Spike's Haircut by Lonhair (recovered)

---

Spike's Haircut

By Lonhair


Spike marched into his parents store. He worked there part-time, temporarily. Or, at least, it was supposed to be temporarily until he found a REAL job. His parents had warned him that he would never find a real job unless he got a proper haircut. Spike just shrugged it off and continued to grow his famous tall mohawked spikes. You see his hair was trained into 5 super tall spikes that rose above his head like the spikes on the statue of liberty. He spent 2 hours each morning forcing his lovely locks into this radical position on the top of his head. He used tons of hair wax and then sprayed copious amounts of hairspray to make the individual spikes stand at attention. Then he used a special hair gloss to make the spikes shine and glimmer in the light. Several times throughout the day he would have to touch up his spikes with a light spraying or extra gel to keep them sturdy. As they got taller, he had more and more trouble keeping them up, but he had a couple of friends who helped him whenever he needed it. The palms of his hands and his fingers were permanently shiny and sticky from applying hair s**t to his pride and joy.

Occasionally, his younger brother would dutifully hold the spikes to their glorious length while Spike applied the layers of product to his long, long hair. His brother, however, didn’t really like Spike’s hair and tended to opt out of touching it as often as he could. He said he looked like a freak and should chop off the spikes as soon as possible. No way was Spike going to do that any time soon. He also had awesome punk sideburns that he’d cut in ever-so-thin strips down his jawline and across toward his chin ending in a nice point. His goatee was perfectly trimmed, thin and a couple of inches long. He spent lots of time stroking his goatee, his own private petting zoo! “I’ll never, ever, ever cut these proud spikes off my hair, dude,” he’d reply. He marched in bondage pants or skin-tight leather trousers. The bondage pants he wore were his favourite, they has chains or belts swinging between his legs from leg to leg and loads of zippers and cool colours to flash at the old farts who hated his hair and his style.

He was a cocky punk who loved to spit just before passing people on the street and he flaunted his style to ensure that he got rude comments and lots of stares. He was a punk show-off with and overabundance of attitude and lip.

In fact, he couldn’t work the counter in the store anymore because he didn’t seem to be able to control his punk mouth. “F*** this, f*** that, f*** everything.” So he had to work just filling the shelves and cleaning up. His parents had tried to convince him that his hairstyle, clothing style, and attitude weren’t doing him any favours, but Spike never listened. Now that he was in his twenties, he said, I really don’t have to listen to you any more. I’m a free, independent PUNK! (He seemed to ignore the fact that he was still living at home and eating food bought by his hardworking parents.) Spike, whose real name was Samuel - a name he couldn’t stand and wouldn’t let anyone call him - made every effort to expand and retain his punk attitude and standard. He had had a few embarrassing moments over the years he’d been a punk. One in particular stood out in his mind. He had often hung around barber shops, especially old-farts barber shops to tease the dudes with his awesome long hair in spikes. He’d gather quite a few negative comments and teasing while hovering in front of the window, often propping a leather booted leg up against the wall, drawing on his cigarette, acting COOL. Sometimes standing with his legs ridiculously spread apart to show off the chains and straps between his long slender bondage panted legs. Somebody might say something about his sideburns, “shave those faggy burns off, punk,” and he’d slide his middle finger down the length of his proud sideburn, drawing attention to the point.

One day he was standing just like this, perfecting his punk sneer and pout, hoping his dark eyes looked smouldering and his hair was straight at attention. The barber came out of the shop and told him to move on, “Unless you’re planning to come on in and have a decent boy’s haircut,” the barber smiled, knowing the answer. “I can shave off that ridiculous little boy’s goatee and those silly pansie-boy sideburns, too.”

