Mr. Sig and George, the Gardener by Manny

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I was so glad that my newly established company, George's Grass and Garden, was a finalist for the big landscaping contract at Beecher Ward Military Academy. The sprawling campus with its lush lawns, elaborate flower gardens and stately oak trees certainly required a huge budget to beautify and maintain. If I won the contract, I could easily triple the size of my operation and invest in some additional professional-grade equipment. Each of the two finalists in the bidding competition was assigned a month to show what they could do for Beecher Ward's campus.

My first day, though, didn't start out that great. For one, my side-kick was sick so I rolled up the long driveway solo in my pick-up truck. For two, it was a scorcher of a day with humidity at nearly 100%. And then, as if even the smallest things were going wrong, my scrunchy broke as I tried to pull my thick, dark hair back into a pony tail before getting out of the truck.

There was no way I could cope with my long, heavy hair flopping all over in that heat and humidity. I needed to pull it into a tail.....or better, fasten it up into a man bun. After searching high and low in the glove box for a scrunchy to no avail, I decided to ask for a rubber band inside when I went to check in at reception as I had been instructed to do.

I hated the thought of putting an ordinary rubber band around my hair because when I'd done so in the past, it had damaged it, causing significant breakage and split ends. My sexy long hair was one of my best features and I liked it to be perfect.

After introducing myself to the receptionist and signing the log, I asked if she might have a spare rubber band. She reached into her drawer and handed me one. As I gathered my hair and began fastening my tail with the band, she commented, "If you need a scrunchy for your hair, I know Robert Siggenthal has a load full of them in his office. The longhairs come in on reception day and end up leaving them behind when they've been groomed and outfitted as new scrub recruits. You can find Mr. Sig down the hall there, second turn to the left. You won't miss his hang-out. He's such a friendly person, Mr. Sig will be sure to help you!"

"Oh, that's excellent! Thanks so much for the tip!" I chirped, eager to pick up a scrunchy from this Mr. Sig guy and start my first day of the trial landscaping period.

As I turned down the hall, I saw a red and white pole whirling as it cast a light, indicating the location of the campus barber shop. I looked through the window and saw a barber just taking the cape off a mature-looking man with very closely clipped salt-and-pepper hair. Then I noticed the name plate on the door: Robert Siggenthal, campus barber.

I crossed paths with the man exiting, who was feeling up the back of his head. I got a close look at his very tightly tapered haircut.

"Excuse me, Mr. Siggenthal?" I said upon entering the barber shop.

The barber called back, "I'll be with you in a minute, you can take a seat." Then he disappeared behind the curtain.

I stood awkwardly near the huge barber chair with its shiny chrome base and glanced in the mirror. No wonder he thought I was there for a haircut. My locks were so long -- especially when compared to all the conservative haircuts I'd seen on campus. I'd never had a real barbershop haircut before -- and certainly was not going to get my first military-like haircut today!

As I was waiting for the barber to return, a fellow around my age entered the shop. He had dark hair like mine, but instead of it flowing down to his shoulders, it was cut into an old-school flattop. I couldn't remember ever seeing someone my age with a flattop, but I felt that it worked well for him, accenting his handsome face. The top was push and looked like a lovely putting green.

He greeted me; I nervously explained, "Oh, I'm just waiting to ask the barber for something."

"And that would be a haircut, I guess. Go ahead and take a seat there, "he said, eyeing my abundant tresses and pointing to the barber chair. "I'll just wait my turn over here."

Fortunately, the barber came through the curtain, so I didn't have to explain to the flattop fellow that I wasn't intending on getting a haircut.

"Mr. Siggenthal, I'm George Gates, possibly the next contract landscaper here. It's my first day of the trial period," I said, extending my hand to shake his.

He grasped it warmly and pressed it firmly. "Please to meet you. And I go by Mr. Sig. So, who gave you the helpful tip to drop by here before you begin working your tail off to win this contract?"

"The young lady at the reception," I replied.

"Ah, she's always so helpful," Mr. Sig noted.

"She said you had a supply of extra scrunchies," I said.

"Scrunchies!" Mr. Sig exclaimed.

"Yes, it's so hot out there and mine broke. I'd like to tie my hair back into a ponytail," I explained, realizing the Mr. Sig had a completely different plan of action for me.

"George, my friend. This is a barber shop! Not a beauty salon!!" the barber laughed. "I thought Thelma clued you in that looking like that, you have approximately a 0% chance of being selected for the contract. The Board of Trustees is adamant that those working on campus reflect the military values and traditions of Beecher Ward. Isn't that right, Pedro?" he said, asking the fellow with the flattop.

