Chris Haircut by Ron (Recovered)

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Chris' Haircut

By Ron


His name was Chris but he liked to be called Flattopboy. Why ? He had the most beautiful amazing flattop in the world ! His hair was marvellously spiked up and squared off making it a massive high hairdo - awesome. We became fast friends. He wasn’t too sure about my extra-long dark blond hair, but he appreciated that at least I wasn’t a boring short hair. I, of course, LOVED his long spiky hair - but I started to tease him because he had mentioned that he might want to cut his awesome stud’s long hair off !

“Hey Chrissy,” I’d call him this sometimes. It really pissed him off, but he knew I was referring to his long spikes, so I think he was pretty excited abut it, too.

“F*** you,” he yelled and smiled reaching to touch his proud hair, making sure every gelled, waxed, hairsprayed strand was in place. He was COOL. He wore cool clothes, cool sunglasses and had the absolute coolest hair in town (except mine of course). He practically strutted over to me. He wasn’t a show-off but some people thought he was. He looked the part of a rich kid with all his cool stuff and his snazzy car.

“Hey dude,” I slapped his hand and reached for his TALL hair. His hands quickly rose to block my attempt to pull down his long hair. I pushed gently at his hands pretending that I would push my long fingers roughly through his pride and joy knocking spikes all over his head.

“Come on pretty-boy. Let me comb that down for you.”

“No way !” Chris laughed and playfully pushed away my hands, knowing I wasn’t seriously going to destroy his fantastic long hair. I stopped.

“Your hands are slippery from hair crap,” I teased him, wiping my hands on my baggy pants, pulling them dangerously low.

“Pull up your pants,” he teased back.

“Hey Flattopboy!”

He had told me that he wanted to play a game - like I sometimes did. But he had also told me that he was seriously considering a short haircut.

“I thought you were going to play a game today, dude,” I said.

“Yeah, I was, but the shop I usually go to is closed, so I can’t do it.” He looked kind of relieved. But I wasn’t so happy because this was the whole purpose of our meeting. I was supposed to go with him to make sure they didn’t cut all his precious overgelled locks off. He was going to ask the hairdresser to give him a high & tight with an honest-to-god airstrip - shear his head practically to his white scalp. Then, just when the clippers started he would change his mind and tell them just to bleach the tips of his long, long, flattop. (He kept changing his mind about bleaching or dying the tips blue or purple!)

I was coming as his protection in case they didn’t hear him or decided to cut it off anyway. Also, because he was toying with the idea of really cutting his hair, he was half afraid he wouldn’t save his own long hair that he’d been pampering and training for years. He got all hot and bothered whenever we discussed his haircut.

“I know another shop you can go to.”

“No thanks.”

“No way, Chrissy, you aren’t getting off that easy. You said we were playing a haircut game today and that’s what we’re doing, sissy Chrissy.”

“Stop that,” he demanded.

“What’s wrong flattopgirl, don’t like being called a sissy - Chrissy. With all your pretty-boy hair, pretty-boy clothes, and pretty-boy car.”

“F*** you,” he laughed nervously.

“Get in the car, dude,” I ordered. “We’re doing this - TODAY.” He knew I meant business, and it was his idea afterall, and it was just a game, so he finally got into his car, and I jumped into the passenger seat. His awesome tall hair was a problem in the car. He had to slouch down a little to protect the top of his proud dude’s hair from being flattened. A lot of guys had teased him about it. Not only that, but on the car ceiling, you could see stains from all the hair crap in his long locks to make them stand perfectly upright. The dude spent hours preening himself. In fact, he had an extra large vanity mirror in the car for just this purpose. The glovebox was full of different hair supplies - just in case.

“Look at your f***ing hair, dude,” I laughed and pointed. He glared at me through his cool sunglasses, slouched down to protect his pride and joy.

“And what about you, you hippie,” he pulled at some of my long blond curls. He knew I hated being called a hippie, but I reminded him. “Okay then pretty-boy Ronny with the girlie hair,” he said. He knew I hated that even more. I was no pretty-boy even though my hair was halfway down my back.

“Let’s just stick to your hair, Chrissy,” I shot back. “Afterall, you are the one who said he might really cut his hair. I just like to fantasize.”

We made it to the barber shop and I thought Flattopboy was going to faint. He turned very pale and his hands trembled on the steering wheel.

“I can’t go in there,” he squeaked - his voice cracking.

“Why not?” I smiled.

“It’s a REAL barbershop for old farts, dude. I .......I ....I’m too cool to go into a place like that.”

“Yeah, right, You’re a little big on yourself aren’t you.”

“You know what I mean. Look at me !”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re beautiful. I must admit your fancy pants and muscle shirt aren’t going to look too natural in the shop with some real men. You look a bit like a pansy or at least a wittle, wittle boy.”

“You ass,” he spat at me.

“Come one, dude. A deal is a deal. Besides this will be better. You wanted it to seem REAL, pretty-boy.”

Hey, what about you, pretty-boy,” he reached out and pulled at some of my long blond hair. My face turned beet red.

“Hey dude. You’re the one who said he might really cut his hair. I just like to fantasize. My hair is too awesome to cut.” He let my hair fall and put it back in place carefully for me. He patted the hair tenderly. I could see he was excited about going into the old fashioned shop.

“You will protect my hair,” he said.

“Yeah, just as you asked. But if I keep promising to protect it over and over, we aren’t going to be playing the game, are we.”

“Okay, I’ll go,” he said.

He seemed a little weak walking up the steps to the shop. HE even jumped a little in his fancy dude pants when the bell ran on our way in. On our way toward the shop I had flung my long locks up under this awesome hat I had. The night before I had sheared the undergrowth hair so that, with my hair under the hat, it looked like I had a shorn haircut. I don’t even think Chrissy noticed. Once inside the shop, Flattopboy’s eyes grew large like saucers. He was trembling. The shiny fabric of his pants shaking as the barber slapped the chair for him.