“Dude this hair,” he reached to stroke his proud glistening long hair, “is a work of art and no old fart is touching this awesome hair. And you are just jealous of my burns and my f***ing awesome goatee.” Spike, being the punk dude he was, spat a huge wad in the direction of the barber. Unfortunately, the wind was heading the wrong direction, and the gob blew back and landed on his precious shiny black nylon bondage pants. He couldn’t believe he’d spat on himself. How UNCOOL. Still, he sneered at the old dude and moved to strut away, saving some of his coolness. Unfortunately, one of the straps on his bondage pants was caught on a hook that protruded from the wall behind him. As he moved to strut he tripped and nearly fell on his face. He saved himself by flinging his heavily braceleted arms out and holding his spiked head high, but he looked ridiculous and all his punk sneering had left him for a look of childish surprise and fear. “F*** ME,” he yelled, holding on to the last remnant of punk dignity - his foul mouth. The barber and some of the clients laughed at him as they had gathered to watch. Sammy was feeling a little overwhelmed. This was not the way things were supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to be belittled by his punk style. His face was beet red and he began to look like a little boy instead of a nineteen year old punk dude with ‘tude.

He tried to strut away the best he could, but his strap was now torn and dangling and he was limping a little. Even the shaved parts of his scalp were red with embarrasment.

After this incident, Spike came up with a new idea to help increase his PUNKNESS. He decided to cut four of the spikes just a little shorter, and leave one of them longer, taller, more extreme than ever. What was the purpose ? Well, since he had a perfect 5 spikes, he figured the second spike on his head was kind of like a middle finger! If he let this one grow a little longer and stand a little taller, it would be like holding up his middle finger all day and giving everyone he saw a special salute. Of course, he was no fool and realized that some people wouldn’t get it, but that made it all the more doable. His parents would never guess the meaning - they probably wouldn’t even notice since they tried not to look at his hair that much, ignoring their son’s punk rebellious streak.

He stood in his bedroom in front of the dresser mirror. He was wearing only his purple bikini underwear because he didn’t want to get any of his hair in his bondage pants or his shirt, even if the strands were pretty well hairsprayed and gelled together. He took a pair of sharp long-nosed scissors and stood looking at himself in the mirror. His proud spikes standing erect on his head. His incredible sideburns carefully tended and slimly outlining his fine jawline. His goatee that girls like to call “cute” much to his disgust. His hand holding the shiny, dangerous scissors. His almost naked body. He figured he looked pretty good, maybe a little skinny, but good enough when he had all his punk gear on, especially his leather boots that made him taller and tougher. As he stood there contemplating what he was about to do, it wasn’t only his tall spikes that stood erect. He had a reaction to anything to do with his awesome long, long hair. He was mad about his hair and even a simple comments brought a physical reaction from him. Standing here now, his purple bikini underwear didn’t hide his reaction.

He slowly raised the scissors to one of the spikes. Holding it with his lean fingers on one hand he snipped the tip off about 1” to lower the spike. Before going after the other three, he stood back and looked at himself, tilting his head this way and that. He made a minor adjustment to his shiny underwear and made sure he didn’t move in too close to the dresser now (OUCH!). He raised the scissors three more times and snipped about 1” from all the spikes but the middle-finger spike. He was glad nobody was here to see him because his hands were shaking like a leaf. He was terrified of placing these scissors near his pride and joy, his shiny, gobbed up spikes. And then there was the obvious other embarrassment. His head was now covered with 10” spikes and one 11” spike (give or take, not always perfect).

He was proud of himself.

As he snipped the fourth spike’s inch, little brother came bounding into the room. Spike had been so focused on his hair adjustment, that he hadn’t heard the kid running up the stairs.

“Holy s**t, are you cutting your fag spikes off, man,” he yelled.

“F*** you,” Spike replied. He felt his face flush again, and he grappled to find his bondage pants steering the front of his bikini shorts away from little brother’s suspicious glare.

“You hot from touching your precious long hair again,” brother smirked and slapped his big brother’s ass.

“F*** off, asshole,” Spike again used his punk mouth to retain some sense of rebelliousness. “I just made an adjustment to give everybody the finger,” he announced.

