened myself up to jeopardy?!
As I was walking down the hall, trying to figure out what to do, I heard Mr. Sig's voice cooing from behind in my ear, "Whatcha reading there Petey? You look very engrossed."
Like old days, he put his arm around me and steered me towards his barbershop. "This hair of yours has gotten very long this year. And I see some bad split ends too. You look a mess."
I walked silently, allowing Mr. Sig to lead me. Was there any reason to delay what I already knew would be the result? The thought of signing the new contract excited me.
"I take it you know what's written on this new contract, Robert." I said meekly.
"Yes, I do. And, to you, I'm 'Mr. Sig' -- thank you very much!" he retorted. He let out a chuckle, "Old Phil Price put up a bit of resistance until I turned him over my knee."
"You paddled the dean?!" I stammered in amazement.
"And then shaved off that fussy little business cut he's so fond of," he laughed. "He's so afraid you won't sign -- can't lose an excellent science teacher. But, I know better!"
"What do you have in store for me, Mr. Sig?" I asked with fear and trepidation.
"Smooth as a cucumber from head to toe!" he said with a laugh that flowed into a howl of mirth.
"But, I haven't signed yet -- and I might not," I protested.
"Oh, you will! I've noticed you peering into my shop with a longing in your eyes. Admit it!" Mr. Sig snapped.
"It just that I'm tired of the long hair," I explained.
"No, there's way more than that, isn't there?! The little note you sent me!" he said with a flourish.
"I did not!" I protested.
"A check of the security camera outside the postal boxes and a quick conversation with the postal clerk cleared up the little mystery of the 'anonymous' writer. You sent me the note about getting Mr. Price to change your contract and end your exemption to the grooming policy!" Mr. Sig insisted as we arrived at the shop.
He ushered me in and grabbed me by my hair. I felt my cock stir as he dragged me back through the curtained partition. "Strip down to your Fruit of the Loom's!" he ordered.
I complied meekly. I felt humiliated -- and strangely liberated -- standing there in just my briefs.
"Oh, just look at those hairy legs and chest!" Mr. Sig exclaimed. "I'll ruin a good razor or two on that pelt. But this here is my prize," he said, fondling my long blond hair.
Just then, Mr. Sig's cell phone rang and he answered it. "Yes, Phil. Thanks for the report. So you've given him the new contract. I have no doubt he'll sign it." After a few moments with Mr. Sig looking irritated, he said abruptly, "He will sign it! In fact, he's with me right now in the barber shop. He'll tell you himself!"
Mr. Sig handed me the phone. "Yes, Mr. Price...." I started.
Suddenly, without any notice, I felt a paddle hit my rear end and simultaneously a THWACK filled the room.
I was dazed by Mr. Sig's action and my butt throbbed. In a fog, I heard Mr. Price chuckling, "Sounds like you're come to your senses, Peter! Ouch! Do you know what he has in mind for you?"
"Cucumber. Shaved smooth from head to toe," I said, eyeing Mr. Sig.
TWACK!! THWACK!!! Two more smacks were delivered with increasing force.
"Oh, straight to category 5 discipline! I see you've become Mr. Sig's favorite whipping boy," Mr. Price said. "I only got two swats last night."
Then, I had an idea. A brilliant idea!
"I will sign the new contract provided you come immediately to the barbershop, Mr. Price. If you want a talented science teacher, you will submit to a category 5 disciplinary action -- and Mr. Sig will teach me how to administer it!"
"I can't show up at home with my body shaved smooth, Peter. Please, reconsider!" he begged.
I hung up on him mercilessly.
Mr. Sig cracked a huge smiled and gave me a high five.
"He'll come!" we both chimed out together and then spontaneously embraced.
Mr. Sig began caressing my hair and telling me how handsome he could make me look. "Now that Mr. Price is taking your place in the category 5 chair -- he's never been strapped down before! -- you can choose your own haircut, my sweet, sweet Petey!"
"How about a very short taper -- clipped tight up the sides and back and barely long enough on top to comb to the side," I suggested.
"It would be my pleasure. Perhaps some aggressive whitewalls for a genuine 1950s look? Now put on your clothes and take a seat in the shop," Mr. Sig told me with warmth in his voice.
I felt wonderful watching Mr. Sig cast the cape around me and slowly pull my long blond hair from underneath so that he could fasten it closed. With a comb and clippers he began gently lifting and clipping off the bulk of the length. I watched enamored as the long, unwelcome locks tumbled to the cape. The best moment came when Mr. Sig gently forced my head into a bowing position and brought the clippers directly to my nape. The chattering teeth sent a chill down my spine as the sliced my hair off right at the scalp.
In the middle of the haircut, Mr. Price entered the shop.
"Has he signed it yet?" he asked nervously.
"No!" I snapped. "You can go in back and strip down to your briefs, Mr. Price. When Mr. Sig is finished with me, we'll deal with you!"
Mr. Sig pulled open a little drawer on the counter and pulled out a few short belts. "You'll feel very snug strapped into this chair, Phil! And you shiny smooth head will be a real treat for all to see openly!"
I thought I saw a look of excitement as Mr. Price hustled into the back of the shop, through the curtain partition.
Mr. Sig worked carefully to create a wonderfully short taper with whitewalls half way up my head. "Oh, thank you, Robert!" I gushed, as he held up the hand mirror and I admired my clipped nape.
I expected Mr. Sig to take off the cape so we could turn our attention to Mr. Price in back. But, instead, he went over and pulled down the shade and locked the door to the barbershop.
"Oh, there's just one last little detail I need to attend to, Peter," he said, switching the clippers on again. "I seem to have left it a little long up here."
In a flash, he plowed the balding clippers right down the top of my head. I was totally caught off guard! A look of shock overtook my face. Mr. Sig quickly buzzed my whole head down to a "scrub" baldy, just like Mr. Price's.
"You need some on the job training about how to administer a category 5 disciplinary action. Being on the receiving end will help you remember every detail!" he laughed. With that, Mr. Sig yanked off the cape and sent me to the back room to strip down. Mr. Price was standing still and submissive in his briefs. We were told to stand side by side and lean down and touch our toes at the same time. The paddle struck us simultaneously, but neither whelped.
"Welcome to the family," Mr. Price whispered to me.
"It's great to feel like an insider," I assured him.