"You bet! The last thing the Trustees want prospective parents to see when they visit the campus is some longhair, looking like Che Guevara, tooling about the campus," he said feeling his flattop. "At first, I thought 'no way' I'm cutting my hair to get a kitchen job. But, Mr. Sig helped me understand how helpful the flattop could be in my joining the ranks of the employed. Actually, I really like it!" he said, getting up from the chair and admiring himself in the mirror. "In fact, today, I'm ready for you to take the top down, Mr. Sig."

"Your first landing strip?" the barber asked with a smile on his face.

"Better than that! I want a SHOE!" the fellow exclaimed with a gleam in his eye.

"High five me, bro!" the barber exclaimed. "Now, into the chair. I can't wait to take you down to near-nothing. Just let me get the pretty boy a scrunchy and I'll be right back."

I felt flustered and ambivalent. Pedro hopped into the chair and shifted nervously.

Pedro began telling me, "My hair was longer than yours when I first applied for the sous-chef job in the kitchen. Nervous as could be when Mr. Sig took the clippers to it. But as soon as my hair began hitting the cape and virgin white scalp started appear, I got excited and knew I'd made the right decision. So much easier too than worrying about the hair catching fire or smelling like stale grease at the end of the shift."

Mr. Sig came through the curtain with two scrunchies in his hand. "Here you go, Georgy boy." As he handed them to me, he grasped my hand tightly again and brought me to him. I smelled his manly cologne and my heart beat wildly. With his other hand, he gently caressed my hair. "I'm open until 2:00 p.m. today. During your lunch break, stop by and we can talk more about what will work best for you if you're not sold on the flattop. I was thinking perhaps a butch. A very, very tight butch! Just a five o'clock shadow left and all of this girly hair -- sent to the floor. No more need for scrunchies and a much better shot at winning the landscaping contract."

"And it would certainly be a lot more comfortable out there, under the blazing sun, mowing the lawn," Pedro added.

Mr. Sig turned his attention to Pedro and began caping him up while I struggled to pull my hair into a ponytail and secure it with the scrunchy. I felt like a fool!

Why not wait and get a haircut, I asked myself? Mr. Sig was right and so was Pedro! I dawdled and watched Mr. Sig plow a set of balding clippers through the luxuriant deep, plush pile and clear a strip of bare skin just where the flattop had looked its best. That was too much for me! I hustled out of the shop and found myself saying, "See you later, Mr. Sig! Thanks!"

Had it been a Freudian slip? Was I committing to really return to Mr. Sig's barbershop later in the day?! Or did I mean, see you some other time?

I stepped outside and instantly was hit by the oppressive mugginess of the high humidity. The sun beat down on my head. I felt my heart beat faster. The mop was certainly a liability.

I had never seriously considered a butch haircut. I pulled my hair out of the scrunchy and ran my fingers through it. I felt lush and soft. I remembered the way Mr. Sig stroked it and spoke of sending it all to the floor. A tight butch! The thought of it sent shivers down my spine. What would I look like shorn bald?

I slowly turned around and re-entered the administrative building. I was nervous as a cat as I retraced my steps to the barber shop. Several times, I paused, trying to talk sense into myself. But, then, my shear determination kept me moving forward. I crept toward the door. Even before I opened it, Mr. Sig spotted me outside and flashed a toothy grin. It made me want to put myself at his command -- tell him take off as much of my cherished hair as he thought best.

I opened the door and poked my head in. Then I saw Pedro's SHOE! 95% of his head had been scraped clean. A slight rim of hair was left as a bit of embroidery along three fourths of the crown. He looked a bit shell shocked at the new minimalist visual.

"Welcome back George. Did you need another scrunchy?" Mr. Sig asked with a slight chuckle.

"No, sir. I need a haircut," I admitted. It felt good to say it out loud.

Mr. Sig swiveled the chair around so that I could see Pedro's new horseshoe flattop face on. "How does Pedro look?"

"Radical!" I said, not committing myself to an opinion, but inwardly finding it shockingly short and not to my taste. The long, plush top that he'd come in with was much more to my liking.

Mr. Sig stroked the bare skin on his client's head. "Hmmmm, this feels delightful, Pedro. What do you say we go for broke? Total Mr. Clean look. Zippo hair?"

"I think that might be a good look for George there!" Pedro said.

My stomach lurched.

Mr. Sig flashed a wicked grin. "Perhaps. I'm sort of itching to take someone down to nothing. What do you say George? Ready to channel Telly Savalas? I can't wait to make a man out of you. The favorite part of my job here at Beecher Ward is getting those pampered indolent lads in on registration day and turning them into lowly scrubs with the baldy heads. I know, I should say it's my work as chaplain or guidance counselor that I find professionally fulfilling, but I was born to be a boot camp barber!"