Little bro was no dummy and immediately caught on to the trick. “You’re such a punk faggot,” he laughed but said no more as Spike pulled up his bondage pants, carefully making necessary adjustments along the way.

“Just think little bro, I’ll be giving all your little pinhead sports dude friends the finger during your birthday party this weekend,” Spike sneered and was proud of his quick thinking retort to his smartass brother.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep dreaming there little spikey boy.”

During the party, Spike made sure he kept teasing the lads with his new, improved hairstyle. Strangely enough, they didn’t seem all that perturbed about his punk look or his radical spikes with the middle spike pointing at them.

He got a few comments of “cut your hair, dude” “ridiculous hair, punk” “hey poofta, cut your pretty-boy hair off,” “why don’t you shave off those faggy sideburns and that fag-boy goatee.” But he was getting tired and wasn’t all that satisfied. It was only the middle of the afternoon, but he had been spiking his own colas and the afternoon was hot, hot, hot. In fact, he’d had to do some extra work on his mohawk to keep the spikes erect and perfect. He decided to let his little brother’s party alone, and he went to lie down on top of the bed, letting the fan blow over his body, cooling him. He just plopped down on his back, spreading his legs as far as they would go to let the fan blow up across him, cooling. He felt the bondage straps pull and the tight pants stretch over his other pride and joy.

After about 30 minutes, the young lads downstairs decided to check on Mr. Punk Dude and climbed the stairs, trying not to laugh. Bro went into the room first to make sure his brother was decent. (After all, it was his brother and he loved him despite his punk weirdness.)

Spike was fast asleep and the fan made just enough noise and movement across his body that he didn’t wake up when the boys entered the room. Slowly, they brought their plan to life. A couple of boys attached the clips to Spikes earrings. Luckily he was wearing hoops today. They drew the string attached to the clip away from his ears and attached them to the bedsprings underneath.

Spike slept.

One dude did the same to some of the chain straps between his bondage pants.

A couple of other boys clipped onto his city-boy leather boot chains and clipped the string under the bed.

Basically, the Punk dude was strung down by his fancy clothes and jewellery, including the leather and chain bracelets that adorned his slender arms. Young Sammy was trapped by his punk dude style.

Once the boys were certain that the young man was secure enough, Bobby, his brother, woke him up by pressing on his chest, holding him down so he didn’t try to jump up and hurt himself. Spike opened his eyes. “What the F***!” He could see all the boys surrounding him.

“Don’t try to move too much,” Bobby said. “We’ve attached your pretty earrings and a few other pretty-boy decorations and you’ll hurt yourself if you try to escape.

Spike turned his head a little just to check out the truth of his brother’s words. He tried to move his legs and arms and found that he had only a little movement.

“What the f*** are you little pansies doing,” he tried to sound tough.

“We’re going to make a slight adjustment to your faggy punk hairdo,” Bobby announced proudly. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to turn you into a ‘pinhead’ like you think we are. We aren’t that mean,” he laughed. “But then again, you never know.”

All the boys laughed now and Spike was feeling sick to his stomach. How dare they threaten him - HIM - the awesome dude stud rebellious PUNK! He could hardly believe that they had done so much planning. But in a moment, he saw the reality of it. Bobby picked up a shiny pair of scissors, the same scissors Spike himself had used to make his middle spike the tallest. The punk boy’s eyes grew like saucers as he saw the sharp blades of the scissors coming toward his proud mohawked long hair.

“F*** you,” he spat out at them.

“What was that, pretty-boy” Bobby leaned closer looking deep into big brother’s frightened eyes.

Spike decided he better take another approach. “Please, don’t do this, Bobby. I don’t want to lose my spikes, come on, dude. Pleeeeeeeeease.” Begging didn’t seem very punk, but, hey, he wanted to save his style.