“Right over here, sonny,” he called. Chris’ face turned red now. He didn’t know if he liked being called ‘sonny’ and he could hardly imagine this old man’s hands in his gorgeous precious long spiky rebel’s hair. YUCK Still, he thought it would be fun to see the look on his face. He got into the chair, careful not to mess his city-boy stud’s clothes. The barber non-chalantly wrapped the cloth around Flattopboy’s shoulders, he placed the paper protector under the cape. Chris could feel the heat on his face and under his arms as he became over-excited and scared at the same time. The barber looked at Flattopboy in the mirror. He reached for the lad’s hair and Chris couldn’t protect it because his arms were still stuck under the cape. The old man ran a rough hand into the heavily gelled and waxed spikes knocking some of them over and basically messing the kid’s perfect style. The boy couldn’t believe his long pride and joy spikes were at the mercy of this old barber’s hands.

“What’ll it be, sonny.”

I was surprised that Chris spoke so confidently, “A genuine short high & tight with an airstrip.”

“Wow,” the barber looked surprised and pleased. “One high & tight with airstrip coming up. You’ll look just like a young soldier.” The barber winked at me. “Just like your brother.” I smiled and hoped my long wavy hair was well concealed. The barber spent a lot of time playing with Flattopboy’s spikes. I don’t’ know why, but he seemed fascinated by them, the way they stood at attention, shining and gleaming under the light. Of course, the fancy hair was full of s**t to make it cooperate.

“Lot of hours on this hair, sonny,” he said. “I’ll get it down so you don’t’ have much work.” He finally picked up the clippers. “You sure you want to shear all these pretty locks of hair off, sonny. You’ll look a lot different.”

“I’m sure,” Chrissy boy squeaked - sounding like a wee boy or girl. The barber switched on the clippers. Flattopboy nearly jumped out of the chair at the sound.

“I changed my mind,” he squeaked as loud as he could. The barber must have been a little deaf because the clippers were still heading for little Chris’ hair. The boy’s eyes bugged out at the sight of those sharp blades aiming at his pride and joy. He yelled, “I changed my mind. I changed my mind.” The barber finally turned off the clippers. “What, I can’t hear you.”

“I changed my mind. I just want ...” He didn’t know what to say. It was obvious that this was not the kind of shop that did bleach or dye jobs. “I.....I.....I just want you to cut around the base. I’m keeping the long hair. In fact, I want my flattop even higher, taller, more extreme,” he smiled - pleased with his quick thinking.

“Are you sure?” the barber seemed disappointed.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Flattopboy sneered, lifting his lip in his best Billy Idol impression to tease the barber more.

The barber looked at me. I shrugged and an idea popped into my head. I wanted to make this experience as exciting for Chris as I could and it hadn’t lasted too long. “Dad will be disappointed,” I said simply. I kept shaking my head as the barber looked my way hoping for some change.

“Why don’t you please your daddy, sonny,” he said.

“No WAY. My dad doesn’t understand about “STYLE,” dude. My hair is too cooool.”

The barber looked at me again. I shook my head and said, “whatever.” I had to go outside before I started laughing. Flattopboy, too, was getting a real kick out of teasing the barber. Once outside some old wino had the nerve to ask me what’s going on. I was just going to ignore him but then I wanted to extend the fantasy in my mind, so I said, “My brother supposed to be getting a haircut. I came all the way here to make sure he got one and now he won’t let the barber cut it. Our dad is going to be pissed and take it out on me probably.” I wanted to see what this old guy said about it. I figured he’d say all kinds of mean things about longhairs and then I would take my hat off revealing my own awesome long, long, long extra-long hair. But he didn’t.

He just shrugged his shoulders and went into the shop. I walked around the corner for a bit of a chuckle and to adjust my baggy pants (the excitement had been a bit much). From the window I could hear a little of what was going on.

“Take that mop down to 1/8” and give him a proper airstrip. I want to see some white scalp before we leave here.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Flattopboy was sputtering in the chair, trying to say something. His bravado had left him helpless. “He’s not my father!”

“The hell I’m not. Now take that hair down. He told you he was here for a proper cut, now do it - no turning back, young man. Any more lip and you may not be sitting so smart in those fancy city-boy pants.”

I could hear the barber chuckle at that one.

“Ronny, where are you, DUDE !” the young boy yelled.

I went running but by the time I got through the door, the barber had already taken the clippers and sheared a huge swath of my buddy’s long, long gelled spikes. His awesome stud’s hair had been stolen, falling to the floor in glistening clumps, the perfect spikes still formed and daring. I was going to say something, but it was too late. The next swath took too much hair to be hidden. Flattop boy was going to be baldboy by the time this was done. I tried to comfort him and tell him that he would look okay, but I don’t think he believed me. He could feel the cold blades of the clippers as they reduced his once-proud tall hair to a stubble. His head looked very very white and very very small. Flattopboy began to sniffle a bit. I thought he looked like a little boy without all his awesome tall long hair. Now he started to cry, he really looked like a little boy, tears rolling down his cheeks and off his chin. I felt sorry for him even though he did kind of ask for this kind of haircut.

The clippers kept shearing. It seemed like an eternity as the boy’s pride and joy fell in wet gelled clumps unceremoniously to the dirty floor. This COOL totally cool dude’s hair was being stripped from his head and left like filth or garbage.
After the horrible ordeal was over, Flattopboy looked like a pool cue - bald and thin. He was weak and could hardly walk so I helped him to the car. I could tell that he had had many responses while in the chair.


The End

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