I instantly wanted to back out of my commitment to a short haircut. There was no way on earth that I wanted a chrome dome. And Mr. Sig seemed overly eager to shave me down to nothing. I found myself yearning for the flattop that I'd first seen on Pedro.

Mr. Sig dispatched Pedro from the shop with a slight smack on his rear end, which the sous chef seemed to enjoy.

"Next!" he bellowed as he stared at me.

I froze in fear.

He tapped his foot impatiently. "If I have to call you again, George....." he said with a hint of threat in his voice.

"It's just that I don't want my head shaved," I whined.

"Okay. Then let's step into the back area here so we can discuss this a bit more, but in private," he snapped as he drew the curtain open.

In back, Mr. Sig picked up a fairly large wooden paddle with his name engraved on the handle. "Among other things, I'm in charge of discipline on campus." He wielded the paddle in a menacing way. "Corporal punishment is very effective. Students and staff are all held to the same standard of accountability and discipline. Even trustees! I've even paddled the Chairman of the Trustee Board! Now, I can turn you over my knee right here and now or you can march back into the shop and take a seat. What will it be, George?!" he snapped.

The idea of an adult man being given a spanking was startling. And I wasn't even a staff member or employee!

"Did I mention I'm head of the committee that will be selecting the new landscaping contract. Everyone knows I have an aesthetic eye! I like those hedges clipped to a tidy perfection, by the way!"

My eyes were wide with anxiety. I had no choice, so I hustled back into the shop and quickly took a seat.

Mr Sig had a huge grin on his face as he followed me. He snapped open a cape and hovered very close to me as he arranged it around my torso. He purred quietly into my ear while fastening it tightly about my neck, "We're going to get on very well, Georgey-boy. You catch on quickly and are nicely submissive!" He played with my hair a bit. "Ummmm, the smell of shampoo is quite intoxicating. And your hair feels like silk. So, what shall it be. I'm just itching to take my clippers to this and watch these long tresses fall to my feet."

"The flattop that Pedro was sporting when he first came in...." I suggested.

"Ah, yes! A deep pile flat with boxy, beveled edges. You will look incredibly handsome." He grasped a shank of my hair and the quickly ran a clippers up the side of my head. The haircut had begun! The cut lock fell into my lap. My cock stirred.

Then Mr. Sig paused and asked, "But, what about my desire to scrape someone clean today? Already, I had so wanted to do that to Mr. Price -- put an end to his fussy business cut. And then Pedro persuaded me to keep the SHOE. Why should I let you remain with any of this beautiful thick, dark hair?" He buzzed off a second huge shank of hair, revealing my left ear.

I shifted nervously in the chair and got the urge to make a proposal. "I've never been spanked as an adult man before, and the idea of it terrifies me. Turned over your knee with my pants pulled down, I will feel so humiliated. Let me sport a flattop, but also let me feel the sting of the paddle on my butt."

"You have quite a bit of pluck to suggest something for me to consider. Most of my clients don't dare speak when I'm considering a course of action. I'll cut you a flattop so you can see what a skilled barber I am, and then I'll decide just what to do with you. I may shave it off as soon as you finish admiring it! Shorn bald and spanked is quite my favorite outcome with the men on campus, but I'm open to letting you sport a flattop for a while."

I was transfixed with admiration as I watched the talented Mr. Sig methodically clip away my long, dark, thick hair. The way the cut locks piled up in my lap made me feel almost giddy and lightheaded. But the most amazing thing was watching him take down the top -- like Michelangelo at work crafting the David, Mr. Sig shaped an amazingly precise haircut. I couldn't stop admiring my new look....and to think I'd come to him in search of a scrunchy!

My big worry was whether or not he'd let me keep it!

"You are quite the handsome young man with this flattop," Mr. Sig purred as he admired his own handiwork. "Such dense hair produces the best results for the deep pile top. Pedro may be quite jealous when he sees it...." Mr. Sig said. He took the cape off me. I was free to keep the top!

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Sig!" I gushed. "How much do I owe you?"

"Five," he replied, with a grin on his face.

"That's it -- just five?" I asked, taking out my wallet.

"Not dollars!" he laughed. Then he pointed to the curtain. "Back there, drop you pants to your ankles and bend over -- touch your toes. I'll be with you shortly, George."

My stomach lurched. Oh, my! My feet dragged as I moved to comply.....but one last glance at the mirror at my smart new flattop convinced me that it was worth it, the price I would pay.

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