“Don’t worry, Sammy,” he smiled and ran a hand over his own sheared brushcut. Spike could hear the bristles snap to attention, no spikes in the way of little brothers stroke. Spike’s stomach churned. This can’t be happening to me, he wished.

Bobby brought the scissors to the second spike - the middle finger spike, lowered the blades to about 1” shorter than the other four spikes and slowly closed the shining blades. The blades made a slight crunching sound as they sliced through the powerful hair wax and hairspray. Bobby carefully held on to the tip and took it away from Sammy’s head. He showed the goopy hair to his older brother who looked like he might vomit any minute.

“Awe, I cut it too short,” he chuckled. “Now the others need to be cut another inch to match, he laughed out loud.”

Bobby gave the scissors to one of the other boys. Spike lay helpless, his legs spread apart as they usually were to show off his bondage pants straps and chains and his COOL style, but now he wished he could make some adjustments. These tight bondage pants weren’t hiding much and the excitement was affecting him physically even though he was scared of getting his hair all sheared off.

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded with his little brother. “Don’t let him touch my tough punk hair, dude.”

“Yeah, real tough,” the friend said. He came closer and Spike tried to wriggle some room in his bondage pants. The friend put the blades up to the first punk spike to make a one inch cut, equalling the middle spike. Then he slid the blades of she shiny scissors down to the base of Spike’s scalp. The blades were still open and threatening.

“Let’s say we give him a REAL shearing and make him look like the little boy he really is? Do you think we haven’t noticed your fancy dandy-boy pants getting tighter before when we talked about your hair, dude?” he laughed and pointed so nobody missed the intent of his comment. Everybody looked and laughed, although, they too, were a little embarrassed about their own reactions, so it didn’t go far.

Everybody laughed except Spike. A single tear rolled down his long thin nose and dripped to his goateed chin. Bobby saw the tear as it clung to the tiny hairs meant to be a studly goatee.

“No, let’s stick to the plan,” he ordered. The friend listened and snipped off the one inch tip. Three more friends took turns snipping off one inch to make all five spikes about the same height. Each time, Spike became more afraid that they would accidentally or on purpose slice off his tall, tall, proud punk spikes of long, long, long, lucious hair.

The tears were flowing freely now and he was sobbing a little. He couldn’t wipe away the little bit of snot coming out of his nose from the crying and he was totally embarrassed and temporarily de-punked. His finely muscled arms coming out of his muscle shirt, his lean legs spread and strapped in bondage pants, and his tough leather boots were of no use to him now, lying here at the mercy of a bunch of kids and a pair of de-punking scissors.

They didn’t cut his tall spikes all the way down. They only took them to the level of the middle spike. But they did something almost as bad to finish off the job.

Bobby did this himself. He brought Spike’s own trimmer over and sheared off his proud sideburns, the thin lines that followed his jaw line and ended in a spike toward his chin and his pointed goatee. These burns had taken years to perfect and he still had to draw in the blank spots with eyeliner (only he and his brother knew that). Years of tending and caring for his sideburns. Years of drawing his middle finger down their sexy length to piss off other people - strengthening his PUNK attitude. Bobby drew the clippers from the pointed tip all the way along his jaw line, making sure the blades caught the entire thin line all the way up to his ears - no sideburns at ALL ! His punk strength stripped from his face as the clippers revealed the white skin under the carefully manicured burns.

The punk, Spike, was all tears and blubbering now. Bobby pulled at his big brother’s goatee. “Better have a little more respect from now on, eh bro,” he said seriously.

Spike shook his head ‘yes’ he didn’t want to lose his goatee as well, but he was already plotting some kind of revenge. At the moment, he was too weak to do anything.

Bobby stared at the silly faggy goatee, looked at brother’s kid’s tears and runny nose and decided he’d been taught his lesson and let him go.

But Spike was not done with Bobby.... He vowed to get revenge.

And Bobby .......he had a plan for Sammy boy if he got to cocky !

P.S. Please let me know what you think of the story and what you would like to see happen next.

---